So, I had the passing thought that it would really suck if MM!Ryou lost his right hand, considering his left is practically useless. And then the Internet was down in class today and I needed stuff to do… So this happened~.
Tbh MM!Ryou is super fun to draw, and I loved having an excuse to show off some of his little details, like the glass eye and his habit of wearing two-toned clothes~. His tie is gonna be lavender tho if I ever colour it~.
He stared at the papers in front of him, absently shuffling them into a new order. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get the words to focus today. They swam around the page, the letters practically dancing and merging. He rubbed at his eyes.
He felt arms slide around his shoulders and instantly relaxed as Dorian draped himself around him, peering curiously at his workload. Feyn ran his knuckles over Dorian’s jaw, pressing his forehead into his cheek.
“Long day?”
“Ye’ve no idea.”
Dorian pressed a kiss into Feyn’s temple. “Then come to bed, amatus.”
Feyn lifted his head and pressed a kiss into Dorian’s cheek, sighing into his skin. “Aye. Just let me put these away.” He gestured to the offending papers, gathering them up and tossing them into a desk drawer.
two
Feyn slipped through a door into what was possibly the fanciest closet in all of Thedas. He ran his fingers through his hair, blowing out a sigh. He had some amount of time before he’d be missed at the Winter Palace. Sitting on one of the crates, Feyn rubbed at his temples. This whole night was proving to be a bigger mess than he’d thought, one that was grating on every shred of patience he held.
The closet door opened and Feyn stiffened, hoping that at least it was a couple looking for some privacy–and not some noble looking for him. Some of them were getting a little too handsy for his tastes.
Dorian rounded the stack of crates and Feyn immediately relaxed, smiling. Surprisingly without words, Dorian took a seat beside Feyn, lacing their fingers together. Feyn raised their hands up, kissing Dorian’s knuckles. Their absence might be noticed, but they could afford a few minutes together.
three
Feyn’s vision swam, head spinning as he tried to sit up. He’d been thrown away from the rift after closing it, his hand throbbing painfully. It was a different sort of pain than the one in the back of his head–even though each of them throbbed with pain, the one in his hand was sharp, like knives going in and out of his skin, while his head felt like a warm, spreading up over his head with each pulse.
“Feynrahel!” Dorian was at his side in an instant, his eyes wide, darting around to try and locate the problem.
Feyn saw three of him. “M’fine, jus’ a lil’–”
“You are bleeding from your head, you fool, it is not fine and you are not going anywhere!” A firm hand was placed on Feyn’s chest while exploratory fingers probed at the back of his head. He inhaled sharply, hissing as his eyes screwed shut at Dorian’s touch.
Dorian cursed lightly, focusing his magic to his fingertips. There was a moment before Feyn felt an ice cool touch, gently spreading and coating the hot throbbing pain. He sighed, the tension in his body ebbing. When he opened his eyes again, Dorian looked drained, but his eyes were still bright with worry, searching Feyn’s face.
“Well? Aren’t ye gonna kiss it better?”
Feyn received a slap to his chest, Dorian groaning. “He’s fine,” he said over his shoulder, shaking his head at Feyn.
The elf sat up, cringing a little at the remnant pain in the rest of his body. He turned to look at Dorian, only to find the mage right in front of his face.
“Never do that to me again, amatus.” Feyn could hear the slight strain in Dorian’s voice, the way his eyes looked bruised.
He leaned in the last little bit, pressing a kiss at the edge of Dorian’s mouth. “Ir abelas, emma lath. I didn’t mean t’scare ye.”
Dorian turned his head slightly, slotting their lips together for a gentle kiss.
four
Feyn had pushed himself up onto the bed, making sure his arm was still supported by the pillow. Or rather, what was left of it. Despite having cut it off himself, he was still having a hard time wrapping his mind around his missing limb.
He’d taken it for granted, of course. He hadn’t realized it at the time, but his entire world was suddenly skewed–he couldn’t do obvious things, like shoot his bow or use his daggers. But it was more than that–he couldn’t even reach for the glass of water on his bedside table, or hold a book and turn the page. If it weren’t for the fact he was taking elfroot and painkillers by the dozen, he probably would’ve felt the horrible swell of dread and panic each time he realized something else he could no longer do.
Dorian had also been a large part of staving off his panic. The mage had barely left his side, only leaving to get more books or fetch a servant to get them food or help draw a bath. Like now, for instance: Dorian came back up the steps, carrying a new pile of books. When he spotted Feyn sitting up, his brows raised, but he chose not to comment.
“Ah, you’re awake. Good, I had trouble picking what to read next, so now I can get your opinion.” He placed the books on the desk, eyes flicking over Feyn’s appearance. “Unless, of course, you’d rather bathe first?”
“In’a bit.” Feyn’s voice was raspy from disuse. He went to motion for Dorian to come closer, but at the sudden flare of pain, realized he had tried to move his amputated limb. Feyn’s jaw tightened, a flush creeping up on his cheeks as his ears trembled. He was such an idiot!
Dorian, however, knew what Feyn wanted, and he was over by him, sitting close enough to reach over and hold Feyn’s hand. “What would you like to do, then?”
Feyn pursed his lips before murmuring, “Do ye think ye could just… hold me?”
At the squeeze to his hand, Feyn looked up, Dorian’s expression soft. “Of course, amatus. It would be my pleasure.”
While Feyn worked on laying back down into bed, Dorian pulled off his armor, sliding into bed shirtless and helping Feyn lay the rest of the way down. Dorian was careful as he wrapped his arms around Feyn, making sure they were both comfortable and that Feyn’s arm wasn’t in danger of being jostled should either of them move.
Feyn felt Dorian press his lips to the top of his head and sighed, turning his head into the mage’s throat. “Get some rest, Feynrahel. I’ll be here when you wake.”
He couldn’t really argue with that, and so Feyn sighed into Dorian’s skin, closing his eyes and feeling safe in his lover’s warmth.
five
Most of Skyhold had already left. A few of his companions had already dispersed, and Feyn held them no ill-will. But he knew he would be the last to leave, the captain going down with his ship. It didn’t help that he had no plans, nowhere to go.
He pushed it from his mind again, for the umpteenth time, looking instead at Dorian’s packed bags. He’d stayed much longer than he probably should have--his obligations in Tevinter were demanding, and it was near impossible to do them from his position here in Skyhold. But he’d pushed off his return until Feyn was on his feet again, and by that time, much of the Inquisition had been disbanded and half of Skyhold emptied.
Dorian came up the stairs with a dramatic sigh, drawing Feyn’s attention away from his remaining bags. “I swear, all the good staff were the first to go. I half expect my luggage to fall off the wagon halfway to Minrathous, with the way they’re packing.”
Feyn huffed a small laugh, sitting on the corner of his bed and watching Dorian tuck a few last minute items into his bags. “Dorian?”
“Mmm?” The mage was busy fiddling with the straps of his bag, but his head tilted towards Feyn to let him know he was listening.
“When ye get t’Minrathous... if... um. If’n ye want t’take another lover, I’d understand.”
“If I’d want to take another--what?” Dorian turned to look at Feyn fully now, his features twisted in confusion. “What in Thedas are you going on about now?”
Feyn sighed, motioning to his stump with a small shrug. “Ye didn’t really sign up fer this, Dorian. M’not exactly what I was when things started, n’ I don’t wanna hold ye t’somethin’ ye didn’t--didn’t bargain fer.”
“’Bargain for’?” Dorian’s frown deepened and he crossed the room, coming to stand right in front of Feyn. “Feynrahel Isethari Lavellan, you are ridiculous. Why-ever would I want someone else?”
Feyn went to gesture at his arm again, but Dorian laid his hand over his left arm, catching Feyn’s gaze. “Yes, I understand your arm is missing, Feynrahel. But just because you’re physically different doesn’t mean I think any less of you. My feelings have not changed.”
“Why not?” Feyn shook his head slightly, sighing quietly to himself. “I feel different ‘bout meself. M’ practically useless--I can’t fight, can’t defend meself, I can barely hold ye. Ye can’t possibly--”
“Don’t you tell me how I feel.” Dorian’s hands came up to cup Feyn’s jaw, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “Now, do you still feel the same way about me?”
Feyn’s features softened, his hand coming up to wrap around Dorian’s wrist, fingers brushing against his warm skin. “Aye, I do, vhenan.”
“And I still feel the same way about you, amatus. That will not change, no matter how many limbs you do or do not have.” A small smile curled at Dorian’s lips, and Feyn nodded slowly, slowly mirroring Dorian’s smile.
Feyn tilted his head up for a kiss, and Dorian easily complied, sliding his fingers back into Feyn’s hair. The kiss was warm and comforting, Dorian’s lips soft against his. Feyn bit Dorian’s full bottom lip as they pulled apart, his ears twitching to catch the mage’s small moan of approval.
“Hmm, I suppose the wagon can wait an hour or two.” Dorian said, stepping closer between Feyn’s legs.
“Good,” Feyn pulled Dorian down, the mage laughing low in his throat as he pushed the elf back onto their bed, tangling his hands in his hair as he laid atop him.
a kind of sketch/tracing i did today. i quite like it. i really wanted to deal a bit with feyn losing his arm--as a man who is used to a lot of athleticism, losing a limb really hits him hard. it really makes him question his own “usefulness” and his own abilities, and what he’s supposed to do now.
