The inquisitor had turned in early that night, which was uncharacteristic of him, and so with the sun still peering up over the edge of the world Dorian took the steps up to his quarters. The doors to the balconies had been shut– though it did little to keep the sun out the evening chill couldn’t find its way through the cracks. So he was sleeping.
Dorian’s lips quirked up at the corners, the man himself quickly removing his shoes and divesting himself of the buckle-riddled nightmares he called robes. Now in his underclothes he walked ‘round the side of the bed and slid underneath the covers behind the inquisitor. He hooked an arm around the other man’s middle.
Naturally it startled him when the man he’d presumed asleep started to speak.
“I still feel it sometimes. My arm.”
Dorian’s brow furrowed, concerned, but he said nothing yet.
“When I move I think it moves with me, and when I look down at it it isn’t there.” Url pushed himself up, rolled over to face his other. The look on his face was tired, dejected.
Dorian spoke now, quietly and almost hesitantly. “Phantom limbs, they’re called. Often following an amputation a person will feel the presence of the limb where one isn’t anymore.” Url’s eyes narrowed, frustration on each of his features from his nose to the stiffness in his shoulders. After another moment studying the elf, he continued, “… Does it hurt?”
Url’s expression softened just slightly and he met Dorian’s eyes. That concern was everything to him. “Not so much since the burns healed. ‘Aches. It just feels… sad. I’m missing a part of myself that I can’t ever get back.”
There was a moment they were both silent. The sun had furthered its descent in the time they’d been speaking and shadows fell more readily across their faces, giving everything an eerie sort of profile. Url grew nervous looking at it, considering how long they’d been silent and running through his words now that he’d said them.
In an attempt to lighten the mood, the inquisitor raised his hand to Dorian’s face and muttered, “Think of all of the things I’ll never be able to lift.”
Dorian, familiar with Url’s redirection but opting not to press, scoffed quietly, took the offered hand in one of his own. “Please! You’re a mage, I’m sure you can find some way to lift anything your little heart desires.” At this Url cracked a smile. There would come a time to ask him further questions, but not now. “Or, better yet, I can lift it for you! You might have noticed, I am incredibly strong.”
Url snorted, pulling his hand free from Dorian’s grip and throwing his arm about the other man, tucking himself closer to his body. He felt much better, like this.
“I think Bull can do my lifting. If you’re so incredibly strong you should just carry me.”
