Breathe.

Yes, breathe, Dorian reminded himself. Breathe. Just another useless thing for him to do. Breathe, and ignore the cold, the wind, the falling flakes of snow. Breathe.

Breathe.

His eyes were closed. Why are my eyes closed? He struggled to open them, struggled to move, and failed at both.

Breathe.

Distant voices… or were they nearby? Was he being moved? Were those hands digging under his shoulders? Or was it the pain again? The cold had been his friend for so long he couldn't really remember.

Breathe.

Curses. Yes, I know those words, Dorian mused distantly. He'd taught them to… to… The face returned before the name: long, flowing black hair framing a perfect face and lovely lavender eyes. Yvad. No. More than that. Amatus.

Breathe.

The curses were replaced by a flurry of voices, too many to understand, to diverse to name. "Help the Inquisitor! " "Keep that leg straight!" "Maker's breath, get me those bandages!" "Can we pull those out of him?" "How is he even alive?"

Breathe.

As the cold faded, the pain began to set in, and a gasp escaped his lips. It was everywhere: in his legs, in his back, in his stomach, in his head. He tried to curse, tried to curl up, tried to do anything, but failed. He could only do one thing, as time passed without meaning.

Breathe.

A weary voice next. The surgeon. Yes, the one from the courtyard. "It has to come off, Inquisitor. Look, the foot is already going bad. If we don't–" The voice stopped, though Dorian couldn't tell why. He felt hands settle on his shoulders, felt a breath tickle his ear. "I'm sorry." And then the pain blossomed again, this time accompanied by a fierce tugging and the feeling as if an animal were tying to bite off his leg. A weak gurgle escaped his lips, but inside he was screaming.

Breathe.

Words eventually returned, became intelligible again, along with the feeling of a hand on his forehead. The pain was still there, a distant, old friend, and Dorian longed for the cold once more. A wispy voice reached his ears first, this time. "Flying, fearing, falling. Down he goes, over the edge, a single thought on his mind: he can't die. He won't die. Love won't let him die." A shuddering breath, from the one whose hand was on his forehead, and then he heard the most beautiful sound of all. Yvad. "Thank you, Cole."

Breathe.

Time has passed, darkness and light following each other in quick succession, until finally he opens his eyes. A scramble of sound, and then a hand takes his, and he feels wetness fall on his cheeks. Slowly it comes into focus, the face above his: black hair framing a perfect face, lavender eyes full of tears, but a smile below them.

"Amatus."

The smile stretches, and lips press against his forehead. "Welcome back, my love."