Inquisitor's Don't Get Sick

“I’m not sick.” Drynne groaned out, pulling down on the red scarf tied around his neck. Small beads of sweat slid down his now free neck, causing him to shiver. His three current companions frowned at him, Cassandra even extending her arm and motioning to the sweat that pebbling against his skin. 

“Bullshit.” She hissed. Drynne pulled the red scarf off entirely, using it to wipe the sweat away. He wasn’t sick, he didn’t get sick, he’s never even been sick – ever. Plus, he is the Inquisitor, Inquisitor’s are immune to sickness. Dorian and Solas exchanged glances, their frowns deepening when Drynne suddenly sneezed. “You sneezed.”

Solas looked back at Drynne as the rogue rolled his eyes at Cassandra. “We’re in below normal temperatures—”

“You’re sweating in below normal temperatures, Drynne.” Solas cut him off, grip tightening around his staff as he watched Drynne’s face reddened even more. Solas rarely used Drynne’s name – substituting it with vhenan, emma lath, even ma’sal’shiral some nights – he only used it when he meant business, but it never stopped Drynne from doing a double take. He secretly loved the way his voice sounded when Solas spoke it. Drynne cleared his throat, fingers scratching the sweat soaked skin as he muffled a couch into his scarf.

“You’ve overworked yourself, Red Lion. We can handle the quarry while you rest. We’ll take you back to Skyhold once we—” Drynne groaned at the use of his nickname, waving Dorian’s worry off.

“I’m fine. There is no way the three of you can handle the quarry alone—you’ve noticed the Red Templars are putting up more of a fight with this location… You can’t handle them without me.” Drynne blew some hair from his face, frowning when it didn’t move before looking back at his companions. He watched their worried expressions turn thoughtful. He was right, and they knew it. He moved quickly, could take down Red Templar’s in his sleep by now. He knew where they were weak, knew how to dodge their shards, knew how to make him and his companions disappear if things became too heated. Cassandra’s nose scrunched up when Dorian and Solas nodded to her, her usual disgusted noise falling from his lips as she crossed her arms and glared at the mages.

“We’re also looking for anything from Samson. This is where Samson is getting his Lyrium and if he is here, let me handle him.” Drynne set his scarf on the requisition table before clipping his daggers off the sides of his waist, ignoring the cough that started to scratch his throat, and headed down from the Tower Camp in Emprise du Lion – towards the Quarry. He cleared his throat once he was a good way away and motioned with his head for the others to follow.

“Come on. We have templars to kill.” 

* * *

“I screwed—” Drynne covered his mouth as a violent cough overtook him. Solas looked up from his tome, watching Drynne as he stumbled into the Rotunda. His hand was firmly placed on the archway as he hunched over coughing, a low and pitiful groan sounded from the elf once his fit of coughing ceased.

“Is that Drynne I hear?” Dorian looked over the railing above the elves, a too-pleased of a smirk etched on the Tevinter man’s face. “Aw, Cassandra warned you—”

“Dorian.” Solas looked up at the Mage, narrowing his eyes. Not now.

Dorian got the hint, raising his hands in surrender, “Fine! But I will be telling Cassandra that our illustrious leader is bed ridden for the time being—”

“Bed ridden?” Drynne’s voice cracked before Dorian retreated back into his nook in the library. Solas shut the tome and standing from his seat. He walked towards Drynne, placing his arm around the rogue’s shoulder and leading him out of the rotunda.

“I know just the thing, vhenan. Come.”

* * *

“This looks gross.” Drynne’s nose scrunched as he looked down at the cup Solas’ handed him. Whatever contents were in it bubbled, making a shiver run down Drynne’s spin. It felt weirdly alive and he was honestly contemplating whether or not to run out of the kitchen. Solas stood before him, a knowing smile on his face as he clasped his hands behind his back. Drynne’s face turned redder, knowing Solas already figured out his escape plan and forced himself to stay put on the empty table.

“It is gross.” Solas nodded at him, his smile almost wolf-like as his eyes glittered mischievously. Drynne sighed, forcing the contents down without a thought and going into another coughing fit once he finished the drink.

“Fen’Harel’s balls—” Drynne set the cup down next to him, quickly covered his mouth as he continued to cough, “—th… that was… horrid.”

“The affects will be worse than the taste,” Solas snickered, picking up the wooden cup. “I assure you.”

“A—Affects?” Drynne pushed some hair from his face, furrowing his brows at Solas.

“Yes.” Solas set the cup back down and held his hand out to Drynne. “And I should get you someplace safe before you start to feel them.” Drynne hummed, taking Solas’ hand and allowing his lover to lead him away. 

“What are these 'affects'?” Drynne questioned as he followed Solas up the stairs, back to the main hall.

“The usual from home-remedies.” Solas shrugged, letting go of Drynne’s hand once they entered the main hall and moving his arm around the elf’s shoulder. “Fatigue, dizziness, nausea—”

“I’m feeling… kinda high.” Drynne whispered as they passed some nobles, eyeing them wirily. He noticed their sudden silence as he passed them with Solas. “Did… Is that an affect?”

Solas nodded, opening the door to the tower leading up to Drynne’s quarters, “It helps the nausea, and also helps you fall asleep easily. You won’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep until—”

“Until I see your sexy ass in the fade.” Drynne snorted, his words slurred, as Solas kicked the door shut behind them. Drynne cheekily smiled at Solas’ flushed ears, laughing as Solas rolled his eyes. “You did this to me. You need to suffer your consequences—”

“I did not get you sick, vhenan.” Solas reminded his love, moving his hand down to wrap around Drynne’s waist as the elf swayed. He took Drynne’s arm and wrapped it over his neck as he guided the elf to his room. “You are lucky I am helping you suffer your consequences quicker than others if they were in this situation.”

“Aw.” Drynne’s head lulled to the side as they walked up the steps, “I knew I was special, ma vhenan, but the fact that you would ignore everyone else that was sick and only help me is truly touching.” Solas chuckled as the reached the top of the stairs, pushing the door to Drynne’s room open and helping the elf to bed.

“I am glad I was able to help.” Solas set Drynne down on the bed, helping the elf remove his usual Skyhold attire.

“You always help.” Drynne looked up at his love, a childish, toothy grin spreading across his lips as Solas paused in undoing the clasps on his vest. “No matter what, Solas is always there to save the day.”

“I… am not always there.” Solas said quietly, going back to the task at hand. “I won’t always be there, Drynne.”

“Drynne.” Drynne sighed his name, ignoring Solas' grim and fatalistic comment as he fell back against the bed once Solas undid all the clasps. Drynne yawned, turning over and crawling under the covers, ignoring the clothes he didn’t take off, “I love it when you say my name. You should say it more often.”

“Keep going on like this and I will be saying it more often.” Solas ducked as one of Drynne’s shoes was flung towards him, the other following suit soon after before Drynne curled into the fifteen pillows he had. Solas shook his head, a smile on his lips and he headed towards the stairs.

“Solas…” Drynne picked his head up from the pillows, his eyes hooded with sleep as they looked at Solas. “You’re… You’re not leaving, right?”

“I will only be a moment.” Solas nodded to Drynne, taking another step down the stairs. “I need to—”

“I meant leaving Skyhold, leaving… leaving me?”

Solas looked back at Drynne, furrowing his brows. Leaving him? Solas went back a step, meeting Drynne’s now worried and tired gaze once again.

“…What brought on this line of questioning?” 

“J—Just… Nightmares.” Drynne pursed his lips as he stumbled with his words before shaking his head, shoving all thoughts of his recent fear away. “N—Never mind… I’ll—”

“I would not dream of leaving you, ma’sal’shiral.” Solas spoke firmly, his hand fisting at his side while the other clamped tightly onto the railing. “I am here.” 

Solas walked down the last of the stairs after seeing a lazy and tired smile on Drynne’s face before letting his head fall back down in the pillows. Solas went back to the rotunda, rubbing the back of his neck as he sat back down in his chair. He stared down at the tome, forgotten – once again – by him. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his thighs as he caught his face between his hands.

I would not dream of leaving you, ma’sal’shiral.

One of the few truths he has told since returning to Tarasyl'an Te'las.

He would never dream of leaving Drynne – never would allow himself to dream of something so painful, so inevitable… But, he knew, one day he would have to leave this man; he knew that since before he confessed his love to Drynne.

He would leave him, but he would never dream of it. Ever.

One small truth in all the lies he has told.

Even if this truth was only a half-truth.

It was better than another lie.