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writer-dreams · 5 years ago

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I read your post "Enough" and I loved it so much! I was wondering if I could get another Slytherin Reader who is with Draco. She has anger issues and sometimes punches walls (hurting herself) because she blames herself harshly whenever she fails or messes up. Maybe, she's a death eater and she accidentally got Draco hurt (not killed) somehow? And he comforts her and tells her to stop blaming herself. Whatever you decide, I'm super excited to read. Thanks again❤️

Not Your Fault (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Hello, thank you so much to @beautifulbows924 for requesting. This has been sitting in my inbox for so long, it’s about time I got to it! I hope it’s close to what you wanted and I also hope you enjoy!

House: Slytherin

Blood Status: You choose

Warning: Mentions of torture, blood, self harm, and blaming oneself. Angsty.

Note: Angsty. The reader in this story is female / uses female pronouns.

Word Count: 3,123 words

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

3rd Person POV

"Draco, you know what we're doing could get us killed, right?" Y/n stated to her blonde-haired boyfriend.

The male nodded silently and urged her to continue moving. The two knew that if they were caught here, they would both be executed by the Dark Lord. Although the very idea of that terrified them, they pushed on. They had to, it was the right thing to do. The once lively corridors of Hogwarts were now dark and deathly silent. The only source of light was the soft blue light emitting from Y/n's wand.

Y/n and Draco hated their current situation. The both of them were Death Eaters, definitely not by choice. They were held at wand point and threatened that if they didn't join then one of them would die. Y/n blamed herself, cursing herself for not being stronger, for not being able to defend herself. She felt personally responsible for making the two of them what they despised most. She hated that now the two of them had the ugly tattoo of the Dark Lord on their arms permanently. This is why she sought to make things right.

Since last summer, she had been sneaking out of the Death Eater headquarters and coming to meet Potter. She would tell the boy of the upcoming attacks and brought the plans for the next week. She knew it was dangerous business, but as long as it could help Harry defeat Voldemort, she could care less. It wasn't until a few months later, that Draco caught her and joined along. He too knew the risks, but he just wanted for this war to be over, and spend the rest of his life with Y/n. They had promised to each other that if one of them had been compromised, that the other must keep silent and continue giving Harry information.

So here they were, creeping around the halls of Hogwarts, trying to get to the Room of Requirement, where Harry was surely waiting for them. The couple quickly scurried up the stairs to the seventh floor, constantly checking over their shoulders to see if they were being followed. They finally stopped walking when they reached the familiar tapestry. On the wall across from the banner, the door to the Room of Requirement appeared. As the door was opened, they spotted Harry, Ron and Hermione standing by a table, talking amongst themselves. The trio turned with hopeful faces when the door swung open as they noticed who entered the room.

Y/n was always grateful for the golden trio. They were some of her closest friends and she could trust them with anything. When she had first told them about her relationship with Draco, they accepted it with a little time and threatened Draco that if he ever broke her heart, they would curse him into next year. They weren't angry when she told them that she had become a Death Eater. They understood what was at risk and knew that she would never support Voldemort. It was at times like this, she was glad she had such great friends.

So far, the Order of the Phoenix have been able to intercept and stop any attacks that the Dark Lord attempted. Voldemort was getting frustrated but he didn't yet suspect any traitors on his own side.

"Y/n, Malfoy." Harry greeted as he pulled her into a hug. "Were you careful that you weren't followed?"

"Yes, everyone else back there still believes that we're in the manor." Y/n nodded.

"Then we better get this over with quickly before they notice." Hermione stated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry studied the girl in front of him. Y/n's eyes definitely had heavier bags underneath, and she was noticeably smaller than he remembered. He knew that she was stressed and blamed herself, though nothing he said could convince her otherwise.

He remembered the first time she had told him of the plan, that she would act as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix from within the Death Eaters. At first, he disapproved of her plan. He didn't want another one of his best friends to die. However, he saw the desperation in her eyes, the desperation to do something right, to dig herself out of the hole of self-hatred she had placed herself in. He reluctantly agreed, giving Y/n what she felt was a sense of redemption, for being weak and powerless against the Death Eaters.

He watched her as she spilled out all the places that the Death Eaters planned to terrorize for the next week. Malfoy stood beside her, often adding some extra details that Y/n would forget. It seemed so long ago that the five of them were sitting at a table during Hogsmeade weekend. Ron would be playing wizard's chess with him, Hermione would be reading a book next to Ron, Y/n and Malfoy would also be seated and enjoying each other's company. Harry would kill just for another moment like that, where they didn't have to worry about a dark lord, where they weren't risking their lives everyday, where they were all together and enjoying life.

Of course, that wish wouldn't be granted until this war was over. He hated it. This war, everyone involved, they were fighting for him. His friends were willing to put their lives on the line for him, for the good side to win.

Y/n finished what she was saying, handing a couple of papers to Hermione. She bade them goodbye, saying to meet back here next week. Malfoy followed close behind, his hand moving closer to Y/n's until he had grabbed it and their fingers interlaced with each other. Harry narrowed his eyes at the sight, he still wasn't exactly the biggest fan of Malfoy, he still thought he was a prat. However, even if he hated to say it, he was grateful that Y/n had Malfoy with her. That she wasn't alone at the Death Eater headquarters.

He admitted that at first, he wasn't exactly the most enthused to hear about her relationship. As he watched their love blossom, Harry noticed the way that Malfoy looked at Y/n. It was always filled with affection and adoration for her, proving to Harry that this relationship was true and it wasn't just Malfoy toying around with her. Harry could see that the two of them were willing to die for the other, which was something that he admired, how deep their affections ran for each other. Slowly, he began to accept Malfoy as some sort of close ally, though never as a friend. Maybe once upon a time, he would have wished for their relationship to end but now, he couldn't find someone better for Y/n.

Take care of her, Malfoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A couple of months had passed. Months of acting as spies for the Order of the Phoenix. It was starting to get harder and harder to sneak out, with Voldemort ordering for there to be more security around the manor. The Dark Lord feared that if the Order had been able to interrupt all of his plans so far, then they would eventually plan to ambush him at the mansion.

Y/n and Draco were laying down on his ridiculously massive bed, Y/n's head rested in Draco's lap as he gently stroked her h/c hair. Suddenly, Narcissa Malfoy opened the door and walked into the room, giving the two teens a grave look.

"What is it, Mother?" Draco asked, trying to mask his fear at his mother's expression.

"Come downstairs. The Dark Lord is hosting a meeting with all of his Death Eaters."

Y/n and Draco exchanged worried looks but got up and followed Narcissa to the dining room. All the Death Eaters were seated around the large table, with two empty spots reserved for Y/n and Draco. Voldemort sat at the furthest end of the table, a terrifying smile on his face.

"Ah, there they are! My favorite young couple!" He grinned evilly.

The two did not reply and opted to silently sit down, trying to ignore the stares from everyone else. Under the table, Draco grasped Y/n's hand and gave her a small, comforting smile. The Dark Lord cleared his throat loudly and got up from his chair.

"So, as all of you know, the Order of the Phoenix has been able to foil all of our plans for the past few months," Voldemort started as he began walking slowly around the table.

"They always appeared to be ready, as though they were expecting us. It has come to my attention that we have a possible traitor in my inner circle." He walked past Y/n and Draco slowly, resting a hand on both their shoulders for a fraction of a second before he continued walking.

"They would have to be someone close to me. Someone sitting right at this very table. Only my most trusted followers may be seated here. They would have heard about my plans and reported it to Potter. So, who is it?"

Nobody moved or said anything. Any movement could lead to the Dark Lord believing you were the traitor. "Anyone? It's better to give yourself up now. No one else has to be hurt."

Still, everyone was as still as a statue. Even Narcissa had a blank look on her face to stop any emotion. "If you won't come out, then I suppose I'll torture it out of you. Each and every one of you." Voldemort sneered.

He pointed a wand at Y/n. "L/n! How about you be the first to feel how painful a 'Crucio' curse can be." He scowled.

"No wait!" Draco shouted while standing up, drawing Voldemort's attention from Y/n. "It's me! I'm the traitor! Torture me, not her!"

"No, my Dark Lord! It is me! Please, I beg you, don't hurt Draco!" Y/n cried out, also getting out of her seat.

"Don't listen to her! She had nothing to do with it! She's just trying to protect me."

Voldemort smirked at the two. He fiddled with his wand with his long fingers. His face was twisted with cruel smile and he chuckled a little.

"Ah, young love. You two would truly sacrifice yourself for each other. It's pathetic. Love is weak, darling. You'll learn that nothing good comes out of it. Take this, for example. Love is forcing you to suffer through pain, and for what? Just so your partner can live? How utterly ridiculous." Voldemort laughed. "Now, Malfoy, you're claiming that you are the true traitor and she's lying to protecting you?"

Draco nodded, though Y/n was sobbing and squeezing his hand tightly, begging him to just let her take the blame.

"Very well. You shall be taken in and executed for your betrayal to me." The Dark Lord walked over to Y/n and held her chin tightly between his index finger and his thumb. "Look here, my dear. Look at what love does to you. You plan to die for a person that will most likely forget you in 30 years. What is the point? The answer is nothing. After your lover here is gone, I hope you'll change your mind about something as useless as love."

He let go of her chin and adjusted his cloak. Two Death Eaters got up and casted a spell on Draco so he had heavy chains bound tightly against his wrists. Y/n couldn't move in fear of what the Dark Lord would do to her. She could hear Narcissa also crying out. Lucius stayed silent with a poker-face. Y/n couldn't even tell if he cared if his son was going to be executed.

"Wait, my Lord!" Narcissa shouted, her hand outstretched. Voldemort turned, seemingly amused at the pain in her voice. "My Lord, please. Lucius and I have been such loyal followers to you. I'm begging you to spare my son. Perhaps we could simply lock him away or prevent him from being able to hear us."

Voldemort seemed to consider this for a moment. He then nodded towards Narcissa, who's rigid posture relaxed slightly. "Very well. You are correct that the two of you have been some of my closest followers. It's a shame that your son couldn't do the same. The boy will be spared, however he will be tortured as punishment for what he's done. Then, he will never be able to attend any other meetings to prevent future plans from being spread."

He leaned closer to Draco, who had changed his expression to a blank one, similar to his father's. "When I'm done with you, you'll have wished that I had killed you instead."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n paced around in Draco's room. Her head was spinning and she felt sick. From somewhere deep in the manor, she could hear Draco's bloodcurdling screams. Her hands were balled up tightly into fists, digging her nails into her palm. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she faced the nearest wall and punched it with as much force as she could. The wall cracked but she could care less. This was her fault. She should have told Harry to leave some of the plans alone to evade suspicion. This was her idea. She was caught and failed but Draco ended up paying the price for it. She punched the wall again, ignoring the pain that shot up her arm. It was probably nothing compared to what Draco was going through.

Again and again, she relentlessly attacked the wall. Again and again, she pictured Draco's poor face and listened to his screams that would surely haunt her nightmares. Her tears streamed down her face and they showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. Why did Draco love her? He didn't deserve to suffer the consequences of her actions. She should be down there. She should be the one that Voldemort was torturing. It should be her that was screaming, not her lovely boyfriend. Her fists were bleeding but she brushed it aside and continued her assault on the wall, screaming like a banshee.

By the time she was done, there was a decent hole in the wall and her fists were dripping blood. Did she care? No, not when her boyfriend was still downstairs and suffering. Any pain she was going through right now, Draco was feeling it ten times stronger. She leaned her head against the wall, sinking down slowly to the floor. She took her head into her bloody, shaky hands. The salty tears began to drip into her cuts, causing them to sting. She felt pathetically weak, wanting nothing more than for the floor to swallow her whole. She wasn't sure when or how, but she soon felt her eyes grow heavy and darkness surround her as sleep overtook her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke up to the door opening. It was clear that the person was trying to be quiet, as they closed the door quietly behind them. Y/n was drowsy and wasn't sure what time it was. Outside, it was dark and moonlight spilled into the room through the open windows, barely lighting the room. How long did she spend on the floor? Her neck ached and her hands had dried blood all over them. She continued to watch the intruder, seeing them limping in her direction. At first, she didn't recognize them and her heart lurched thinking that it was a Death Eater coming to drag her downstairs. She tried to get up but as soon as she moved her head, the world spun wildly and she stumbled. Y/n looked back to the intruder but stopped as she saw the familiar blonde hair in the moonlight.

Immediately, she stopped and waited for Draco. He limped closer to her, his face contorting in pain with every step. He sat next to her on the floor slowly before rummaging through his pocket and pulling out a first-aid kit. He gently took her hands, seeing the blood, and taking out rolls of bandages from the kit.

"Draco..." Y/n tried to speak but Draco stopped her as he started to wrap her hands.

"I heard you screaming from downstairs. Clearly, I wasn't the only one who was tortured tonight." His face was the only thing she could see as the darkness hid the rest of his body. She could see his dark and tired eyes, his split lip and the various cuts that were scattered all over his skin. She immediately felt bad. Here was Draco, dressing her wounds before he could tend to his own, which were surely worse than hers.

"Draco, I'm fine. You're the one who needs medical help." She allowed him to finish wrapping her knuckles before she turned to him, with the kit between them.

"I'm fine." Draco brushed her aside.

"That's hogwash."

He reluctantly allowed her to help him undress, revealing all the bruises that littered his body. There was a large gash on his chest in the shape of a V. Y/n gasped and her guilt only grew. It was her fault that he was like this. If she had just been more careful, if she hadn't let him help her, if she hadn't-

"Y/n." Draco's soft voice interrupted her racing thoughts. She looked up at him with regret in her eyes.

"Don't you dare blame yourself for this. I know that face, I know you're thinking of all the things you could've done to avoid this. However, the truth is, nothing could have escaped this. I was tortured and I would do it again and again if it meant keeping you safe from that Dark Lord bastard." He pressed a kiss to her bandaged hands, "Don't hurt yourself over things you can't control. We both knew what we were getting into. I love you so much and I would never regret giving myself up for you."

He looked so sincere that Y/n felt tears running down her cheeks again. Draco wiped away her tears before kissing her lips softly.

"I love you too." She whispered back before she pulled away and began bandaging his wounds. "Draco, how are we going to help Harry? Now Voldemort has locked us in this damned manor and there's no way to leave. I don't know any way to help him anymore."

"You've already done as much as you could. Trust me, you've more than redeemed yourself. Now, the rest is up to Potter." His warm eyes bore into hers as she finished wrapping, pulling her close to him and laying her head in his lap.

Y/n closed her eyes as Draco soothingly raked his fingers gently through her hair. He was right, she had done all that she could at this point. Now the two of them had to hope it was enough for Harry to defeat Voldemort.

**********************************************

Once again, I want to thank @beautifulbows924 for requesting this, I actually enjoyed writing this one. I’m sorry if this was triggering or really horrible to read. I am in NO way romanticizing torture, self harm, or blaming oneself. If you are suffering from any of these, please seek help. My inbox is always open and you are always welcome to PM me if you need someone to talk to. Thank you for reading this story. If you have any requests, feel free to ask. Until next time.

-Jade

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ofgoodmenarchive · 4 years ago

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The sixth in a series of drabbles exploring my Blood Mage!Dorian.

Trust Fall

“Careful with him-” Dorian grunted, shifting Lavellan's weight to a new pair of arms. “He's lighter than he looks- but his stature is still rather cumbersome.”

Noting his advice, the healers were cautious with their new patient, trying their best not to leave any limbs dragging. Dorian had carried him through the fort and now deposited his lifeless form at whatever passed for a surgeon's station. Hopefully their abilities surpassed the low expectation he had of this Southern, backwater hovel.

Released from his charge, he collapsed in exhaustion, back-against-wall, vaguely overhearing scraps of dialogue from within. Not even a gasp was allowed before his insides wrenched painfully, as if a small inferno struggled for escape.

Dorian jerked forward with a hiss and Desire sprung from it's host, swaying and dizzied.

“For-the love-of-!” Though he squinted in displeasure, his shadow barely offered a glance before slipping through the door- after Lavellan.

With a groan he slouched into brick, not having the stamina to protest.

Paw-pads echoed softly through the hall- Lunis' dropped into his lap a second later.

“Oof!” Sighing wearily, he pet the dog. “Yes, yes, that's a good boy...”

For a short time he sat and lamented the whole blasted affair. Not that there was anything to do for it- even if he could convince his Desire to abandon it's attraction, Thedas would be in disarray without its Herald. Then how would Dorian continue his much-favoured lifestyle of roaming, drinking and pleasuring?

Still- he was irritated. Drained of energy and lacking immediate options- Lavellan was in no shape to sustain him in any manner. If he couldn't locate a butcher for some meat or blood or some such, he'd be reduced to hunting vermin in the cellars. Not a favoured meal by any stretch.

“I SAID- NO!!” A familiar voice barked out, brimming with panic- “DO NOT TOUCH ME!- THE BLOOD MAGE! I SAID- FETCH- THE- BLOOD MAGE!!”

Jostling practically out of his robes, Dorian and Lunis swerved to face the door in tandem. It flew ajar, revealing a servant who had led them into the property, pale-faced and obviously shaken.

“L-Lord-um?” He struggled to address, a whirl of smashed glass and incoherent Dalish warring behind.

“Pavus.”

“Y-yes, ah, Lord Pavus- the Herald, he- no one can get near him! He's asking for you...”

For a second he didn't think he heard right- why would Lavellan ask for him? Just some hours prior the man had been undecided on whether or not to gut him like a 'Tevinter pig'!

Back on his feet, Dorian sprinted inside, where he was met by a trio of petrified healers, recoiling from the Herald. With radiant blade unleashed he stood in a corner, a cot toppled near him, along with a mess of fractured potions and poultices.

If the healers looked scared- Lavellan looked more-so; in his wide-eyed, snarling terror he'd chosen 'fight' over 'flight', the feral warping of his face ensuring to all that he would strike them down without hesitation.

“Herald- I'm here!” Dorian situated himself between the healers and Lavellan, arms outstretched. “You can put that down! No one's going to touch you!”

Wordlessly, that rabid gaze flit between Dorian and the servants over his shoulder. Following the motion, he understood.

One of the healers looked dreadfully familiar- though last they'd met, his features had been significantly bloodied.

Granted- in the future they'd visited, that man had likely been corrupted in some manner, enslaved by Venatori. Obviously Lavellan couldn't be expected to digest such a nuance, not with his wounds- the physical and mental- so sorely fresh.

Dorian recognised immediately that everyone in that room would have to leave.

“OUT!” He bellowed, whirling upon them. “All of you OUT!”

They hurried to obey, door slamming at their departure.

Lavellan bucked against the thrown cot, swearing in garbled Dalish as his weapon clattered, whatever adrenaline had willed his muscles to grip now absent.

“I'm going to need to take a look at your arm.” Dorian said slowly, not yet approaching. “Will you allow me, my dear Herald?”

He was briefly sized up but soon offered a nod and Dorian was permitted to close the space between them. First he righted the cot, gently guiding Lavellan to relax upon it. All the while he was stiff as tree-bark, despite yielding to hands that steadied him.

“...You know...” He decided to mention, thinking it might help. “Those men in the future- they were enthralled, influenced by the Venatori...”

“I do not care.” Lavellan answered solidly, glowering at the floor.

“...You've never been through any sort of torture before, have you?”

To this no reply was given- which said enough. It occurred to Dorian that as intimidating and firm as the Herald might appear, he'd probably lived an uneventful, idyllic life before coming into his namesake. That would fit in with what little of his upbringing he'd shared previously.

The poor fool was likely terrorised out of his wits. It was miraculous that he could speak in full sentences at all, or could come to such simplistic reasoning as 'Blood Mage saved me, therefore safe'.

A testament to how hardy he was under all that blood and matted hair, Dorian thought. Discarding such admiration for now, he honed in on the Herald's injuries. Asides from his anchor-bearing arm, he seemed only scraped and bruised- if not awfully malnourished.

“Alright, just hold still...” He cooed, unwinding bandages from the mutilated limb. “I'll try to be gentle...”

Muscles flinched but didn't recoil, Lavellan remaining in stony quiet. With the wrappings cast aside Dorian was able to properly inspect the damage; flesh terribly scarred, covered in stitches, marred by old stitches that had been removed, then replaced anew. Incisions on top of incisions on top of incisions, malformed dents and whirls creating a mess that barely resembled a shoulder-blade anymore.

It occurred to Dorian with some dismay and horror that they'd simply begun yanking out muscles and ligaments when nothing else bore fruit. It was no wonder Lavellan could hardly move his arm- it was a wonder he could at all, let alone to threaten healers with a magical blade.

“...You're actually missing pieces of your arm and shoulder, I assume you're aware?”

Lavellan merely issued a grunt.

“...Alright, well, just sit tight.”

Turning away from his patient, Dorian perused what alchemical resources had been unharmed by the minor Dalish rampage. A well-mixed regenerative potion could regrow the vacant flesh overtime, though his arm would never work as well as it used to. With some of Dorian's own abilities to manipulate the process, there would be a better chance at adequate recovery- and a speedier one, which he imagined was important.

He began picking out chemicals and mingling them together, explaining as he did;

“...I'm mixing a potion for you. It should numb most of the pain and eventually mend some damage- but I must inform you, my Herald...the destruction is severe. The best I- or anyone can do...is to prevent you from being crippled entirely...”

He noted that Lavellan's mouth twitched- the mildest of spasms. Asides from that the elf said nothing and made no eye contact, his expression a wooden mask.

With a tired exhale Dorian sat before him, potion in one hand while the other raised, curling to poise against a ring he always wore.

“Do you trust me?” He inquired meaningfully, eyes pinning to the elf's face until he found it in himself to meet Dorian's gaze.

Mutely, Lavellan nodded.

“Then trust me when I say this is for your own good, and won't benefit me in anyway.” It would, in fact, only add to his weariness, after such a long day with nothing to 'eat'.

The Herald continued to view him in expectant silence.

Tugging at a concealed hinge, Dorian pulled it apart from his ring and swiped the blade along his fingers, red instantly oozing from the slit. An old trick he'd acquired if he ever needed to utilise blood and no one else's was handy. Today, his blood in specific was precisely what he required.

Lavellan did not cease his observation but nor did he react- merely watching.

Dorian proceeded to dribble his life-force into the potion, squeezing until minor injuries clotted. He then swirled the bottle, allowing his vital liquids to assimilate with other ingredients, until the contents were dyed pinkish.

“Drink up, Herald.” He held out the end result and was a little alarmed by how it was simply removed from his hand and sipped, barely afforded a second look.

“You need to drink the whole thing.” He directed.

“It tastes metallic.” Lavellan pointed out, flat.

“Well, yes,” Dorian snorted. “That's because there's blood in it.”

Shrugging with his able shoulder, Lavellan gulped down the rest, wincing slightly at what had to be a peculiar and sharp taste.

“It should stop hurting so much soon- and you might start feeling more relaxed.”

Though his chin bobbed in acknowledgement, still the elf had nothing to add.

“Well...let's have them bring a tub in here, hrm? I'm sure you'd like to attend to your hygiene, after being stuck in a kennel for Maker-knows how long.”

Not waiting for a verbal response- there had been few thus far- he strode off to the exit and was thankful to spot that same servant, idling for any sort of command.

“Have a tub filled and brought here, will you? Just because we're in Ferelden doesn't mean he should go about smelling of dog- and have one filled for me too! Elsewhere, wherever.”

When he turned back towards the room, Lavellan was regarding him strangely.

“...Something the matter?”

“You are leaving?” The elf mumbled, the strangeness of his gaze increasing.

“Well- for a few moments...we both need a bath- and you're already caked in enough dirt for two.”

Lavellan appeared to battle with something internally, shoulders hunching, teeth gnawing a lip.

Eventually, he found his voice- as small as it was.

“I do not trust the people here.”

“I...” Dorian faltered, not predicting this. “Well, they're your people, my Herald...”

“Are they?” He mumbled sourly, withdrawing further into himself.

“...Alright, wait just a moment-” Sticking his head passed the door-frame, Dorian called. “Lunis! Where in the void did you-”

Feet scampered by, the loyal wolf almost shoving him aside in its haste to enter and pounce upon its master, who snorted with a hint of cheer, embracing the overgrown pup to his chest.

“There you go! See, Lunis will look after you.”

The creature snarled in agreement, wriggling merrily in Lavellan's grasp.

“Very well...” He said into Lunis' fur, very quietly. “...You may go.”

“Why, thank you so much for the permission!” Dorian chuckled, rolling his eyes as he departed to locate wherever his own tub was being prepared.

On his way he felt Desire glaring at him as they walked- and needn't wonder why.

“Yes, yes, I'm being terribly decent- I know you can't stand it.” He huffed, trying to dismiss his shadow. “But he's just so...pathetic right now. It's not especially attractive!”

Desire glared harder.

“I know it's attractive to you- but that's because there's something wrong with you- more than usual!”

Waving the demon off, he tried to ignore how several bystanders were oddly spectating what appeared to be signs of madness.

Washing up swiftly, Dorian meandered to the kitchens, searching for anything that might sustain him in the meantime- blood, bits of fresh meat, anything. He did manage to come about a few scraps and was then prepared to watch over Lavellan.

He was surprised to catch sounds of laughter on his approach- subdued as they were. Sauntering into the room he found Lavellan sitting in a tub- with the bloody dog, of course! Southerners and their bloody dogs! Dorian was beginning to regret and resent his own gift, watching as a nude Herald covered the beast in suds and cackled as it flailed about, spraying bubbles everywhere.

“...You know, the whole point of the bath was for you to smell less of dog...”

Lavellan blinked at that, Lunis panting contently alongside.

“What is wrong with the smell of dog...?”

“...You're certainly Ferelden, I'll give you that.” Eye-rolling along with his snark, he picked a towel that had been laid out with a fresh set of clothes, waving it to gain the Herald's attention. Obliging him, Lavellan clambered out and stumbled into the fabric, allowing Dorian to fold it around his wet frame.

He couldn't help but notice that even in his tumultuous state, the elf's body-heat sky-rocketed at any brief touch. Leashing himself was a trial- fairly sure that if his hand or mouth happened to slip, Lavellan would be more than receptive to the comfort.

Which was exactly the problem- he couldn't have recovered much of his sense yet. Dorian found he loathed the idea of adding more stimulation to what had to be frazzled, overworked nerves.

They should at least get one nights rest before he started thinking of anything like that...

“Here...” He said awkwardly, patting through the towel. “Do you need help getting dressed?”

“I think I can manage.” Cheeks blushed, the elf slipped passed to reach his clothes and Dorian faced the sodden wolf, submerged happily in soapy water.

“...I'm not drying you,” He pouted, still juggling his resentment. “The bath wasn't meant for you anyway!”

With a mournful howl Lunis leapt from the tub, scrambling to brush soaked fur onto Dorian's robes.

“What?! Stop that! Bad dog!!” He near-wailed, feeling truly assaulted while stumbling around the room, wolf at his heels and Lavellan snickering.

“Now we all smell of dog, so there is no reason to complain.” He quipped, voice muffled by the shirt he was wrestling onto his torso.

“Ugh!” Completely disagreeable, Dorian stormed for the other end of the room and flopped onto a mattress.

Soon Lavellan climbed onto the one opposite, accompanied by trotting paw-pads. Lunis hopped onto his same cot, curling against the Herald's chest, who appeared soothed by utilising the beast as a large, rumbling pillow.

Dorian again underwent a pang of envy- then annoyance, as he considered how ludicrous it was that he now longed for the placement of a dog.

He imagined Desire echoed the sentiment; his last memory before slumber was of a dark silhouette perched by the Herald's bed, staring intently.

4 notes · View notes