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Here. On the Floor.

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Max was tired.

The battle was long since over years ago. The war won for now. With the mark gone (along with part of his arm), he knew things would never be the same, but not like this.

Max felt heavy and slow with each step, sore without reason. It seemed like the lovely large house he had acquired for Varric in Kirkwall was now TOO large. The stairs seemed too tall and the halls were too long. Max spent most of his time, sitting in a chair by the fire, feeling useless.

Dorian noticed far more than he let on, hoping Maxwell would confide in him in his own time. But the former Inquisitor was stubborn and would place a forced smile on his face and tell Dorian he was “just fine”. But Dorian knew better.

He knew Max was beginning to isolate himself. He stopped going with Dorian out to the small market and shops around Kirkwall. He would rarely attend outings with their neighbors, and, if he did, he was exhausted halfway through the visit (though, with neighbors like Varric and Hawke, who wouldn’t be exhausted). There were more nights now that Dorian would go to bed alone while his Amatus would continue to sit by the fire.

Enough was enough when Dorian snuck downstairs in the middle of the night, to hear sobbing from that sacred chair by the fire.

“Amatus, what’s wrong?”

Max looked over to Dorian with tired eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He lets out a shaky breath and says, “I’m in pain,”

Dorian waited for Max to compose himself and just listened,

“I’m in pain constantly. When I walk, when I sit, when I stand. I h-hurt all over, Dorian. I don’t know why. I fight a war, I save the world, right all the wrongs I can, and someone somewhere out wherever,” Max makes a wild, hysterical gesture towards the sky, “is still angry with me for something!”

“Amatus, no one is angry at you. You did amazing things and fought terrible battles, and survived them all. But I’m afraid you didn’t survive them completely unscathed, you lost an arm and your body, I believe, is feeling the affects of years of battle and war,”

Dorian knelt down by the chair and opened his arms and Max just fell into them, crying again, taking them both to the floor.

“You are a good man and the love of my life. When you hurt, I hurt. I want to be there for you, but I can’t if you won’t tell me. What can I do to help you Amatus? What can I do to make years of battlescarring ease their ache?”

Maxwell chuckled through the tears, laying beside his husband, “you romantic sap.” And this made both of them laugh again.

“There’s too much to say right now and I’m too tired to say it,” Max yawn and curls in to Dorian closer, “but this is the most comfortable I’ve been in days.”

“Here? On the floor?”

“Here. On the floor. With you.”

And so Dorian stayed there, on the floor. What was one night of discomfort anyways? He had his Amatus to comfort.