#he's got a canon divergence when he becomes quizzy

[impossible-rat-babies]

Remembering Ain’t his Strong Suit

Some heavy shit happened in our DA dnd campaign tonight and I gotta write some shit for my boy to cope.

~2000 words, mainly under the cut. CW; blood, violence, body horror.

Dimitri doesn't remember well. He can remember what they had for breakfast that morning--ham and eggs that Daniel made a fuss over, but still ate them with coaxing--and he can remember the journey they took out of town on bumpy carts with suspicions heavy in their heads. At times, he prides himself on his ability to not remember things. It keeps him distant, keeps him safe...it keeps him sane. Good people only burn when they find him.

It’s a thought always on his mind as he carefully watches the companions around him; only one eye means details can slip through the cracks unless he takes his time. Volpo sits with his legs spread, his hands resting on his shield as he watches the rest of them. His bushy beard needs combed out again along with his mustache; at least he had the decency to pull some of his hair out of his face. Elenwhen sits not too far away either, an apple in her slender fingers with her staff resting on her shoulder, preoccupied with simple responses back to Volpo’s teasing. A grin forms behind her beard and she rolls her eyes, taking another bite before tossing the core off the side of the carriage. Dimitri has to turn his head more to examine the dwarf beside him; Renn as he was known. His spear rests against his shoulder, a war hammer tucked into his side. Dimitri watches his eyes trace across the pages of a book and he bites his lip in thought. Dimitri turns his gaze away and looks back to his hands, carefully adjusting the wrappings around them; he adjusts them further up his arm until the wrappings disappear under his shirt sleeve and he looks back down at the quick adjustment, content that he’s covered. Everyone but Renn has seen the scars that line his arms and he is content to keep it that way; few, if any, understand his reasons and he wants to keep it that way.

Halfway through adjusting his other arm, he catches a scent on the breeze and it tickles with a twinge of familiarity. He looks up, his nose wrinkling as more of the scent fills his nose: incense. No one would burn incense in the middle of the woods...He thinks it’s a fluke until he sees Elenwhen and Renn look up, both their eyes wide. He swallows hard, his hands clenching tightly in his staff, senses a-tuned like a fight isn’t far off. He can feel bile rising in his throat and his vision waves in front of him like a distant desert mirage. A pang of an impossibly high pitched screeching fills his ear and he covers it to the sound, but he can still hear it in his deafened ear. His head is playing tricks on him again. 

It’s like he slowly sinks underwater water as the sharp sound fills his ears, blocking out the yelling sounds of his fellow party members. His chest heaves as he sucks down dry air that tastes like the desert--like home--and he sinks off his seat to the floor of the carriage below...

And there’s no longer a carriage below his feet. 

Instead, sand presses against his boots, warmth of it pressing against his feet. It’s a familiar sensation, but not one of comfort. This isn’t a place he’s supposed to be. His gaze drifts up from his feet and the world is moving too slow, but everything is so loud. He blinks and the sounds hit him like a truck.

He hears screaming everywhere; it’s a cacophony around him as the world before him burns. The flames stretch endlessly before him, the sun the only other light in the sky. He sees dark shapes silhouetted in the flames, grasping and yanking at their clothes to try and put out the flames eating them alive; they sink to the ground in a heap and the fire burns his lungs like the pain in his chest. He hears children crying for their parents, their screams and sobs filling his head. He sees small shapes running through the fire and arrows streaming behind them, filling their flesh and knocking them down to soak the sand with life. A figure pulls away from the flames and rushes towards him, their blackened mouth agape in a silent scream. He jerks away and they fall to the ground, their body lifeless and burning in the sand. Everything about him is shaking and his vision blurs as tears stream down his cheeks. He’s had dreams of this day before--of the few moments he can catch from the depths of the Fade when he can make passing agreements with gentle spirits. They always warn him that he will not find solace in the grains of truth they barter, but he still sells away parts of himself for bits of the truth.

It’s the day his clan was razed to the ground.

He pulls his gaze away from the burning body and he hears halla screaming. He never knew a sound worse until the day he heard a halla scream in pain. Through the flames, he sees one streak through the sand, its creamy blonde fur blackening as orange flames consume it like a hungry beast; the majestic antlers burn as the halla falls to the earth, the flames changing to bright blue as it turns to ash. 

A whimper escapes his lips and the flames seem to jerk towards him, changing to Varghests, their jaws dripping with saliva like beasts who haven't eaten in weeks. Dimitri grits his teeth and he holds his hands out in front of him, but the magic is lost as they tremble uncontrollably. Any spark in them fizzles away and the creatures stalk towards him, their growls rising above the cacophony of armageddon. 

They pounce in a flash and he screeches in blinding hot pain; magic suddenly rises to his fingertips and the scene before him is bathed in bright blue flames, scorching not sand...but the wooden floor of the carriage. The carriage jerks and yanks with a start, the display sparking the horse into a bolt. Dimitri tries to move, but his shoulder is firm and the squelch of blood is enough to give him pause. He ventures his gaze to the left side of his chest and shoulder and he swallows back lunch at the sight of a spear buried deep within his body. He can no longer see the tip of it, the entirety of the blade pressed through his body and into the wood of the carriage, pinning him in place. He grunts and his head swims in the pain and dizziness, his lungs unable to take in the breath he needs. Life soaks his lips and he grits his bloodied teeth, his hand limp at his side and useless. 

He can’t stay like this; the horse could run long enough for him to bleed out if the growing collection of blood on the wooden floor was evidence enough. Dimitri sucks in as deep of a breath as he can manage and he lifts his hand, gripping the spear near what is left of the metal and he yanks. The pain is blinding and he can almost feel himself fading out, but he still pulls...but to no avail. He pauses for a moment, clenching his jaw and furrowing his brow to keep some control of his sanity--his grip to consciousness. He adjusts his bloodied hold on the wood of the spear and he pulls again.

Suddenly, the cart jerks violently and he is lifted for all but a second, but enough for his grip to push--rather than pull--the spear into his body. The pain is violent and all encompassing, knocking him into the darkness behind his eyes in an instant.

He knows this isn’t what dying feels like; he’s nearly made that bargain with the demon always on his doorstep. Death feels like darkness...like sinking into something that will succeed at drowning you. There is no bargaining with shadow that chokes your lungs and stills your heart. But this...this feels like floating in nothing. He should be drowning, but he knows the rules of this place; he need not breathe in the Fade when he can shape it by his whim. The floating slowly fades and he comes to rest upon smooth and featureless ground, inky grey all around him. His heart still beats in his chest, a steady rhythm perfect for the featureless view around him. It holds nothing no matter how far he ventures; concrete movements in the Fade is like trying to grasp air. It’s ever-changing and impossible to understand.

It could’ve been moments or weeks--the Fade has no concept of time--when he sees a shape in the grey, just out of reach. He wonders if it’s a wisp and he carefully watches it dance through the grey before it comes close. He can feel it when it’s still and close; he slowly closes his eyes and it’s like the warm touch of the sun against his skin and gentle fingers gliding through his hair with practiced ease. In the Fade, understanding is immediate and he slowly opens his eyes; a pair of gold eyes with a bright smile meets him and he immediately reaches out like a starved man, his hands cupping his cheeks. 

Elrahal’s face is impossible soft in his hands and it hasn't changed a day; the corners of his eyes still wrinkle with his smile and love fills his golden gaze. His soft lips press a kiss to his palm and Dimitri feels the warmth spread across his whole body. It’s a warmth he cannot describe, but it feels like home as it seeps into his bones and cradles him softly.

“Is this what coming home feels like?”

The smile fades from Elrahal’s bright smiling lips and he slowly shakes his head. Words don’t govern this place--feelings do.

“You still have too much time left.”

He feels a weight press against his chest again as the hands leave his face, taking the warmth with it. It’s like the sun has left his skin and it’s like he’s the moon, always chasing after it’s love.

His (lost) love. 

“We’ll be together soon.”

The words aren’t as much heard as felt as the last of the warmth fades away, along with the darkness of the Fade.

“Dimitri!! Wake up!” A voice shouts and his eyes shoot open. The sun burns his eyes and the smoke still stuck in his lungs burns his throat. He coughs and coughs, pushing himself onto his side. He rubs his throat with his hand and he spits, the saliva blackened and bloodied against the green grass. He heaves a breath and he swallows anything left.

He looks to see Elenwhen carefully watching him with her steely blue eyes and he waves his hand; pain no longer radiates from his shoulder and the last bits of green light fade from her hands. He waves her off with a look and she pushes herself up. Dimitri wipes his hand along his jaw and cheeks, soot and blood coming up. He looks to his shoulder and wipes his hand against the already bloodied fabric. He coughs again and he leans forward, pressing the fist of his injured shoulder to the ground. His shoulder gives and moves, the movement a little rough before it smooths away. He presses more weight to it and it holds; he moves to stand, but it’s his legs that betray him and he falters briefly.

But, sturdy hands grasp his and steady him. Volpo’s breath his harsh behind his beard, but concern fills his eyes and Dimitri is almost touched by the fondness.

“Are you okay?” He asks quietly and Dimitri forces chuckle from his lips.

“Don’t we have a man to catch?” He responds and a grin fills Volpo’s face for a moment.

There were many things in this world that could take him down and many had tried before, but he wasn't going to quit. He couldn't quit.

He cleared his throat and picked up his staff from the dirt, the charms clinking together and he lit them with his mana.

It still wasn’t his time after all; Elrahal was many things: a fighter, a caretaker, a husband...a lover. But he was--is--no liar.

Dar’thenaras will not die today.

#da: fanfic #da: inquisitor #da:i #da: inquisition #well kinda #he's got a canon divergence when he becomes quizzy #but for now yeah #oc tag #Dimitri #forgive this for possibly being strange it is five am