Work Text:
Ashur stumbles backwards, ending up flopping down on top of the rubble of a fallen pillar as the edge of it hits the back of his knees. The eclipse still bathes Minrathous in a red light, smoke and ashes from the destruction of the city making everything look even worse. There’s a loud, thunderous crackling sound coming from all around them, like hundreds of dead trees in a forest just got snapped in half.
“Ashur! Are you okay?” Tarquin sprints over, hand on the hilt of his sword and ready to fight off even an invisible enemy. He kneels in front of him and puts a hand on Ashur’s leg, zeroed in full focus on Ashur as if whatever is going on around them isn’t even important.
Ashur’s head spins and he leans forward to put it in his hands, his hat getting knocked off in the process. The touch on his thigh doesn’t exactly help with the dizziness, especially not when Tarquin squeezes his grip a little, even if it’s the one pleasant point on his body right now.
“I feel—my head—”
“What’s wrong?”
Unable to focus on him even as Tarquin ducks his head to catch his gaze, Ashur cries out from the sudden pain coursing through him.
Pressure builds at his throat, spreading up the back of his neck to his forehead. For one long agonizing moment his whole body feels paralyzed, frozen in place while his veins get set on fire—then, like a spell interrupted mid-casting, he’s freed.
He falls forward as the tension releases, just barely managing to catch himself with a hand on the nearest thing. Which happens to be Tarquin’s bicep. Ashur’s head snaps up. Everything is—
Silent.
Not around them. There’s still the cries of battle in the distance, buildings on fire nearby making loud snapping noises as the wooden structures fall.
But there’s no song in his head. He can’t sense any nearby darkspawn, no constant noise hissing at the back of his mind. Everything seems startlingly clear for the first time in months, like coming out of a neverending fog and seeing the world for what it is again.
“Ashur.” Tarquin’s voice is shaky, his dark eyes widening as he grabs Ashur by the face to stare at him.
“What?” Ashur furrows his brows, trying to adjust to the sudden shift of being hit with too many senses at once, the world a little too sharply focused.
“Your—your eyes, you’re—they’re not—” Tarquin’s hands tremble where they’re cupping Ashur’s jaw. Then he looks around, checking to see that they’re alone, before yanking Ashur’s mask down.
“What are you—?”
“It’s gone! Maker, the blight’s—Ashur, it’s gone.”
Ashur shakes his head, still disoriented. He doesn’t know if it’s all from whatever is going on in this moment or the big hit he took to his head earlier when the blight tentacle flung him out of its path. “What? How would—?”
“Look!” Tarquin takes one of Ashur’s hands in his, pulling the clawed glove off.
Ashur stares down at the back of his own hand, matching Tarquin’s stunned expression. No black marks line his veins, no sign of the deep spread of the corruption in his body that’d been there just moments before.
It makes sense. It’s the only thing that could explain why his head has gone quiet. But it doesn’t make sense.
“How would this even happen?” he says. “There’s no cure—”
“Listen.” Tarquin orders him, and Ashur obeys. He hadn’t realized until now, but the sounds of battle have transformed—instead of cries, the noise in the far distance sounds like loud cheering.
Ashur looks around. All the blight growths and boils, the vicious tentacles they’ve had to fight off… it’s all still and dried up, like whatever kept them alive has left them.
“They did it,” Tarquin says and grips Ashur by the thighs again with a loud, surprised laugh. “Rook the crazy bastard must’ve fucking done it. He killed Elgar’nan!”
“We—we can’t know for certain yet,” Ashur tries, even though he would do anything to keep that smile on Tarquin’s beautiful face. Especially now, after all these months of having to watch him worry himself sick over Ashur. “If it’s really gone—”
“Oh, shut it,” Tarquin cuts him off. “I’m supposed to be the pessimist here.”
Ashur stays silent for a moment, slowly letting it all sink in. “Quin… I do—I really do feel like it’s… it’s like it’s just left.” He meets Tarquin’s gaze. “I think. I might be okay.”
Tarquin blinks, his eyes shining wetly with tears suddenly. One of his hands grip Ashur’s leg so hard it makes Ashur’s heart stutter.
Then Tarquin curls the fingers of his other hand into a fist and punches Ashur’s thigh hard.
“Ow!”
“I thought I’d lose you, you bloody bastard!” he shouts. “For good. If not to your impulsive reckless self-sacrificing bullshit, then to this fucking shit you got as a reward for it, and I—”
He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath.
“Quin—” Ashur doesn’t get anything else out, because Tarquin grabs him by the face with both hands, then surges in to kiss him. Ashur makes a shocked noise as their mouths knock together a little too hard, both of their lips a little dry and the angle a little off as Tarquin presses up against him fiercely.
It’s the most perfect thing Ashur has ever experienced.
Pulling away with a loud smack, Tarquin still holds him, fingers at his neck and thumbs pressing in front of Ashur’s ears.
“I can’t believe you’re alive,” Tarquin says, voice hoarse.
Ashur swallows. “Couldn’t leave you until you finally did that.”
Tarquin’s expression melts, and then he’s surging in to kiss him again. This time Ashur meets him with more awareness, wrapping his arms around Tarquin’s waist and pulling him closer, pulling him in. Suddenly he finds himself with a lap full of Tarquin as he gets up from where he’s kneeling between Ashur’s legs only to straddle him.
“You’re fucking insufferable,” Tarquin says against his lips between kisses.
“I love you too.” Ashur strokes his palms up his back, continues the journey to sink his hands into Tarquin’s hair, and swallows the noise Tarquin makes against his mouth.
He gasps and has to break away with a hiss of pain when Tarquin shifts closer, ending up right on a big bruise by Ashur’s thigh.
“Use your healing magic,” Tarquin says, unfazed, and kisses him again.
Ashur laughs in surprise against his lips. “Never heard you care so little about me being hurt before.”
“Never had more important things to focus on before.” Tarquin cups his face again, pressing kisses all over—his cheek and nose and eyelid, like he has to cover every part of Ashur’s body with his lips. Tarquin’s beard scratches a little against his skin, and Ashur can’t help but wonder what it’d be like to feel that in other places. The thought makes him shiver, and he tilts his head for another kiss to Tarquin’s lips to distract himself.
He doesn’t know how much time passes as they sit there making out, tasting each other’s mouths in their broken city with the world suddenly not ending anymore around them, nothing but the soft groans and sweet little gasps they let out between them as they kiss.
“Hey, Tarquin! Viper!” A familiar voice interrupts them.
Ashur startles and pulls back at the same time as Tarquin does, their eyes meeting with the realization that Neve is walking up to them.
Ashur glances over Tarquin’s shoulder and sees Rook and his whole team heading their way, followed by a long line of people. Before he has time to react further, Tarquin’s pulling him in close, tucking him against the curve of his throat and hugging Ashur’s unmasked face with both arms to shield him.
Honestly, Ashur’s not going to complain about being buried against Tarquin’s chest.
“You two having a little private celebration there, eh?” Rook says with a chuckle. Even though Ashur can’t see it, he can picture the annoyed eye roll on Tarquin’s face so clearly.
“We were just—I was checking to see if he’s okay,” Tarquin says, gently smacking the back of Ashur’s head with his hand when Ashur audibly snorts.
“Oh, he seems fine alright,” the deep voice of the elven Grey Warden comes.
Ashur laughs again, and this time Tarquin huffs in defeat.
“Just—get lost. All of you. Get drinks at the Divine’s manor or whatever and give us some privacy. I’m sure that place is still abandoned.”
“Figures the highbloods have fled with nowhere to be seen,” Rook mutters, “but at least it worked in our favour this time.”
Ashur does hold back his laugh this time, even as he smiles while staying tucked against Tarquin’s shoulder.
“Finally,” Tarquin mutters eventually, easing up on his grip. “They’re gone. Come on.”
“But I’m comfy,” Ashur says, earning him a chuckle from Tarquin.
“Yeah, well. We’re getting you cleaned up and finding you a lyrium potion so you can heal yourself properly. Then we’re gonna continue this.”
“Yeah?” Ashur says with another smile on his face.
“Yeah.” Tarquin leans in to kiss him one last time before reaching down by Ashur’s neck and putting his mask back in place over his face for him.
They both get up, and with his hand free from any trace of the blight, Ashur takes Tarquin’s hand in his and tangles their fingers together with a squeeze.
There’s a city to fix, so much healing to be done, but the hope for a brighter future has never left him.
It never will.
Not so long as he has Tarquin by his side.