VVV
"What I don't understand," Dorian said dryly, sipping from his cup, "is how you managed to convince this spirit to let you come to us at all. Seems to me until now he was operating on self-preservation. It doesn't fit that he'd let you come here to have us banish him."
Anders sighed audibly. "As I said, I'm not entirely sure myself. Justice seems to have information he isn't sharing with me. That shouldn't be possible but I suppose as I have grown weaker he has grown stronger."
Dorian had to admit the week of recovery had done Anders good. He was still frighteningly thin, but his skin had lost the pallor it had had when Varric had introduced the mage to the Inquisitor. Of course, now that he was up and about he wanted something from Fitzwilliam. Everyone always did. So if Dorian sounded a little irritated it was because he was. "Well, that's not worrisome at all," Dorian grumbled to the man to his left. The Inquisitor nodded curtly in reply.
"I'm afraid I agree with Dorian," Fitzwilliam said. To his credit the man was not unsympathetic to the mage's plight. "Every minute you are here we put the people of Skyhold in danger."
Anders nodded, looking resigned. "I understand, Inquisitor. I… I appreciate you hearing me out." He turned to leave.
Just then the door to the war room swung open to reveal a hunched figure and huge ridiculous hat.
"Cole?" Dorian asked cautiously. He put his cup down and stood. The boy walked forward, eyes searching the room.
"Anger hot and heavy," he said in his low, dreamy way. Even so it was thick with rage. "Must make them pay, sacrifices are always required." His tone shifted suddenly, something softer, nostalgic, "Mother's hands as she pulls the thread through the fabric, making pictures out of string. Her voice as she hums. No fear in her eyes, not until they come to take me." He stopped before Anders, lifting a hand to his shoulder. "She tried to hide you."
Anders looked afraid and awestruck all at the same time, eyes brimming with tears. "You should not have taken this body," Cole was saying. "He is not like the boy. Not empty. Not yours to take. You had to share with the anger. Foolish child," he said the last affectionately.
"Cole," Dorian said at last, breaking the odd spell his arrival had cast upon the room. "This is Anders, he'll be leaving soon." Cole snapped his head to the right, glaring at Dorian.
Well, I certainly got his attention, Dorian thought, alarmed.
"No," Cole said. "He has to stay."
"I'm sorry Cole," Fitzwilliam said tenderly, as if explaining a hard truth to a child. "He is too dangerous, you don't know what he's done."
Cole's eyes glazed over, looking at something far away, past the walls of the room. "Setting the flasks," he whispered. "Passing the people who would die. Wanting to warn them. The voice in my head. Sacrifices, it says. The building's debris falls around me. Her eyes. I betrayed her." Cole turned back to the men, eyes clear once more. "He killed many people, I see that."
Fitzwilliam nodded. "You understand then," he asked slowly, "why Anders must leave?"
"I understand why you want him to," Cole said. "But we can't do that. We have to help." His eyes were pleading, begging. Dorian could see Fitz's resolve crumbling under that gaze. Could feel his ache through the bond.
"I can't promise you anything," Fitzwilliam said at last, and Dorian breathed a sigh of relief. Even by Tevinter's standards the disheveled mage before them would be considered a terrible risk. Still, Dorian didn't want to send him away. Not if they didn't have to. "But I'll let you make your case, Cole."
Cole seemed to consider this for a moment. Dorian understood what was happening in the boy's mind. He knew how important this was, but he had never quite gotten good at talking the way other people did. He still ran on feeling more than anything and not having the words to convey that could be hard. He had improved by leaps since his arrival at Skyhold, Dorian would admit, but he wasn't sure Cole had the ability to do something like this, not yet. Of course, that wasn't going to stop him from trying.
"There are many spirits," Cole said slowly. "Some are good a-and some are bad. There are as many kinds as there are feelings. Sometimes you feel like showing mercy," Cole said, turning that penetrating gaze on Fitzwilliam once more. "I've come to the judgments. I can feel you wanting to pardon them, the men who made bad choices. But then you remember who you are. You think of what others expect. And that feeling twists. They make you into someone you are not."
Dorian couldn't help but stare in awe of the teenaged boy. He was lanky, and too tall, and his hair was always a mess, but he understood people. It was a rare gift. The things he was saying now were things Fitzwilliam had only ever said to Dorian, in bed after a day of hard choices, when the man was filled with guilt. But Cole had known. Dorian could see the pain in Fitz's eyes as Cole spoke.
"That is what happens to spirits," Cole continued, trying to tie the parallels into something that made understanding a possibility. "Only you are lucky. Abomination. No one says so when it happens to you." Cole's voice was going a little pensive again. "Some men do. Some men make the choices. They cannot live with them. They become the monsters, because they think they are. You are lucky. You have tethers. They hold you. Life line. Keep you who you want to be." Cole's voice grew strong, insistent, as he moved to stand before Fitzwilliam. He drew himself to his full height and looked intently into his eyes. "When spirits leave the fade we have no one," he said. "We are alone. The world doesn't make sense. It's foggy and strange. Nothing works the way it should. And it is filled. Filled with things that want to use us. I was so confused. When I came to you, Inquisitor… you helped me."
Fitzwilliam put a hand on Cole's shoulder and squeezed gently. His face was nothing but kindness as he spoke. "Cole," he said slowly. "You weren't possessing someone. You hadn't been twisted. You weren't…"
"But I was a killer," Cole said emphatically. "Told you. I didn't understand. Killing. What it meant. You helped me. Taught me. How people work. I want to help."
"Fitz," Dorian said. He kept his voice low, feeling that he was upsetting a delicate calm. "Can I talk to you?"
Fitzwilliam nodded and let Dorian lead him to the far corner of the room where they talked in hushed whispers, keeping an eye on the two men near the table. "I think we should do it," Dorian said hurriedly. Fitzwilliam's eyes blew wide and his mouth fell open to object but Dorian pressed on before he could. "I've found a few volumes I think will be helpful in the library under Skyhold. Cole will be invaluable. And I know you, Amatus. You know the only other choice is to kill the mage. You won't send him out where he could harm more people."
Fitzwilliam let out an irritated huff. "I'll admit the thought crossed my mind," he said, "but he would deserve it. That man started the mage rebellion. He killed hundreds of people and his actions lead to the death of Maker knows how many more."
"His actions also led to the first society of free mages in Ferelden in ages," Dorian said emphatically. "I am by no means saying his methods were justified, but we can't deny the outcome has been beneficial."
Fitzwilliam glowered at him. "What he did was wrong."
"No one is arguing with that, Fitzwilliam," Dorian said gruffly. "I'm only saying he was under the influence. And you've set a precedence for committing men to a life of service instead of death."
The Inquisitor continued glaring. "Alexius did what he did out of love and blindness, not vengeance!" Their exchange was getting heated. "You heard the way he talked about the circle, about Templars! Just imagine what Cullen will do if he finds out what we're up to here!"
Dorian sighed, reaching up and touching Fitzwilliam's cheek. "Amatus," he said lovingly, "I will stand behind you, no matter your decision. But I have faith that we can do this. We can redeem the mage, free him from the spirit. You're the one who told me that 'each life lost diminishes us.' I believe that. I believe we should try."
Dorian found Fitzwilliam was turning his head into his touch, closing his eyes, and sighing heavily. But when they opened again, blue and brilliant seeking his own, the weight he had seen there was lessened. "Alright," he said in a whisper, "but this is going to be hard, and secret, and you're going to help me or I swear by Andraste's delicate knickers you will pay."
A smile broke across his face as the man spoke and by the end he was kissing him joyfully. It was brief and when they parted Dorian nodded emphatically. "We're in this together."
VVV
"I fail to see the purpose of this," Justice grumbled with Anders's lips.
Dorian was inclined to agree. They had already endured two weeks of Cole's "lessons" since the Inquisitor had agreed to the boy's pleas. Thus far Justice had largely ignored Cole, leading the boy to this plan. He could see but a few outcomes as a result of introducing Justice and Alexius and none were favorable. By now, however, he knew trying to discourage Cole was an exercise in futility. The boy frowned in the dim light of the secluded cabin. They had to clear two guards and three Templars to get in here, which had surprised Dorian. He had known Fitzwilliam was taking precautions, but when Dorian came on his visits there was only one of each. Meaning the Inquisitor had sent even more when he learned of Cole's plan. That was probably wise. Dorian could take care of himself, but Cole was a whirlwind with his knives and they had reports of what Justice was capable of. Add in the mess Alexius could cause if he decided to seize a chance at freedom and… well, there was a reason Fitzwilliam was the Inquisitor. Still, Dorian would have liked to know what Cole thought this would accomplish.
"This is Alexius," Cole said. "I can feel him, in here." The boy pressed his fingertips to his temple. "And here." The fingers moved to his chest. "He hurts. Here." Cole reached out and grabbed Anders's hand. Justice's blue eyes squinted at the boy. "Can you feel it?" He asked.
Dorian watched the mage's face shift from confusion to alarm. "His son was dying," Justice said slowly.
And then, then Dorian understood what was happening. Judging by Alexius's bewildered expression, however, he did not.
"His son was dying and he wanted to save him. That is a noble cause." And as Justice spoke Dorian could see Alexius's face changing. Thinking of Felix and, presumably, of the lengths he had gone to. The wrongs he had committed. A low growling issued from Justice and Dorian called his power to him, ready to react immediately. "People died," Justice roared. "You acted with no regard for the lives around you."
Alexius was shivering in his chair, huddling in on himself. "I…" he stammered. "I didn't mean to. I just wanted to save my son."
Justice wrenched his arm free of Cole's grasp and it shot out, his hand wrapping around Alexius's throat. Red light flaring through cracks in the mage's skin, eyes glowing, glaring. "That is no excuse," he bellowed. The Templars and the guards burst into the room but Dorian put up a hand, telling them to hold.
Cole reached out, making skin contact with the spirit once more. "No," he said softly. "Feel him. Past the fear. He hurts Justice."
Justice's advance halted, and he tilted his head. "Yes, I feel it."
"What else do you feel?" Cole asked.
Justice took his time responding. "Regret. Loss. Mourning. Why does he live?"
Dorian was relieved that Vengeance could control himself but the red light did not fade back to blue and that worried him. Could Vengeance be reasoned with or would he kill Alexius?
"The Inquisitor decided a life of service would be more fitting a punishment than death," Dorian explained. "He has been stripped of all rank and influence. He serves the Inquisition as a researcher."
"That is not justice," the spirit groused. "An eye for an eye. A life for a life."
"By your philosophy the whole world would be blind," Dorian scoffed in annoyance. The stress of the situation was making him dangerously flippant. "Things are not black and white."
"Feel," Cole said again. "His fear for his son. The need to keep him safe. A small boy in a big world needs his father to protect him." Alexius was crying. It was silent and slow, but the tears fell just the same. "He is a criminal," Cole continued. "People died. Screaming. Agony. But he wasn't trying to do it. He just wanted to save his son."
Dorian could see a flicker behind Vengeance's glowing red eyes. Cole must have been acting as a conduit. Taking Alexius's memories and channeling them to Anders's body. Was there no limit to the things Cole could do, given the right motivation? He tried to shove that terrifying thought aside.
"Why do you show me this, Fadeling?" Vengeance growled angrily but it was not hot as it had been a moment ago, there was a hint of sadness.
"This man," Cole's free arm lifted and pointed to a Templar at his right. "Can you feel him? He has taken a vow to protect. But I can feel it. The hatred. The pleasure. He makes them helpless. Then he hurts them. Screeching. Screaming. Begging."
And just like that Vengeance's gaze spun, searing eyes boring into the Templar Cole's extended finger marked still. "You." Vengeance spat. "I feel you in my head. You smile, you live as a free man. You abuse your position. You abuse your wards." The Templar trembled and Dorian could see him readying the dismissive power the Templars commanded. He wasn't sure it would work on Vengeance, Anders sure, but on the spirit… it was anyone's guess. "I can feel the pleasure it brings you."
Hot red light lashed out of Vengeance's upturned palm. The Templar released the disruptive energies but they did not disperse the raw magics the spirit hurled. It struck the chest plate of the Templar's armor, his eyes rolled back, and his body fell, slack, to the rough wooden floor. Dorian could see the other Templars and the guards looking around. They were conflicted, knowing what they were there to do, but not sure they could do anything. The spirit did not attack anyone else, but he did turn back to Alexius.
"You killed him," Alexius said. His face had gone pale, but he had straightened his back, looking death in the eye even with a face stained by tear trails. The spirit nodded. "Will you kill me, now?" Alexius asked.
Vengeance tilted his head to the side, considering the question for several moments before shaking it. "No," he said finally, and the red glow faded back to the blue of Justice's presence. "Not yet. I will know the fadeling's lesson."
"Good. Bad. These are words of mortals," Cole said, more articulately than usual. Dorian was fascinated with how the boy was changing. "We can see more. Killing the Templar was justice. He had no remorse. He liked hurting them. Can you feel any of that in him?" Cole pointed to Alexius, who still sat with a face of iron.
"No," Justice answered immediately. "The mage regrets his actions. He regretted them even then."
"People are complex and fragile," Cole said slowly. "Like wool on a spinning wheel. Piling on the floor. No one to make it into a neat ball of yarn. You have to untangle them. You can't just pull. They will break."
For long minutes Justice said nothing, just stood eerily still and silent, looking past them all, regarding a wall. The guards, Templars, Alexius, and Dorian all waited anxiously. Dorian could fell the nervous sweat beading on his brow. Finally, Justice turned his gaze on Cole once more. "I will think on what you have said," Justice said. He nodded Anders's head and a moment later the blue was gone.
Anders blinked, spotted the Templars, and put his hands up. "Little help, Dorian?" The mage asked, in a nervous chuckle.
"Return to your posts," Dorian said. They looked, momentarily, like they might argue but soon they were dropping their hands and sheathing weapons. "And take that one with you," Dorian spat, gesturing to the useless waste of flesh on the rough cabin floor. The two remaining Templars grabbed him up by armpits and ankles and pulled him away.
"My gratitude," Anders's said, lowering his arms. Dorian gave him a brief nod. Maker, but his heart was pounding. What a tense situation. Anders turned to Cole. "I've been trying to explain that to him for years, Cole." He said, voice full of quiet awe. "How did you get him to listen?"
Cole's face turned sour, surprising Dorian. "He couldn't see the game." Cole said slowly. "His life was a game of chess, but he only had a queen. Your anger blinded him. He could only see one piece at a time."
Dorian whistled long and low. "That's quite the analogy," he said finally.
"It was his anger that changed Justice," Cole spat. "A spirit pulled into a world he doesn't understand. And only his eyes to see through!"
Anders head bowed knowingly. "I know," he said voice pitched in low apology.
"It hurts you," Cole replied, the heat gone from his voice. "It hurts him too. Cutting. Confusing. You should not have taken him in." The mage nodded once more.
Alexius, finally, stood and cleared his throat. "Unless there was anything else," he said, "I'd like to return to my research."
Cole looked at him and smiled. "You're lighter now," he said. "That is good!"
Alexius managed a small smile at the boy. "We'll get out of your way," Dorian said, ushering the men from the room. He turned back and caught Alexius looking at a portrait of Felix. Dorian had seen him look at that canvas many times over the last few months – today was the first time it made Alexius smile.
He stepped outside, the door swinging shut behind him, and clapped Cole on the shoulder. "Cole," Dorian said brightly, "I think you might be a genius."
"A handsome genius?" Cole asked, bouncing with excitement.
Dorian laughed low and long, Anders joining in. Cole looked between them, smile bright, if confused. "Sure," Dorian said, wiping amused tears from the corner of his eyes. "You're a handsome genius."
VVV
"He what?" Fitzwilliam bellowed. Dorian cringed. As well as Cole's lesson had gone Dorian had known telling Fitz that Justice had struck down a Templar wouldn't go overly well.
"I've been going around for the last few days making inquiries, just in case. Cole and Justice were right about the man's actions. He had more than one 'accidental' death on his record," even to him it sounded weak. They couldn't let Justice run around playing judge and executioner.
"You waited days to tell me this!?" Fitzwilliam gesticulated wildly. Dorian tired not to laugh but it was hard. He could tell Fitzwilliam wasn't angry so much as he was worried. Dorian could feel the difference now. Where once the bond had merely transmitted a feeling of discomfort Dorian could now distinguish distinct emotions. In the past Fitzwilliam had had to be feeling something very acutely for Dorian to read it, now he could pick up on more subtleties.
"I didn't want to add more to your plate, Amatus," he said as soothingly as possible. "Not when I am perfectly capable of handling this."
"As am I," Fitzwilliam said defensively.
Dorian let out a low chuckle. "Fitz," he said affectionately, "you're preparing for the move, you've had a desk full of reports since before Anders arrived. I'm not saying you can't do it all. I'm merely saying it may be best not to try, yes?"
Fitzwilliam sighed and rested his hands on the war room table. "You're right, I can leave this, largely with you. But we cannot allow the spirit to kill with impunity. The Templar was entitled to a trial."
Dorian nodded. "I'm in agreement. I want to help the mage, but with the spirit inside him I'm not sure we can."
Fitzwilliam examined the table. It was covered in a large map and on the map marble pieces marked their allies and enemies. The war with Coryphaeus was over, but the Inquisition was a force now, and they had many things which needed to be organized. Dorian's gaze was drawn, as it tended to be, to the markers on his homeland. Alliance talks with Tevinter had not been going well. Hopefully, once they were there, meeting and schmoozing, things would improve.
Finally, the Inquisitor nodded and stood. "I'll need you to talk to Cole," he said slowly. "I think we need to banish Justice."
Dorian's brows went up at that. "Banish? That's going to be a hard sell, Fitzwilliam."
The man nodded his head in grim agreement. "Yes. But as you said, Dorian, we can't hope to rehabilitate Anders with the spirit still in him. It's the only solution I can think of."
"And you're firm in this?" Dorian asked warily.
"If you think you can find another solution, I am amenable." He looked at Dorian, hope shinning in his eyes. "Do you? Have another solution?"
Dorian shook his head. "Afraid not," he sighed.
"Pity," Fitzwilliam replied.
Dorian nodded once more before moving around the table and taking the Inquisitor's hand. Their fingers tangled, the familiar tingle of the bond tickling their palms. "I'll go talk to Cole," he said softly. Fitz managed a feeble smile and Dorian leaned in, pressing their lips together in a tender lingering kiss. "You just make sure you're getting all our nugs in a row."
"I'll head to my quarters and start answering missives," Fitzwilliam agreed. With that, Dorian released the man and made for the door. It was time to find their empathic assassin.
…
"No," Cole said, anger flaring hot and harsh, shocking Dorian. "We cannot banish Justice back to the fade."
Dorian held out a mollifying hand. "Cole, this won't kill the spirit. He'll go back where he came from, where he belongs."
"No," Cole shouted again, sounding like nothing so much as a child throwing a tantrum. "You can't! I won't let you!"
Dorian put a hand on the boy's shoulder in an attempt to calm him. "Okay, Cole, okay. Just… tell me why."
Cole looked up at him with eyes that looked far too old for such a boyish face. "If you send Justice back he won't be. Justice. He'll forget. He go back to what he was before. You'll kill him, Dorian."
Dorian smiled sadly at him. "Maybe that's for the best," he said softly. "You've seen what he's become. How the anger in Anders has twisted him. He could rest."
"If you could go back, undo it all. Untie the love and the hate, all the bad things that happened to you," Cole asked curiously. "Would you, Dorian?"
The mage didn't even need to consider it. Despite all the pain he had suffered, all the scars to which he could lay claim… they had shaped him. "No," he sighed, dropping his hand from the boy's shoulder. "I wouldn't."
"Justice doesn't want to either," the boy whispered. It struck Dorian then how odd it was to hear Cole talking this way. His desire to help the spirit, and by extension, Anders had pushed him into growing more, learning how to express things, how to talk to people.
"I'm open to suggestions, Cole," Dorian said. "We can't let him stay in Anders, you've made it clear that while they're all tangled together you can't help either of them. You've done a commendable job coaching Justice, but as long as he's influenced by Anders's anger, I don't see you making much progress. You won't let me banish Justice. So what do we do?"
Cole was silent for a long time, thinking, pondering. Dorian's mind had just begun to wander when Cole looked up, smiling. "I know," he said, joyful, practically bouncing. "We need a body!"
Dorian could feel the blood draining from his face. "Sorry?" He managed.
"Like I did," Cole said. "A mage, one who isn't going to use their body!"
Dorian took a step back and flopped heavily onto the bench behind him. "You want me to find a dying mage, and have Justice possess them?"
Cole nodded. "Yes. That's what I did. I can help them. I can end their pain. Before they leave Justice can enter. Then he will be like me!"
Dorian nodded, staring off into the distance blankly. He had to be honest, even coming from a homeland where blood magic was a matter of course, and having, admittedly, dabbled in necromancy, the idea of possession terrified him. To aide in such an act was going to test the limits of his sanity. I'm not sure we need any more spirits like Cole, he mused.
"Dorian?" The boy was saying. "Are you alright, Dorian? You feel strange."
Dorian shook his head, refocusing on the discussion. "Yes, Cole, I – I'm fine. I'll need to talk to the Inquisitor about this, you understand." Cole nodded and Dorian stood, leaving the boy's corner on the top floor of the tavern and making his way down the stairs to the tavern proper and out the door. The sunlight was dazzling and he had to squint as he made his way back to the Hall.
His walk to Fitzwilliam's rooms was more meandering than he had intended, but his mind was fuzzy with the implications of Cole's suggestion. It was one thing that Cole had managed it on his own, but teaching other spirits… it could be the end of things as they knew it. Of course he was being slightly dramatic. There were many barriers for any spirit to overcome if they wanted to follow suit. The veil held most spirits in. They needed invitation into a host, a thin spot in the veil, or a Dreamer to find purchase in the waking world. From there they would have to find a mage willing to accept them in, moments before death and the mage would have to actually want to die. The spirit would allow them to recover if they changed their mind and then they would become possessed, probably even abominations if the spirit overpowered them. But he couldn't deny Cole's reasoning. Without Anders's issues Justice would be able to act free of the mage's motives. If they could manage it, it would be an amazing feat.
He turned left, opening the door into the walkway and climbing the stair to the Inquisitor's rooms. He didn't knock before entering. Why would he? He spent his nights here as well. His rooms were for show, at this point. The door swung shut behind him with an audible click and Fitzwilliam's head looked up from the papers on his desk. He smiled to see Dorian, and rose, moving to meet him halfway. Maker, but the man took his breath away. At the moment he wore just his undershirt and breeches, forgoing his jacket and going barefoot in the unseasonable heat of the late summer evening. His hair was slightly ruffled, his eyes sparkling, ever-rosy cheeks gone properly red with the summer balcony doors were swung wide, allowing the setting sun to cast its warm glow unhindered.
For a moment all the concerns swirling in his head vanished and there was nothing but Fitzwilliam, the smile on his face, the brush of his fingers as he reached for him, and then the warm that always came next, flooding him to his core, making him feel complete. "I missed you, Serah," Fitzwilliam sighed, resting his forehead against the mage's. Dorian tilted his head slightly to the right and he dropped a brief kiss on the pink lips before him.
"Yes," he sighed when they parted, "I am quite remorseful that I have had to deprive you of my charming companionship."
Fitz huffed a small laugh, pecked his lips once more, and then stepped back looking Dorian over approvingly. "Incorrigible," he said playfully. Then he moved toward the balcony. Dorian followed, luxuriating in the breeze that wafted across his skin. The heat in Skyhold hadn't been anything near as bad as it was in Tevinter but, Maker, if his suit wasn't hot as anything. And not in the "yes I look damn good, thank you very much" way he'd intended. Thankfully the mountain air always felt cool, no matter how hard the sun beat down.
Dorian sighed, pouring himself a glass of, what he assumed, had once been chilled tea. It had gone warm and so he dipped a finger in, stirring the liquid and releasing a trickle of power. Cold magic wasn't his preferred skill, but it did have delightful uses. He lifted the cup to his lips, drinking it half-down in one long slow swallow. When he stopped he noticed Fitzwilliam's eyes on him, the hungry look there only emphasized by the way he licked his lips. "One day," he said closing the short gap between them, "I will return here and we will have no business but our own." He leaned in, slanting his mouth over Fitzwilliam's. The man's tongue was hot and insistent. It provided a beautiful contrast as it slipped, against his own, still cool from the tea. They moaned softly when they parted, reluctant to let the moment go.
"But today isn't that day," Fitzwilliam sighed, "is it?"
"Sadly, no, Amatus," Dorian replied with an apologetic smile. He dropped one last peck on the kiss-bruised lips before him. He then led the Inquisitor to the chairs at the tea table. They sat. "So," Dorian began, sipping the tea once more. "I have had a meeting with Cole. As expected he is not amiable to our plan of banishment." Fitzwilliam nodded once, unsurprised. They had discussed their options the night before. Neither of them really expected Cole to be happy about the decision, but they had agreed to at least try. It was the easiest, least morally compromising choice. "I did try," Dorian assured, "to get him to open up to it, you know."
"I imagine even your considerable charm didn't get it done?" Fitzwilliam asked. He took a sip from his glass and grimaced. Clearly his had gone warm as well. The mage reached over, gently taking the tumbler for Fitzwilliam's grasp. Before handing it back he repeated his earlier trick. The Inquisitor took a sip, followed by a sound of appreciation that belonged in the bedroom. "I knew I kept you around for a reason," he said with a wink.
Dorian chuckled lightly. "I do more than chill drinks you know," he said suggestively, hiding his grin behind the rim of his own cup.
"Do you?" Fitz replied playfully. "Well, I'll have to investigate that. Later. For now, tell me about Cole."
Dorian nodded. He was sad the banter had to be put aside for business but that was how things were. "Cole had a different suggestion," Dorian began warily.
Fitz sipped his drink but sucked air through his teeth at the finish. "I can tell by your face, Doe. You're not convinced?"
"Perhaps you should hear it first," Dorian said. Fitzwilliam made a gesture for him to continue and the mage relayed the earlier conversation.
When he was done the Inquisitor let out a long low whistle. "That's quite the plan," he managed, throwing back the rest of his tea in a single long pull. Dorian nodded. He turned his empty cup in his hand idly, something to do with the uneasy energy this topic supplied. "Is it possible?"
Dorian nodded again. "In theory it's sound," he admitted begrudgingly. "I'd have to get some details out of Cole. That won't be easy, exactly. Maker knows the boy has an odd way of conveying information, but it's within the realm of possibility. I'm more concerned with finding a… body." Dorian cleared his throat uncomfortably.
"Serah," Fitzwilliam laughed. "You're a Tevinter mage. Blood magic is a matter of course, and didn't you once tell me if a party lacked a murder they would sniff and call it a bore?" Dorian shot a glare his way, but it had no heat in it. The man was right, after all. "And yet, you're squeamish about this?"
Dorian rubbed the palm of his hand across his mouth. "Yes," he admitted. "This is us, once more, endeavoring to break the laws of magic. Going into the fade, bringing spirits into our world, traveling through time? Maker's breath, Fitz!" He huffed heavily.
"So you think we shouldn't do it?" Fitzwilliam asked seriously.
"On the contrary," Dorian sighed. "I think we should absolutely do it."
The Inquisitor furrowed his brow, his confusion plain. "Well then why…"
"Am I so worried?" Dorian finished the question with a laugh. "Maker, Amatus, sometimes I wish you were a mage." He refilled his cup and took a sip of the warm tea before continuing. "I don't like how eager I am to push the limitations," he admitted somberly. "I convinced myself that my work with Alexius was all theoretical, so it was okay. We see how well that worked out."
"Hey now," Fitzwilliam interjected, reaching over and resting his hand atop the mage's. "If not for that incident you and I might never have found each other."
Dorian's lips quirked upward in a soft half-smile. "I was coming either way, I think," Dorian said, turning his hand over and taking the man's hand in his own, his thumb sweeping gently across the back of his knuckles. "But we had to learn to trust each other very quickly, didn't we?" Fitzwilliam nodded. "Who knows," he said ribbing, "I might have found you entirely troublesome had you not proven yourself in action."
"I understand," Fitzwilliam said after a moment. "You're worried you'll lose yourself if you press on too far. I can feel it there, just out of the corner of my vision, your anxiety. But Cole was right. We're lucky. We have tethers. I'll keep you grounded."
Dorian wanted to kiss him, but he knew if he did it wouldn't stop there and they afternoon would see no progress. It would have to wait. Instead he lifted the hand, turned it over, and pressed a lingering kiss to the palm.
"So," Dorian sighed, leaning back and letting go. "What now?"
"I suppose," Fitzwilliam said, "you and Cole figure out how to get Justice into a body. And then how to make him human enough to stay autonomous."
"Yes," the mage pondered. "That could be an issue. If Justice doesn't take to it as Cole did, if he doesn't start becoming a person then he will face the concerns Cole did. He could be bound to someone's will."
"So let me get this all straight," Fitz said leadingly. "Before we leave for Tevinter we have to: finish the lyrium device," he began ticking the items off on his fingers in that odd way of one-handed counting he favored. "Perfect the Transmitters, get a body, get Justice out of Anders, get Justice into the body, teach Justice to be a person, deal with the sentencing of Anders for the crimes at Kirkwall, and sort things with your family." When he finished his middle finger and thumb were pressed together in a circle, his other digits sticking out wildly. "That's only eight odds to conquer," he said with a wicked grin. "Life after Coryphaeus is simpler!"
Dorian rolled his eyes but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "I suppose I'll spend my night in the elf's old study," Dorian said. "I know he took notes about Cole, and he didn't come back for anything…"
He didn't see Fitzwilliam shifting uncomfortably so much as he felt it. An unsettling feeling up his spine, like an insect under his clothing. They tended to avoid talking about Solas. He'd vanished after the Orb broke and Coryphaeus fell. No trace, no letter. Nothing but the ominous "No matter what comes, I want know you shall always have my respect."
"Yes, well," Fitz said uneasily, "as long as you don't spend the whole night. All too soon we'll be in Tevinter and playing their games."
Dorian lips twisted at that. He hated that plan. Every rebellious, stubborn, revolutionary bone in his body wanted to arrive and declare the Inquisitor his lover. But in this, as in many thing, Fitzwilliam had a point. He could not garner the favor he needed if he was as brazen as that. He had to at least act as if he were playing fair. Doing what was expected. "I'm still not convinced you ought to be working whilst we are there," Dorian said. "An assassin? I know you're clever and light-footed, and Maker knows you've killed enough people, but it's a serious business in Tevinter. A regular part of politics. And unknown upstart is going to draw attention."
Fitzwilliam grinned mischievously. "Leliana has done her part better than you can imagine, Dorian," he said lightly. "We talked on it today. When we arrive I will have a new name, a new history, and references. It's up to me to play the part, of course," he added, "but Leliana has made me as well-known as any assassin can be and still be desirable."
"I'm not sure I like that any better," Dorian muttered. "What are these details, anyway?"
The man shook his head. "We agreed, Dorian. You aren't to know about my alias."
He knew he was right, but it irked him all the same. Fitzwilliam was going into danger and Dorian could do nothing to help. He couldn't even know the assassin's name. "Well then," he sighed, standing. "I suppose I ought to begin researching. So I don't miss our supper." He managed a small smile for the man as he moved before him and leaned over. "Give us a kiss," he said coaxingly. Fitzwilliam complied, lips soft and teasing. Not nearly enough pressure to be satisfying, naturally, merely hinting at things to come. "Cheeky," Dorian called back over his shoulder as he walked into the chambers and to Solas's old study.
VVV
"I've told you before," Anders grumbled to Cole. It had only been a day since Dorian had informed him of the plan. Personally, Anders would have loved to boot Justice from his body. Of course, the bloody spirit couldn't just cooperate. "I cannot just will Justice to come out. He has a mind of his own." Cole nodded as if he understood but he didn't, he just tried again.
"Why are you so angry?" He asked, blue eyes, a blue so light they were nearly white, searched Anders's. "What keeps you here?"
Anders sighed in frustration. "Justice doesn't want to talk to you," he tried to explain again.
"Not the spirit," Cole said. "You. The man. What keeps you here?"
"I don't feel like talking about that," the mage gruffed, turning away.
"I was a boy before I was me," Cole said slowly. "Apostate. That's the word. They captured me. Templar. Locked me in a tower. Forgot." His voice held such pain that Anders found himself turning back to look at him properly. "That's when I found me," he continued dreamily. "A broken body, bloody, banged on the stone cell, guts gripping in the dank dark. Can't stand even to piss in the bucket." He paused, breathing heavily and when he resumed his voice was tight. "I wanted to help. Wanted to ease the pain. Pain that called and cut. Drew me to the boy. But the boy wanted to go." Cole let out a low moaning keen.
Suddenly, the power shifted. Anders could feel it, Justice waking, and he didn't fight it. He slipped into the background of his own mind to let the spirit emerge. An observer. "The boy must be avenged," Justice roared to life. Cole flinched and shook his head.
"Hello Justice," he boy said softly. The spirit, eyes glowing, skin cracked and emitting the blue glow, tilted its head to the side taking Cole in. "I found the man," he admitted. "The one that killed me. I found him. I pointed the crossbow. I pulled the trigger. I did not hesitate." Justice nodded Anders's head approvingly. "I thought I would feel better," Cole continued uneasily. "But the hurt did not stop. It did not help. You can't just make it all go away."
Justice was quiet for a long time but Anders could feel him pondering what the boy had said. The vengeance they had wrought in Kirkwall had not appeased the spirit. They both knew that much. Finally, Justice spoke, voice gravely and otherworldly as ever, "No," he replied, "one cannot just make it all go away." Justice recognized something in the boy, Anders realized. Recognized one of his own. "What did you do," Justice asked, "to stop the pain?"
Cole shook his head. "The pain never goes away," Cole said. "Not for any of them. But helping helps. And…" he trailed off, looking pensive. "How to say it?" He muttered under his breath. "I know there's a word…" He muttered a series of words which he discarded immediately. Justice waited, uncharacteristically patient. "Purpose," he said softly. Then again, loudly, a grin stretching his face. "That one. Those sounds! Purpose, Justice."
Justice screwed Anders's face into a confused mess. "What of it?"
"That is how the waking people do it. How they avoid being twisted or bound. They find purpose. If you can find it," Cole said excitedly, "you can be you. You won't have to be him!"
"And what is your purpose, Cole?" Justice asked venomously.
"I help," Cole said easily. "Sometimes Varric or Sera helps me help."
"I do not wish to help," Justice growled.
Cole shook his head. "You do. That's why you destroyed the building in the city. You thought the mages would be better off. I can see it." Anders could feel Cole poking around inside. It was weird enough having Justice in there, the boy was making it downright crowded. "You wanted to help, but the anger was too strong. Demons are bound when you tell them what they are so loudly that it's all they can hear. They have to be what you want. Anders was angry. Wanted you to be angry."
"Look around you, fadeling," Justice growled. "All through this keep you see free mages. That is because of what I did. What Anders and I did in Kirkwall made this a possibility."
Cole cocked his head to the side. "No," he said roughly. "You did not do this. The Inquisitor did this. He saw the mages scattered. Hunted. Frightened animals desperate and rabid. You turned them into that," his voice had gone low and angry. If Anders had been in control of his own body at the moment he was sure he would have shivered. Justice did not shiver, but he could feel the uneasiness Cole's words brought the spirit. Cole blinked back the anger, voice soothing once more. "The Inquisitor saw the need. They needed help. He gave it to them. Gave them safety and that gave them back their minds. Their human minds. They didn't need to be animals anymore. Nor slaves. They became something new. They became men."
Cole paused for a moment, tilting his head, and Anders could feel the boy poking around inside his mind, looking for reasons and pain. He found it a moment later. "You think you can change the world with grand plans. Big gestures. Explosions and wars. That's wrong." The boy reached out, touching a vein of blue on Anders's face. "It happens one person at a time. One less pain the world. One man, elf, dwarf, child, woman. Wherever you go there is pain. Wherever you are you can help. You can choose. Who do you want to be, Spirit of Justice? A willing slave?" The hand fell away.
"I am not bound," Justice argued once more, but the fire had gone out of his voice, his conviction fading in the face of the reality of his actions.
"You are different," Cole said calmly. "Not because you chose it. You are not your own. What word would you use? Demons are bound when you tell them what they are so loudly that it's all they can hear. They have to be what you want," he said again, voice heavy with something deep and unfathomable.
Maker, Anders thought. He could feel Justice accepting that truth. He wanted to deny it, but something about the boy spoke to him. Anders could feel that too. The boy's touch, soothing something in both the spirit and Anders himself.
"I do not wish to be a slave," Justice said finally. "No matter how willing."
Cole's face lit up, a beaming, goofy, smile splitting it, "You do not have to be," he said. "With purpose, we can free you. You can free yourself."
And then Anders witnessed something he would never have even dared to dream. Justice reached out, resting Anders's scared hands on Cole's shoulders. "Then I wish to find a purpose," the spirit said. His voice was gentle, tender, and it held longing. Anders could feel it between them, a desire in the spirit to find who he was. "Will you show me little fadeling?"
Cole's smile was brighter than Skyhold's aurora on a new-moon night. "Yes," he said excitedly. "I will!"
…
"No," Leliana sighed again. Fitzwilliam felt the familiar tingle of annoyance with her tone. He was the Inquisitor. Yet, when they trained she acted as if he were a child. Still, the training was a welcome break from the chaos of his daily duties. Somewhere in Skyhold Cole was working on Justice and Dorian was researching how to do the impossible. And he was here, being spoke to like a particularly stupid student. He was convinced that any moment now, Leliana would pull out a dunce cap and sit him in the corner. "I don't understand why you keep asking this," she continued, seemingly oblivious to his rolling eyes and clenched jaw. "Clothing is not a disguise. Anyone can teach you how to pick the right robes. Dorian, as a matter of fact, would be far better suited to that task than I, Inquisitor. Tevinter fashion is not high on my list of expertise."
"I'm asking," Fitz practically growled, "because I need to be able to blend in, Leliana."
She blinked at him for a moment then broke out into a long roiling laugh. "Is that all?" She finally managed, hand pressed against her stomach as she struggled to regain her composure. "Have you not heard the expression? The clothes don't make the man, Inquisitor. The man makes the clothing."
He furrowed his brow. "I don't follow," he admitted.
"Consider this," she said, gesturing to her own outfit. She was in rags today. Street clothing. "Do I look like I belong in these clothes?"
He shook his head. "Of course not," he said. "You look like you're trying to be inconspicuous, but one look at how you are carrying yourself tells me you aren't what you seem to be."
"Exactly!" She said excitedly, her lips pulling up at one corner into a satisfied smirk. "The clothing is useless unless you know how to wear it." She closed her eyes, took a slow deep breath and shifted. It was hard to see, even looking right at her as he was. Her shoulders drooped slightly, her arms pulled in on herself, her feet shifted from a well-balanced position, her toes pointing outward at opposite directions. When her eyes fluttered open they darted around the room. She was looking for threats, but knew not to let her gaze linger for too long in one spot lest she attract unwanted attention.
She was, every inch, a street urchin. And it had nothing to do with the clothing.
She looked at him and winked and suddenly she was shifting again. Shoulders pulled up and back, her chin lifted, her eyes became hard and commanding. Her feet planted in a way that had nothing to do with running or fighting. She was merely unmovable because she chose to be. He hands folded in front of her in a way that seemed to project a kind of feigned patience. A woman hearing a plea that would not sway her from her duty. Her eyebrows lifted in silent question, a dare.
She was dressed in a pile of rags but she was in charge. She could have been a queen. An empress. And not a speck of gold to be seen.
He blinked, and she was Leli again, smiling and nodding. "You see?"
"Well," Fitzwilliam said slowly, "there's no way I'm going to manage that before I depart."
Leliana's laugh was startling. "You don't just learn that in a day, Fitzwilliam," she said affectionately. "I've been giving you every tool you need to manage that. The last several seasons, every exercise, every mission, you've picked up one more piece of the game. We're at the end of your training. It's time to learn how the pieces move, your worship."
Fitzwilliam felt a tingle of excitement and anticipation. He had known Leliana was the right choice, but he hadn't realized exactly how good she was until this moment. She was going to see him ready to take on Tevinter from the shadows.
…
Dorian found he was wandering somewhat aimlessly at the moment. Fitzwilliam was in a session with their Spymaster, Dorian had done so much reading regarding the ritual they intended to attempt that his eyes could no longer focus on the words, and until Leliana found them a suitable mage there was little he could do to prepare. For now it was all theory. So Dorian meandered here and there, looking in on people and attempting to stave off boredom.
He didn't really notice he was headed to the undercroft until he felt the chill. Down here even the hot summer sun didn't penetrate. He heard voices, somewhere under the rushing of the waterfall that fell outside the chamber. They stilled when he came to the landing at the end of the stair.
"Can we help you, Master Pavus?" Dagna's enthusiastic voice floated up to him. He stifled a grimace at the moniker, nodded, and moved to join the group. Alexius and Dexsius sat together, pouring over notes and diagrams. They glanced up at him briefly. They looked half like he was interrupting them, and half curious as to his purpose but quickly returned to their conference.
"How is it progressing?" He asked without preamble.
"Enchantment!" Sandal called from his place across the expanse of the table.
Dorian smiled at the dwarf, "That's good to hear."
"It's going well," Dagna said. "The Transmitters are working perfectly. We sent one to Orlais, a while back, to the Empress. She has been hounding us about the latest in Ferelden fashion."
Dorian poked at the rune-encrusted stone pillar. It didn't do anything, but he believed her that it did. Apparently, the Transmitter allowed them to speak, instantly, over fast distances. It was truly brilliant. "The Empress has terrible taste in clothing," Dorian smirked. "She could do with a few tips."
"I'll be sure to come get you next time," Dagna winked.
Dorian winked back, sending the girl blushing, and moved to the black bear-sized chunk of lyrium. It had been split in half, and polished smooth on the outside where is was decorated in delicate, scrolling rune-work. The inside was hollowed and rough, light glinting off of a thousand sand-like growths, all glowing a faint blue.
"The Warren," Dagna said reluctantly, "remains challenging."
Dorian walked about it, circling, examining. "What seems to be the issue?"
"Well," Dagna began, "right now it works… basically."
"Basically?" Dorian asked leadingly.
The dwarf nodded. "It does transfer any object we've tried from one to the other, and it's been consistent no matter how far we send the opposite half, so that's great. But…"
"But?" he asked, quirking a brow.
"Inanimate objects appear on the other end every time. But two out of every ten living objects we've sent never arrive." He sounded more than a little shaken by the event.
"Any theories about why that might be?" Dorian asked.
The two mages at the table paused their discussion. "I think it has to do with the Fade-link," Dexsius said. "Some of the creatures we have sent seem to be able to break through the barrier between worlds."
Alexius scoffed and Dorian turned to address him. "You don't agree?"
"That nugs can pop into the fade?" he scoffed. "Of course I don't agree. It's far more likely that something from the Fade is breaking through and taking them."
Dorian felt a chill down his spine. "That," he said slowly, "is not what we want."
Everyone at the table nodded, even Sandal.
"We're working on a few tactics," Dexsius said. He seemed to be attempting to sound reassuring, but it wasn't terribly convincing.
"Enchantment," Sandal said again. Dorian looked at him, waiting. The dwarf huffed and moved to a slate board they had set up. He lifted a chunk of mineral talc and began drawing. It was beautifully detailed and, somehow without labeling anything, incredibly clear. Dorian could see what he was trying to explain. When it was done the dwarf turned to look at them.
"Maker," Alexius gasped in awe, "the boy is a prodigy."
Dorian moved to the board, examining it more closely. The reason the Warrens worked was because the be-runed lyrium opened up a path through the fade. The problem with that was anything entering the fade drew attention. Inanimate objects wouldn't register but anything with a consciousness, even one as rudimentary as an animal's, would be like a beacon. It would draw demons of the fade to it like moths to flames. The time in the fade was very short, no more than a second, and the path it chose was at random, so the spirits could not just set up camp and wait, but it seemed like once in a while they were quick enough to snatch a traveler.
The diagram Sandal had laid out looked like nothing so much as a huge net, though it seemed it would also act as a mirror. It would serve a dual function. Firstly, it would protect them, keeping the spirits out, unable to reach in. Secondly, it seemed it would reflect the fade back at any spirits that did manage to come upon them in transit. Therefore the spirits would not even feel their consciousness. It was brilliant in its simplicity.
Dexsius and Alexius were abuzz with the possibility, already sketching out notes and design on scraps of paper on the table. Whether spirits were grabbing travelers up, or the travelers were breaking through, Sandal's concept would put an end to it.
Dorian smiled and clapped the dwarf on the shoulder. "Excellent work," he said fondly.
"Enchantment!" Sandal replied.
VVV
"Doesn't seem like much of a ritual," Fitzwilliam commented as he arranged the room. He heard Dorian sigh.
"That's because it's not," he explained. "Not really. The girl is dying, Justice wants to leave. No ritual is needed."
Fitzwilliam lit another candle. "Then what's all this mumbo jumbo for?"
"Mombo jumbo?" Dorian asked, scandalized. "Amatus, please! I spent a week planning this and you call it 'mombo jumbo'?" But Fitz just looked at him evenly, patiently waiting. "Fine, I'll explain, again. But you must promise to pay attention this time." Fitzwilliam nodded. "Very well. I will make this as easy to understand as possible."
Dorian set down the jar of paint on a wooden crate and walked close to the Inquisitor. "Everything we can see or touch or feel or hear," he said in a low voice that made Fitzwilliam quiver, "is made of energy. All of it. This," he said, reaching out and running a finger down the man's neck. "And this," he mumbled as he blew hot air across his ear. "And this," he whispered, leaning close and kissing Fitz passionately, his tongue invading his mouth and tangling teasingly with his own. His hands slid lower, wrapping around his hips and pulling their bodies tight. It was far too brief. As the mage pulled his lips away to continue his explanation Fitzwilliam whimpered in protest. The mage smirked, but pressed on regardless, "It is all energy put to purpose. In the fade the energy flies about, aimless. That is why we can grab some, and shape it. Into growth," he said huskily, pressing his hips closer to the Inquisitor's, making the type of growth he was insinuating quite clear. "Or fire," he growled playfully.
Fitzwilliam nodded. "So, we're designing a purpose?" He asked shakily.
Dorian's eyes, hooded with lust, crinkled at the corners as he smiled. "Precisely. The girl will die, Justice will willingly depart Anders. We don't need to force anyone out or anyone in. All they need is a bridge, Amatus," the mage purred into his ear. "A connection." His hips rocked slightly against the Inquisitor's and Fitzwilliam could not suppress the small sound of want that the action pulled from his throat.
"Whe – " he swallowed hard, and strove to sound more composed. "When will the ritual happen?"
Dorian shrugged, his hands still resting on Fitzwilliam's hips, thumbs stroking absently. "When the girl is nearly gone. Could be anytime now. Best we finish setting up." He pulled free of the man and the Inquisitor felt colder, as he always did when the mage's skin was not touching his own. He watched as Dorian moved, brushing paint along the walls in elaborate symbols. He could see every muscle in his bared arm even in the dim lighting. He suppressed the urge to stride across the room, throw the paint down, and tackle Dorian atop it. Dorian must have felt his eyes on him because he turned around and smirked. "Get the candles set up, Amatus," he said impishly. "The sooner we are done here, the sooner we can… retire for the evening."
Maker knew he needed no more motivation than that. Fitzwilliam finished his tasks quickly but Dorian's it seemed, were more intricate. The Inquisitor was left with two choices, sit and do nothing whilst the mage completed his drawings or return to the keep and do a little work. Considering how quickly their departure date was approaching, Fitzwilliam opted for the latter. He was just leaving the crisp night air and entering the hall when Josephine flagged him down.
"Inquisitor!" She called, rushing to him. "I've received a missive that requires your immediate attention," she said through winded breaths.
Fitzwilliam crinkled his brow. "What now?" he asked irritably.
She lowered her voice and leaned closer, body language indicating to him the urgency and sensitivity of the mater more clearly than words could. "It is about the new mage," she whispered.
Fitz nodded. "Let's go to your office," he said softly.
…
Fitzwilliam was pacing in his chambers, the missives still scattered around his desk. Every once in a while he would stop and re-read one. Sadly, the words never changed. Dorian was on his way, he knew. He could feel the man getting closer, the sense of him in the bond growing stronger as he approached. He was running his hands through his hair when the door swung open and Dorian entered.
"I apologize for my tardiness," he was saying with an audible smirk, "but I didn't think you'd be as distressed as all that." He walked to Fitzwilliam, smile fading. He could feel his concern growing. "Amatus, has something happened?"
Fitzwilliam couldn't help the small, bitter, laugh he barked. "Aside from the dozens of reports we've been receiving about new rifts opening across the Waking Sea?" He asked rhetorically.
"You said those were likely old rumors coming in," Dorian replied anyway. "That with the Breach closed they should start dissipating?"
Fitz nodded and continued his pacing. "Yes, that was the theory. It seems to have been in error, however. Something has changed, but I'll be blighted, we can't discover what."
"That is troubling," Dorian agreed. "But I get the feeling there is a more pressing concern?" Fitzwilliam shuffled through the papers on the table before snatching up the correct one and thrusting it into Dorian's hands. He continued pacing as he read. Soon the mage had let out a long low whistle. "They can't be serious," he said at last, depositing the sheaf back on the desk.
"They're serious," Fitzwilliam sighed. "The Council of Kirkwall has asked that the Inquisitor, as an unbiased party in the matter, pass judgement on Anders." Honestly, he had been expecting to hear from them sooner. It had taken them a little over a month to send word. He had expected that word to be "return the mage to us for judgement" not "have fun doing our dirty work", but he had still expected it sooner.
"But what about Varric and Hawke?" Dorian asked, brow furrowed, his fingers stroking his chin. "They had quite a hand in what happened there, if even half of Varric's tales can be believed. Why aren't they on trial?"
"I asked Josephine the same thing," Fitzwilliam admitted. "She said Varric's rebuilding efforts earned him a pardon from the Council. Hawke's assistance with the Breach and the Order of the Seekers's influence earned hers, apparently."
"What are you going to do?" Dorian asked seriously.
"I'm going to judge him." Fitzwilliam felt the weight of those words like a millstone around his neck. He moved to the couch and sat heavily. "He'll get a better deal from us than from the Council."
Dorian sat beside him and took his hand, fingers playing across his palm. It was soothing, in a ticklish sort of way. "And how will you find him, Amatus?"
Fitzwilliam felt conflicted. Anders had done what he had done for good reasons. And though it was tempting to blame Justice, the mage had known what he was doing and consented to following through. "I suppose," he said slowly, sounding unsure even to his own ears, "that depends on how the ritual goes. Do I have to pass judgement on both Anders and Justice because they are still joined? If so… I do not see a favorable outcome."
He could see Dorian flinch, though the mage tried to hide it by ducking his head to press his lips to the knuckles of the hand he held. "I know you will make the right choice," he said when he looked up. His smile may have held a glimmer of sorrow, but Fitzwilliam could feel the confidence in those words. "I do not delight in seeing these decisions weigh on you," he admitted. "But you are good…" The mage leaned in and dropped a short peck on his lips. "And kind…" Followed by another kiss. "And wise…" And a third. "And devilishly handsome," he drawled playfully. "Trust me, I would know." And then the cad winked. Despite it all Fitzwilliam found himself grinning from ear to ear. "That's better," Dorian purred. His lips brushed against the shell of his ear and Fitzwilliam felt a tingle run up his spine. If Dorian had his way they'd fall right into bed.
Unfortunately, their business was not yet concluded. "There was also a missive from your father," Fitzwilliam said hurriedly.
The mage let out a loud sigh and leaned back against the arm of the couch sulkily. "Venhedis, you've a talent for killing the mood, Fitzwilliam," he groused.
Fitz smiled apologetically and squeezed Dorian's hand. "Seems our accommodations are coming along."
"Terrific," Dorian drawled sarcastically. "Living under my parent's roof… alongside the man with whom I spend my nights. That's going to be just lovely."
Fitzwilliam rolled his eyes. "Don't be such a belladonna," he said with a smirk. "It will go far better than you think it will." He tugged on Dorian's hand until the mage deigned to comply and allowed Fitzwilliam to put his arm around him.
"So you heard from father about our journey?" He asked. Fitz nodded. "And what about mother?" He could feel the wariness in the bond. His mother was not something they often discussed. Until their trip had grown imminent Dorian had hardly said a thing about her. He had no clue what kind of terms the two were on.
He sighed, pulling Dorian closer and resting his head against the mage's. "She declined to respond to any of my messages. But that's fine. We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."
Dorian snorted a derisive laugh. "My mother is not a bridge, Amatus, she's the darkspawn hiding beneath it."
"You don't really talk about her," Fitz said cautiously. "Do you not get on?"
"She was not best pleased with my departure, no," Dorian huffed.
Fitzwilliam pressed a kiss to Dorian's cheek, feeling the stubble there scratch gently against his lips. He tried to think of something to say, words of sympathy or support, but he was lacking. Instead he placed a hand under Dorian's chin and coaxed his lips closer until he could drop a slow kiss upon them. Dorian sighed, his body relaxing, following the familiar steps. Fitzwilliam continued until all the tension had eased, then broke away and smiled. "Shall we to bed, Serah?" The words dripped with suggestion, though he did his level best to keep his face as casual as possible. The spike of lust through the bond gave him his answer before Dorian had even spoken.
"Yes," he purred. "Let's."
They were both mostly undressed by the time they made it to the large sleigh bed. Bits of clothing made a scattered trail or boots and shirts behind them. Dorian was hopping on one leg while removing his trousers and Fitzwilliam smiled at him. The mage looked up, spotted the grin, and narrowed his eyes. "Are you mocking me?" he asked.
Fitzwilliam affected a face of innocence and shook his head, eyes wide. "I would never," he replied, somewhat overdramatically.
Dorian, now clad in only the small slip of silky fabric that made up his undergarments, charged the Inquisitor, knocking him onto his back on the bed. He lay atop him for only a moment, their bare chests pressed close, before sliding down and removing the, apparently, offensive clothing which remained on Fitzwilliam's person. Off came the cream-colored trousers and matching smallclothes and out came Fitz's half-hard cock. Dorian threw the garments aside before leaning over, dropping his jaw, and taking the length into his warm wet mouth.
Fitzwilliam let out a sigh and closed his eyes. Dorian was very good at this. He suckled and licked, and, once his attentions had brought the man below him to full arousal, fisted base of his cock as his mouth moved up and down.
The Inquisitor wanted to watch but every time he tried to open his eyes Dorian swirled his tongue, or relaxed his throat and pulled him deeper still. So he had to settle for burying a hand in Dorian's hair, mussing it, and rocking his hips in time to the mage's attentions. Dorian took a sick pleasuring in bringing him just to the brink and then abruptly changing direction so that he teetered but didn't fall.
After the fourth time Fitzwilliam couldn't take it anymore. "Andraste's sacred ashes, Dorian!" he shouted, hips lifting off the bed in an attempt to follow the mouth Dorian had pulled away. "If you don't get up here and take me I'm going to have to cheat." He let the mark flash green, briefly, to back up his threat.
Dorian chuckled, but stood, motioning for the man to make room for him on the bed, as he retrieved a vial from the chest beside it Fitzwilliam obliged, moving to the center of the mattress. Dorian climbed over to him and kneeled between his legs smiling wickedly. "Don't you dare keep teasing me," Fitzwilliam scowled.
Dorian smirked, but said nothing as bit the cork of the vial, pulling it free with an audible "pop" before pouring a generous amount into his hand. Generally, Dorian preferred to oil his fingers and press them inside, slicking and stretching the Inquisitor. This time, however, it seemed the mage had other plans. The oiled hand reached down and Dorian grabbed his own hard length. The skin and purple head shimmered brightly, candlelight glinting off the oil. The mage's head rolled back and he let out a deep groan as his hips bucked to meet his hand.
Fitzwilliam propped himself up on his elbows and watched, utterly bewitched by the sight. Dorian seemed to be radiating soft light. His olive skin moved over the bunched muscles of his chest and shoulders as if it was straining to contain them. The flat slab of his stomach twitched as his cock reacted to the attention it was receiving. His body, held upright by the strength of his muscled thighs, rocked slowly, hypnotically. The steely contours of his arms standing out with the exertion of touching himself.
Fitz tore his eyes from where they lingered, watching that slick hand, and dragged them back up to Dorian's face, only to find him watching with a leering smile. "See something you like, Amatus?" he drawled. Fitzwilliam's manhood twitched and Dorian, seeing the reaction, smirked.
The Inquisitor nodded, tongue coming out to moisten his lips. "You're a vision," he said in a deep, gravelly voice. The mage's smile softened then from one of self-assured confidence to something more like affection.
He ceased his actions and leaned over, capturing the other man's lips with his own. Their tongues tangled playfully for a moment and then Dorian pulled away saying, "Lie down." Fitz did not need any further instruction on the matter. He lowered himself to the bed.
He heard the cork again and a moment latter felt the prodding, inquisitive touch with which he was so familiar. Dorian eased a finger inside him sliding easily, slicking him, before adding another. Fitzwilliam moaned, pressing his face to the side and into a pillow. Then the mage curled his fingers on the outstroke and molten heat seared his body as they passed over that place inside him that sent him trembling. Somewhere far away he could hear Dorian's low chuckle of approval.
Fitzwilliam would have said something angry but just as his senses were returning he felt the pressure of Dorian's member at his entrance. A moment later the mage was groaning as he slid inside, filling him, and all was forgiven.
Fitzwilliam pulled his knees up slightly so Dorian could stretch out over him. He did, bracing himself on his hands over the Inquisitor as he held his position buried inside him. He kissed him once more and then began the slow steady rocking of his hips that drove Fitz wild. It felt amazing, the fullness, the friction, the heat flesh on flesh. And beneath all that Fitzwilliam could feel him. Dorian. Through the bond he could feel an echo of what the mage was feeling – tight heat and control and love. And he knew Dorian could feel him too – fullness and openness and, yes, love. Love echoing back and forth growing in volume as the pleasure built.
Fitz arched his back, angling his hips in such a way that Dorian muttered a muted, "Fasta vass," under his breath and picked up the pace. The Inquisitor reached up, hands finding the hard lines of musculature that made up Dorian's bicep, squeezing and sliding up to his shoulder, taut with effort, before wrapping under his arm and digging his nails into his back. Dorian growled into his ear, nipping at his neck before leaning back and untangling himself.
Fitzwilliam made a sound that was certainly not a whimper at the loss of contact. Dorian, cruelly, ignored him and repositioned himself, pulling the Inquisitor's knees over his shoulders and seating his cock entirely within him drawing a deep moan of pleasure from them both.
The pace he set then was ruthless. Fast, but not hard, and maddeningly even. No matter how Fitzwilliam squirmed or twisted the rhythm did not falter. He wouldn't speed up, nor would he give the thrusts the pressure needed to really drive him home.
Finally, nearing desperation, Fitzwilliam panted, "Please, Dorian."
Dorian grinned, gaze hot and heavy, delighted with having drawn those words from his lover. The mage rocked his hips just so, cock sliding over the place his fingers had tortured earlier and Fitzwilliam felt the pleasure rolling through him. Dorian, spread his knees a little, creating a stable foundation for himself. An arm wrapped around Fitzwilliam's left thigh, pinning him, as the mage shrugged off his right leg. It fell to the bed, bent at the knee, foot planted so that he could meet Dorian thrust for thrust.
Dorian grunted and dropped his left hand down, fingers grasping Fitzwilliam's cock, hard as steel and dripping with arousal. The firm grip synced up with the mage's thrusts and Fitzwilliam squeezed his eyes shut as the sensation threatened to overcome him.
"Ahh," Dorian drawled. "Oh I can feel that, Amatus," he purred. "You're holding back."
"Blighted bond," Fitzwilliam moaned. He couldn't stop the rocking of his hips, the way the pressure gathered into a tight knot at his groin.
"I love watching you come undone while I fill you," Dorian purred, though his voice betrayed the effort speaking was costing. "Will you deny me?"
He felt the sharp truth of that statement flutter across the bond. The searing heat of the primal, reptilian pleasure it brought Dorian to see him come undone in this way. It built on his pleasure so that he was teetering on the edge of control. "Dorian," he gasped breathlessly. "I… ah!" The mage redoubled his efforts and instantly Fitzwilliam was falling over the edge. The coil in his core snapped and his entire body set to shivering as rope after rope of sticky wetness fell across his chest.
Dorian moaned, "Yes," somewhere in the darkness behind Fitzwilliam's eyelids. "Gorgeous." And then the Inquisitor, still riding his pleasure, felt Dorian press his pelvis tightly against him, go ridged, and fill him with his seed. Curses and deviant sounds of desire fell from the mage's lips in long strings as his cock twitching inside him.
Slowly, they both came down. Dorian rested his head against Fitz's thigh, nuzzling, as he tried to catch his breath. He pressed a soft kiss to his knee before he eased it down and slid free of his lover. The Inquisitor could feel a trickle of disappointment in the bond under all the satisfaction and contentment. Dorian moved off the bed, to the wash basin, where he dropped two cloths into the water, wrung the excess moisture from them, and then brought them over. He handed on to Fitzwilliam, who took it gratefully.
The mage stayed standing and cleaned himself, and even as deeply sated as he was, Fitzwilliam found he was transfixed by the scene. The cloth leaving trails of moisture across olive-tan skin as Dorian removed the day's dust, and sex, and sweat. His raven hair was tousled, a sight few had ever seen. His skin and cheeks tinged with the pink flush of exertion.
He pulled his attention away with some effort, and set to cleaning up his own mess. Maker, but it was a lot. Still, it wiped up easily enough and when he was done he dropped the towel to the floor and beckoned Dorian to return.
The mage smiled lopsidedly, his no longer perfectly waxed mustache quirking up on one side, and obliged. He slipped into the space under Fitzwilliam's arm and the man wrapped at around him, pulling him close and dropping a kiss atop his ruffled head.
"You know," Dorian sighed softly, fingers trailing across Fitzwilliam's chest, "if you tell anyone this I will deny it vehemently and spread rumors that you've been losing your mind, but I think this might be the best part."
Fitzwilliam chuffed a small laugh and tightened his embrace briefly in a one-armed hug. His free hand lifted and took Dorian's, fingers tangling. "Who would I tell, Serah," he asked playfully. "No one would believe such sentimentalism came from you." Dorian chuckled and kissed his thumb. "But, for what it's worth, this is my favorite bit too."