Chapter 10

"I am not keen on this," Fitzwilliam muttered as he packed the few things he would need to take with him to Skyhold. There would be clothing, and any sundries he might require there already, but he always carted research and notes from place to place. He slipped the books and papers into his satchel and threw the flap over.

Two weeks gone since the poison had nearly killed him and in that time Dorian had been a mother hen, yes, but it had been kind of nice to have the chance to ignore the outside world for a while. Dorian, naturally, still had to go out on occasion to accomplish this Senate business or that, but he'd been very firm with Fitzwilliam. He'd been allowed nothing but recovery for several days and after that only approved "activities" were permitted.

He smiled as Dorian came up behind him, wrapping his arms about his waist and resting his head on his shoulder. "I'm never keen to be parted from you, Amatus," he agreed, pressing a kiss to Fitz's neck. "But this is the price we pay for our vacation - now there is much catching up to do."

"But I'll be gone for days," he whined. Days in Skyhold, away from Dorian. And with no way to send word to Feladara… Admittedly, Fitzwilliam had left a couple of times while his lover was at meetings to deliver vague messages to one of the elf's drops. Perhaps it was foolish, but Dorian agreed, reluctantly, that it was better to let Feladara know he was okay than to risk him hunting Ataashi down and exposing his identity.

"Perhaps you will conclude your work swiftly," Dorian suggested. His voice lowered into a purr as his lips found purchase again. "I could offer incentive, should it be required."

Fitzwilliam tilted his head to the side to allow better access. "Such a generous offer," he gasped, pressing his backside snugly against Dorian. "You know, I still have time before Leliana expects me…"

"Don't taunt me, Fitzwilliam Trevelyan," Dorian pouted, teeth darting out to nip playfully at the pinkening flesh before him. "It's unkind."

He moaned, as he always did when Dorian engaged in such brutality. "Not taunting," he sighed finally. "Offering." He wiggled his hips and indulged in the ridge of his lover's already blossoming arousal.

However, Dorian still seemed suspicious. "I am going to go get naked and get in that bed," he informed with an air of seriousness. "And if you do not join me, Amatus, if you leave me in our bed and run off to Skyhold to frolic about, I swear I will never forgive you."

Fitzwilliam turned in the circle of Dorian's arms and smiled - a wicked, playful thing that had Dorian's brows going up in question. "Not if I get there first!" Fitz ducked out of Dorian's grasp a moment before his arms tightened and sprinted straight to the bed. He came up to it too quickly to stop and launched himself into the air before landing spread-eagle on the fine silk and cotton that had only just been made up after their night in it.

Dorian was quick on his heels, however, with a dexterity Fitz often forgot the mage possessed. It was a handful of breaths before he was crawling over him - as he rolled onto his back - and pinning Fitzwilliam to the bed. "You are a sneak and a cheat, Amatus." Dorian grinned down at him. "And you are going to pay for that stunt."

"Ooooh no," Fitzwilliam lamented, rolling his eyes. "Someone help."

"You'll pay for that one too," Dorian growled.

In a flurry of fingers and teeth Dorian relieved him of his clothing, playfully tossing it about and trailing delighted kisses along each newly-beared inch of flesh. Fitzwilliam was no slouch in his own efforts, divesting Dorian of his ensemble as efficiently, if not as entertainingly, as his lover did for him. Of course, given his prone position he didn't manage to get Dorian entirely naked. His trousers and smallclothes were settled about his knees, hampered by further movement by his footwear.

"I don't know, Dorian," Fitzwilliam litled on the tail of a sigh. "I'm afraid I fail to see how this is meant to be a punishment. Especially with the boots." Hungry lips suckled at the hollow of his throat, effectively stealing any further quips.

"I'll get to it." The pause in skin contact needed to speak was brief, Dorian almost immediately returning his lips to Fitzwilliam's collar bone and moving downward, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses. Several lovely minutes passed in that way as Fitz languished in the attention and sensation his mage showered upon him. Really, this felt more like a reward than a natural consequence of his smart-assery.

Too late, he noticed Dorian's kisses had wandered. No longer were they slipping over his abdomen, tongue snaking out to leave wet paths that left Fitz arching into the touch. No, they'd moved to the side, past his bottom ribs to his waist in a way that was too deliberate to be incidental. Dorian paused there, Fitzwilliam held his breath, and then it happened.

Dorian pressed his lips to the skin as his hands took a solid hold on Fitzwilliam's hips. There was no escape as Dorian began to wiggle his mustache over the very sensitive, very ticklish skin. "Ah! Dorian! Dorian, no!" He thrashed his body back and forth, giggling helplessly. Not enough to break free, not with the very secure grip of the mage's large hands.

"Take your punishment like a good boy," Dorian laughed. There was more mustache induced tickling and then, as Fitzwilliam looked down, a wicked quirk curled those lips before Dorian made a show of taking a deep breath.

He knew what was coming, but he was helpless to stop it.

Dusky pink lips created a seal against Fitz's stomach and then, then Dorian blew. The effect was a rumbling reverberation all over his abdomen that tickled something fierce. "Ah, no, nooooo," Fitzwilliam panted between peals of helpless laughter. He thrashed, he bucked, he begged, and he threatened until he had no breath to spare for anything but not succumbing to the blackness the lack of air threatened to bring.

Only then did Dorian relent, pressing his cheek to the heavy rise and fall of Fitzwilliam's chest as he allowed him to come back down. Though Dorian's body did shudder with its own silent chuckles, there were no more attempts to torture.

"That was evil," Fitzwilliam gasped when he finally had breath to spare.

"I told you you were going to pay." Dorian lifted his head to look up at Fitzwilliam all dancing eyes and quirked lips. It seemed he'd also mussed the mage's hair during their exchange and, Maker if the sight didn't make his heart skip.

"Evil," Fitzwilliam reiterated though it didn't quite have the same accusatory tone when he was smiling besottedly.

Crawling the rest of the way up his body, Dorian pressed a smirking kiss to Fitzwilliam's lips. He lingered there until smiles softened and kisses became more heated. Tongues darted to and fro stealing tastes and lapping at lips as hands began to wander with greater purpose. Dorian mostly relied on his to hold his weight off the smaller man, a fact which Fitz used to his advantage, moving to scratch his nails across Dorian's ribs. The effect was as instant as it was predictable and Dorian's back arched. Regrettably, the press pulled his lips free but the delicious way it snugged their hips, and erections, together more than made up for the momentary loss.

"Oh, Amatus," Dorian purred. He dipped his head low, brushing their noses as he stole another kiss. "Now who is playing dirty?"

"Turnabout and all that," Fitzwilliam quipped back.

Dorian's soft smile turned positively wicked. "Now that," he gruffed, "I can do."

Fitzwilliam often forgot how strong Dorian was. After all, he was a scholar and a mage, not traits that generally lent themselves to strength conditioning. And yet, in moments like this the fact he somehow found activities of brawn to balance those of brain was undeniable. Dorian reared back onto his knees as his hands returned to Fitzwilliam's hips once more. Then, with the smallest exertion of effort, his lover flipped him onto his stomach. It had the unfortunate side effect of tossing him a bit to the right side of the bed, but a subtle slide of Dorian's stance and another tug had Fitzwilliam up on his knees and pleasantly nestled back against Dorian's lap.

Palms slid across his stomach and up to his chest asking, with gentle insistence, for Fitzwilliam to sit up. He followed, rising until Dorian had hugged him to his chest. Lips again took possession of his neck, teeth biting at corded tendons, tongue lathing soothingly after. He didn't realize he was rocking back against his mage until firm hands took his hips, stilling them. "If you keep that up," Dorian warned, his breath hot and humid on Fitzwilliam's ear, "I'll be done before we get started." Fitzwilliam managed only a nod of understanding, but it was enough.

His mage's hands left him, skin cooling as Fitzwilliam whimpered an objection. Dorian pressed a kiss to his shoulder by way of apology. "Shh," he soothed. Behind him the mage was moving, fumbling for something. He found it in short order, returning his attentions to Fitzwilliam as he nudged his ass with a subtle buck of his hips. "Ease up a bit." Fitz rose up on his knees. It separated them entirely and he was not at all keen on it, but he heard the pop of a cork shortly followed by Dorian hissing softly, presumably as he applied the lubricating oil to his cock.

When he reached out, slick fingers sliding against the tight ring of Fitzwilliam's ass he could not suppress the cry of want, the rock of his body backward into that touch, begging for more. His mage chuckled softly, but denied him. No matter how Fitzwilliam gasped or wriggled he could not find purchase. Dorian's touch remained frustratingly light. "Dorian!" The name might as well have been a plea.

Soft, strong hands were guiding him back. He felt the slip of Dorian's length along the crack of his buttox, rocked against it, but Dorian just held him close and used his unoiled hand to coax Fitzwilliam's head to turn enough that he could kiss him once more. The awkward angle meant it was a brief, hungry, press of lips but he was glad for it. When they parted Dorian dropped more open-mouthed kisses down his jaw and neck.

"I apologize for the abbreviated nature of our tryst this morning," Dorian purred. He was shifting, plying Fitz's hips up with one hand as he guided himself to the pucker of Fitzwilliam's ass with the other. "We're on a bit of a time constraint, I'm told. I'll make it quick."

Words were stolen from his lips as the flared tip of Dorian's length penetrated him. For the duration of the slow slide Fitzwilliam was capable of nothing but gasps and moans. Only when he was fully seated in Dorian's lap, head thrown back over his mage's shoulder, did he manage to summon speech. "And what if I object," he mused. "What if I hold off and make it last?"

Dorian rocked his hips forward, bouncing Fitzwilliam so that he could feel every bit of Dorian as he thrust within him. "Oh I'm not worried about that," he laughed.

"A-and why is, ah. That?" Fitzwilliam shuddered, already knowing, as Dorian's lips and teeth teased his earlobe, that his words to his mage would be impossible to put into action.

"Because you seem to have forgotten one important detail." He could hear the strain in Dorian's words now, feel the puff of his breath as he exerted himself more, hips thrusting, hands guiding Fitzwilliam back against him, smoothing up his chest and hugging him close as they moved in concert. His legs started to burn with the effort, but there was no way he'd stop now.

They were losing rhythm by the time Fitzwilliam dared to take the bait. He could feel Dorian's shaft twitching inside him as it moved, slipping over the spot inside him that had his own cock kicking hard. It was near impossible to hold on as it was. "What have I forgotten, Doe?" The inquiry was more soft sounds than words at this point as Dorian's grip across his chest tightened until he thought he might be trying to merge them even further.

"I'm still wearing the boots," Dorian huffed. Fitzwilliam's words abandoned him completely, his legs held him up but he was entirely at his lover's mercy in this moment and he gave himself over to it. "You like the image of that." The words were grunts, he wasn't even sure if Dorian knew what he was saying now. "My legs in butter-soft leather, the smell of it mixed with the scent of sex-" Dorian cut off on a cry, thrusts hard and random now. "When you get back," he promised. "I'll wear them again. Just the boots and nothing else, and let you have whatever you want."

It was the final promise, the sweetness and lust in his tone, that pushed Fitzwilliam over the edge. He threw his head back, arching against his mage as his climax claimed him. There was no time to feel sorry for messing the bedding as he dripped his arousal onto them. No thought but for the sound of Dorian's cries in his ear, for the feel of his cock shuddering inside him, for the clutch of hands that held him close until they both settled back against the bed.

Still in Dorian's lap, still wrapped in his arms, he first became aware of Dorian's lips trailing soft kisses, his mustache tickling lightly. "Mmmm," Fitzwilliam sighed, tilting his head to invite more. "I love you."

"And I you, Amatus," his mage murmured against the sweat-slicked flesh of his shoulder.

Moving simply required too much effort. He rested all of his weight on Dorian, head lolling on the curve of his shoulder, positively preening under his mages continued efforts, but he mustered the strength to turn his head to the side and press his lips to the smooth curve of Dorian's jaw. He could feel the muscle shift under them as Dorian smiled.

A few more minutes of companionable silence and then the stiffness of folded legs finally cut through the afterglow. They both shifted a little, trying to get more comfortable, to stay close, but soon both were laughing. "I think," Fitzwilliam said through another run of helpless giggles. "It's time to admit defeat Dorian." He slid from his perch, hissing softly as he moved to the edge of the bed and began to stretch his legs. He reached his hands to the ceiling and humming with pleasure as he felt the satisfying "pop" of his vertebrae.

Fitzwilliam leaned across the bed and pecked a kiss to Dorian's high cheekbone. "I'll grab you a cloth." And with that he dashed over to the washing stand as Dorian moved about on the bed behind him. He turned back a moment later, warm, wet cloth in hand, to find Dorian was peeling out of the rest of his clothing and throwing the duvet back. He couldn't help but feel a little sad to see the boots set aside.

Dorian took the proffered towel and they both cleaned up quickly before falling onto the soft sheets in a tangle of limbs. "I must say," Fitz sighed as Dorian nosed into his, undoubtedly, sex-crazed hair. "I'm still not keen on leaving you, but that was a brilliant send-off."

The puff of Dorian's laughter ruffled his hair even further. "You expected anything less?"

"Oh no, perish the thought." Fitzwilliam burrowed closer, soothed by the press of warm naked flesh and the spice and oil smell of his lover and indulging the need for closeness until the warm breeze of a tevinter morning blew through the window and pulled him from his dreamlike haze.

They could lay there and keep pretending neither of them had to go about their days - that Fitzwilliam was expected at Skyhold and needed to be through the Warren in the next few minutes in order to not be late. Dorian certainly favoured that option, if the continued nuzzling and tangle of legs he didn't seem to be concerned with untwining any time soon was to be taken into account. Fitzwilliam found he wasn't all that impressed with having to leave the warmth of their bed, of Dorian, either. Perhaps he was just a bit clingy, a bit more focused on spending time with Dorian alone now they'd had the opportunity to lose themselves in each other while Fitzwilliam had no pressing concerns other than his recovery. Grumbling mostly to himself, he turned in the circle of Dorian's arms to rest his head on the pillow they shared. "I'm going to have to get up."

"That is an incredibly boring and silly idea." Dorian pouted and Fitzwilliam resisted the desire to kiss those already kiss swollen lips. They'd never leave the bed if he started all over again. "I can't, in good conscious allow you to make such a decision."

Laughing a little, and bumping their noses, Fitzwilliam heaved a great sigh. "Silly or not I'm afraid Leliana will make me clean the rookery if I keep her waiting." He didn't move to leave the warmth of Dorian's embrace, however. Instead, he wriggled closer until he could duck his head against the broad, powerful expanse of his lover's chest. He could feel Dorian's heartbeat through his skin, let the content in the bond wash over him in waves, and breathe deep the scent of him that always calmed his restless spirit.

Dorian's hands wandered over his back, smoothing across his skin, carding through his tousled hair, until, finally, he made a small sound of resigned disquiet. "We'll get up together," he sighed, moving at last and releasing Fitzwilliam. "I don't fancy being here surrounded by the smell of sex when you're across the Waking Sea. I'll leave when you do and go about my errands."

They dressed with the kind of comfortable ease and quiet Fitzwilliam had come to cherish. No need to fill the space with words, no worries of embarrassment if he made a funny face whilst pulling on his boots. It was the sort of peace you only got from being truly comfortable with someone and, he considered, much more valuable than any of the passion inherent in their early relationship. He would miss sharing these silences while he was away.

Unfortunately, the calm of their exertions was wearing off to be replaced by renewed anxiety over this trip to Skyhold. He suspected everyone he asked about Feladara and the investigation he was going to launch would side with Dorian. It was the reasonable side, the side of sense and caution and reason after all - it was the right side to be on. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth. The wariness just didn't feel right to him, didn't feel natural, and it bothered him that it didn't.

Gentle hands grasped his chin and urged his face upward until Dorian could lean down and kiss his swollen bottom lip. "Don't meet trouble half way," his mage reminded him with another peck.

"I don't want to leave you, Doe." He leaned forward, nosing at Dorian's neck through the opening of his high collar. Dorian wrapped him up in his arms but kept the embrace brief. Instead his hands moved to Fitz's shoulders pushing him back again so he could meet his gaze.

"We're fine, Amatus." Fitzwilliam flushed to think how easily his thought had been read by his lover. "And we will continue to be fine if we are apart for a while." He paused, smiling softly before fixing the top of Fitzwilliam's head with a glower. "Andraste, your hair is a mess." He carded his fingers through it in a show for trying to tame it, but Fitzwilliam was on to him.

"You just like touching it."

"I must," Dorian admitted scoffing. "Because the Maker knows getting it to sit flat is an effort in futility."

Fitzwilliam quirked a lopsided smile and reached up to touch Dorian's hair only to have the mage reeling away from him and lifting his hands defensively. "I just got it sorted!" Fitz put his hands down and closed the space between them before pressing an apologetic kiss to the worried slant of lips.

"C'mon," he sighed when he found the strength to pull away. He could still feel the tickle of Dorian's mustache and wriggled his nose as he turned and grabbed his bag. "Walk me to the the Warren?"

Perfect example of courtly manners that Dorian was, he offered Fitzwilliam his arm. "It would be my pleasure, Inquisitor Trevelyan."

Being in the war room always made him feel a bit on edge. He'd never been here without having to make weighty and important decisions. At least, he thought ruefully, the room was full of people he considered allies if not outright friends. But he had a feeling this was going to be a particularly awful meeting. The conversations he'd had with Josephine over the sending stone had lead him to believe things were getting a little worse every day - unrest among the nobles, increased distrust of the mages despite their efforts with the new college - so he could only imagine how this meeting was going to go.

The table before him, while still littered with various markers indicating threats that need met by their forces, now contained far more showing various political concerns. As well as locations of strategic points interest which Leliana had gathered intel on from her network.

It was the Ambassador, however, who started first. "I'm afraid," Josephine said gently, "things with the nobles have not improved as we had hoped."

"Of course they haven't," Fitzwilliam sighed. "And what are their complaints now?"

"The Fereldan nobility is mostly concerned with the lack of oversight at the new college, despite the fact Cullen has handpicked an entire team of Templars at Divine Victoria's request."

Cullen's scoff was audible and brought a smile to Fitz's lips. "They should be more grateful. It was unsettlingly difficult to find Templars who weren't inclined to abuse their position. Even fewer who hadn't fallen headfirst into the Lyrium addiction." He threw his hands up in exasperation, inspiring Josephine to a snicker she quickly hid behind a hand. "I found them gold in a sewer and they're complaining there isn't more!"

"There are many who would argue the quality of the Templar is irrelevant," Leliana pointed out.

"And those people are wrong," Fitzwilliam countered. He would have said so before Dorian, if not as vehemently as he now was. "The current check and balances are non-negotiable. The College will not become another prison." He didn't realize he was growling until he looked at the startled faces around him.

"No one wants that," Josephine assured him. "Well, no one in this room wants that," she corrected with a grimace. "It is largely those who side strongly with the Chantry that are making the most noise on the matter. It is fortunate for us that none of them have enough influence to alter the plans we have set in motion. But I will advise you, again," she fixed him with a pointed look, "that you cannot ignore them forever. You must agree to a meeting at some point."

"I'll meet with Divine Victoria, here at Skyhold," he muttered. "It would be good to see Cassandra once more."

Josephine nodded. "She's been getting a bit stir crazy. I think she would welcome the opportunity to visit. Though she is having her own struggles with the Seekers. They're… unsatisfied with her extreme reformations. She's worried it might come to a schism."

Dropping his head into his hands, he rubbed roughly at his face. "Tell her we'll talk about that too, when she comes. The Inquisition can lend its hand at easing negotiations if it comes to that." He suspected his words might have been too muffled for Josephine to understand but when he looked up she was already scribbling away on her absurd board. Fitz couldn't help but smile softly, endeared by her diligence.

"That will not help the rumblings from Orlais and Ferelden," Leliana pointed out. "They are already complaining the Inquisition is under too much influence from the Chantry."

"He can't bloody please everyone," Cullen objected.

"Thank you, Cullen," Fitzwilliam said, words and emphatic mix of appreciation and defensiveness.

"I am simply saying that further meetings with the new Divine will inspire more talk," she pointed out. "I am not saying we should not do it. I quite like what Cassandra has been doing with the Chantry."

"Be honest," Fitzwilliam grumbled. "It's mostly the Orlesians, isn't it."

"Oh no," she laughed bitterly. "They are more concerned that you have become Tevinter's Puppet. Especially now that Dorian has attained a seat on the Senate."

Wincing, Fitzwilliam was forced to admit, "That's largely my fault. I've been playing the fool so I might be able to obtain more information. If I'm honest I'm quite done with that game. I don't think I'll be able to keep it up much longer."

His counselors nodded. Cullen rubbed at his chin, Josie scribbled more, Leliana fixed him with a gaze that saw far too much. He bowed his head, suddenly weary.

"Is there anything else?"

"I can go more into the nobles if you're willing to come to the rookery later," Leliana suggested. Fitz could feel intention behind it. She didn't really want to talk about the nobels. Well, maybe a bit, but this was probably more about talking to him about whatever was bothering him than anything else. Damn spies. He nodded his agreement.

"I have additional reports on the Rifts," Cullen said as he moved to the table. He indicated the bright green markers.

"More than there used to be." Fitz looked them over. Mostly they were in the north, with a high concentration in the Imperium, but he could see there were a few in the south, locations seeming to appear at random. He pointed to one. "Is this reliable?" he asked, a bit of alarm creeping into his voice as he pointed at the green spike over Kirkwall. "Who reported this one?"

"Very reliable, I'm afraid," Cullen said. "We received word of that one from Varric."

His mouth fell open, working wordlessly as he mussed his hair. "Varric? Our Varric? Bianca, Varric?" Cullen's lips quirked into a suppressed smile but he nodded affirmation. "Well, fuck," he sighed. "That's pretty damn reliable."

"Indeed," Cullen agreed. "Anders has been inspecting it. Doing 'experiments' and sending us the data. There's a sheaf of his reports on the desk in your chambers. I believe it includes personal notes from Cole as well." Fitzwilliam could hear the amusement in his voice more than he could see it in his expression. It would never cease to amaze him that Cullen had finally decided Cole wasn't about to turn into a demon. They almost got along. Only Cole's habit of diving into other people's heads didn't sit well with the commander. Not that it sat well with any of them, mind.

"A great deal of these are in the north," Fitzwilliam pondered aloud. "Any idea why that would be?"

Cullen shook his head. "So far we haven't been able to determine a pattern. We have some mages at the College looking into it. Researching everything from fault lines to children's tales. So far no luck. Though I will say, it's a good thing you're in Tevinter, it seem the Imperium is having the highest saturation."

"Are all of those reports reliable?" Fitz gestured to the top of the map where details were quickly being obscured by the green spikes.

"Not all," Leliana admitted. "But even half of them being accurate would be cause for alarm."

"Maker's hairy ass," Fitzwilliam grumbled. "Closing the Breech was supposed to reduce the rifts, not make more!"

Josephine's giggle rang out again, her weakness for vulgarity to blame no doubt. "Well," she said once she was composed, "they've all but vanished in the South. So perhaps Tevinter's infestation is unrelated. Maybe this is the result of something new?"

"That's intriguing," Fitzwilliam admitted. "There's been other issues in Tevinter. Magic isn't working properly. Perhaps the two are symptoms of the same ailment."

"What do you mean, 'magic isn't working'?" Cullen asked, suddenly as serious as the grave.

"Dorian's been gathering reports. It's mostly affecting the powerful mages right now. Those who throw a lot of power around. But I'd wager it's just only a matter of time until it's spread to them all." He went to the drawer and pulled out a new, unused set of markers. These were purple. "I know there are several confirmed in Minrathous," he said as he placed one on the capitol. "And a few in the outlying towns where recluse Magisters prefer to live." A few more joined, dotted around the outskirts of the city. "Leliana, have you heard any rumblings from you network?"

She nodded. "I'd written them off as tales of fancy but perhaps there is some credence." She took her place at the table, lifting several markers from his hand and settling them on the map. "I am confident these three reports from Orlais are authentic." They came to rest on Halamshiral and Montsimmard before Leliana placed one more smack in the middle of the Arbor Wilds. That was concerning enough, but a fourth last marker settled in Kirkwall. Fitzwilliam shot her a quirked brow in question. "I thought Anders was telling colorful stories the last time we spoke," she explained. "But it would seem he was not."

Fitzwilliam stood back and looked at the spread. It was many many more than he was comfortable seeing. "News of this doesn't leave this room," he said seriously. "I'll notify the grand enchanter while I'm here. Perhaps they will have some idea or at least more detailed accounts." Looking around at their faces he could tell he didn't need to impress how bad this was. With the Rebellion only in their recent past, distrust for mages and the new system still ran rampant. If they wanted to hold on to their new arrangement, to the freedom mages not only richly deserved but also desperately needed, news of this simply could not become public. "Josephine, Leliana, I need you to be proactive about this. Fabricate information, rumors of what could be causing it, something, anything, to keep the attention off the mages themselves." They nodded their agreement. Maker, but he was not looking forward to telling the grand enchanter his mages couldn't be trusted with their magic. Dorian knew more. He'd have to arrange talks between them.

Nodding, he ran his hand through his hair. "Are there any other matters on the table that cannot wait until tomorrow?" He already sounded weary and he still had more to do today. A great deal more. He would just hold on to the distant knowledge that eventually he would settle in his rooms. He wanted to speak with Dorian over the sending stone, but he knew his lover had a full evening before him. It was no matter. It would keep.

"I believe that is all on today's agenda," Josephine agreed. "Though we will have to meet again in the morning."

He shook his head. "Push it to the afternoon Josie. I'll need to talk to the grand enchanter before anything else." She bobbed her head in reluctant agreement, scribbling a note about the change on her board. "Thank you." He fixed her with an earnest smile, lingering a moment before turning it on the rest of them "All of you." He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax a bit. "Leliana, I'll be up to the rookery later. Commander, Madame Ambassador, until tomorrow." He did not wait for their all too formal bobs and bows before turning on his heel and leaving the war room as quickly as possible.

In need of a drink, as he always was after talking politics, Fitzwilliam turned his gait toward the tavern. A stiff drink, a friendly face, sitting with good friends. Maker, but that sounded perfect.

Authors' Note:

Eclectify: This gave us absolute hell. We're sorry it's taken so long. We never want to look at it again

RikkiTikkiCathy: THANK GOD THIS OVER GO READ CH 11 IT IS MUCH BETTER.