'Breathe in, breathe out. That's it. Keep doing that.'

Nodding to his thoughts, Dorian attempted to collect himself before Varric arrived. He could easily recall all those nannies and teachers throughout his younger years on the importance of how he presented himself. He could remember a certain nanny scolding him for his eyelid twitching once. "The slightest difference can show weakness, Little Pavus!"

In Tevinter, every centimeter of himself was measured to perfection. His hair was attended to to the finest details. His clothes were constantly being updated to stay modern and trendy. His face was always carefully blank when it wasn't flashing his charming smile. No sign of weakness for the enemies to exploit. Each word, chosen with care knowing the slightest word choice difference could mean a dagger in the side, or a partner to bed that night.

Constantly on guard. Constantly watching. Forever alert for potential dangers lurking in supposed "allies".

It was one of the things that drew Dorian to Alarion in the first place.

He had been just so undeniably happy. Standing there in a Chantry with a recently closed Rift, with a blasted smile across his face. "So, not a trap then? I had wondered."

Dorian, at first, had been convinced that the elf's mask was that smile. That Alarion had simply never been good at showing a careful blank face so he stuck to a smile. A 'honey attracts more flies' type of mask.

But as Dorian observed, he noticed that the elf smiled even when no one was around. He'd grin to himself as he picked elfroot to help bandage some poor soul's wound. He would sit there with a content smile as he combed through a book on a bench outside his hut in Haven. And on missions when there was no one around to watch besides three others, he was always the first to smile, the first to laugh, and the first to extend a hand to anyone that needed it.

Alarion had never been afraid to show people he was happy.

When he was angry, you could feel the anger rolling off of him as his eyes set fire to your insides.

When he was sad, he gulped a lot. Dorian knew it to be his way to hold back tears.

And when he was scared? He'd grip his fists around something sturdy or fiddle with paper until it ripped to shreds.

Regardless of what emotion it was, why he was feeling it, or who was around to see, Alarion felt no shame in letting people see his feelings as they were. Besides the few instances where he had been convinced (or, occasionally, bribed with strawberries) to actually play The Game, Alarion had no issue showing his true face for the world to see.

He would still hear his father whispering into his ear, "Avoid scandal at all costs. Image is everything." Even with the elf shrugging with a grin and saying, "Eh, who cares what they think? They don't know me or you. So why should I care?"

Dorian had craved that type of person far more than he had ever realized. He wanted to be around someone so genuine in their ways and so honest about it the way they showed it. It was… refreshing, if a bit native.

And though the elf could nearly always, if easily, see through Dorian's mask, Dorian never could make himself fully stop hiding behind bravo and jokes; though he had his moments where it would slip completely.

So many times he had found himself wishful that he could be more frank and honest like that blasted elf. That all those lesson hadn't been pushed on him since he was a toddler.

Now, however, he desperate clung to those life old lessons. Dragging each to the forefront of his mind. Any and all instructions on how to hide the grief from his eyes. The heaving of his chest. The way his legs felt itchy and warm, wanting him to run and never look back.

Anything that would help.

As he took another deep breath, he opened his eyes that he couldn't remember closing. The sunlight seeping through the canopy allowed rays to dance across his face. It was difficult to see, but Dorian forced himself not to squint. Image. Image.

The door to his side opened slowly. With a heavy sigh, Varric walked up before closing it behind him. He took a moment to spot Dorian leaning against the wall beside the entrance before giving him another sigh. "Well, I've calmed him down the best I could. Still a little jumpy, though."

"Ah. Too many feathers for you?"

"You could say that." The dwarf let out another huff of air before sitting down next to the human. They both looked ahead, instead of at each other. "Elf are mostly hairless, but they never said anything about feathers."

There was a pause before Dorian let out a small laugh. "Varric, that joke was terrible. Not even Alarion's jokes were ever that bad."

"True, not one of my bests." There was a long lapse before Dorian spotted Varric turning towards him through the corner of his eye.

He didn't turn to face him. "Lovely weather we're having. Nice and sunny."

There was a pause before Varric let out a short chuckle through his first three words. "Are you seriously trying to start small talk right now?"

"Ah. I figured with his metaphorical hackles up, you need someone new to remark on the weather with."

In response, Varric let out a brief chuckle before it turned into a sigh. "Shit, Sparkler."

"Yes, quite." He knew Varric meant, 'Now what?' but he wasn't willing to answer that anymore than Varric wanted to ask.

So they sat in silence, watching the sun lower itself ever so slowly pasted the treeline.

It was Varric who finally broke the silence by his uncontrollably laughter. Dorian's stomach alight with fury as he snapped a glare in Varric's direction. What was possibly humorous about this situation? He watched in seething anger as Varric raised a hand to his forehead. "Shit."

Before Dorian could find out exactly what was 'shit' now, both men leapt to their feet. In sync, they turned their attention towards the collection trees in front of them.

Rustling, panting, rocks shifting… Someone (or perhaps people) was coming and they were coming in fast! The flare of anger from before burned ever brighter as Dorian casted it, hands now aglow with flames. To his side, Varric removed Bianca from his back.

His staff may have been inside the house, but Dorian Pavus was far from helpless. Maker have mercy on whatever fools got through Liliana's safety measures to try and hurt Alarion.

Varric aimed. Dorian pulled at the Fade. They were silent, but both understood exactly what the other was going to do.

The noise grew louder. They tensed, perfectly ready. The clatter suddenly escalated as a thin figure came bursting through the coverage. Rags, knives on his side, but an oh so familiar hat atop his pale head.

Dorian let out a, "Vinste kaffas, Cole!" at the same time Varric huffed out a, "Maker, Kid!"

"You very nearly gave me a heart attack!" Dorian continued, letting the flames vanish.

But the lad ignored them both as he rushed towards the door. Dorian only had a passing moment to catch a glimpse of his expression, but the boy looked desperate.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no," he was chanting. He made it to the door, but couldn't seem to get a strong enough grip to turn the handle. As Dorian and Varric drew near, it was clear that Cole's hands were shaking far too much to get a steady grasp. He had yet to stop his long and frantic mantra of begging 'no's.

"Kid," Varric said gently. He reached forward and slowly placed a hand over Cole's shaking ones. "Take a deep breath."

"V-Varric?" The boy looked shocked to see him. "Wh-why doesn't Alarion remember me? I'm realer now. Everyone remembers me. I-I-I don't understand."

Dorian had to swallow before resting a hand on his shoulder. Cole was so skinny it barely felt like there was any substance below the rags he called clothes. "He doesn't remember any of us, Cole. It was nothing you did."

"I-I want to help." Cole turned back to the door. "B-but I'm not sure how to. I-I…" He let out a wail, hands slipping out of Varric's kind touch to cover his eyes as tears began to freely fall. "He doesn't remember me!" he blubbered.

"Take a deep breath, Kid… Come on, Kid. It'll help. Here, breathe with me."

With an overabundance of patience, Varric gently led Cole away from the door, helping to regulate his breathing the entire way. Eventually, Varric eased Cole onto the ground, sitting next to him. With his breathing now even, Cole sat there with silent tears running down his still shaking face. He had his head tilted towards the house as if listening. But, then again, this was Cole. He probably was.

After a moment of tense silence with Varric and Cole sitting on the grass as Dorian looming over them, Varric let out a light chuckle. "Twist my tale, Kid; it's good to see you. But how did you get here?"

"I-I…" He gulped, before looking up at Dorian. "I heard you hurting, Dorian. You needed me. It was so loud even so far away! I-I didn't understand. Why were you hurting more now? Cullen and Cassandra told me months ago that you needed space and I should let you decide if you wanted help. So you hurt about Alarion alone. B-but then when you were starting to heal, you were suddenly hurting even more!" He paused his monologue to let out a hiccup. "So I wanted to help. I started to walk. Then I found a boat. The captain let me ride after I untangled the hurt about his wife. Then I found a horse that wanted to help and he took me very far. When he got tired I walked the rest of the way." The boy paused, looking up at Dorian wide blue eyes shimmering in tears. "I want to help you, Dorian. I-I didn't even hear Alarion until I got much closer. I don't understand. I heard Alarion leave. I felt him pass into the Fade. How is he alive?"

"Cole." Dorian's eyes widened. He bent down, gently gripping the boy's shoulders. "What do you mean 'Alarion passed into the Fade'?"

"I heard him scream." The lad clapped his hands over his ears as if he could still hear it. "He didn't want to lose. He wasn't scared of dying, b-but he didn't want to be erased. So he screamed very loudly. And I reached out. I wanted to find him – to help! But I couldn't! I couldn't. I couldn't even hold his hand. I-I tried! I felt him fall through the Fade. I tried to help him! But I couldn't follow him! I'm too solid and real. I-I had thought it meant he had died. Before, I have felt people slip into the Fade when they die. They have never been as loud as Alarion, though. I had thought it was because he is my friend. I-if I had known he was alive…!"

"You would've helped, I know." Varric finished gently. "You couldn't have known, Kid. None of us saw this coming."

"The Fade…" Dorian mumbled, standing again.

If Cole had felt Alarion, his Alarion fall through the Fade, that could explain the memory loss, couldn't it? The average person making that sort of journey (outside of dreaming of course), would likely not survive. But his amatus had physically walked the Fade not once, but a total of three times. A trip through the Fade was normal for him. A dangerous one, no doubt, but familiar nonetheless.

Dorian began to pace, barely listening to Varric attempting to sooth Cole.

The real question is who made Alarion slip out of this realm and why? What were they trying to gain? What could they possibly want?

Had his physical body gone as well? Or just his mind therefore his memories?

What was their aim? Surely the end goal hadn't been a memory-loss elf. Even if they wanted him as a prized slave to parade around to others (those bastards! No, don't think about it) there were easier ways to break a man into submission. Course, Dorian would've positively murdered them for it. And not quickly either.

No, murderous thoughts later. Right now…

So, was it the case of an experiment gone wrong? The Anchor was pure Fade energy. Maybe someone was trying to do experiments on it. A clear situation of, 'Let's play with magic we don't understand It'll make us incredibly powerful!'.

Ah. He had said that to Alarion once, hadn't he?

"Dorian." He looked over at his name to see Cole looking at him with unguarded concern plastered across his face.

He let out a sigh, feeling shame tickling his insides. "Forgive me, Cole. I should have made sure you were alright before I tried to figure out what had happened."

The lad shook his head. "You just want to help Alarion. I do too. I just don't know how."

Varric sighed, leaning out of Cole's space now that he looked less hysterical. "You can actually help us a lot, Kid. We need information more than anything else. Alarion's too scared to give us any. Can you do your little mind-reading trick and tell us something we don't know?"

After holding Varric's gaze for a moment, Cole looked down at his wringing hands. "I'll try. Alarion has always been bright and hard to hear. Like counting birds against the sun. Now there's two suns and I make my own noises too. It's very hard."

"No one is expecting you to be perfect. Just give it your best try."

Cole was silent for a moment before he threw his head back and began to cry again. "It's Alarion! He's alive! But he's hurting so much. And it's also hurting you! Both of you! I need to help!"

"You need to calm down, Kid." Varric said, gently. "Do you need helping breathing again?"

"No I… I'm okay Varric. Thank you."

Dorian watched as the boy began to shiver violently, still crying. He tried to think up a time he had actually seen the boy cry. Cole had come close a few times, sure, but never actually shed tears, from what Dorian could remember. But now, it seemed as though the lad could not stop. The mage felt his heart clutch. He bent down to the ground and placed a hand on Cole's shoulder, giving it a small squeeze.

"Thank you, Dorian." The lad whimpered, looking at him with the wide eyes. "You want to help me, but it should be the other way around. A-Alarion wouldn't want you to blame yourself. This isn't your fault."

"Yes well…" He hesitated for only a moment. "He doesn't exactly feel that way now, does he?"

"No, no, no! You're looking at it all wrong! You keep thinking that you didn't save him, but you did! H-he would've stayed with the magister if you didn't find him in that market! You saved him!"

"Wait…" Dorian's eyes widened, his grip suddenly tightening on Cole's shoulder without thought. "The magister, Cole. Tell me who the magister is."

The boy trembled under Dorian's touch. "The Master. The Magister. The man from the beach. The one with terrible and wonderful fingers. The giver of both life and death. The everything. Master Magister Irian."

Somewhere far away, Dorian heard Varric responding.

Irian.

Cole was looking at him now, with wide eyes. His mouth was moving quickly, but Dorian continued to stare without thought.

I-ri-an. Where in the Maker's name did he recognize that name from? He knew of all the magisters, but Irian was a common enough that it belonged to four people. Which was the bastard?

The feeling of ice water pouring on his soul hit him before his mind made the connection. He felt all his breath leave before he fought for air. After gasping for only a spilt second (fast enough that a small voice in the back of his head hoped Varric hadn't have noticed), Dorian leapt to his feet.

The blood in his head was pumping so loudly that he couldn't hear anything, even his own thoughts. He felt himself lunge forward, only to have something snag his arm and pull him back to where he was.

"Easy, Sparkler."

Unable to stop himself, Dorian began to scream all the horrible things he was going to inflict upon that man. During a pause for breath, Varric chuckled. "Glad I didn't understand that. Probably involved things my precious little ears couldn't handle."

"Quae tu loqueris de…? Kaffas! I'm going to find that man, and I'm going to kill him!"

"Promise broken. Didn't protect him. Left him to suffer. Didn't look. My fault. The bastard. The one that kept him from me! My fault. Paper on papers. Words dancing on the pages. Nights spent with an ache in the back that now lives in the heart. All my fault." Cole rambled frantically. "Should have been there. Should have been there. I should have been there."

"Thank you, Cole!" He snapped. "There's nothing quite like hearing that out loud, is there?"

The lad flinched, hiding behind his hands. "This is like Haven, Dorian. He's not dead just like he wasn't dead then. It wasn't your fault then, and it isn't now. You weren't there, and that's not. Your. Fault!"

He opened his mouth to argue, but Varric kicked him in the shin before he could. "Leave the Kid alone. He's here to help!"

"Fighting, always fighting! Don't shrink away! You can change right this time. Make things right. You owe them all. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for me." Cole suddenly let out a shrieking wail. "I want to help! Let me help him."

Dorian shook his head, turning towards the gate again. Later! That could all wait until later. Right now, he had a magister to kill. Just thinking about it made the air crackle with barely contained storm magic.

"Dorian stop!" Varric strolled in front of him, blocking the entrance. "I want the bastard just as dead as you do! This is a magister we're talking about! Killing him could get you executed or imprisoned. What good can you do then?"

"It'd be worth it!" He growled. The air around them snapped loudly, everyone's hairs now standing on end. In any other situation, Dorian would be furious with himself for losing even this much control. As it was, any and all fury was being fueled into his smoldering hatred towards the bastard of Amladaris House.

"Saved my life. Home, safe." Cole shook his head, tears still falling. "Alarion thinks he saved him, not hurt him. If he ever found out, he would never trust us again. We'd lose all hope to help."

"Plus," Varric turned back to Dorian, face and voice firm. "Plus, we need more information. This nug-humping bastard might be the only person to know exactly how Alarion lost his memories and whether or not it could be reversed."

Despite this logic, Dorian still made a move towards the gate. He only stopped when Cole ran in front of him as well. "Please Dorian! Alarion needs you! He needs help. If you go, he'll never trust you. A-and…" The boy grew quiet enough that his voice came out as a hint of a wisp. "Alarion didn't let me kill the Templar that killed me. He would have never wanted one of us to kill someone for revenge. Especially his own revenge."

For a moment, Dorian couldn't even breath. Behind him, Varric nudged him. "Do this for the elf."

The anger trickled out of him, but didn't vanish. Instead of pushing past the two and charging out, he curled his fists. "Fine. But I will kill him. Make no mistake of that."

"But… but Alarion!" The lad's protest ended quickly his eyes gaining that far off look as his voice blurred. "Every action is watched. Every move evaluated. Say or do something wrong and I will be punished. Strike across the face. Burn my arms with candles; no marks but pain, raw, burning, always burning with unspoken cries. Or he'll hold me down, letting his hands roam as I whimper and beg to die. But never out loud."

A beat of a second. Dorian's hands grew limp and heavy, knees stumbling and hitching before they gave out and he tumbled to the floor. Head spinning. Throat, difficult to breathe and impossible to swallow. Tiny invisible worms tingled across his skin. His chest heaved, trapping the air in it while simultaneously threatening to lose its contents. Run. Get away. Now!

A beat of a second. Then another. Dorian could only blink as Cole continued his uncontrollable rambling. "Soft, round, wrong! Anaka is always worse than Master. Binds, roughed leather. Tighten around my wrists. Purple thumbs and I try and escape, futile. Dry, used, old leather tried around my mouth. Not a sound. Never a sound.

"Her hands grab, seeking and always taking. Worse, my hands on her. Soft, round, wrong, wrong, wrong! If I don't do it right, she uses magic. Blasts of cold. Ice crystals on my toes. Beautiful in their pain. Aching I feel for days. Silent winces.

"Master is–"

"Kid." Varric's clear firm voice cut through the chatter as easily as a warm knife in butter. "Stop. Now."

"I-I made the hurt worse, didn't I? I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I-I want to help! But Alarion is even brighter now and I make my own noises too! I've been trying to hear him, but it's so hard! Then it just came out!"

"Breathe Kid. Just breathe."

Dorian blinked a few times, trying to follow the conversation to the best of his abilities. Why was he looking at the muddy ground? Why couldn't he lift his head?

"Sparkler." A pair of fingers invaded his sight, snapping as they did. Dorian followed the motion the best he could, but found his head didn't want to rise more than the little it did. However, it allowed him to face Varric properly at least. The dwarf had on a large frown and noticeably paler skin. "Come on, stay with me Sparkler."

The mage let out a light chuckle that equal held and lacked mirth. "Where would I possibly go, Varric? I can't bring myself to deprive you of my company."

Varric didn't smile in response, but his eyes twinkled. "Sure, keep being a smug little ass. I prefer that over the shocked non-responsive altus."

Before Dorian could quip back, Cole let out a gasp, fingers rising to his lips. His eyes widened beyond the point they already were. "I… I can help him. I know how to help!"

Only a second passed before Varric jumped on. "Great Kid! What's the plan?"

"Mind bending, shaping. Fade pushing, pulling, pulsing. Mind making shape to all things." Cole blinked, before his head snapped up, eyes wide and red. "I can make him forget."

After a long while, Cole looked between the two, face and voice revealing his confusion. "Why aren't you happy? This will help him."

Varric let out a sigh, drawing closer to Cole. "Alarion has already forgotten us. That's not the problem."

"No, not that. Not us. Mind so full of color… Alarion can't remember us through the light. B-but the bad things? The things that came after the light? Hands, beating, pushing, grabbing… Alarion needs to forget that. I can help. I haven't been able to make people forget anymore. But his mind is so… bright. I can do it."

Dorian took a sharp inhale before hissing out, "You want to take away more memories! Don't you think Alarion has forgotten enough?"

Cole flinched, giving a small whimper. "Cold, hard, pain. Constant and unmoving. When will they do the same? Kind voiced, but hidden in thorns? When will the strike come?" He shook his head before continuing. "Master's grip is too strong. It makes Alarion so scared! The fear blinds him to our help. I can help with that! I can make him forget."

There was silence for a moment. During it, Dorian's mind was anything but kind. He kept seeing the images of his beloved. Candles burning in him. Hands tied up. That revolting twisted evil man! His hands…

Dorian knew every inch of Alarion's skin. He spent months mapping it out in his head. Reveling in the knowledge that this was something only he knew. That Alarion not only let him, but loved Dorian's touch.

To know that… that…

His stomach began to retch. Before Dorian knew what was happening, he was heaving and waving off any help. After all, the vile taste in his mouth couldn't compare to the feeling swirling in his stomach.

All this time… Dorian had been feeling sorry for himself. Hating himself for not protecting Alarion. Feeling wretched that Alarion was petrified of him. Flinching at him. Begging that he would suddenly remember and love him again.

All this time, Dorian had wanted revenge for keeping Alarion away from him for so long and for making him lose his memories.

And whenever Alarion would flinch and beg to be let go, Dorian had no idea as to why. But how? How had he never wondered how deeply tortured Alarion had been this whole time? All this time loathing himself for not protecting him, had Dorian never fully understood from what?

Dear Maker. Dorian was a horrible person.

"Dorian!" Cole suddenly appeared on his side, hugging him tightly. Despite it, Dorian barely felt him. "Dorian, please! This isn't your fault! Alarion would have never blamed you for this. He doesn't blame you for this! You're thinking about it all wrong! Please, Dorian."

"Dear Maker." Dorian responded.

He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to burn down all of Thedas and laugh as the screams filled the air. He wanted Alarion to come running out of the house to give him a smile and a hug. He wanted for none of this to happen. He wanted to have never left Alarion behind in Skyhold, all teary-eyed but grinning as they said goodbye. His hands trembling as he cupped Dorian's face and placed their foreheads together. His shaking departing words of, "Creators, Dorian. I am going to miss you so much. I just love you so much. Please write often."

Dorian hadn't wanted to leave. He had wanted to stay by Alarion's side for forever. But he couldn't. He had to make Tevinter a better place. It was his duty.

Damn Alarion for being so understand and supportive.

"He wanted you to follow your dreams, Dorian."

"I should have never left, Cole."

Maker, there were so many things Dorian wanted.

He… he wanted to forget it all.

Gently but firmly pushing out of Cole's embrace, he turned to Varric. The dwarf looked so… stuck. So uncharacteristically unsure and quiet.

This… this was Dorian's choice wasn't it?

"Dear Maker."