"Solas! Welcome to my home. Tell me, when did you arrive?" said Dorian as he rose up on his elbow, the very picture of a delighted and formal host from the neck up.

Or perhaps not. Maxwell reached up to brush away a spot of decidedly unformal evidence of pleasure from the place under his jaw, and Dorian gave him a quick grin before turning back to the elf with a gently raised eyebrow.

"Not recently. I was in the entry, before. When you arrived back," said Solas.

"Were you?" said Dorian in surprised tones that were just a hint overdone. "I must have been drifting. Forgive my appalling manners. I hope you rooted about for refreshments while Maxwell and I concluded our urgent business."

Maxwell, who, if he said so himself, had been doing a masterful job of controlling his amusement, lost his grip once more and giggled like a Chantry initiate into Dorian's sculpted shoulder. And it was giggling of a sort he hadn't done even when he had been a Chantry initiate. But there was something so joyful in this moment, in the way Dorian's eyes were lit with laughter behind his noble mask and Solas's outraged schoolmarm pose and the fact that Maxwell hadn't yet disengaged himself from the ass that had been even better than he'd remembered.

He did so as Solas hissed in annoyance. Dorian coughed once to cover a laugh and a groan before saying with careful concern, "Is there something the matter?"

"There was an outpouring of magic in this room," said Solas, his voice dripping with ice. "The world destabilized. I was concerned."

"Ah, yes. Well, not that I would ever brag, of course - terribly gauche, particularly when one is as obviously handsome, erudite and cultured as myself - but I must say I am rather magical. It must have been all of that pesky talent escaping again," said Dorian. "Maxwell, be a dear and fetch us some towels. And possibly our pants, if you have enough hands."

Maxwell was dangerously close to passing out with laughter, even more so when he got a good look at Solas determinedly staring at the wall above their heads. He thought he saw Fenris lurking in the hall behind him as well, his white hair swinging as he took quick little peeks at the tableau, so Maxwell ran a possessive hand over Dorian's still-slick chest before he leaned down to peck him lightly on the lips.

"Only because you look so satisfied," he said loudly. "Someone must have really tired you out."

Dorian rolled his eyes. "Men. Please tell me you aren't going to pee on me or something equally barbaric."

Maxwell made a face. "Ugh. Never say that again."

"If you're going to behave like a dog in heat in front of our distinguished guest, it's only fair you're treated like one. Brute."

"You were the one who seduced me first. Harlot."

Dorian smirked. "Ruffian."

"Libertine," murmured Maxwell, already leaning down for another kiss. Round two was almost certainly not in the cards, and not only because they had an audience, but he was never one to miss an opportunity for a little foreplay. Afterplay. Whatever this was.

Love had some good things going for it after all, he decided when Dorian fell back into the pillow and sighed happily into his mouth.

Even Solas's pointed, "Towels and pants, Inquisitor?" couldn't bring him down totally. But in deference to the fact that he was being obnoxiously soppy, Maxwell rolled away with a minimum of protest and started digging through the room's drawers.

"What happened?" asked Solas.

Maxwell didn't turn around as he said, "Well, it started on the wall over there, and then he got terribly snippy before we worked it out on the bed…"

"Maxwell, please! My delicate reputation!" said Dorian, likely fluttering a hand in front of his face like an Orlesian noble. In more normal ones, he added, "It was a small loss of control, that's all. Maxwell was… overly stimulated. But he repaired the damage."

"Not that," said Solas. "The other magic. Below us. What did you do?"

"You felt that?" asked Dorian curiously. "Interesting. What was it like?"

"Familiar," said Solas. "I felt something like it long ago, when I walked an ancient memory in the Fade. From the time of the first Exalted March."

Maxwell finally located towels and began wiping himself down. He tossed an overly fluffy one to Dorian, who glared at him when it hit him in the face. Maxwell grinned back before turning to Solas. "You realize you explain yourself that way too often to be believable, right?" he asked. He dropped his voice into a studious monotone. "'I once found an artifact exactly and identically like this as I wandered the world of dreams.' You can admit you read books to figure this stuff out, you know."

Solas ignored him. "Fenris says you were made Archon, and that it took a surprisingly long time for you to emerge." He held out a hand suddenly, and a pulse of energy wrapped around Dorian's body.

"Hey!" said Maxwell when Dorian yelped. He dropped the towel and stepped forward. "That's my boyfriend you're combing with weird magic."

"It didn't hurt," said Dorian, but he sounded a bit shaken. "Was that elven? Some kind of Rift magic?"

Solas shrugged, then tilted his head to the side. "What did the blood magic do to you?"

Blood magic? thought Maxwell, but he bit the words away from his lips. Instead, he slid back onto the bed and touched Dorian's shoulder gently, looking deeply into his eyes when he turned. He didn't know what he was looking for, exactly, but this was what Dorian had done for him at the party, and he'd be damned if he would be outshone in the caretaking role.

The blend of indulgence and softness in Dorian's eyes said that he knew what Maxwell was doing. "Not that type, amatus," he said. "I'm quite myself. Mostly. Now that I'm here. But I'm afraid I can't tell you what it did."

As if that assurance meant anything. Dorian could be inhabited by some demon, and Maxwell would never know. He had been awfully amorous tonight, beyond his usual careful debauchery. Hopefully Cullen could help. If someone or something had taken away his sweet, pithy, lovely mage, Maxwell was going to kill them. Extremely slowly.

He frowned, then sighed when Dorian patted his cheek and made a slight pleading moue. Another place to trust where he doubted. Love was very demanding.

"Try to tell us," urged Solas, apparently uninterested in all of it.

Dorian turned back to the elf and opened his mouth, then closed it and frowned. He seemed to think furiously to himself, then opened his mouth once more. Finally he shook his head, but his eyes were sparkling. "Fascinating. Like a word on the tip of one's tongue that can't quite be recalled, only it's entire sentences. Ideas. Damnably clever of them," he said to himself. He looked back at Solas. "You're sadly out of luck."

"Spells of that nature have a place where they're released," said Solas. "It's their way. You'll take us there in the morning and explain this new power. We should be safe until then, and it could be useful."

Maxwell was on the cusp of agreeing when Dorian crossed his arms. "I don't recall inviting you into this little circle of confidantes," he said. "And you already seem to know far too much about all of this, so you'll forgive me if I politely decline."

Fenris swung into the room then, and Dorian finally flushed and moved to cover himself before falling back into casual insolence. Maxwell narrowed his eyes and tightened his grip around his shoulder, making sure the mage was leaning into him as Fenris stared coolly at them both. "Fen'Harel is my ally," he said. "Which makes him yours. His inclusion is a condition of my aid."

"He has so many conditions I might have just as well made him Archon," muttered Dorian, too quietly for anyone for Maxwell to hear. "Very well. Tomorrow, at the Magisterium. Bring the rest of the Inquisitorial brood. Now, I need to read a truly staggering number of papers and sleep, not necessarily in that order."

The elves nodded, one more politely than the other, and filed out. Fenris took a last look at the bed as he closed the door, one that made Maxwell's blood boil. He released Dorian and flopped over on his back with a huff. "Do you want me to go, too?"

"By no means," said Dorian, scooting down the bed and throwing a blanket over them both before curling up into Maxwell's side. "Who knows what may become of me if you leave? Besides, Fenris may attempt to spirit you away now that he's seen the truly glorious half of this pairing."

"You don't have to patronize me," grumbled Maxwell. "I know who he was looking at." And while Dorian certainly deserved any admiration he got, it was a little disconcerting to be so easily outshone by someone. Even Bull, exotic as he was, had never pulled focus from the Inquisitor.

"He threatened to kill me tonight. Very seriously. I don't think lust is at the forefront of his mind with either of us," said Dorian, laughing. Maxwell pressed his lips together when Dorian rolled up to kiss him, and the mage sat up. "Are you really upset?"

"No," said Maxwell.

Dorian leveled him with a look.

Maxwell sighed. "Fine. A little," he said. "I don't like that you went without me. I don't like that you're apparently under the sway of some kind of Tevinter blood magic, and I'm just supposed to accept that you're fine. I don't like that Solas thinks you're doing some kind of magic he's only read about in ancient books. And I don't like the way that stupid, attractive elf follows you around and protects you and throws you against walls when that's supposed to be me." He turned his face away, though he tightened the grip of his hand on Dorian's arm. "I don't want to lose you."

In body or mind. In affection or friendship. In death or possession. In any way. He couldn't lose Dorian.

Sweet Maker, he sounded like one of Varric's lovelorn protagonists. He grimaced and looked back at the mage, who seemed a little alarmed at his mawkishness. "Sorry, it's been a long day."

"An apology? Now I really am worried," said Dorian lightly.

"Don't be mean to me," said Maxwell. He snuggled under the blanket with as much pique as he could manage with the exhaustion overtaking him. He wound an arm around Dorian's sculpted torso and tried not to grip too tightly. They both smelled like sex, and, perversely, that helped center him once more.

"As you wish. But first I must say - you can't lose me. I've been thoroughly won," said Dorian. He waved his hand over them and the lit candles snuffed out quicker than Maxwell would have believed possible. "The only question that remains is whether or not you'll consider the prize worth it, in the end."

"Do not flirt with the staff," muttered Dorian as they strode through the Magisterium. Maxwell didn't acknowledge him, staring at the architecture like some country tourist, though a faint smile played around his lips. They'd woken each other with hungry kisses, though they disagreed about which one had done the waking, and followed it with a very physical debate where both of them had won satisfactorily. Whatever vulnerability had overtaken them both in the past was lost in mutual desire, and the sex was all the better for it.

As soon as they'd left the bedroom, however, Maxwell had reverted fully to Savior of the Known Universe. Though now he was playing gormless idiot, much to his own amusement.

Fenris snorted behind them. "He seems incapable of helping himself," he said. "You're both worse than a Rivaini pirate, and I'm in a position to know."

Maxwell finally broke his act as he turned around to waggle his fingers coquettishly at the elf. "You're just upset because you lost."

The two warriors had worked out in the Pavus courtyard after breakfast while Dorian read his reports, a friendly match with more bared teeth and bared flesh than most sparring sessions. It had been close-fought, an impressive display of skills and style, though it was obvious that Fenris was unused to fighting against a person who wasn't affected by his nullification of magic. Which was why he'd been the one to yield, sweating and heaving for breath under the dewy morning light, while Maxwell posed triumphantly.

Needless to say, Dorian's reports were still mostly unread.

"So if you bested Fenris, and Cullen bested you, does that make him the most talented of the group?" asked Cassandra, and Dorian looked at her in surprise. She smiled secretly, and he realized this was her version of a joke.

"You win nearly every bout between us," said Cullen, distracted from his conversation with Solas and Shayla.

"I do not count," she said firmly. "I am a woman, and thus by definition will always win."

Sera whooped while Varric groaned, and Dorian's new staff turned to look at them in mild panic as they entered the atrium. Radonis had likely never brought anyone who spoke above a whisper into these hallowed halls. And, if he had, they wouldn't have scattered like cats throughout the room over his strenuous protests.

"Go into my office -" he began, then sighed as he promptly lost track of everyone. Cullen and Cassandra headed straight for the Templar guard, Sera made a beeline for a nearby servant, Fenris and Shayla hot on her heels, Varric located his financial clerk with terrifying accuracy, and Cole and Solas actually did move towards his office, where they were barred by another guard. Maxwell immediately found a blushing pair of clerks, a man with soft hands and a woman with lightly curling hair, and was introducing himself with a brilliant smile before they could find their voices.

The Inquisition soldiers, as requested, set up a secondary guard in the room. At least Eustace could be trusted to do what he wanted.

Portia sidled up to him a little uncertainly, and he sighed in her direction. "I'll be the worst Archon in this country's history. I can't even control my allies."

"Their initiative merely shows your allies' strength," she said, then smiled as he laughed appreciatively. "Your office is set up as you requested. Food and privacy will be yours. Heirs have begun to present themselves for appointment, and Magister Tilani will weed them out per your specifications. She identified several positions where replacement will be necessary. We also received the list of your father's businessmen, the Alexius steward, and the Pavus retainers who may still remain alive, and we will make sure that things run as expected while you settle in. And the Alexius staff will be moved to the Pavus estate."

Dorian stared at her for a brief moment, then gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek. "You, my dear, are a treasure beyond imagining. Give yourself a raise, on my authority."

The clerk turned a bright shade of red and muttered a thank you, and Maxwell's hands slid around his waist. "Now who's flirting?" he asked, but his voice was light and teasing. "Archon Pavus is going to get a terrible reputation this way. Hello. Maxwell Trevelyan, Inquisitor, hero, and celebrated lover of the rich and powerful. You remind me of my own chief organizer, beautiful and competent. Nice to meet you."

Maxwell extended a hand while keeping the other in place, very foreign and leering, and Portia shook it, even redder than before. Dorian closed his eyes. "This is a nightmare."

"When you ally with the Inquisition, that's what you get," said Varric. The dwarf held a scroll with the markings of trade agreements, and his face showed absolutely no shame about it. "So, do you want Cassandra to duel your guards or are you going to let us into your office?"

They all fell on the food like animals as various people picked up various reports and missives. Cullen and Cassandra determined where the Inquisition and Chantry forces were - while brushing their hands together under the table, Dorian noticed - and Maxwell frowned at a message from Josephine, asking Dorian urgently if the Inquisitor was still alive.

But Solas had no patience, and before he was ready, Dorian was telling them what he could about the election, the true role of Archon, and the new power inside of him that he had less than no idea how to control. He left out the part about the hungry presence that seemed to appear at his most distraught moments, but when he told them about what had happened with Radonis, Maxwell leaned forward, all concern.

"You did that?" he asked. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," said Dorian, only slightly lying. "Fear of magic has never been one of my flaws."

Cullen shifted uncomfortably. "Blood magic…"

Dorian winced at the fear he saw on the Commander's face. Another half-formed friendship, fallen away. "It isn't what you think," he said gently. "I have no intention of becoming a blood mage. For one, I look horrifying in red. For another, I have no interest in it. Radonis offered himself willingly, and the control was not in my hands. But it is now. The magic they put on me is a key, and it only turns one lock. The lock of Tevinter's defense. I won't try to force it into another."

The other man didn't look convinced. "I've heard that before. They always claim it will be only for what's needed."

Cassandra rubbed his shoulder, and Cullen looked at her steady face before sighing. "You should hate blood magic even more than I do."

"I hate all that which harms," she said. "But the Seekers have shown me that harm can come from many directions and aid from the unlikeliest of places. I sense no demon inside of Dorian, and he has always been our ally. He has killed no one, done no wrong, and even now he speaks instead of fights. We cannot condemn a man for honesty when he is so well known to us."

"Thank you," said Dorian.

"But if you show signs of corruption, I will run you through myself," said Cassandra, looking at him with that refreshing bluntness. "Have no doubt on that score."

He shrugged, and she settled back. Maxwell looked slightly more heartened now that Cassandra had pronounced him demon-free, and he clapped his hands. "So, we go to the border where Leliana and Vivienne are going to arrive, we invite the Imperium's soldiers, raise up whatever these defenses are - hopefully not an army of undead - and we parlay in the standstill. I'm alive, Leliana falls back, Vivienne crumbles, everything is forgiven, and we all live happily ever after."

As one, the room rolled their eyes. "That is… broadly correct," said Cassandra. "Though it lacks nuance."

Solas stood. "There is no guarantee that Dorian will be able to use his power effectively," he said. "These are ancient spells and powerful workings, and if they go wrong, the result could be devastating. More devastating than the Breach."

"Radonis implied their use was instinctual," said Dorian, though the words sounded weak even to his ears.

Sera snorted. "Nothing that powerful has an easy switch," she said. "So if you're going to be waving your new magical dick around without any practice, I don't want to be anywhere close."

"Then what do you propose? I try to raise an ancient power who can instruct me in its proper activation?" asked Dorian. "It's not as though I was left any sort of operating manual."

To his surprise, Solas nodded. "I believe there may be answers in Tevinter's most ancient ruins," he said. "Nothing so exact as manuals, but something that may draw you, reveal itself to you, and thus instruct you."

And by the most ancient ruins he meant… "You mean one of the Old God's shrines? Are you mad?" asked Dorian. "Those places were dangerous even before the Venatori picked over them with their grubby little fingers. They set traps!"

"Madness would be to pull power without understanding," said Solas. "We should journey to the Shrine of Razikale. I located it in my journeys, well-hidden. It was free from Venatori intervention. Razikale was the dragon of Mystery, or so they claimed. Where better to search for answers than there?"

Dorian saw Maxwell look at him, waiting for him to object, but as soon as Solas spoke the name, a strong acceptance flooded through him. He frowned, trying to shake off whatever control the Archon's magic was trying to assert, but there was nothing to shake off. This wasn't the insistent blood magic of his father. It wouldn't force him to do anything, and it was barely even a request. He could say no.

However, that no would be wrong.

"Very well," he said instead. "Where is the Shrine?"

Before the elf could answer, Maxwell stood as well. "Are you insane? Absolutely not. You're not going to some dusty old dragon shrine to poke around in old scrolls or whatever you think is so interesting. We need you to join us at the border."

"You could come with me," said Dorian patiently.

Cullen and Maxwell both shook their heads. "They're too close," said Maxwell. "We don't have time."

"We have to have time," said Dorian. The lines of Maxwell's face were pure anger, and Dorian tried not to respond in kind. "I'm no good to anyone if I can't control what this is. This is a place I need to go."

"Let me guess. The blood magic says so," said Maxwell sarcastically, but he paled when Dorian didn't answer. "It doesn't, does it?"

"I don't know," said Dorian. He rubbed a hand across his face. "I don't know. But I know what I'm meant to be doing."

The room fell silent as Maxwell stared at him, his green eyes swirling with battlefield rage, a leader's frustration at being balked, and something infinitely sadder than both. Dorian pleaded with him through that gaze, wondering if his own eyes showed fear or determination. Perhaps they were sick and terrified, which was what he felt now. Maxwell had called him a quitter, and he'd been more right than Dorian had been willing to admit. His whole life had been spent trying to stay smaller than he was, to fight against the shape of the future. But he was large now, larger than he'd ever dreamed, and if he didn't take the responsibility seriously, how could he ever be trusted to do anything?

Eventually Maxwell jerked his head to the side. "Over there."

Dorian sighed and moved over to a small annex, a little nook in the shelves that reminded him so strongly of Skyhold's library that he almost turned away. How many unhappy hours he'd spent there, thinking about Maxwell Trevelyan and how distant they would always be. A god among mortals. And he was no less godlike now that they weren't distant at all - if anything he was even more perfect than he'd ever been. And they were going to fight again.

But Maxwell didn't open with an angry accusation, or even an insinuation. That master of tactics, who always knew the right weapon to use, opened with a soft plea. "Don't leave me."

The words were so heartfelt that Dorian's own frustration melted away, and he leaned his forehead against Maxwell's lowered one. "Maxwell. I'm not. I'll join you as soon as I can," he said. He tried to smile. "I realize you're new to this love idea, but it does survive a little time and distance. Mine survived two entire years here in Tevinter, after all. You have nothing to concern yourself with."

Maxwell made a small noise of dissent in his throat. "I never forgot you, either. You're not any more steadfast than I am."

"A competitor to the end, aren't you," said Dorian affectionately. He ran a hand through Maxwell's hair. "I'll allow you the victory. Even if you did dabble with Bull in my absence."

"He spoke Tevene," said Maxwell unexpectedly. "He would whisper, and I would close my eyes, and it would be you… Maker, you made me such a sap, and I didn't even know it. I was even learning the language so that I could talk you into bringing me back here once you were the ambassador. So you wouldn't be able to say no."

Maker's breath. "It would be unbecoming for an Archon to swoon in his own office," said Dorian, "but I may have no choice if you continue to be so sweet."

"I promise not to make you swoon if you promise not to go to this shrine," said Maxwell. His voice was still soft and loving, and he was the epitome beauty. The light glanced off of his sharpened cheekbones, gentling them into youthful vulnerability, and his small smile was earnest and endearing.

"Don't do that," said Dorian. "Don't manipulate my emotions."

"Does that mean it's working?" asked Maxwell, as he slipped back into his more normal manner, but he still looked young and agonized. "Please, Dorian. I barely made it through yesterday without you. I don't know how I'll survive anything longer. Especially if you go off with that brooding Fenris."

Dorian laughed softly, but he sobered as he leaned up to kiss the southern man. "You wouldn't compromise the Inquisition for me. I can't compromise Tevinter for you. No matter how alluring you are," he said. "Besides, lovers' reunions are always very enjoyable. Passionate, in fact."

Maxwell sighed. "How is it that whenever I spirit you off to convince you not to do something, you end up talking me into thinking that what you want to do is what I wanted all along? And this was before all that blood magic nonsense, so I know it isn't that."

"Because I am always eloquent, always persuasive and, most importantly, always right."

"Disgusting," said Maxwell, but he kissed him anyway. "You're the most arrogant man I've ever slept with."

"That is impossible. You sleep with yourself every night, amatus."

Maxwell squeezed his ass threateningly, and Dorian yelped. The Inquisitor grinned, but it wasn't so brilliant as usual. "I love you."

"And I you," said Dorian. "Never doubt it."

The look in his eye said Maxwell was still uncertain, but he released him and gestured back towards the meeting area. "We will get to say a proper goodbye, right?"

The way his gaze traveled over Dorian was ten kinds of sin, and Dorian welcomed every one of them. "Even if we have to clear the office and pleasure each other right here on the desk."

Just as they made it back into the still-tense group, Maxwell grabbed his hips and whispered in his ear, "Oh my sweet mage. We were going to do that anyway."

In the end, they separated into two teams. Dorian, Solas, Cole, Cassandra and Fenris went off to the dangerous shrine while Maxwell, Cullen, Varric, Sera and the soldiers went to meet the forces on the border. Traynor had tried to argue that both teams would need an Inquisition presence, but Maxwell was already annoyed enough about Fenris, and Solas didn't seem to want them anyway. Besides, a small force would move more quickly.

Cullen and Cassandra decided on their separation with disciplined equanimity, a devotion to duty that Maxwell didn't understand in the least. They slipped away to say a quiet goodbye, and from what he could tell they only kissed chastely for a few minutes before rejoining the group.

He, on the other hand, had brought Dorian to a shuddering climax on his very large, very sturdy desk, then said a lengthy and loud goodbye in the Pavus bathhouse that had Sera slapping him on the back when they finally emerged, clean and sated. Cullen had looked a little jealous of their enthusiasm, and Maxwell resolved to give him some friendly advice on the road.

Anything to keep his mind off of his fear.

They rode to the gates together before splitting up on the road, and just before they went their separate ways, Cole nosed his mount over to Maxwell's. The spirit had a surprisingly gentle way with animals, including unfamiliar horses, and both of their mounts waited quietly and peacefully. "Dorian will save the world," he said. "And then he'll be a god, like you."

"I'm not a god."

"That depends on who worships," said Cole. "Prayers and pleas and pleasures are all the same in the dark."

Maxwell looked over at Dorian, who was fussing with the buckles on his road gear adorably. "Actually, I usually like the candles to be lit."

"I know," said Cole, smiling. "It was a metaphor. Sometimes it helps to dress an idea in another word's clothing." The spirit cocked his head to the side. "You're hurting, but I still can't help."

"That's okay," said Maxwell. "Help him instead. Keep him safe for me."

Cole nodded. "I'll keep Fenris away from his bedroll."

So Cole helped after all, because when Dorian clasped his hand one last time before riding off to the north, Maxwell held a smile in his heart, thinking about how outraged Dorian would be when Cole set himself up as guardian of his virtue.