Dorian stood at the bottom of the stairs of the prison, as stone-faced as his father had made Aeric to be. Dorian nodded to the two former templars, feeling comforted in the fact that he recognized them from Cullen's training in the courtyard. After his experience in Redcliffe, being around templars made his skin crawl. But here… here they were necessary.

The guards escorted Dorian to a cell at the far end of the row, far from the few other prisoners they kept there, giving them a sense of moderate privacy. Another templar stood at the door of the cell, suppressing the magic of the prisoner contained within. The two guards relieved the one already stationed there, taking up the suppression and standing at attention like statues. As Dorian approached the cell, his heart hammered, his head buzzing and his blood boiling. And when his father came into view, seated on the sole bench in the tiny cell, it was not pity that filled Dorian's mind, but a sense of righteous satisfaction.

Halward looked up but said nothing. His face sagged, dark circles beneath his eyes.

"Nothing to say?" Dorian said, his voice taut like a string. "But you always have something to say, don't you? Some criticism, some reprimand. Come now."

Still his father said nothing, though his eyes dropped, no longer meeting Dorian's gaze.

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest. "Remain silent if you wish. I came for two things only. First, I need to know what you did to the Inquisitor, in precise detail. Second, I'm going to need your blood. Not now, perhaps, but when I attempt to fix the damage you've done." He smirked with as much contempt as he could muster. "You see? In polite company, we ask for your blood before we take it."

Halward glanced at the guards on either side of the cell door, who had not moved. "You would admit to blood magic, in front of these templars?" he asked in a low voice.

"Funny thing about these templars," Dorian said flippantly. "They do not work for the Chantry any longer. They work for the Inquisitor. Sworn to him, in fact. You remember him, don't you? His name is Aeric Lavellan, and you attacked him without cause, made him Tranquil. And I have the express permission of Lady Seeker Pentaghast to cure him by whatever means necessary." The last was a lie; Cassandra had no idea that Dorian expected to have to use blood magic to cure Aeric. Dorian figured he would bring it up later if it became an issue. "He is not only the Inquisitor, he is the Herald of Andraste. Or hadn't you heard? Some fucking darkspawn magister is tearing up the world, and Aeric is the only thing standing in his way. He is the only hope Thedas has, make no mistake. Did you really think you would get away with assaulting him like this?"

His father cast his eyes away again, staring at the floor in front of his feet. "I never intended for this to happen," he said in a near whisper.

Dorian snorted. "Of course you didn't."

"I know you do not believe me, but it is the truth."

"Oh, but I do believe you!" Dorian barked a mirthless laugh. "That's the hilarious thing about all this! I looked up to you all these years, thinking you to be one of the most brilliant minds in Tevinter. But I saw your face when it happened. You had no idea your little ritual would turn out like this. And only a blithering idiot could not have foreseen it!" His hands clenched into fists at his sides. His father did not know it, but he should be thankful for the templars' presence at his cell. If not for them, Dorian might loose a barrage of lightning at the older man for all the anger contained within him. "You think you can change who a person loves without changing who he is?" he snarled, eyes burning. "You think you can take that love away from him without taking part of his spirit as well? You mutilated him!"

His father at least had the good sense to remain silent. Dorian was sure that whatever Halward could have said would only have enraged him further.

I should leave, the small rational part of Dorian's mind told him. Give him quill and parchment, and let him write the blood ritual upon it without having me near. Be done with him now. But with his anger fueling him with furious courage, Dorian could not let him go so easily. He would not, no matter how much it still hurt, knowing all the things he feared his entire life were confirmed true.

"Tell me one thing, Father," he said, almost spitting the last word, so Halward would know that the title was a mockery of what it should have meant. "If I had gone to meet you alone, as you had planned, what would have happened, hmm?" He tapped his foot impatiently. When his father didn't answer, Dorian pressed on. "Because on the way back to Skyhold, I remembered something. The letter the Inquisitor intercepted wasn't addressed to him. You had wanted Mother Giselle to bring me to Redcliffe. You couldn't have possibly known that Aeric would accompany me."

"Dorian…"

A hard lump formed in Dorian's throat, and for a moment he could not speak. "It was meant for me, wasn't it? The ritual."

His father hung his head, but his shame did little to quell the tearing Dorian could feel in his chest.

"Answer me." Dorian's voice was still, like the eye of a storm.

"Yes."

Dorian nodded, the admission ripping through him more than he thought it would. His eyes fell closed, his face twisting as if he suffered a physical wound. "Well," he said in a tight voice. "Now I'm certain you didn't know it would result in Tranquility. Do you know how I know?" He opened his eyes and glared at his father, who still did not meet his gaze. "It's not because I think you loved me. Oh no. That proverbial ship has long since sailed. What you couldn't risk was my magic. Because that's all that has ever mattered to you. Isn't that right?"

"Dorian, I-"

"No," Dorian said, shaking his head. "Don't you dare tell me now how much you care about me! Don't lie to me and say you love me, because I know that's not fucking true!" He remembered all those days in his youth, those times he excelled at his studies, at his magic. Those fleeting days when the pride in Father's eyes meant everything. He remembered only months ago, no different than he was as a boy, still looking to his father, desperately seeking his approval. Anything for him, Dorian had told himself. Anything. "What bullshit," he said, half to himself. Having been near screaming only a moment ago, now he spoke softly, almost a murmur. "I'm not sure you ever truly loved me, to be honest. You only ever loved the parts of yourself that you saw reflected within me."

Halward raised his head, his eyes finally meeting Dorian's. "That's all anyone ever loves," he said almost wistfully. "People only ever love what they see of themselves in others."

"No," Dorian said again. "I know better now. I know what it is to be loved unequivocally. And it is beyond you."

His father stared at him for a moment before giving a solemn nod. "Perhaps."

Dorian took a breath, then another, though it did little to calm the storm within him. "You will write down everything you did in the ritual. Every detail you know about it." He nodded to one of the templars, who retrieved the parchment, quill, and ink he had brought with him. "If I suspect for a second that you are lying, I'm performing the damned ritual on you first." Dorian put the items on the floor and pushed it roughly through a hole at the bottom of the barred door. "Don't think for a moment that I won't choose Aeric over you. If your death meant that he would be whole again this instant, you would be dead already."

Bending to pick up the parchment and writing implements, Halward gave a little bow of his head. "I believe you."

"Good." With one final glare at his father, Dorian turned to leave.

"For what it's worth, Dorian," Halward called after him, "I am sorry for what I did to your… friend."

Dorian whirled back around, his hands catching the bars of the cell. "Your apologies mean less than nothing to me," he growled. "And Aeric is not my 'friend'. You use that word, to sweep aside who I am and who he is, because who we are makes you uncomfortable. Well, it is high time you lived with your discomfort." Dorian stepped back, hitting the bars of the cell as he let go. "Aeric is my partner. My lover. I am in love with him. He was in love with me." The verb tenses were painful again, and Dorian had to pause to catch his breath. "Because of you, he is no longer."

"…I'm sorry."

"You can keep your fucking apologies," Dorian replied with a sneer. "All you want is forgiveness, and I refuse to give it. What you've done is unforgivable, do you understand? Unforgivable!" He pointed to the parchment. "Do what I have bid you to do. Give me blood if and when I need it. Then I am done with you." He stepped away from the cell once more.

"Dorian, please…" Halward called again. "My son…"

"You said it yourself," Dorian said, turning his back to him. "I'm no son of yours."

Without another word or glance, Dorian walked up the stairs and out of the prison, ignoring the anguished cries behind him.

ooo

"Are you ready?"

Cassandra rolled her eyes at Dorian. "This plan was my idea. Of course I am prepared."

Dorian shivered violently in the blowing snow. "Not entirely your plan, Seeker."

"Do what you need to do, Dorian." She cast a mournful look at Aeric before looking towards the green glow of a rift ahead. "We will protect you for as long as you need us."

They arrived in Emprise du Lion two days after Dorian's meeting with his father. The frozen mountains glistened with snow, which Dorian supposed might be beautiful for some people, but only made him miss the warm sand and sea of Qarinus. He had not stopped shaking since they arrived.

He would have chosen a different location for his experiment with Aeric, but it was the closest area to Skyhold with active rifts, and tensions with the red templars were coming to a head. Aeric still had a job to do, after all, and this was to be his first test as a Tranquil Inquisitor.

Instead of their usual party of four, there were six of them who had gone to Emprise du Lion; besides Dorian and Aeric, there were Cassandra, Blackwall, Cole, and Solas. They walked together, leaving a trail of footprints in the fresh snow.

Dorian turned to Aeric. "As we near the rift, amatus, you might feel some changes. I need you to tell me about them, all right?"

Aeric's expression never changed. "Yes, Dorian. I understand."

Dorian's heart fluttered in anticipation. If this worked, he might hear Aeric speak as himself for the first time in over a week. Dorian took the elf's hand in his, more for his own comfort than for Aeric's. "It'll be all right," Dorian murmured. "This is going to work."

"I am not afraid."

"No," Dorian agreed. "I suppose you aren't."

The party climbed the hillside toward the rift, the green crystalline portal flickering and snapping. "Be at the ready!" Cassandra called out to the others as they began to draw close. "We fight until Dorian and the Inquisitor give the word that it is done!"

The others unsheathed their weapons. They took another step forward.

The Mark burst into life, and Aeric cried out, staggering. Dorian caught him before he hit the snow, cradling him as he doubled over the glow of his hand. Demons erupted from the rift, bursting from the ground with claws and fangs. The very air around them buzzed with energy, magic almost as plentiful as air.

Dorian sat the two of them in the fresh powder on the ground, his hands trembling, but not from the cold. "Amatus?" he asked, breath bated. Around him, the clash of claws against steel, steel against flesh, resounded across the valley.

Aeric's head rose, and Dorian nearly wept at the sight of tears streaming down Aeric's tattooed face. "Dorian…" the elf gasped. His chest heaved as he let out a choked sob. "Ma'nehn!"

Before Dorian could respond, Aeric reached up and pulled the mage to him, crushing his mouth with a bruising kiss. Dorian let out a noise somewhere between a moan and a cry, bringing his snow-dusted hands up to cup Aeric's cheek and tangle in his hair. Tears threatened behind his eyelids, and it was a struggle to keep them at bay, too much pride the only thing keeping him from letting them fall.

Too soon, too soon, they had to part for air, foreheads resting together as they let out ragged breaths. "Forgive me, amatus," Dorian whispered. "Oh, Maker, I am so sorry…"

Aeric gave a small shake of his head, tears still flowing from him unbidden. "It's not your fault."

Dorian let out a shuddering sigh. It took all his effort just to pull away. "I have… I have to see what the rift does to your mind." He had to take deep breaths to settle his nerves, so he could weave the magic correctly. "Maybe we can find a way to replicate the effect, or use it somehow to cure you."

Aeric nodded, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, as Dorian brought his glowing hands up to do his examination. The elf's face twisted almost continuously, flowing from an expression of fury to deep sadness to an almost-smile and back again.

Dorian watched him for a moment, ignoring a despair demon's blast of ice that went sailing by, deflected by Cassandra's shield. "What does it feel like?" he asked softly.

"Like drowning," Aeric replied in a quavering voice. "It's not true, it's not true what they say. You have your emotions. You feel everything. Every single thing, you feel it. But it has nowhere to go."

"Everything?" Dorian repeated, horrified.

"Yes," Aeric said, closing his eyes. "All this emotion, but it's blocked, like a dam in a river, and I'm pinned against it. It just builds up, and I can't stop feeling it all, over and over." His arms curled around himself, and he hunched his shoulders, shivering. "It's suffocating."

"I'll fix it," Dorian told him, closing his eyes as well so he could concentrate on the Veil. "I swear to you, Aeric, I will fix it."

"I know you will."

Dorian felt around with his magic, tuning out the sounds of battle and Aeric's halting breaths. He found the bit of Veil still covering the elf's mind, still knotted and thick, still scarred. However, instead of a thin thread of green magic, Dorian found wide ropes of the stuff swirling around each other, pouring from the Fade like a flood. Aeric's connection to the Fade had grown, certainly, but it wasn't mended. "What you're feeling," Dorian murmured, looking down at Aeric, "this isn't all of it, is it? It's not all of what's caught by the dam."

Aeric shook his head. "I feel… I feel like I've only broken the surface. Given a moment to breathe. But it's still pulling me under."

Maker, Aeric was weeping, nearly doubled over with grief, but it couldn't be but a fraction of the emotion that had been welling up inside him with each passing day. What deluge would be unleashed when Dorian finally cured him? "It'll be all right," Dorian said, trying to sound reassuring. "There are a few other rifts in the area. We can take you to them, give you some rest."

"Thank you, yes," Aeric sighed. "It's only been a week, and I already don't know how much longer I can take." He looked over at the others. The second wave of demons was nearly defeated now, Blackwall and Solas striking in turn with a shield bash on one side and a stone fist on the other. "Looks like the battle is almost over, though."

Dorian pulled him into a rough embrace. The thought of Aeric losing all his emotions again, of turning back into that shell of himself, was more than Dorian could bear. "You don't have to close it right away," he said in a desperate whisper. "The others can watch it, defend us from more demons. We can have a little more time."

"We could," Aeric said. The corners of his eyes were pinched, and tears still fell from him freely, but somewhere within him was the faint lightness of a smile. "But I've always been too greedy when it comes to you. Better to do it now, while I still have my wits about me." He took a breath, punctuated with heaving stutters. "Besides, I have a job to do."

Dorian kissed him fiercely. "Marvelous idiot," he said, his tone almost accusatory. "I've missed you."

Aeric gave an affectionate tug on Dorian's mustache before standing. "Please remember that I love you," he said, wiping at his eyes. "No matter what the other me might say." He faced the rift, setting his shoulders with a sharp exhale. With one last glance down at Dorian, still kneeling in the snow, Aeric's eyes shone with one of those smiles that did not touch his lips. "See you at the next rift."

Aeric stepped closer, lifting his left hand towards the tear in the Veil before him. Cords of emerald magic shot out from his Mark, pouring into the rift until it exploded in a shower of energy. Dorian got to his feet, a sinking feeling settling in his chest as he approached Aeric, who stood, still staring at the space where the rift once hung suspended.

"Amatus?"

"Yes, Dorian." Aeric's voice was hollow again, his face devoid of expression.

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment, schooling his features into a similar mask of control. "Come," he said when he opened his eyes. "Let us head back to camp. I tire of the cold."

Aeric said nothing. Instead, he turned and started back down the hill, not waiting for Dorian or any of the others to accompany him. Dorian shivered in the swirling snow, but it was the chill in Aeric's eyes that left him numb.