For the most part, Alarion seemed excited.

His mouth was twitching up, teeth gleaming through his lips. His eyes were wide as he leaned over the rail far enough that it made Dorian's heart skip. It took all of Dorian's self-control not to pull him away from the edge.

Still, he couldn't help but grin at Alarion's clear excitement. The way his eyes shimmered as they approached Val Royeaux. Though the sun had only just peaked over the horizon, the shimmering gold in the city was still quite a sight to see, and Alarion seemed intent on seeing it the best he could. The smile stretching across his face that grew at every moment.

"You should see Minrathous one day."

The elf jumped (making Dorian's heart quench as he came even closer to the edge of the ship). Thankfully, Alarion turned away from the railing as he faced him. "Minrathous?"

"Capital of Tevinter. Buildings thousands of years old still standing alongside its modern brethren. It's twice the size of Val Royeaux." As he said its name, he gestured at the sparkling city.

Alarion looked back to the city before shyly smiling at Dorian. "I'd like to see that. There's a lot I'd like to see."

"I can imagine."

For a moment, Alarion said nothing as he turned back to lean on the railing. Then, so quietly Dorian was sure he wasn't meant to hear, the elf whispered, "No, you can't."

While Dorian's mind raced, debating on whether or not he should reply, he was saved the trouble as Varric strutted over. The dwarf yawned, stretched, and pointed towards their destination. "I'll be so glad to be in a city again."

"Does Kirkwall look like this?"

"Sure. Just instead of shining gold, we have chains."

"What?"

Dorian snickered. "And the smell."

"I was getting there. Yeah, and you need it to smell like the sewers mixed with fish and body odor. Then, rearrange things so the wealthy live at the top of the city and then it gets poorer as you go down. Finally, have about two hundred people ready to kill you at any given moment and you got home."

"Oh."

Dorian laughed. "It's a bit of a shithole, really."

"Hey now. That's my shithole we're talking about here."

"I heard shithole." They turned around to spot Isabela approaching them with a wide smile. "So either you're talking about Kirkwall or you've never seen the shops they have here."

Varric chuckled and turned back to her. "Thanks again for the ride, Rivaini. I'll see you soon for another game of Wicked Grace, right?"

"Of course, Varric. Just… not so far inland." She waved in the direction of the far-off mountains with a small huff in the word 'inland'.

"You sure you want to head back to Kirkwall, now? Aveline is probably on a warpath."

"Oh, you know I have to visit the Rose. They miss me there!"

While Varric chuckled at that, they heard a sniff and all three of them turned to find Alarion quietly crying and desperately trying not to.

Isabela was the first to recover. "Sweet thing! Why are you crying?"

Alarion shook his head, and tried to take a step back and seemed to finally notice how close to the edge he was. Thankfully if he fell now, it would be an easy swim to shore, even if he couldn't remember how to swim.

"I… I'm just." He shook his head again, then sniffled. "J-just. Thank you! Thank you for helping me, and being nice to me, and helping us."

Dorian watched Isabela's surprise face melt away into a fondness that Dorian identified as the look he saw Cullen give mabari puppies. "Sweet thing. We'll meet again, I'm sure."

Alarion only nodded a tried in vain to wipe away his tears. The sight made Dorian smile.

"Anyway," Isabela turned to Varric. If her smile was a little wider than before, no one pointed it out. "This calls us even. You've dragged me to Tevinter and I've dragged you to Tevinter. Both times we did it for some major leader. We need better friends."

"Come on, Rivaini! Mine involved a lot less death and Qunari. You still owe me at least a half a favor. There wasn't even a swamp witch in my favor."

"Even, Varric." Isabela sang cheerfully. She looked them all over once again before giving a small half shrug, bracelets jingling as she did. "I have to overlook the docking. We're only staying here long enough to get some supplies, then we're leaving before we draw any unwanted attention. Hopefully, we'll be gone before anyone is the wiser about the precious cargo." At 'precious' she winked at Alarion before looking back at the rest of them. "Stay down, keep your hoods up, and wait for my crew to go first."

Without another word, Isabela turned heel with a flare of grace as she strutted off, barking orders.

To his surprise, Dorian felt a strong pang sadness. Though he did not talk much to her while on her ship, Isabela did a lot for him and his amatus without once asking for anything in return. Only a year prior, he would've been infuriated. He would've only seen this as a debt he'd have hanging over him until he finally paid it off. Now, though, he glanced at Alarion (still wiping away tears) out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't have done this alone. Without Leliana, he would've never been safe the moment he found his elf. Without Varric, Alarion would've still been a terrified mess. And without Cole, Dorian would still be a pathetic mess.

They needed Isabela. How else were they honestly expecting to leave Tevinter without immediately being hunted by their enemies? It really was thanks to her, Varric, and Leliana they weren't currently being hunted at all.

But what really struck Dorian in that moment was the fact that prior to him boarding her ship, Isabela had never met Alarion, and thus had no personal stake in his safety. She went all the way from Fereldan to Tevinter just to help someone she had never met just because a friend asked her to.

Instead of wondering how he was ever going to relieve himself of this debt, Dorian instead found himself hopeful that he could one day help Isabela out the same way she helped them.

Chuckling nearly silently, Dorian pulled up his hood and watched as Cole appeared out of near nowhere and began to murmur out loud as Alarion tugged uncomfortably on his hood.

"You alright there, Sparkler? Looking a little misty-eyed yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous, Varric. There's salt in the air here."

"Uh huh, sure." Chuckling, Varric turned to the other two. "Let's head down with the crew. We're getting off at the same time as them. Glowy, we're meeting up in the usual Inquisition meetup just outside of the city. One of our agents is going to be there with some supplies and horses for us. Don't worry about not remembering where it's at. Just letting you know the plan."

"Keep your hood up and your hand hidden. Don't stop at any shops and keep your head down." Dorian added. "If someone comes up, let Varric and I do the talking. We're not expecting any trouble (especially given how early it is), but the sooner we can get on the road to Skyhold, the better. Any questions?"

"…No."

"Alright then. Follow me."

After a few nods, the group did follow Varric towards the area where the crew that wasn't busy docking stood around chatting.

They all could feel the tension in the air, but Cole was the only one to remark on it, quietly mumbling something that Dorian blocked out successfully.

Dorian kept glancing at Alarion whenever he felt he wouldn't get caught. The elf was fidgeting with his shoulder pack and his gloves with special attention given to his left hand. From personal experience, Dorian knew that the Anchor could and had glowed bright enough that it was visible through the fabric, but that only happened when it was aggravated by a nearby Rift, or extremely high negative emotions, or pain.

Though anxious, Alarion wasn't distressed enough for it to be flaring at the moment.

But it still bothered Dorian that he had nothing to say to reassure the clearly nervous man. Alarion was far better with words of comfort than Dorian was. Dorian had been better with the distractions. Dorian got nervous? Alarion knew exactly what to say. Alarion got nervous? Dorian knew what to do.

But now?

Dorian frowned, staring at his own open hand. He couldn't reach out to him. He couldn't squeeze his hand quick enough that no one else would notice. He couldn't lay a hand on his shoulder and say something witty and sarcastic to make him smile.

And most of all, Dorian couldn't kiss him. Before all this melodramatic shit, Dorian couldn't have because there was a crowd and he couldn't… but now? He would've done anything to hold that man in his arms, spectators be damned.

It was enough to make him hate past-Dorian even more for never realizing what he had. He should've taken every opportunity to be with Alarion. He should've held the man's hand every time Alarion offered. He should've kissed that man silly more than Dorian's minimum goal of once a day. He should've told him that he loved him more than air itself.

"His hand itches to reach out and hide all at once. Tongue feels heavy with words left unspoken. Blinding hindsight."

Dorian did his best not to react. If he kept his cool, there was no reason for them suspect that Cole was reading his mind.

To his side, Alarion started to fumble with his shoulder pack again. Dorian wondered how many times Alarion checked to make sure it was there.

The thought made his heart ache, and he wasn't quite sure why yet.

It'd come to him eventually.

Finally, blessedly finally, the bridge (or, the Gangplank as the crew around them called it) lowered and the men began to lumber off. They talked loudly amongst themselves as they headed towards various stores. Dorian quietly began forward only a few seconds after them with the three others at his side.

They kept mostly to the shadows, but not so obviously that it drew attention. They needed to be just out of sight enough for anyone looking for them but also blend in for a group of four people with hoods up to cover their faces.

Thankfully, the docks were not far from the gates. It was perhaps a seven-minute walk, but his heart seemed convinced to beat at least twice during every second during it. As they came upon the open market area, there were only a few merchants about, barely sparing them a glance as they set up their stalls. The few that were busy trying to sell their merchandise were currently being flooded by Isabela's crew.

Dorian sent them a silent 'thank you' and hoped it'd get across somehow.

As they approached the gates, there were three Templars keeping watch. At first, Dorian's gut twisted, knowing that spell blocked feeling all too well. The staff on his back felt just that much heavier with every step they took. But as they approached, their chests were glowing with the Chantry Eye and it was comforting in a way it had never been prior to Leliana taking the throne.

The youngest of the three reached for his hilt, but the other two immediately held up a hand. "These are the four we were told about, Bronn."

"Oh." He straightened his back and removed his hand from his sword. "My apologies. Maker be with you."

Varric replied, but Dorian couldn't hear it over the pounding in his head.

They quickly moved on, heading down the oh-so-familiar road. Every step just brought back droves of memories of a much happier time. The happiest time. Despite the death surrounding them at every turn, Dorian could only remember seeing his amatus' grinning face and bright eyes.

Maker…

"Don't be sad, Dorian." Cole told him. "It's a happy echo."

"Not now, Cole."

The path headed straightened out before a three-way crossroad opened up. Varric and Dorian gestured Alarion to their left and they headed down the path quietly. After only walking for a few minutes, Varric said, "This way, Glowy."

They led Alarion off the path down an easy to follow trail that opened led to a small clearing. It was perhaps five minutes off the road. Dorian remembered coming here only a few times in the past, mostly to get some news and supplies before finishing their trek back to Skyhold. Still, he remembered it being secluded enough not to draw much attention, but still open enough as to not draw suspicion.

Leliana's idea, if memory served.

As they drew nearer, they could hear the sound of a few horses neighing just before they turned the last curl of the trail.

What awaited them was a familiar face standing next to three horses. At their approach, he looked up, brown eyes defined by high cheekbones and hair attended to in detail. His armor gleamed as he stepped near them. He gave them all a long look over before his eyes settled on Alarion. For a long time, no one spoke as Alarion squirmed under his confused stare.

"Krem," Dorian said, breaking the silence. "It's been a while. How are you?"

"Altus." Krem nodded at him before giving Alarion a quick salute. "Your Worship. Chief mentioned that you'd be here. Thought it was a bad joke when he wouldn't give me any details. Still, good to see you in one piece. You missed one hell of a funeral." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two letters. He handed both over to Dorian. "Don't worry. Your secret's safe with me. Anyway, I have some errands to run in Val Royeaux. I'll see you men later for drinks?"

"Looking forward to it." Varric replied.

Krem eyed Alarion once again. If he noticed that the usually talkative elf hadn't spoken a word, he thankfully had the sense not to point it out. "It's really good to see you, Your Worship. Maybe we can talk later."

Giving all a salute, they bade their farewells and the man left them to head down the trail.

While Cole pet the horses and Varric explained to Alarion how they knew Krem, Dorian carefully tore open the first letter and read it.

Dorian-

Hey it's been a while. Glad to hear you guys are heading back to Skyhold. It'll be good to have the group back together for drinks.

Anyway, Red and Varric's been keeping me updated on what we know about the Boss' adduction and the whole memory-lost fade-shit thing. So you don't have to tear your moustache out trying to figure out how to explain it to everyone. We know. Seeker's excited to see you all, Josie's probably going to cry, and Cullen'll will get a little sulky, but he's excited too.

For everyone's sake, though, try to keep the kid and Boss away from Sera. At least for now.

See you in a few!

The Iron Bull

"Well, that's something." Dorian said, handing the letter off to Varric.

As Varric began to read the letter with Alarion looking over his shoulder, Dorian tore into the second letter.

Before he even began to read it, he immediately noticed how much pressure there was on each word. In some spots, it seemed the quill was placed with so much force that it had snapped.

Dorian-

Listen, Varric's been keeping me updated about Alarion. I know everything he knows about all this. I have some thoughts on how this maybe happened, but I'll wait 'til we're in person. It's not that I don't trust Krem. It's just something best discussed face-to-face.

Dorian… I know that many people are hurting and are infuriated about this, but I don't think there's anyone else as angry as me besides you. Tal-Vashoth rage and all that. Anyway, when you get to Skyhold, I want every detail. After you get Boss settled in, of course. He's priority number one after all.

We'll get the bastard Magister for this. We'll get the damn Qunari for this. And whoever the hell else dared to mess with Boss. I don't care who I have to fight. They messed with the wrong elf and they're goi ng to pa y.

Bull

Dorian grinned, briefly entertaining the idea of leaving on a ship with Bull and storming the gate of that bastard Amladaris' estate. That brute's blind rage slaughtering those that got in his way. Dorian slowly roasting the magister alive…

A laugh snapped him out of the lovely fantasy, however. He glanced up in time to see Alarion's still lingering grin as the horse nuzzled him.

Later…

It… it had to be later.

"Do this for the elf."

Hoping to repress some of his anger, Dorian shoved the letter into his pocket and took a quiet but deep breath.

Later.

Later…

Alarion took priority over everything.

o.O.o

As they stopped for the night, Dorian complained about the cold for, at least according to Varric, the seventeenth time.

Still, as he huddled around the fire (and ignored how wishful he was for a book to read), he found himself quietly smiling as he watched Alarion and Cole play in the snow together.

Cole let out a quiet laugh whenever Alarion managed to hit him with a snowball while Alarion ducked with a rogue's agility and laughed whenever Cole managed to hit him back.

After Alarion did a particular difficult dodge, body twisting with speed enough that Dorian raised an eyebrow, Dorian found himself wondering about the elf's combat expertise now that he had no memories. Surely muscle memory alone meant Alarion's body knew how to hold a bow, but it was unlikely he'd have much skill at first, right?

Alarion was a beyond expert in archery. His talent was birthed from a naturality that could only be described as prodigious honed with years of hard work. His eye for his combatants' weaknesses was enough to make any reasonable person nervous.

Not to mention he was quite decent with dual blades as well.

It disquieted Dorian quite a bit that something Alarion took so much well-deserved pride in had been ripped from him. He had hoped Sera would be willing to give him a few pointers, despite how badly of a teacher he'd assume her to be. But, not now. Bull wouldn't have mentioned keeping Alarion away from her for no good reason.

Still. The elf now remembered how to read. Give him a few archery lessons and stuff him full of strawberries and he'd be acting like his old self in no time… right?

Archery though… There was a story about Alarion involving archery that caused him so. Much. Pain. Countless nightmares and terrible thoughts that stemmed from a single bad experience with his ability in archery. It was a story Dorian knew that, according to Alarion, no one had ever been told, ever.

Late one night as they were huddled together in the dark, Alarion's slow and careful voice began to weave a tale for him. He told him how when he was younger, all his family would talk about was how good he was at archery. And when he was a young foolish boy he grew insecure. "If I wasn't so talented, what good was I to them? So, I played it up more. Pretended to be arrogant of my skill until I actually became arrogant. Then I was a little brat that bragged all the time. Until…"

Alarion had then begun to quietly cry and apologized to Dorian. Told him in a shaking voice that he had never told anyone about it, ever. And saying it out loud would make it too real. After Dorian's reassurance that it was fine (there were, after all, things Dorian still wasn't ready to talk about. Everyone had a story or two like that), Alarion eventually calmed down and promised that one day he'd tell him the story.

And now, Dorian would never know it.

The only hint that Dorian ever got about it was that it was directly related to what the fearlings in the Fade looked like to him. He knew it was a 'her' that, according to Alarion's wild whispering while having a panic attack, he had 'failed'.

But he never pushed because he knew that the moment Alarion was ready to say the words, Dorian would be there to listen.

Because Dorian wanted to help him. Maker only knows how badly he had wanted to help him through that terror that plagued his nightmares oh so often.

Shouldn't the fact that Alarion would no longer be tormented about the memory mean more to Dorian than never knowing that story?

Then why didn't it?

Frowning, Dorian crossed his arms, staring at the flames in front of him. His mirth from watching the two rogues play in the snow like children was gone now. Instead replaced in his mind with Alarion's petrified expression. He had been so pale, wild, and shaky whenever those fearlings appeared. Never, not once, had he ever seen Alarion so scared until that moment in the markets. Not in the moments before he had to give a speech; not before heading off into battle; not even when staring down an archdemon.

Just with the Fearlings and those first few interactions with Dorian after losing his memories.

Alarion had promised to tell him one day. And Dorian knew he would. He never pushed, even though he had wanted to know for both curiosity sake, but mainly because he had wanted to be the one that helped Alarion through it.

Alarion had wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him even when he had never told anyone that story before.

And now it was lost forever.

A story no one knew, and no one ever would.

Dorian prided himself in knowing the elf better than anyone else in the Inquisition. All of Thedas, according to Alarion, if you discounted his sister.

And yet?

Just how many stories about Alarion would Dorian now never know?

How many stories about himself would Alarion never know?

The realization would've made Dorian cry if he didn't promptly stomp that pathetic urge down.

Swallowing, Dorian glanced back at the laughing rogues just in time to see Alarion receiving an entire face-full of snow from Cole.

Stay happy. Dorian commanded. Stay happy, damn you.