Be certain in need,
and the path will emerge
to a home tomorrow
and time will again
be the joy it once was

From Suledin, an elven song

Halamshiral, Orlais, Bloomingtide, 9:44 Dragon

The Winter Palace looked different by daylight. The midsummer sun shone off its whitewashed walls and glittered off gilded gates and fountains. The manicured courtyards were filled with the sounds of running water, of birds in the trees, and music drifted on the breeze from somewhere nearby. It was a much different impression than the Palace had given the first time Idhren laid eyes on it, a lighter, friendlier impression. But Idhren was no happier to be here than he had been the last time.

The Palace was as much a mask as what the Orlesian nobility wore on their faces. A golden, smiling façade to hide the filth within.

At least no one was trying to kill him this time.

Only tear his Inquisition limb from limb now that they no longer had need of it.

It was crumbling already, if Idhren were perfectly honest. He had tried for so long to ignore the feeling, but each time he returned to Skyhold it felt more empty. Many of his friends had departed back to their own lives, their halls were no longer filled with visitors and allies, and even the army's camp outside the fortress walls was notably thin these days.

Already they were becoming little more than a memory. A few pages in a history book. Legends about a war that almost ended the world and the man who stopped it.

Would they forget him the way they forgot Ameridan?

Idhren tried to shake such thoughts from his head. He had been entirely too melancholy lately, miserable and lonely in a way he hadn't been since living in Tevinter.

But the council loomed before him, always in the back of his mind and filling him with anxious dread every time he paused to think. Threatening to tear the foundations of his life out from under him and leave him floundering again.

There was only one thing that he was looking forward to. One bright spot amidst the dark cloud that clung to his mind.

Dorian.

Two of the longest years of Idhren's life, and there he was now within arms reach.

He did not look much different, although Tevinter had left a bit of a mark on him. Tevinter fashions, at least. His current outfit was finer and a slight more ostentatious than anything he'd worn when last in the south. But from experience Idhren knew it was still a far cry from the finery that some of Tevinter's elite favored.

The man was currently embroiled in conversation with an Orlesian nobleman – the ambassador, if he was remembering Leliana's briefing correctly – and rather than interrupt Idhren merely stood back and watched.

But Dorian spotted him quickly regardless, eyes catching his over the ambassador's shoulder, and a fond smile spread across his lips. "But if you'll excuse me," he cut the conversation short, already moving in Idhren's direction, "I see an old friend I need to greet."

"An old friend?" Idhren asked, unable and unwilling to keep a matching smile from spreading across his lips. "Is that all I am now?"

"An understatement, perhaps," Dorian replied, amused. "I have an apology ready."

Idhren was already reaching for him as soon as Dorian was close enough. "I should hope so," he murmured, fingers finding purchase in the man's collar. Then he was rising up on his toes as Dorian leaned down to meet him, hands easily finding Idhren's waist only a moment before their lips met.

It took every ounce of self control that Idhren had not to climb the man like a tree right there in front of the Orlesian Ambassador. That certainly wouldn't help negotiations. But after two years even one small kiss was nearly overwhelming. And that kiss was over all too soon, barely enough time for him to remember the feel of Dorian's lips on his, the smell of his cologne, the warmth of those hands on his waist. He had to force himself to take a step backward, put a little distance between them so he could think again without being overcome by the urge to kiss him again.

"I missed you," he said still, the words slipping past his lips easily.

Dorian's smile turned smug. Idhren couldn't help wondering if the man felt even a fraction of the desire he felt in that moment - two years of pent up lust and cold beds. "You won't be happy until I say the same, will you?" he asked, voice teasing, "No matter how embarrassing it is."

"You'll say it in letters but not aloud?" Idhren asked, "You've been in Tevinter far too long."

For a moment, the mirth faded from Dorian's eyes, so briefly that had Idhren not been staring at him so closely he may not have noticed. "There's truth to that," he said. "Very well, I missed you terribly, like a limb, if we're being dramatic."

Idhren chuckled, "I've never known you to shy away from dramatics," he teased. "But tell me, how was your trip? Uneventful, I hope?"

"Oh, dreadful, as always," Dorian sighed. "But I'm not about to share the horrific details of my seasickness here in public. Or ever, if I have a choice. More importantly, you've gone and changed your hair again," he pointed out. Unconsciously Idhren reached up to touch his hair, where aside from the shorn sides he'd allowed it to grow long enough to be tied back in a short ponytail. "Is this going to become a habit with you? Every time we're parted you change your hair in a fit of pique."

"Stop leaving and you'll find out," Idhren laughed.

Dorian cringed faintly, but quickly covered it with a smile again. "Fair point," he conceded. "It suits you."

"Thank you," Idhren replied. "Now, tell me what you've heard about this council."

"Likely nothing you haven't heard yourself," Dorian replied. "Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, and Tevinter sends but one token ambassador. That's me, by the way."

"I'd heard such a rumor," Idhren said. "Shall I congratulate you, Ambassador Pavus?"

"Hardly," Dorian scoffed. "It's a token appointment, you know how the Magisterium likes to make itself known. It's not as though I weren't going to be here anyway."

"Well, I'm very glad that you are," Idhren replied.

"Of course you are," Dorian laughed. "If I had been forced to read one more letter of your sad pining for me I should have been obligated to come visit regardless."

Idhren flushed at the reminder, "As though you were any different," he accused.

"Lies and slander," Dorian protested. "I never pine."

Idhren pulled him down for another brief kiss, again far more chaste than he would have liked. "Well maybe later we can make up for lost time, Ambassador," he murmured low enough for only Dorian to hear.

A smirk pulled at the man's mouth as he replied. "I would be a fool to turn down such an offer, Inquisitor."

Idhren chuckled as he stepped away from Dorian once more. "I have some other business to finish first, but I will look for you when I am finished."

"And I'll look forward to it," Dorian replied.

It was hours more of forced polite conversation before Idhren was certain he'd made all the requisite small talk to ensure all the negotiating parties would not hate him any more than they already did. By then the afternoon was stretching on and he was eager to use the scarce hours left to him before the council officially began in a much more pleasant way.

He found Dorian with a motley gathering of their friends, having laid claim to one of the garden's seating areas and filled the small table with wine bottles. Likely on Varric's dime, if Idhren had to guess.

"What's all this about?" Idhren asked as he approached, curious as to the reason behind the impromptu celebration. Though knowing this group they likely didn't need much of a reason.

"Sparky, you're just in time!" Varric enthused, waving for Idhren to come join them.

"Varric this really isn't necessary," Dorian protested, voice tight. Something in his expression seemed almost panicked.

"Nonsense!" Varric brushed it off without seeming to notice Dorian's discomfort. He raised his glass in a toast and began to speak. "Sparkler, the Imperium doesn't deserve you. Or want you. It may even kill you. But we'll miss you, if it counts."

Why did this feel like a going away party? Dorian had only just arrived. He couldn't already be planning to go back to Tevinter.

"And… you didn't know," Varric realized, trailing off as he saw Idhren's confusion. "Well, shit. Okay folks, time to take the party elsewhere."

Varric quickly ushered the rest of the onlookers away. Idhren was glad for the dwarf's ability to read the mood, but it did nothing to improve his own. He didn't take his eyes off of Dorian,, though Dorian would notably not meet his gaze until everyone else had left them to the relative privacy of their garden alcove.

"Dorian-,"

"It's true," Dorian blurted, before Idhren could demand an explanation. "When the Exalted Council is ended I'm going back to Tevinter." He still could hardly meet Idhren's eyes. "For good this time."

Idhren shouldn't have been surprised, really. He supported Dorian's work in Tevinter, encouraged him in it. But he had expected the man to stay longer. He'd expected them to have time together without politics or thousands of miles in between.

"But you've only just arrived," he protested.

"I know," Dorian replied. "It's not what I'd wanted, either, believe me. But…" he trailed off a moment, then breathed a soft sigh and continued, "My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe. I received notice this morning. A perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium."

Good riddance, Idhren thought, but he knew enough to keep his mouth shut. He might not care at all for Dorian's father, and knew Dorian wasn't particularly fond of the man either, but it was still his father. "I'm sorry," he said instead.

"No you're not," Dorian replied, but there was no anger in his voice. "You hated him."

"He was still your father," Idhren said.

Dorian met his eyes, and for the briefest moment Idhren saw real grief in his gaze, before Dorian quickly masked it again. "Yes, well," he tried somewhat awkwardly to brush off Idhren's condolences. "It's all somewhat of a shock, to be honest. I only saw him a handful of times in Minrathous. He never mentioned anything about keeping me as his heir."

"You're actually taking it, then? The Magisterial seat?" Idhren asked. That was perhaps the biggest shock of it all. For how much Dorian claimed to loath Tevinter high society, and how much he had protested being mistakenly called a magister in the past, it was strange to think he would willingly step into the role he had so long despised.

"How could I not?" Dorian asked in reply. "If I don't, it would go to one of my horrid cousins. And it would help the Lucerni immensely to have another voice in the Magisterium."

Dorian spoke as though it were obvious, as though there were no question. He had made the decision already, and without consulting Idhren in the slightest. "And you were going to tell me this when, exactly?" Idhren demanded, feeling hurt and anger well up inside him.

"Soon," Dorian insisted. "I only just found out myself, so I certainly wasn't keeping it from you on purpose."

"And yet you told everyone else before you so much as mentioned it to me," Idhren pointed out.

"I've hardly seen you," Dorian defended. "Would you have rather had this conversation in front of the Ambassador?"

"I would rather have been the first person to know, not the last!" Idhren exploded.

"I-," Dorian started to argue, and then stopped himself. "You're right. I'm sorry."

The apology cooled Idhren's temper somewhat, but he was still angry. Still hurt. "You're not coming back, then." It was not a question. "Ever."

"Ever is a very strong word," Dorian protested. "I can still visit."

"Two years you were away, Dorian," Idhren said, and glared up at him. "You didn't visit then."

"Well, you were very busy, running off all over the world at the drop of a hat," Dorian argued. "For all I knew I'd show up at Skyhold to find you gone."

"You're making excuses," Idhren accused. "You know I would have dropped everything if I knew you were coming, I would have been there."

"And that's the problem, isn't it?" Dorian asked in exasperation. "I don't want you to drop everything for me! What would people say?"

"I don't give two shits what people have to say about us," Idhren snapped. "I never have. And I thought you'd stopped caring, too. Evidently I was wrong. Or has that changed recently?"

"You know it's not that simple," Dorian protested. "I think this whole debacle is evidence of that."

Idhren doubted the occasional visit from his Tevinter lover could have made this situation any worse. He had stepped on too many toes in the past years. People were tired of answering to an upstart Dalish elf. "What do you propose, then?" he asked in frustration. "I don't want to go two years – or more – without seeing you again."

"I do have something," Dorian replied, raising one hand in a placating gesture. He reached into a pouch on his belt and withdrew a small object. "A going away present… of sorts," he explained, holding the object out to Idhren. Laying there in the palm of his hand was a necklace. A somewhat bulky gold locket on a chain. Frowning, Idhren reached out to take the object, confused but curious. "It's a sending crystal," Dorian explained before Idhren could even voice his questions. And sure enough, when Idhren popped the locket open instead of a portrait inside, a slim crystal was set into the pendant's back. "So when you become overwhelmed by sorrow for lack of my velvety voice – magic!"

Practically miraculous that Dorian could even get his hands on a pair of these. They were exceedingly rare and exceedingly expensive. The effort it must have taken to obtain these crystals spoke to how Dorian must have also been miserable during their time apart. So Idhren really should appreciate it more. But it was just a cold weight in his hand to match the one in his heart.

"You think this is a good enough substitute for not seeing you?" Idhren asked, still staring down at the necklace.

Dorian hesitated, floundered a moment unable to find a suitably glib response. "Well… no," he admitted at last, "But it's an improvement over waiting weeks between letters, don't you think?"

It was. And Idhren would have greatly appreciated this sentiment two years ago. But now he was tired, lonely, and he could not bear the thought of another long separation. "I would rather just go to Tevinter with you this time."

"But you hate Tevinter," Dorian said, perplexed. "You told me you never wanted to set foot there again."

"I know what I said," Idhren snapped. "But this…" he gestured vaguely to their surroundings. Even the splendor of the Winter Palace felt like a gilded cage no different than the one he'd fled half a lifetime ago.

Unbidden, he remembered a conversation with Cassandra earlier that day. Marriage. A concept he'd fled from in fear for years, but now the idea made his heart flutter with nervous hope. But did Dorian feel the same? Idhren had no idea. The future of their relationship was not something they had ever spoken about. Perhaps an oversight, Idhren realized now, to leave it so formless. So uncertain.

"Inquisitor Ameridan told me something before he died," he said wistfully, "To take moments of happiness where they come. Cassandra said something similar to me this morning.

"I never wanted power or political influence. I only want a normal life," Idhren sighed. "That's the only thing I've ever wanted."

For a long moment silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words. He had never realized how much remained unsaid between them. Now all those conversations they had never had gnawed at the back of his mind.

"You can't seriously be considering throwing it all away, though," Dorian scoffed, and the flippantness of his tone made Idhren wince and look away. "What about the Inquisition? I thought you wanted to keep helping people."

"I do," Idhren insisted, "But we both know that whatever is left of the Inquisition after this - if there's anything at all - it won't be the same. I won't sit by and watch the Inquisition be turned into just another of the Chantry's useless lap dogs."

"You don't know for certain that will happen," Dorian protested.

"And you don't know for certain that it won't," Idhren argued.

For that Dorian clearly had no counter. "Very well," he relented. He reached out to take Idhren's hand and draw him closer. "If, when this council is over, you still wish to abandon the south to its own devices, I shan't stop you."

"I can agree to that," Idhren replied. A fair compromise. Perhaps Dorian was right, and Idhren was letting the stress and melancholy get the better of him, making him pessimistic. Perhaps when this was resolved he would feel differently about leaving for good. But either way, he knew he did not want to go another two years separated from the man he loved.

"Good," Dorian smiled. "Now, let's finish the good wine before the others come back."