Dorian paced the length of his office. Each time he passed his desk, he glanced towards the dark crystal. There had to be a reason Mahvir had never told him. But what reason? Solas?

Yet, Solas had seemed more welcoming of other ancient elves. The man's tone at the temple pointed to this much. Then why? Why had Mahvir of all people pretended to be only twenty-five? It didn't make sense.

The only answers he could get were from Mahvir. Yet, Mahvir had never once shown interest in telling Dorian anything that was going on. Even if Dorian managed to get a straight answer from Mahvir, could he trust Mahvir's word?

He had lied. There was no difference between himself and Solas. None whatsoever.

Dorian's heart flickered.

Right?

There couldn't have been a difference if both of them had lied so easily about being ancient elves. Worse still, Mahvir had a full backstory, jokes and tales from his time in his clan. The story he had told when all of them played cards together, it had sounded so real. Was it all a lie? Was everything he had ever told them a lie? Or just thinly veiled truths?

Dorian collapsed at his desk. He buried his head in his hands. An unreleased scream clawed at his throat and sank deep in his chest. He couldn't breathe. His eyes burned.

Vishante kaffas! What was he to think, to believe?

Mahvir had been akin to a brother.

"You remind me of my twin," the words echoed through Dorian's mind. Mahvir stood before him close to the banister back at Skyhold. His dark eyes glittered, a small, almost pained smile on his face.

Dorian gasped and swallowed back the rising pain.

His finger brushed the crystal.

A soft glow came from it.

He gritted his teeth. "Amatus," Dorian's voice shook as he uttered the word.

"Hmm," Bull's gruff voice sounded a moment later. "What's wrong, Kadan?"

Dorian explained everything he had learned about Shartan as well as learning Mahvir was Shartan.

"I don't know what to think or do. He never seemed the type to," Dorian trailed off.

"We all have our secrets, Kadan."

Dorian gave a small snort at this. "Didn't you just out and say you were a spy when you joined the Inquisition?"

"Yeah, but this is the boss we're talking about, not me," Bull reminded Dorian. "And certainly not Solas."

Dorian stiffened. "How?"

Bull grunted. "It's plain you're worrying about the Boss being just like Solas. They're different people, Kadan. No matter if they're ancient elves or not."

Bull had a point. Still… "I've asked him in the past what's going, and he finally said when we meet face to face he would explain everything."

"Then we meet him face to face."

"But it's just under a year—"

"Not then, now. Or do you want to mope around?"

"I'm not moping!"

"Good. Then, I'll meet you at the border in a few days."

"Bull."

"Nope, we're going. I'll contact the boss to get his location. The chargers and I can see you safely to wherever he's at."

"Bull," Dorian tried again.

Bull grunted.

"I don't think we should just confront him."

"You're overthinking it, Kadan. It's simple, talk to him."

Perhaps he was overthinking this. "Fine, I'll meet you at the border."

"Good. The chargers and I could use an easy job."

Dorian's lips twitched. "I'll be certain to bring a little coin then."

Bull laughed. "Hopefully more than just coin."

The crystal darkened.

If nothing else came of this trip, it would at least be good to spend time with Bull.

The servants packed what Dorian and the two elves would need for the journey. Before too long, Dorian, two guards, a servant, and the two elves Mahvir had asked him to rescue were on the road towards the Nevarran border.

The only sound was armor clicking in rhythm to the beat of the horses' hooves.

"Can you tell me anything about your grandfather?" Dorian asked, breaking the silence.

Cyrion frowned. "I only met him once," he confessed. "The rest I only heard in stories from my father."

"Go on," Dorian pressed lightly.

"He worked as a servant to the Orlesian noble family in Denerim." Cyrion frowned. "Father used to tell stories on how his father would manage staying out of the way of the nobles, a feat father told as difficult given they liked to beat him for being a cripple. Something about him slacking in his work."

"Cripple?" Dorian frowned.

Mahvir was many things, but he wasn't a cripple.

"Yes," Cyrion continued. "From my understanding of it, grandfather's left leg had been crushed and he never gained full use of it again. His left side also held burn scars."

A chill crept over Dorian.

It shouldn't have been shocking given Mahvir was Shartan and had been burned at the stake. Still, to think of Mahvir as anything but the man Dorian had known him to be. The man who had been light on his feet, a bull of dark armor and silver daggers in a fight… it was impossible to see him crippled and burned.

Cyrion gave a small, hollow laugh.

"Yes?" Dorian asked, looking at the old elf.

"I," – Cyrion dropped his gaze – "Sorry, my lord."

"Please, what was the laugh for?" Dorian pressed, trying to be gentle.

Cyrion shifted. "I just remembered a story my father told me when I was child."

"A story?"

"Yes, my lord."

"Go on."

Cyrion shifted in the saddle. "One day my father came home with a shaft of wood and started to carve it with a worn knife we had for food. My siblings and I watched him until I asked what he was doing." A small, ghostly smile appeared on Cyrion's face. "He explained he was making a cane to replace the one he'd broken as a child."

A cane? It would follow if Mahvir really was a cripple. What didn't follow was how he had pulled off looking as if he weren't as the Inquisitor. Mahvir had said it himself, he wasn't a mage. He knew of magic and theories around its use but couldn't harness it himself.

"My father had taken the old one and used it against the side of the house as if it were a sword. It had broken in two and grandfather couldn't afford to replace it without them not being able to eat so he used a fallen branch in its place." Cyrion gave a small laugh. "I believe the branch is what he used at my wedding as well."

None of this made sense.

There was no possible solution someone who could barely walk without a cane could do what the Inquisitor had done. So, how? How were they the same person.

Perhaps, Dorian had jumped to a conclusion and Mahvir really was just related to Shartan. His blood child or something like that. This would explain Mahvir's unwillingness to talk about Shartan.

At the same moment, it didn't make sense. None of this did.

Bull was right, Dorian needed to speak with Mahvir. It would be the only way he would understand what happened and who Shartan really was. Who Mahvir really was.

The rest of the trip to the border passed with little spoken.

The chargers were waiting just beyond the border off the side of the road. Iron Bull stood as Dorian's group drew near.

"Kadan!" Bull grinned. He moved to stand beside Dorian's horse.

"It's been too—" Dorian's words turned to a shout as Bull pulled him off the horse. "Amatus!" Dorian struggled in Bull's arms to no avail.

Bull leaned over him, eyes shining with a grin on his handsome features. His lips touched Dorian's.

Dorian froze as his eyes closed.

It had been far too long.

The kiss ended far too soon.

Bull set Dorian down.

Dorian smoothed his robes. "Did you get ahold of Mahvir?"

"No," Bull confessed. "A friend of his had the crystal for some reason."

A friend? "Who?"

"Theon, the man he used to talk about from time to time."

It was the same man Dorian had heard in the background once before.

"He sounded older than I pictured him," Bull stated.

Dorian smiled. "He did." Dorian shoved the thought to the back of his mind. "Did Theon tell you where the group is?"

"They should be at the edge of the Frostback mountains on the Orlesian side by the time we cross the Waking Sea." Bull nodded. "They're planning on staying near the Frostbacks for a time."

Dorian nodded. "Then we had best get going." Before the elves decided to move again.

Dorian mounted his horse. His heart flickered. It wouldn't be long before he saw Mahvir again. A part of him, a small part of him, wanted nothing more than to see his best friend again. Another, larger part, worried about everything. Everything he had learned about Mahvir or thought he had learned. There was no telling what the truth was and what the lies were.

(Author's Notes: Another short chapter.

Also, on the crushed leg, I changed around a few matters from Blood of the People and decided the reason Mahvir is crippled is because his leg was crushed. The story behind it will hopefully come up soon enough.)