The gloom made it hard to read Mahvir's – Shartan's expression even as Dorian sat close to the man he had thought to be his closest friend. There was no denying this man was Mahvir. His voice and appearance, outside of the change in hair length and his chin, were Mahvir's.

And…

And he had both his arms.

"I was born during the rule of the Forgotten Ones, known to us then as the Shadow Ones," Shartan began. "During this time, the elvhen were enslaved to the Shadow Ones, thus," – he gave a small laugh which was barely more than air escaping his lips – "I never lied about being born into slavery."

"So, it wasn't the slavery from my country men?"

Shartan bowed his head. "It wasn't." His gaze swept over them.

"Hmm." Bull rubbed his chin.

"My twin brother and I were the only children Mythal gave birth to while she, Elgar'nan, and Solas were still slaves," Shartan continued the story.

"So, you're one of the evanuris?" Dorian asked. It didn't make sense. The man Dorian had known, had disliked power, disliked being seen as anything but himself. Yet, he had always played the part flawlessly. Perhaps it wasn't as much of a stretch to see him as one of the elven gods. In the same instance, it was harder than seeing Solas as such.

"But you're not a mage," Iron Bull stated.

"This is true." Shartan's lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. "It was unheard of back then for a child to have no magical affinity."

Dorian frowned and glanced at his lover out of the corner of his eye. Bull was leaning forward, hand on his chin.

"Hmm," Bull grunted. "From my understanding of elven religion, Mythal's only known child is Falon'Din. You say she had you and your twin as well. Or are you Falon'Din?" He shook his head. "No, no, you're not the type to be known as the Guide of the Dead or fortune."

This was true.

Shartan bowed his head. "My twin," – his breath shuddered – "is Falon'Din."

The words rang hollow to Dorian. Sure, he knew some about the ancient empire, but even the truth behind its fall hadn't been the truth. Who was to say what little he did know was as well?

"The only thing I am aware of with Falon'Din," Dorian started, "was he had a twin soul, Dirthamen."

Shartan chuckled.

Bull grunted. "I heard that version of the tale," he confessed. "I asked Dalish about it once. Apparently, to the Dalish, Dirthamen is Falon'Din's full twin and not his twin soul."

"Yes, Dirthamen is Falon'Din's twin brother." Shartan's lips twitched.

No.

The nippy unpleasant air turned to ice around Dorian, zapping the little warmth still in his body. Mahvir was – he was like Solas. He had lied to them about so much more.

"My birthname was Dirth," Shartan, no, Dirthamen continued. "Later the People added to my name as they did for Elgar'nan and Falon'Din. But, the Tevinter scholar wasn't wrong in seeing something was off between Falon and I." Dirthamen didn't look away from Dorian, his gaze seemed to piece through Dorian as if he could see turmoil roiling within. "Falon is at once my twin brother and my cousin."

"So, you two had the same mother but different fathers," Bull asked, "or is it the other way around?"

"We had the same mother," Dirthamen confessed.

Dorian's heart raced.

"Elgar'nan was Falon's father. Mine," – pain spread over Dirthamen's face – "is Elgar'nan's twin brother, Solas."

"Solas?" Dorian stared at Dirthamen. Sure, the two of them looked alike, but being related… Apart from both of them lying about their past, the men Dorian knew were complete opposites in their likes and dislikes. Unless this too was a lie.

"Solas has no knowledge of this," Dirthamen continued, "and I would prefer to keep it that way."

"Solas would have recognized you as you are now?" Dorian asked.

"Yes," Dirthamen confirmed.

Cole shifted near to Dorian. His owlish eyes locked on Dirthamen and mouth pulled into a deep frown. "You feared hearing it again?" Cole whispered. "Hearing what again? I can help."

"My thanks, Cole, but know what I would hear from him again. There is no way to convince him otherwise." Dirthamen;s eyes narrowed, expression almost soft; yet, pained.

Dirthamen lifted his gaze.

"It's in the past. All the evanuris are related," Dirthamen continued. "Sylaise and Adruil are Mythal's second set of twins and my younger half sisters. June is the youngest of my siblings. Ghilan'nain is Adruil's daughter.

"During the rule of the Forgotten Ones, the world was dark and ruled by fear. My family were the oldest members of the People given so many died in servitude to them."

Words wove through the air as Dirthamen continued with the story around the war. Dorian sat frozen to his seat; gaze locked on Dirthamen. Each word held weight and painted a vivid image of the world.

Bull let out a snort of laughter when Dirthamen got to when the Forgotten Ones were sealed away. "So that's how he lost his hair."

Dirthamen bowed his head and gave Bull a tired smile. "It is and remains a sore point for him to this today."

Dorian smiled.

The next part of the story went into what they had uncovered in one the ruins they'd entered during the Inquisition.

"What?" Bull leapt to his feet, gaze locked on the white raven. "You're-you're," he stuttered, backing up a pace.

"What of it?" the raven demanded, cocking her head. "I don't want to harm you."

A beak snapping sounded close to the white raven. Two eyes, the coloring of burning coals appeared through the gloom. "She does," another, male voice, informed them. "But Dirth would never allow it. We are bound to him for all eternity," the voice dripped with a mixture of pleasure and contempt. "We may be bound to his will, but he is our ticket to eternal life."

Dirthamen didn't even glance at the two ravens. "The white raven is a demon of deceit and the black is one of fear. I know it doesn't count for much, Iron Bull, but neither will harm you."

Bull just nodded, face pale as he eyed the demons. His hand twitched towards his great axe.

Dirthamen continued the story. It changed to how his family started to fracture when his people started to see the nine of them as gods. The main fracture in his family had been between Solas and the rest of them, just as was stated in the temple. One of the last times Dirthamen had spoken with Solas before the Inquisition, had been around the time they were starting to be viewed as gods. Solas had pleaded with Dirthamen to see the folly of this decision.

"But you didn't?" Dorian asked.

"I didn't want to leave Falon'Din and he wouldn't defy Elgar'nan over this. He loved the attention the People were giving us," Dirthamen stated. "I didn't. As time went on, I spent more and more time away from the temple. When I was there, very few saw my face.

"I preferred to wander among my people. It was harder to return to the temple with each trip outside of it as all I wanted was to be viewed in the light of a normal member of the People. Yet, if I vanished for too long from the temple Falon'Din would become aware of it and track me down. It was the surest way for the façade to be broken."

Dirthamen shook his head.

"The only time I felt myself was when I was away from the temple. When I was no longer Dirthamen, but rather Mahvir." His breath shuddered.

"It sounds like you hate being Dirthamen," Bull observed. "But the ladies surely were falling for you faster as a god." His gaze flickered from the demons to Dirthamen. A grin flashed over his handsome face before fading as his gaze returned to the demons.

Of course, that was on Bull's mind.

"Stop glaring at us." The male snapped his beak. "I get it, you fear us. And while such fear is generally delicious, right now it's just annoying."

Dirthamen shot a look in the direction of the voice.

"Fine," the demon let out a caw. "I'm going." The soft rustle of wings followed.

"Slave driver," snapped the white demon. She spread her wings and took off as well.

"You can relax, Iron Bull," – Dirthamen returned his gaze to them – "I sent them away."

Bull glanced towards the branches and edged back to the rock he'd abandoned.

"Bull?" Dorian whispered.

Bull grunted. "It's fine." His gaze flickered back to the branch the demons had left. He cleared his throat. "So, Mahvir wasn't just a name you took recently?"

"It wasn't," Dirthamen confirmed. "Whenever I go by that name, it is the moments where I tend to be the happiest. That is why, until recently I hadn't gone by the name whenever I took a more public role in the world. This time the People only knew of it and, thus, I went by the name instead of choosing another." He smiled. "Though the time the Inquisition was together wasn't always easy, I was happy among all of you. I could be myself."

Dorian blinked.

Himself?

"But you lied about your past," Dorian started, "all the stories about what you did in the clan, were either made up or lies, right?"

"They weren't made up. I confess the one told when we all played wicked grace wasn't about me. I was still there when it happened." A strained chuckle escaped Dirthamen. "Keeper Deshanna was still beside herself in fury. She ranted about it to Teren, Theon, and me."

All through their conversation his voice had grown softer, strained. The same as it sometimes was when they had been talking over the crystal. As if he couldn't breathe.

Dirthamen lifted something to his lips. His breathing eased.

"All right, I know I'm trying to get my kadan to talk with you, but I have to ask, what's going on with your breathing, boss?"

"Ah, that."

Bull grunted.

"While I can never die," – his tone sounded almost regretful as if he wanted nothing more than to die – "that doesn't mean I am indestructible. One thousand years ago I was burned alive and there are side effects brought about from surviving a fire. Prolonged exposure to smoke can cause extensive damage to one's lungs, restricting one's ability to breath. This is what happened to me."

"But you never had it before," Dorian pointed out.

"No, not while fused with Deceit."

Bull stiffened. "What?!" His hands shook on his legs.

"While in a fused state with one of them, they have no control and can really only complain to me about what is going on. However, I can force a form which is more normal in appearance, rid myself of the damage done to my body. As the Inquisitor, I changed my appearance just enough to fool Solas and appear Dalish."

"What?" Bull repeated. "You were an abomination."

"No." Dirthamen looked at Bull. "Abominations are when a demon forces control over the body of a mage. A fusion is something else entirely. As I said, she has no physical or mental control over me. My actions remain my own."

"So, you say," Bull growled.

"It's the truth," the man behind Dirthamen spoke for the first time. "Even fused he doesn't change to act like either Fear or Deceit. If he did, he would be demanding for food to be brought to him."

Bull frowned.

That was possible? "But," Dorian started then stopped. All he knew about his nation, the Fade; the very world he had lived in his entire life had changed over the time he'd been with the Inquisition. What made this any different? If Solas created the Veil, it wasn't so absurd to think his son was immune to position.

A soft sound of feet against the wet earth came to Dorian.

"It appears we're out of time." Dirthamen's gaze rested on a point just behind Dorian. He used his cane to pull himself to his feet. "Dorian, Iron Bull, Cole," – his gaze moved over each of them, coming to rest last on Dorian – "I won't ask for forgiveness or acceptance, I just hope this helped you if only a little."

Dirthamen started forward. He leaned heavily on his cane, favoring his right leg over his left.

He drew level with Dorian.

He paused.

Dorian turned, expecting to see the man from the old drawing.

It wasn't.

Rather he found himself looking at Mahvir. Different, resembling the drawing yes, but otherwise his friend. The same and yet different. The same as when he been seated across from them only moments ago. Yet he wasn't covered in the shadows as before.

Perhaps, just perhaps, none of this had been a lie.

Dirthamen's gaze locked with Dorian's for a moment. Some of the shadow had gone, giving just enough light to fully see the hint of purple in the eyes. His eyes were the same, and not the same. There was nothing of laughter or joy there, only a hollowness as if someone had taken everything from the man Dorian had known.

The glance lasted only a heartbeat, broken someone coughed behind Dorian.

Dorian looked behind him.

Another elf stood there and he wasn't Theon.

Dirthamen continued towards the man.

"This is far from the time for you to be sneaking off and in the rain," the man started to scold the moment Dirthamen drew near to him.

Dirthamen didn't speak, just moved passed the man.

The sounds of them moving off soon vanished.

"He was him," Cole stated. "The same, but sad. Drowning, lost with only one friend left, but he didn't want help." Cole tilted his head.

Dorian looked at Cole.

Cole shook his head. "No, no, that might not be it." Cole frowned. "It is so hard to hear and his hurt is so deep, spread across so many centuries that even this pain he knows will pass. I think."

"Hmm." Bull looked at Cole. "What are you saying?"

Cole shook his head.

The same? Dorian glanced back to where Dirthamen had vanished.

"You fear he isn't, that he lied?" Cole asked.

"I," Dorian started. He didn't want to deny Cole's words. "Yes."

"He didn't. He stated himself he is Mahvir." Cole stood.

Was it really that simple?

(Author's Notes: It is sad when I type in "Dragon Age Inquisition into the youtube search that party banter is at the top of the search for me…

Well, the next chapter should see us return to Mahvir's point of view, hopefully.

Also sorry for the long wait on this chapter. It was hard to figure out how to write it.)