Dorian wasn't sure he had ever felt more vulnerable in his life. Considering that was including his worst memory of being stripped of magic and chained in the basement while his father…well, needless to say, Dorian was not particularly comfortable at the moment.

Gereon had planned to guide Dorian to private meetings with various members of the Venatori who might be especially amenable to him, and those who particularly loathed the red templars. Dorian was already somewhat reluctant to take on a leadership role as the lines were being drawn among Corypheus' supporters (beyond getting to put Samson's head on a pike, of course), but before any of their hasty plans could get underway they had been summoned to the War Room.

Summoned might have been the wrong word; ordered would be more apt.

There were a few monstrous templars standing guard around the room, so the two could not continue to plan. It also gave the impression that the mages were closer to subordinates than equal partners — which, in this case, was unfortunately true. Samson had done his best to claim authority for himself, with the minor Venatori involved in the invasion too weak to make any proper challenge. That is, the Tevinters' influence was rather feeble until Dorian arrived. Alexius seemed to think that Dorian's reputation, as chaotic and questionable as it was, would provide the Venatori with the edge they needed to maintain a position of power in this endeavor.

Perhaps most unsettlingly, the summons had included a few others in far more perilous positions: the barely conscious and only partially healed Josephine, who now sat in a corner hugging her knees to her chest; Leliana, who was being physically held on her feet by her torturer; and Maxwell, who was still wearing the broken suppression collar with his wrists bound behind his back. Thankfully, the Inquisitor wasn't a complete idiot and wasn't trying any foolish escape attempts yet. Unfortunately, Dorian was uncertain how long the young man would last in his inaction — the way he looked at Josephine from across the room was heart wrenching.

At least Gereon had managed to hide just how much she had suffered. It could have been a far worse sight for the poor young mage.

Dorian knew he needed to be using this time to plan, to think through the possible moves the templars were plotting, to consider how to ingratiate himself to the cause or to escape unscathed should the conflict get too hot. It was possible that Raleigh intended to make a move to remove the Venatori from any power in Skyhold now that he was emboldened by the Inquisitor's capture and Cullen's return to the fold.

All of that is what Dorian needed to focus on.

But despite the alarming urgency of this situation and all the very important reasons he knew he had to think quickly of all the possible outcomes and how to navigate them, nothing was strong enough to overwhelm the intense anxiety twisting his gut into knots, the fear making his heart race, and the sense of overwhelming dread that something was very wrong.

Well, obviously everything was going wrong, but this feeling was a little too familiar. It wasn't simply a bad feeling — it was a physical sensation tugging at his blood. He gulped as he briefly scanned the room before returning his absentminded attention to the War Table.

Raleigh Samson was, as of yet, notably absent.

And so was Cullen.

"Dorian," Gereon hissed under his breath.

Dorian's immense worry must be showing on his face again. Allowing such concern to manifest in his expression was a terrible weakness that he could not afford here, and yet he couldn't help it. He knew, in his heart, that something had happened to Cullen.

Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be a direct plea for help. Even if it was a signal of distress, Dorian had no idea where Cullen was just now. He could try to follow the feeling, but he wasn't entirely certain he would be allowed out of the room unsupervised. As much as he might like the idea of pummeling some red templars into dust, the timing would be problematic.

It was also entirely possible it was all in his head. Being anxious made perfect sense, all things considered. He was not well established here, something like a civil war was brewing, he didn't know where his amatus was, and they were both certainly in immense danger.

And he did know Cullen was with fucking Samson.

Cullen was somewhere, probably alone, with the same templar that forced red lyrium on him in the first place and seemed to have had a previous relationship with the poor-judge-of-character Commander. Some small voice of doubt at the back of his mind feared that maybe this was Cullen's plan all along — that his relationship with Dorian had been feigned, and that he'd been using Dorian as a tool to return him to his proper place in the new Templar Order.

He couldn't entirely ignore that unease, but it seemed strange that Dorian was so certain that glimmer of suspicion was entirely inaccurate.

Dorian sighed softly as he shifted his weight. He had to get a hold of himself. Cullen knew what he was doing. Dorian was annoyed he'd changed the rules on him, but Cullen did know Samson better than Dorian did. And keeping the card up his sleeve wasn't a poor plan. As soon as sign of Dorian's supposed blood magic influence turned up, there was likely no way to play nice with the red templars.

But since they already weren't playing nice anyway, what was the point?

Dorian found his attention drifting over to Maxwell again. The poor man had tears on his cheeks while his gaze remained locked on Josephine. As far as Dorian was aware, Josephine had yet to look up from where her head was buried in her arms. It was clear the Inquisitor wanted nothing more than to go to her.

He understood that feeling all too well. Wherever Cullen was, Dorian dearly wished to be with him.

Dorian suddenly realized he could hear angry voices approaching down the hall outside. Dorian looked up, tilting his head in an attempt to overhear. The shouting overlapped too much to fully determine any words, but his heart skipped a beat at the recognition that one of the voices clearly belonged to Cullen.

If he was approaching and even arguing, then surely everything was fine. For Cullen to be confident enough to shout at Samson, he must be fairly certain of his safety among these templars.

Then again, whatever was causing such a heated debate was hardly going to be cause for celebration.

When the doors burst open, Samson's eyes immediately locked on Dorian.

"You!"

That was the only warning Dorian got before a massive Silence crashed over him. The force of it was more disorienting than any that Cullen had previously called, something of the red lyrium leaving an awful grittiness inside and out. Everything hurt, his bones groaning under unseen pressure and his insides twisting as if trying to rip themselves apart. He may as well have been blind for how blurred and dark his vision was, and lingering behind it all was a sickening, haunting song that somehow seemed both distant and immensely oppressive against his eardrums.

There was a great deal more shouting, although Dorian was unable to follow the conversation. The room felt overly hot, due to magic or the lyrium or Dorian's confused senses. He shook his head, attempting to push away the fog but managing to instead increase the throbbing pain gripping at his mind.

Someone was touching him. He couldn't immediately tell if the hands were attempting to cause further pain or to steady him — either way, it hurt. That was when he finally noticed he was pinned to a wall. The realization triggered an odd combination of panic and arousal as he recalled the times Cullen had forced him against the wall, both in threat and in search of stealing rough kisses.

But the man holding him didn't smell anything like Cullen. The air was sickly sweet with red lyrium, and while Dorian was not quite able to focus his vision yet, he was certain it was Samson.

"What did you do to him?" the man growled viciously.

Samson was furious, and given the manner in which he abruptly jerked Dorian forward before slamming him against the wall again, he had no patience. Dorian's head ached from both the red-tinted Silence and the impact against the stones, the disorientating agony stealing coherent thought.

"Raleigh, stop!"

Cullen's voice was nearly drowned out by Gereon's: "Maker's sake, get off of him or I will remove you."

"You don't have the balls, Alexius," Samson sneered before turning his attention back to Dorian. "You hateful maleficar, does it get you off to strip a man of his power — his identity?"

"Raleigh, please listen to me," Cullen pleaded.

"I can't believe a word you say," Samson snapped. "Not when he's holding your strings." Dorian was slammed into the wall again, this time banging his head so hard he saw stars. "I admit, I didn't expect you to be so liberal with your whore," Samson growled. "But you gravely miscalculated."

"The fuck are you on about?" Dorian finally managed, the words sounding drunk as his lips and tongue struggled to cooperate. His eyes finally cleared enough for him to meet those horrible red ones that were filled with pure hatred.

Samson was breathing heavily, his grip on Dorian's shoulders tightening to the point of leaving bruises and quite possibly threatening to break bone. "I knew you had him on a leash, but I didn't expect the depravity of removing himself in the process."

"What is he talking about, Commander?" Dorian asked, refusing to give Samson the satisfaction of a civil response.

When he looked past the red templar's shoulder to look at Cullen, his heart sank. Cullen was refusing to look at him, his face flushed and mouth twisted into an agonized frown. He was also surprisingly disheveled, his hair oddly mussed, some bits of armor unfastened, and his trousers oddly low on his hips.

He wasn't wearing a belt.

Cullen finally managed to flick his eyes up to Dorian's, just for a moment, his expression fraught with shame and utterly wretched. It was a look Dorian had witnessed before.

The memory struck Dorian like lightning: Cullen shivering against the wall of the Fade's version of his bedroom back home, shameful arousal coloring his cheeks, humiliation and fear twisting his lips and knitting his brow.

All after that demon had tormented him in Dorian's form.

A surge of rage set Dorian's blood hot as he reached for the power it might provide, clawing through the Silence in search of something, anything, to use against Samson. In his fury he didn't bother focusing the magic, sending a pulse of delicious darkness through his entire body and then expanding it as a wave to push Samson back as painfully as possible. His own body itched from the sensation as the templar finally released his hold and stumbled backward into the War Table.

More Silences rained down on him in response from the other red templars defending their leader, sending Dorian crashing painfully onto his knees and leaving him dangerously close to losing consciousness entirely.

"Stop it, all of you!" Gereon demanded. "Kaffas, we are on the same side!"

"I could never abide allying with a blood mage," Samson growled. "Not that it matters. He's on no one's side."

"Raleigh, it has nothing to do with him!"

"Lyrium doesn't just vanish, Cullen!" Samson replied furiously. "He took it from you so you would be like clay in his hands."

So that's what this was about — Cullen's abstention from lyrium. And for some reason, Samson blamed Dorian for that. How he found out about it, Dorian didn't know. Cullen surely would not have told him.

Dorian's mind refused to properly focus on that as he was still struggling to come to terms with the idea that something intimate had clearly happened between the two. Why the fuck would Cullen have allowed anything like that? Surely the lion would have fought tooth and nail, or fended him off with his relationship with Dorian, or-or…something short of letting Samson use him so personally.

Dorian managed to shake off the Silences in time to witness Samson step menacingly toward him, the templar glaring down at him like Dorian was a bug about to be squashed under his boot. "You thought you were terribly clever, didn't you? Getting him to pretend he was the same man from Kirkwall, handing that fine ass of his to me as proof."

Dorian's fury was strong enough to grab at his magic again, but the threat of the templars around him was a little too much to ignore. Dorian bit his tongue and clenched his teeth, firmly willing the power under control.

For the moment, at least.

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised you'd never kneel for his pleasure." Dorian didn't immediately understand what the man was implying, but was certainly not about to ask. Samson smirked and continued, "Didn't realize he'd taste different, I expect."

Dorian shut his eyes, failing to hide his grimace at the disgusting image of that man's mouth on Cullen's cock. And if Samson was implying what he seemed to be…did that mean Cullen had enjoyed it? No no, Dorian shouldn't leap to such a conclusion. If anything, he should feel extra rage on Cullen's behalf for what this insane templar had forced on him.

Of course, that wasn't going to prevent Dorian from re-affirming his claim. Sooner rather than later, if possible.

"You didn't expect to hear about it either, I assume," Samson said, more quietly but with an obvious sneer. "Or maybe that's what gets you off. Sending your whore to others and then hearing about how —."

"Maker's arse, shut up!" Cullen interrupted. Dorian opened his eyes just as Cullen knelt by his side, a shaking hand resting on his arm. The Commander remained flushed, tears in his eyes as he looked pleadingly at Dorian.

Dorian had the startling urge to pull away, an accusation of Cullen doing something terrible on his tongue despite how there must have been some level of coercion involved. He tried to hide the reaction, for now — a conversation of that nature should be relegated to the privacy the Fade and certainly not aired in front of Samson and the other red templars — but judging by Cullen's sudden flinch, he was not entirely successful.

I didn't want to, Cullen's voice seemed to whisper in his head. I didn't.

Dorian forced a deep breath, trying to remain calm in spite of everything and to not think too hard on what all the two of them might have done. Instead he focused on his concern. Did he hurt you?

Cullen averted his eyes, his lips curled into a frown. Dorian might have imagined the responding sense of Yes.

It may have always been his plan, but Dorian was greatly looking forward to thoroughly destroying Samson before this was all over.

Dorian's beautiful Commander helped him back to his feet. Cullen's hands were still trembling, though he appeared to be getting his own emotions back under control as his expression shifted toward something cold.

He would have killed you. Now Dorian was certain that was Cullen attempting to reach out to him. He still might, Cullen warned.

Dorian tilted his head slightly, reaching to run his fingers through Cullen's lovely curls. He hated the idea of Samson's filthy hands on him, of his mouth tasting him, and in a rush of possessiveness Dorian tugged Cullen into him for a kiss.

Cullen didn't quite respond to it but he did not stop it either, not even when Dorian forcefully shoved his tongue between his lips. Dorian didn't need any desperate message from Cullen to know that the man was fearful of what Samson might do in response to the sight.

Dorian didn't especially give a damn. Samson was going to learn that Cullen was his.

"Is now really the time?" Gereon's voice cut in softly. "I thought we had something to discuss."

Dorian pulled back with a thoughtful hum, his fingers brushing affectionately along Cullen's jaw.

I do apologize for this, he tried to tell Cullen. Although there was no response or feeling to indicate that it had been heard, Dorian grabbed him by the chin fairly harshly. He felt Cullen tense beneath the touch, but his amatus did not retreat. "I'll deal with your punishment later," he hissed in an audible whisper. "You'd do well to remember not to hand out samples of my property."

Cullen barely reacted, the edge of his mouth twitching with contempt and his eyes flashing with surprise that could easily be interpreted as fear.

Samson obviously believed Cullen was fully under Dorian's control, while Cullen was trying to convince him otherwise. Toeing the line to make it seem like Cullen had agency despite Dorian's influence was an incredibly dangerous line to walk — yet it also might have the best chance at protecting them both.

"You'll never touch him again," Samson snarled.

Dorian arched an eyebrow in challenge before dropping his hand from Cullen's chin to pointedly grope his crotch instead.

Cullen did retreat this time, stepping swiftly out of Dorian's reach. Dorian rolled his eyes irritably, pretending his pet was just annoyingly independent. Better for Samson to think that Cullen was still able to deny Dorian. It gave Samson less reason to kill the mage.

And possibly more reason to put Cullen back on lyrium.

The thought sent a horrified shiver down Dorian's back. He tried to suppress the fear it raised, but he couldn't help but wonder if that was something Samson would indeed try. If Cullen said no of his own accord, Samson might let it slide.

If he thought it was all Dorian's decision….

That consideration made it all the more imperative that Dorian prove Cullen was under his thumb, but not stripped of free will.

This whole situation was worse than the viper pit back home.

"Now, aside from manhandling me," Dorian spat as he glared at Samson, "Why did you ask us here?"

Samson's eyes glinted angrily, but he set his jaw and nodded. "Right. We need to figure out what to do with this one," he said, tilting his head toward Maxwell.

Dorian saw that Maxwell had finally managed to tear his eyes from Josephine, instead looking upon the power struggle before him with horror. One of the red templars dragged him forward, roughly shoving him against the table.

"The Elder One will want to deal with him," Gereon suggested calmly. "There isn't anything for us to decide."

Samson chuckled, and Dorian swallowed. That was not a good sign.

"Corypheus doesn't care about the Herald. He only wants the usurper out of the way." Samson drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed it into the map. "I say we get it done with. Right now."

Josephine made a small, desperate sound of anguish at that, but Dorian's attention was focused on the dagger. It was twisted with red lyrium, which is what Dorian first assumed was the root of the dread curling in his stomach.

But then he glanced toward Cullen, who had shifted from flushed to startlingly pale so quickly it was apparent that it was his fear Dorian was feeling. That dagger must mean something specific to him to cause such a strong reaction for Dorian to experience so vividly.

"Wouldn't a public execution be more fitting?" Denam suggested, twisting Leliana's arms uncomfortably far back seemingly just for the pleasure of her slight wince.

"If you want to start an uprising," Gereon interjected. "We cannot simply execute the Inquisitor, not in Skyhold. The people are barely submitting as it is."

"Then we'll grind them into the dirt," Samson replied with a shrug.

Gereon shot a pointed look at Dorian that obviously meant he should get involved in this. Dorian cleared his throat, casting a glance at an increasingly panicked Maxwell. "Leave it to templars to use an axe where a needle will do," Dorian sighed, examining his fingernails. "We can't just murder the Herald of Andraste." He crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head like a disappointed parent. "We would have more than the Inquisition to tend with after that, while currently we're being so delightfully ignored by both Orlais and Ferelden."

"We can't let him live either," Samson pointed out. "That mark on his hand is a threat."

"He's harmless," Dorian scoffed. "Just keep him tucked away." Even as the words left his tongue, images of those horribly transfigured dungeons flashed in his mind. It might be kinder to let Maxwell die now rather than subject him to torture and lyrium corruption.

"The Inquisition would wonder where their Inquisitor has gone," Gereon pointed out. "Better if he could be seen by our side, rather than buried in the dungeons."

"You think he'll cooperate?" Samson asked with a harsh laugh. "Boy!" the man barked, grabbing Maxwell by the collar of his robes and tugging him close. "You willing to work with us fine folk?"

Maxwell cowered under the glares from around the War Table, his fearful gaze shifting to Dorian before he looked back toward Josephine. The Ambassador was shivering on the floor, wide eyes wet with tears as she stared back. Despite everything, she didn't give any nod or other prompt for the Inquisitor to acquiesce.

Apparently garnering some confidence from Josephine's remarkable strength of will, Maxwell straightened his back and defiantly met Samson's eyes. He was obviously shaking, but kept his voice firm as he replied, "No. Never."

Samson didn't say anything at first, tilting his head as he studied Maxwell for a long moment. Max didn't back down, though Dorian thought he caught sight of the man's pulse throbbing in his throat. "Very well." Samson released Maxwell's robes and stepped away.

Maxwell exhaled with relief, but Dorian kept his attention acutely centered on Samson. The man certainly would not let that denial stand — the question was just how troublesome or violent the templar would become in response.

"I expected you to require incentive," Samson said, his voice deceptively soft as he met Denam's eyes and grinned malevolently. Dorian's heart leapt into his throat when the torturer leered back.

Denam let Leliana collapse onto the floor without a word, moving swiftly to tug Josephine to her feet instead. The Ambassador let out a fearful squeak as the red templar pulled her against him.

"No!" Maxwell shouted at once.

Denam's smile was cold as he wrapped an arm about her neck, a sharp jut of red lyrium at his wrist pressing against her throat. "I don't think my commander appreciates your tone." He tightened his grip and Josephine whimpered. The edge of the lyrium dug deeply in, restricting her breathing and threatening far worse.

"Stop!" Max pleaded desperately, tears in his eyes. "Please, stop, leave her alone!"

Dorian was somewhat surprised that Max was managing not to call on his magic to escape the firm grasp about his wrist as Samson gleefully held him away from Josephine. Were Cullen in the same position, Dorian knew he would be suffering great difficulty in holding his power contained.

Then the terrible thought occurred to him, and Dorian took another look at that suppression collar.

It wasn't the broken one after all.