It was admittedly far easier to control the dream from a distance, mostly taking himself out of the illusion. It allowed him to better focus on the vital and meticulous removal of corruption from Cullen's body. Of course, it was more difficult on the Commander himself but…well, Dorian didn't really have a choice. Lingering on the edge of the Veil, keeping an eye on the illusions while working on Cullen, was the most difficult thing he had ever done in his life.

And Cullen was definitely going to kill him for it, assuming the Commander actually survived this experimental process. And that of course assumed Dorian would survive this effort long enough for Cullen to murder him.

Dorian was decidedly ignoring the dried blood on his throat. When Cullen had crafted that weapon out of thin air, the feeling of the hot metal digging into him — it was terrifying. And for him to have gained such control in the Fade, a non-mage controlling the dream and reality…Dorian wasn't even sure of the implications. If Cullen had managed to cut him any deeper, he could have killed him or left him Tranquil, and the bastard didn't even know.

Or maybe he did know. After all this time, it was apparent that Cullen still didn't trust him. He was always a hairline fracture away from snapping and trying to kill Dorian again.

Dorian waved away that thought. Of course Cullen didn't trust him, just as he didn't trust Cullen. That distrust was pretty much the foundation of their relationship. Not that they were in a relationship.

Cullen's body, previously still and calm, had to be held down with forceful magic now. Screams echoed in Dorian's mind; Cullen was suffering the compounded effects of the torture and lyrium deprivation combining with the very real struggle his body was currently suffering. But Dorian did not feel guilty about it. He had tried to make it as comfortable as possible, to give Cullen a pretty illusion of life as Dorian drained his energy to fix him.

Now he had to do it the hard way, and he was not sorry.

He only risked popping back in properly after Cullen would have believed months had gone by. After leaving Skyhold's garden, Cullen had, as of yet, shown no sign that he was aware that he was in the Fade. Dorian had been careful to keep him indoors and away from any glimpse of the sky. He'd learned that lessen the first time. Keep him distracted, keep him on edge, don't let him gain a foothold.

Dorian was particularly careful when he stepped in this time. Something had clearly tipped Cullen off, probably before he even noticed the Black City hanging in the sky. He had been testing Dorian intently, so he had evidently been uncertain if Dorian was actually Dorian. It had been a foolish mistake on Dorian's part. He should have been certain to remain the Magister Cullen had grown to tolerate, a flirtatious, arrogant bastard through and through.

Dorian let himself enjoy this part, probably a bit too much. But it was such a pleasure to be the one in complete control, to have finally won, even if it was not a reflection of reality. Cullen was trembling with fury, even as his image betrayed hints of unwanted desire — the flush in his cheeks, the hard swallow, the wide pupils drowning out those beautiful, honey-whiskey eyes. Dorian wished he knew if this was all an effect of Dorian's own attraction influencing the dream, or if Cullen truly did, at least on some level, want Dorian the way the mage wanted Cullen.

That possibility would have to be explored. Sometime after the Commander recovered, of course. And that did assume Dorian would survive Cullen's reaction once he awoke and realized how Dorian had violated him, even if it was in efforts to save his life.

Dorian had been enjoying taunting the Commander, teasing him with his lies and unsubtle flirtations when someone unceremoniously tugged him away from it.

The Inquisitor's ceiling spun sickeningly overhead.

Forcing himself to sit up, Dorian cursed angrily. "Vishante kaffas, what?" They knew disturbing the ritual was almost as dangerous as the ritual itself — there had better be a damn good reason they were risking his and the Commander's lives.

"What are you doing to him?" Maxwell demanded, his voice quivering with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

"What?" Dorian repeated lamely, his gaze helplessly drawn to the Commander.

Cullen was lying on the other half of the circle of glyphs painted with blood. He was naked, save for some small clothes for the slightest bit of modesty. He still looked dreadful. He was so pale he might have been dead, his skin sallow and so thin his ribs showed, but sweat covered every inch of him. Delicately applied wounds to his arms and legs left his veins open for Dorian to prod around, to use his own blood to seek the red lyrium and force it out.

"His seizures have been increasingly violent," Solas said in explanation. "And his wounds keep worsening each time. He's lost too much blood." He met Dorian's gaze with eyes hard and disapproving. "You are killing him."

"Am not," Dorian countered under his breath, rubbing his eyes. "How long…?"

"Three days," Maxwell answered sharply. This was taking longer than Dorian had anticipated. No wonder he felt like death. He reached for the jug of water on the floor outside the circle. "Now explain to me what the fuck you've been doing to him."

Oh dear, he was in trouble if the Inquisitor was swearing at him. Dorian finally looked up at Maxwell and was unfortunately not surprised to see the doubt in his eyes. Dorian glanced at Solas and realized why at once.

"You were watching?" Dorian surmised.

"As closely as I was able," Solas admitted. "It was not easy without using blood magic. But perhaps you can explain why torturing the Commander is helping him? Why chaining him for your amusement is for his own good?"

Dorian struggled to remain sitting up, so weakened his efforts had left him. "Did you happen to see when I was playing nice, or did you wait to poke that egg of yours in until after the Commander tried to kill me?" He pointedly tilted back his head to show the very real wound on his throat. Maxwell gulped, glancing nervously at Solas. Even the elf appeared uncomfortable with the fact that somehow Cullen had managed to inflict a wound in the real world. That's probably why he looked in on them in the first place. Cullen should not have had that capability — yet he had channeled Dorian's own power against him.

He had warned him, but evidently Maxwell had truly thought this process somehow wouldn't be convolutedly perilous.

"The first I saw was you using blood magic to force him to kill the Inquisitor," Solas answered.

Dorian's eyes slipped to Maxwell, who appeared more than a little disturbed by the thought.

Well, this was awkward.

"The Commander's too smart for his own good," Dorian said quickly. "He recognized the calm dream wasn't real, so I gave him horrors instead. It's kept him distracted, and has the added benefit of providing him the experience of extended time off of lyrium. Kill two birds, as it were."

"Three. You have been conditioning him to submit to you," Solas accused.

Dorian opened his mouth to deny it, only to realize with more than a little annoyance that, technically, Solas was right. There were any number of illusions he could have used to keep Cullen distracted, and he had been unable to pass up on the chance to force Cullen into a future of Dorian's design.

And it wasn't a terribly good design when he thought on it, but really, his attentions were understandably focused elsewhere.

"That was not my intention," he said instead, surprised that a lie was not so easy just now. He probably needed proper rest. And food. And drink. Yes, definitely a lot of drink.

"It is your nature. I did warn you, Inquisitor," Solas pointed out. "You insisted he be given free reign in the Commander's mind and body; but assuming this works, there is no guarantee that it is the Commander who wakes."

"You won't have to worry. I already know the Commander is going to kill me if he has the chance," Dorian said irritably, tiredly rubbing his eyes again. "He already tried once in a dream, Maker only knows how he'll react if he—." Dorian faltered for only a second, fingers pressing on his eyelids. "When Cullen wakes."

When Dorian looked back up at Maxwell, he was startled by the expression on his face. His lips were parted with surprise, wide eyes no longer filled with distrust but instead with realization.

Just what Maxwell was realizing, Dorian truly wished he knew.

"I don't think he intended harm, Solas," Maxwell said finally.

"Inquisitor—."

"I understand. I think we should let him keep going."

Dorian was going to get whiplash from all this unwarranted trust and perfectly reasonable distrust. "Indeed, if we want to save him, I cannot leave him alone long. I have no idea where the dreams might go once he has control of them." He glared at Solas. "You knew waking me too soon risked both of our lives. I hope it was worth it."

Solas arched an eyebrow, but otherwise did and said nothing to indicate any remorse.

Maxwell knelt down beside Dorian, offering his hand. "Do you need more?"

Dorian nodded. "If you don't mind." Maxwell swallowed anxiously as he cut open his palm again. Dorian cast a quick glance toward Solas before accepting it.

With Maxwell's aid, it did not take long to return to his previous state — although the state of the dream was another story.

Dorian was not certain what to make of it. He had assumed he would find himself back where he had left off, or possibly back in the garden where it had started, or maybe in some memory of Cullen's. But this…this did not make any sense.

He was in his old bedroom, the one in Qarinus. He often found himself here. It was comforting, familiar. The window was open, letting in a breeze from the sea and pale light from the moons.

But how could Cullen have come here without Dorian? The Commander had never even been to Tevinter, much less to Dorian's home. Dorian swallowed anxiously, wondering if perhaps Solas was more correct than he thought — at the very least, the two were already linked, far more so than Dorian had anticipated.

Dorian took in further details with growing astonishment. He was laying in a very comfortable bed, a conjured light hovering overhead. In one hand was a book, a slightly scandalous one he had discovered in his youth and still greatly enjoyed on occasion. His other hand, however….

He froze, fingers still entangled in a mess of soft curls. His heart, or the approximation of one anyway, pounded painfully in his throat.

Cullen was leaning against him, his breath slow and even like he was sleeping. The night air was fairly warm, and he only had his feet tucked under the thin blanket just as Dorian did, revealing that both were wearing nothing but light silk trousers like the ones Dorian had abandoned due to Skyhold just being too damn cold for them. And Cullen was not just leaning against Dorian — he was wrapped around him, a leg thrown over his knees, an arm over his abdomen.

They were, for lack of a better word, cuddling.

Cullen stirred slightly, moaning softly and keeping his eyes shut as he buried his face in Dorian's bare chest. "You stopped," he complained sleepily.

Dorian blinked blankly. This was not right at all. Surely if Cullen noticed their bloody chess game wasn't real, he could tell this wasn't either. No matter how thoroughly the two were becoming connected through this very forbidden but necessary attempt to save Cullen's life, this was not an outcome Dorian would have ever dared to consider.

Not consciously, anyway. He would be lying to himself if he tried to claim his mind had never strayed here, to some impossible, intimate domesticity. That had only been in idle dreams, though, never a deliberate choice. He knew Cullen far better than that — knew himself better than that. And he…well, he was almost comfortable with how their relationship was. A little frustrated that Cullen had not given in entirely yet obviously, keeping Dorian at a distance even as he baited him, but Dorian fully understood that was just how the two of them were. It was the push and pull he had come to enjoy, the demented game he adored.

Cullen made another vaguely displeased noise in his throat, and Dorian instinctively ran his fingers through his hair. Cullen made a contented sound against him, encouraging him to continue.

Dorian knew what Cullen's hair felt like thanks to when he'd watched over some of his withdrawals and nightmares. Those times it had been disgustingly damp with sweat though, not neatly cleaned and pampered to the point of shining like gold. When his fingers accidentally brushed Cullen's ear he froze again, caught off guard by the soft sigh that escaped Cullen's lips.

And he had to have imagined the light kiss pressed against his collarbone.

Well, all this was imagined to some extent, wasn't it? Dorian returned to petting Cullen's hair as he observed the room. He still did not understand how they got here. Dorian certainly had not brought them here. He couldn't have, he hadn't been in the Fade thanks to Maxwell and Solas' interruption.

This was Cullen's doing. Cullen's dream.

It still was obviously influenced by Dorian, what with the location being one Cullen would have no knowledge of before this experiment. But there was no way of getting around the fact that when Dorian reentered the Fade, this was where Cullen already was. Whatever influence Dorian had over him, Cullen had chosen this on some subconscious level.

Dorian's heart was racing so hard he worried his actual heart might explode from the stress.

"Why'd you stop reading?"

Dorian gasped lightly, almost surprised to find that yes, he was still in bed with an unusually docile Cullen and this wasn't some drunken fantasy. Cullen was looking up at him now, whiskey eyes shimmering like the finest jewels money could buy. Dorian swallowed as he glanced back at the book.

"It's Tevene," he said hesitantly, not wanting to say too much to give Cullen some hint this wasn't real.

"I know." Cullen blushed lightly, his smile adorably awkward. "I'll learn it one day, I promise." Dorian barely kept his jaw from dropping at the very idea. Cullen bit his lip shyly before adding, "I just like hearing your voice."

Dorian could have died.

In fact, maybe he was dead, and this was just the last twisted thoughts his mind was weaving to comfort him as he crossed the Veil for the final time. The experiment was incredibly dangerous to them both, after all. He'd been at it for days without proper rest or sustenance, and the red lyrium could potentially infect him, too.

It took everything he had to focus, returning to reading this somewhat raunchy tale Cullen couldn't understand, enjoying the feeling of his fingers slipping through blond curls, and reasserting his efforts to remove the last of the red lyrium from this beautiful man's body.

Cullen's breaths evened out again as he drifted off to sleep, still entangled with Dorian. The mage kept reading all the same, his cheeks hot at the thought that Cullen liked his voice. This ridiculous, unstable bastard who would as easily kill him as kiss him. That intelligent, cold, utterly hateful exterior — Dorian had suspected there was more to him. He had wanted to see all of it, to find what irked him, what made him tick, what made him deliciously deadly.

This. Of all things, this is what made Cullen dangerous to Dorian. When he awoke, because he would, the memories would flood back and he would separate reality from dreams, and he would blame the entirety of it on Dorian, torture and cuddling and all.

And he would try to kill him, properly this time.

Dorian smiled all the same, allowing himself to enjoy the peace the two could never, ever own in the real world.

Here in the Fade, away from anyone and anything else, Dorian dared to think it: yes, Cullen was worth it.

And if Dorian let slip a little confession into the quiet of the illusion, no one ever had to know. Cullen did not understand Tevene, after all.

"Sleep well, amatus."