Dorian had no intention of waiting until he had fully recovered from his efforts before setting off. Now that he was abandoning the Inquisition and leaving the Commander behind, it was best that he did not get too much time to become sentimental about it all. He did spend one day in his own bed — well, his own bed until he vacated the room as soon as possible. He supposed then someone else would make this room their own.

As it was, it was too much time already. He couldn't help but want to look into the gardens, to see if the Commander was waiting there for a chess partner. He itched to go to annoy Cullen, to poke and prod and tease. He longed to accost him in a dark corner, kiss him breathless and vanish into shadows before the man could gain a foothold.

But he could do none of that. Perhaps if Dorian's first illusion had worked, they would have had a chance to return to something like normal afterwards. Maybe Cullen would have even thanked him for helping him fully get off lyrium. Yet even if he had not made the promise to stay out of Cullen's way, Dorian knew the delicate association between them was unsalvageable.

Somehow that was more painful than he'd thought such a loss would be. Losing a sparring partner would be one thing, even losing a fun conquest would be annoying but manageable, but this…this was so much more. And Cullen may not be aware of it, assuming everything he experienced in the Fade was Dorian's doing, as predicted.

But Dorian knew better. Some small, probably minuscule but most definitely real, bit of Cullen had sought out something more, and Dorian…he'd allowed some part of himself to believe the fantasy. How foolish of him. He should have refused the Inquisitor's request, no matter how he felt about the matter personally.

As if there was a chance Dorian would have let the Commander die. He had become far too attached to that unstable bastard, and look where that affection led.

He nibbled on the breakfast Maxwell kindly had delivered to his room as he gathered all his belongings and unceremoniously shoved them into packs. It turned out that he would not have room for everything. Somehow he had managed to garner quite a large collection of personal belongings during his time in Skyhold. He could not carry it all, not where he was going — so what was he fine with leaving for the next occupant?

Who might be the one moving from the barracks or a smaller room to these quarters with the lovely view of the gardens?

He worked a little harder to fit everything possible.

Dorian was busy tearing apart his blankets in search of one of his favorite books when the slam of a door nearly startled him off of the bed.

Maxwell was standing in front of the door, his mouth hanging open as he took in the mostly stripped and bared room. "What — Dorian, what are you doing?" he gasped.

Dorian shifted off the bed, kneeling to look underneath it to see if the book or his warmest fashionable robe had managed to find their way down there. The fact this hid his pained expression from view was just a fortunate side-effect. "What I said I would. I'm leaving."

"You said after you recovered," Maxwell replied with disbelief. "You are not recovered," he added unnecessarily.

"So I lied. I do that," Dorian said coolly as he sat on the bed and tried to concentrate on when he'd last read that fun novel. It wasn't especially important, he would probably be able to replace it someday after returning to Tevinter; but it had been a long time favorite and he would much rather have his old copy. "I'm the evil Magister from Tevinter, remember?" he jested with a forced smile as he continued his search.

"You aren't leaving," Maxwell finally said.

Dorian snorted. "Oh, really?"

"We need you."

"Setting aside the fact that is blatantly untrue, how do you propose that would work?" Dorian asked irritably as he got back to his feet. "I made a deal with Cull—the Commander." He refused to flinch at the slip, but inwardly he cursed considering the way Maxwell's eyebrows jumped. "If I stay, I can't avoid him forever. One day you'd have to deal with cleaning up my entrails from the carpets. Or ordering some poor servant to do it." The Inquisitor grimaced at the thought as Dorian smirked with grim amusement. "Imagine the scandal! No one wins, in any case."

"He isn't in his right mind, but he'll come around." Maxwell looked down at his feet before adding, "He will be grateful for what you've done."

Maxwell appeared dismayed with Dorian laughed at that. The idea was…well, it was delusional. As soon as the very idea that blood magic might save Cullen from the red lyrium set in Dorian's mind, he had known what would happen. The Commander had tried to kill him, vowed to do so again, and Dorian did not blame him. Not after what he had done. "Oh, Max," Dorian lamented with a last, breathless chuckle. "To see the world through your eyes must be a joy."

"He will," Maxwell insisted. "Dorian, he's been to the Void and it's because of you that he made it back." Dorian shook his head as he remade the bed to give himself something else to focus on. "Maker, Dorian, you two are so dramatic! I get it, he's upset about what you did — everyone who knows is," he added sadly. "I mean, Josie's only just started talking to me again, but —."

Maxwell's words were overshadowed by a clatter of the candelabra from Dorian's bedside as the mage slipped. He took a second to compose himself before turning to face Maxwell, a vehement denial that he and Cullen were a pair on par with the lovestruck Inquisitor and Ambassador on the tip of his tongue, but Maxwell pressed onward without letting Dorian fix his grievous misunderstanding.

"I know it's a bigger deal for you two, obviously. But you were doing what I commanded you to do. I'll make sure he knows where the blame really lies for making you use blood magic." Dorian would have done it without Max's pleading anyway, but it was nice to be able to place some responsibility on him. "You've been doing so well since joining us," Maxwell continued quietly. "I'm sure he'll realize that you haven't turned around and become some maleficar. This was an exception."

Dorian recklessly decided that if he was going to be leaving anyway, he might as well at least try to leave the Inquisition a little better off than when he arrived. "It wasn't."

Maxwell blinked blankly with confusion. "Pardon?"

"It wasn't an exception."

Max twisted his fingers, hesitating before he replied, "Well, yes, I know you used it back in Tevinter, obviously, but —."

"It wasn't the first time since joining the Inquisition," Dorian clarified.

The Inquisitor's gaze fell, his hopeful smile fading. "Oh. Well, a few slips were bound to happen. It's an addiction, just like —."

"It wasn't a 'few slips,'" Dorian corrected.

Max still appeared somewhat like a confused puppy denied a cuddle. "I don't…Dorian, we've been traveling together for a year. I've never seen you use it, not since Redcliffe."

Dorian smiled sadly at Maxwell's optimistic view of the world. It was a shame to shatter his trust. "I've gotten good at hiding it."

The Inquisitor did not quite look at him as he said, "I don't believe you." His averted gaze revealed that he did, he just did not want to.

"Max," Dorian sighed, stepping closer to him and placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I tell you this because I like you. You're an idiot." Max's breath left him in a rush as he gaped indignantly at him. Dorian chuckled quietly. "You never should have trusted me. And you certainly should not trust the Commander."

Maxwell set his jaw, his expression adorably serious. "I'm not letting either of you play me like this," he said quietly, but firmly. Dorian's brow twitched, his tongue burning with the desire to ask what sort of thing the Commander had said about Dorian after he had left the Inquisitor's quarters. He could imagine it, though. That he was the evil Vint, the morally bankrupt blood mage; kaffas, Cullen probably told them details of what Dorian had done in the Fade. The imprisonment, the torture….

Probably not the cuddling. Dorian suspected Cullen would never dare mention that, even if he did see it as a violation Dorian should pay for. It was a good thing Dorian had savored that short time, curled up together in warmth, stroking his beautiful curls, the comforting weight of Cullen pressed against him. That was something that would certainly never happen now. He knew full well Cullen would never believe that Dorian wasn't the one to pull them into such a dream. And Cullen would go so far to assume that he was in Dorian's bed for decidedly wicked reasons, nothing so innocent as a loving embrace.

"If you'd trusted any other Magister as you've trusted me, the Inquisition would have fallen months ago," Dorian chastised instead. "And it still might. You're a mage, Max. The Commander despises being under your command." Maxwell made a noise of disapproval, but Dorian pressed a little further, "You're the one who warned me about him."

Max's eyes snapped up to Dorian's, wide and shining with astonishment as that memory clearly struck true. "I — yes, I did, but obviously he's gotten over that."

"Oh yes, very obvious," Dorian replied sarcastically.

"He certainly wouldn't have been sleeping with you if —."

Dorian's expression must have been truly startling for Maxwell to immediately silence. "Max, for the last time, we are not together and never have been." Not for a lack of trying.

"I get that you have some sort of image to maintain, but we're friends, you don't need to—."

Dorian was grateful when someone knocked at the door to interrupt. He threw it open, fully prepared to use whoever the fuck it was as an excuse to make Maxwell leave him alone.

Leliana smiled coldly at him, her arms full of Dorian's belongings: his robes, some underclothes, and a couple of books. "The Commander asked for me to retrieve these for you from his quarters. So you don't need to bother him."

He felt Maxwell's delight like a mind blast.

Fucking Void.

Dorian's eyes locked on the top book. Vishante kaffas, no wonder that had been the book in the Fade. He'd entirely forgotten. The last time he had read it had been fairly recent, and he had been half-asleep himself with exhaustion from watching over Cullen's withdrawals that night. Had he read it aloud? He did not even recall. And of course his warmest robes were left in Cullen's tower, the insane man had a bloody hole in his roof.

Dorian swore Max snickered.

Dorian was not blushing. He simply was not. He accepted the items with a small sneer. "Don't look so delighted, my dear. The expression will stick and the Inquisition will require a new Spymaster."

He kicked the door shut behind him and did his best to avoid looking at Maxwell.

"You were saying?" the Inquisitor prompted with childish delight.

Dorian carelessly chucked the belongings onto the bed as he rounded on Max. "This is not some lover's spat, Inquisitor!"

Maxwell looked a little disquieted but was still smiling softly. "You'll come through this. I thought Josie would never —."

"You'd never try to kill Josephine," Dorian interrupted.

The Inquisitor frowned, obviously confused. "And you'd never try to kill Cullen."

Dorian ran a hand over his eyes, trying to remain calm — but the sheer stupidity of this man was really getting to him, and he was lacking in his usual capacities to remain collected. "Inquisitor, even ignoring the fact that I violated him with highly intrusive blood magic against his will, this isn't some minor hiccup in an otherwise star-crossed relationship."

"Dorian, I —."

"When the Commander realized I had drawn him into the Fade, his first reaction was to try and kill me," Dorian reminded him, tilting his head back to show the long cut along his throat. The wound seemed determined not to heal, and, well, he deserved it, did he not?

Maxwell winced. "Yes, but —."

"And I — my first reaction was to make him pay for that," Dorian admitted. He looked away, feeling suddenly ashamed though surely he had no reason to feel this way. It had been the right thing to do, to distract the Commander to give Dorian time to save his life — of course it was bound to be unpleasant. "Even if whatever fantastical romance you've concocted was somehow remotely like reality, there's no coming back from this," he added. He meant it to come out harsh, but he hated how he instead sounded so…sad.

At least Maxwell was stunned into silence. It gave Dorian time to breathe, to recover some level of control as he finished packing his things.

"I should have asked three questions," Dorian mused, unable to keep from the instinct to cause Cullen just a little more discomfort and Maker he hated himself for it.

"What?" Maxwell said distantly, obviously still mulling over Dorian's words about how the two had been ready to tear each other apart without a thought.

"How did the leader of the red templars happen upon him?"

"Leliana said he was visiting family, but that he got ambushed," Maxwell said quietly, a hint of doubt tinging his tone.

"Hmm," Dorian hummed, leaving Max to wonder if that was really the case. Visiting family certainly did not seem very Cullen-like, nor did it seem likely that Samson would have just happened to cross his path. He did not say it in so many words, though he probably should have. Or maybe he'd said too much already.

Dorian really had to stop letting his world center around a man who would kill him if he ever saw him again. He finished gathering his things in silence.

And then he was ready to leave. There was nothing for it. No more reason to stay. No one to say goodbye too, even — only Maxwell would miss him. Maybe the Iron Bull; the Qunari did enjoy teasing Dorian at every opportunity. He could stop by the tavern easily enough on his way out without the risk of running into Cullen.

"Be careful around him, Max," Dorian advised. "The Commander has not lost his hatred for magic." Dorian waved his hand to open to the door. "He's just gotten good at hiding it."

Maxwell watched him leave the room in stunned silence, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide.

Dorian was halfway across the bridge when he felt it. Like molten metal trickling over his heart, something dreadful but familiar clenched at his chest and stole the air from his lungs. He paused, feigning that he was adjusting the pack on his shoulder as he glanced back at Skyhold for the last time.

Cullen was standing on the ramparts above the gate, alone. It was too far to make out his expression, but Dorian could imagine it perfectly. Whiskey eyes burning with hatred, a snarl twisting the scar over his lip, loathing etched into every line of his beautiful face.

How appropriate that the last glare would be identical to the first, Dorian considered, turning away and refusing to let himself give into the urge to look back once more. He almost convinced himself it wasn't because he feared Cullen would somehow see the tears in his eyes. Dorian wished how he had felt the Commander staring after him was some sign of a real connection between them. But he knew it wasn't.

After everything he'd went through, after everything Dorian had done for him…Cullen had turned back to lyrium.

The tears were still hot on his cheeks by the time Dorian's despair morphed to rage. He clung to it, to the lifeline that fury brought him. It was all he had going forward and he needed every burning scrap of it.

Raleigh Samson was going to pay.