Dorian met that ferocious gaze unblinkingly, carefully maintaining his confident smirk — but it was difficult. Cullen had not looked at him quite like this since Haven. Cullen was not instinctively considering some fleeting inkling, or fighting some withdrawal-driven urge to inflict and suffer pain. Just now, Commander Cullen well and truly wanted Dorian dead.

Dorian pretended that the murderous glint in Cullen's gaze could not touch him. It was not like he was surprised that Cullen was so easily convinced of his betrayal. He would likely have been disappointed if Cullen had not gone to the Inquisitor. He knew the man almost as well as he knew himself (better, possibly), and anticipated that casually mentioning thralldom would set Cullen off before he could stop to think it through. Still, after all the loving nights they had shared of late…it did hurt to see that abject hatred remained a sliver away.

It was all the reminder he needed that he was a romantic fool. Too bad his heart was incapable of learning its lesson.

"I think we need to talk," Dorian said pleasantly, waving a hand to place a silencing charm over the Inquisitor's tent.

Maxwell reached for his staff, a habit he had yet to break even after Dorian's attempts to show him how he did not require such a focus. A simple flick of Dorian's wrist easily knocked the weapon out of the Inquisitor's reach.

"Let's not do anything hasty, Max," Dorian chided cheerfully. Cullen took a sudden step toward him, faltering when Dorian met his gaze. "Careful, Commander," he purred, attempting to inject the title with just enough affection to be detectable. Considering the way Cullen glowered at him, Dorian suspected it had not been enough.

Dorian had really been hoping Cullen would give him at least a chance to prove his loyalty before fully turning on him. Foolish, really, to want to believe in such a thing. Whatever kindness Cullen had shown him of late, even affection, at heart Dorian was still something the man abhorred — a mage.

"Dorian, what's on your mind?" Maxwell said with a giggle that was far too high-pitched.

It took Dorian an amazing degree of effort to shift his focus from his templar to the Inquisitor, but the moment he did it was clear that Maxwell was terrified. He probably should be — as Dorian had warned him before, he had made a mistake in trusting a Tevinter, much less a Tevinter blood mage, so readily. Generally Dorian liked knowing he'd managed to strike fear in another, but evidently he had let a bit too much care seep into his relationship with the young man during his time with the Inquisition. Instead of any sort of satisfaction, that pale, wide-eyed expression did nothing but make him feel sick.

After quickly pushing against the silent boundary he'd created, just to check that it was strong enough to avoid any unfortunate eavesdroppers, Dorian said, "Let us drop the pretense, all right?"

"Yes, let's," Cullen snarled, a hand not subtly grasping his sword.

"And not be hasty," Dorian added sharply, keeping a wary eye on the blade. "Cullen is right, we need to act quickly."

Maxwell simply gaped in response to that, but Cullen was Cullen and so it was little surprise when he drew his weapon. "Indeed," he growled, shifting into a stance that was clearly a preface to an attack.

Vishante kaffas, was Cullen really going to try and kill him after everything that had happened between them? Cullen could not possibly plan to slay him where he stood without at least giving Dorian the opportunity to explain himself.

Then Dorian remembered that, in fact, was exactly the sort of rash action he could expect from Cullen in such a situation. The Commander had just overheard a rather damning conversation, one overflowing with self-incrimination. Dorian had to keep calm where no one else would.

"Cullen, it pains me to say this, but please point that thing somewhere else," Dorian said evenly, preparing his magic to deflect the sword just in case Cullen acted on his awful instincts.

Cullen scoffed, "I don't see why I should give you any leeway, mage."

After becoming woefully accustomed to hearing the phrase my mage whispered with wanton affection, it was shockingly distressing to hear the epithet spat out like a curse. It was difficult for Dorian to pretend that the distrustful rage reflected in those beautiful eyes did nothing to his heart. "If you go to Skyhold alone, you'll be caught. Maxwell may well end up with his head on a pike, and you will be forced back onto a lyrium leash," Dorian explained. "So I'm coming along to ensure that neither eventuality comes about."

"And why the fuck would we believe you?" Cullen growled.

"Because I'm actually trying to help!" Dorian snapped back irritably.

"Actually trying to help?" Cullen repeated with a harsh laugh. "Spinning your webs won't work. I heard what you and your Venatori friend said. Be honest now — were you planning to help wipe all of us barbarians out, or did you two have ideas about enslaving us instead?"

Dorian was really running out of the strength and desire to remain calm and collected. While he knew Cullen would assume the worst, he did not realize quite how readily the man would believe it.

"Do you really think I didn't know you were there?" Dorian asked, hating himself for the little hint of desperation in his tone.

Cullen exhaled doubtfully in response. "You always were a clever liar," Cullen muttered.

He was not going to be hurt by this. Dorian could not let such a thing effect him, not so deeply. Yet he found he had to look away from Cullen, dangerous weapon and all. Dorian could not afford to lose his temper, not just now. And his heart…he couldn't take it.

"I prodded Livius into that entire conversation to give you information that I'm astounded you failed to figure out on your own," he said severely, keeping his gaze fixed on Maxwell. "I suppose that's what I should have expected with you leaving the Spymaster behind," Dorian added under his breath.

Maxwell's brow furrowed doubtfully, and Dorian prayed it was enough. The Inquisitor chewed on his lip for a short time before turning to the Commander. "Cullen, maybe we —."

"No matter how often a snake sheds its scales, it's still a snake."

Dorian made the dreadful mistake of glancing toward Cullen then. There was absolutely nothing warm or fond touching his expression. It was worse than he'd imagined; while similar to that first glower and snarl, Dorian knew the shape of far friendlier expressions and that made it hurt all the more. Dorian was not entirely sure who he hated more just now: himself for believing that the two shared something real, or Cullen for how easily he slipped back to being nothing but a caustic, hateful son of a bitch despite what they shared.

Himself, Dorian privately considered. He no longer had the heart to hate Cullen. It did not help that the man was somewhat correct.

Then he realized that there was nothing he could do to change that. The Commander would never truly be his because Cullen knew too well the darkness behind the showy magic and glittering smiles. But Dorian also knew the darkness behind those honey-whiskey eyes, didn't he? Cullen was no less hazardous an ally than himself, and that knowledge did nothing to stop him from wanting more.

One of them would need to learn to bend before they both broke.

"You could have simply told me," Maxwell pointed out suddenly.

"Indeed. Strange that he did not come to you at once, encourage you to remain in Skyhold," Cullen sneered.

Maxwell considered Cullen's words, but after only a few seconds it became clear that somehow Cullen had managed to entirely usurp the mages' prior friendship. "Dorian, I have given you every chance," the Inquisitor began, and Dorian's heart dropped. While Cullen's reaction was within the realm of possibility no matter how much he wished otherwise, Dorian had assumed Maxwell would side with him when it came to picking between the two. "And I want to believe you, but you keep proving that it was a mistake to—to—." Maxwell gulped. "I should never have let you join," he said finally, quiet but oh so serious.

"Then allow me to rectify that," Cullen suggested. "On your order, Inquisitor."

The rush of vehement fury entirely decimated any attempt at approaching this with a level head. Dorian's eyes narrowed at Cullen, who continued holding his blade in preparation to attack.

Dorian raised his hand before giving himself the chance to think it through, calling on the bond with the Commander without hesitation. He had never tried so purposefully before, and it was oddly gratifying to feel his fingers slipping under the skin, hear Cullen's heartbeat race in his own head, to push the man to move entirely with Dorian's will. Cullen immediately turned his blade away from Dorian, taking that small step necessary to approach the Inquisitor instead.

Blade at Maxwell's throat, Cullen spoke without any personal intent to do so. "If I'd wanted you dead, Inquisitor, you would be."

Cullen managed to shake off enough of Dorian's control to cast a brief look over his shoulder.

This time, where Dorian expected hatred, he witnessed pure terror.

And it was exhilarating, that realization that Dorian could force Cullen to do anything. That horrified gaze, lips parted, breath caught, it all revealed that it was the Commander's worst fear — one the man had either forgotten, or had never truly realized before. With little but a wave of his hand, Dorian could slip into Cullen entirely and use him however he fucking liked.

A shimmering tear caught Dorian's attention, clinging to trembling lashes at the corner of Cullen's eye.

Regret hit harder than Cullen could have punched him. This little show made a point, certainly — it proved that if Dorian was truly working against the Inquisitor he had all the tools readily available — but at the cost of whatever small touch of trust might have remained.

Dorian released his hold and lowered his hands, relinquishing all magic save for the barrier he kept around the tent to keep the conversation private. He wanted to apologize, but found his mind unusually blank. His legs threatened to buckle beneath him and that would serve him fine to beg for forgiveness. It could also make it easier for Cullen to take his head clean off — but in truth, Dorian did not feel entirely attached to it just now.

He'd let his anger get the better of him, and turned his awful power on a man he loved more than anything in the world.

He was exactly like his father.

Neither Max nor Cullen spoke as they silently gaped at him. Maxwell held a hand to his throat, over where a blade had so recently pressed against his skin. He was visibly shaking, bright blue eyes so wide surely they were about to pop from his head. Cullen was breathing too quickly, struggling for air as he stared at Dorian, no longer with hatred, but with something far more vulnerable.

Heartbreak.

Dorian had fucked up countless times in his life, and yet he didn't think he would ever despise himself for anything more than this. Even with what Cullen had overheard, despite the obvious inclination to assume the worst of Dorian, that look was proof that there had still been some small part of him holding onto the hope that what they had was real after all.

And then Dorian had gone and broken one of his few promises, shattering whatever remained. Dorian had not just let his own desires slip like a whisper in Cullen's ear — he'd simply taken and used him. It may only have been for a moment, but that was one moment too long.

Dorian was still working on what to say when Cullen blinked away the pain, forcibly raising up his walls as he turned his blade back to Dorian. "Max, would you mind turning away?"

The Inquisitor shifted his startled gaze from Dorian to Cullen, mouth agape like a landed fish before he managed a small, "What?"

"Please turn around, Inquisitor. I'll let you know when it's safe to look."

Max looked back at Dorian, then back to Cullen, clearly not wanting to do such a thing but appearing entirely uncertain which one of them he should be more concerned about. "Perhaps we should listen to what he —."

"Now, Inquisitor," Cullen interrupted harshly, squaring his shoulders. "While I still have my mind." He lifted his left hand slightly, fingers twitching like he craved the feeling of strangling Dorian.

Maxwell finally listened, putting a hand over his eyes as he turned around.

Cullen suddenly closed his fingers into a fist, and a painful jolt shuddered through Dorian. He was unable to keep from grimacing at the startling pain in his spine, the prickling over his skin, all the worse with the fact he had no idea what was causing it. When Cullen approached, Dorian was startled to realize that he could not move. When the blade touched his throat, slowly gliding over flesh, lightly slicing into skin, he could not move.

He had some vague curiosity about that, distantly behind the terror. While he had noticed little urges and hints that perhaps Cullen could peek behind Dorian's facades, the ability to control him was another feat entirely. Dorian even fleetingly wondered if Cullen felt that same elation at forcing his will onto another, but there were far more important matters stealing his attention: namely that blade threatening to cut his throat and the bloodthirsty Commander wielding it.

Cullen stepped close, his voice low enough to disguise his words from Maxwell. "You promised," he whispered faintly, that same pain momentarily flickering in his eyes no matter how hard he obviously tried to hide it.

Dorian gulped against the push of the blade. "A demonstration seemed —."

"Stop fucking lying!" Cullen interrupted. "For once in your sordid life could you be honest?"

"I am! I don't want the Inquisition to fall any more than you do," Dorian said pointedly, arching an eyebrow when Cullen almost replied immediately. "I was making a point. I didn't think it through," he admitted more quietly.

Cullen said nothing, but tilted his head as he pushed the blade a little harder against Dorian's throat. Dorian doubted it was an accident that Cullen was cutting so close to that scar that had never healed from the wound inflicted during the ritual. Dorian tried to step back, but again found that he could not move.

Cullen smirked, but it lacked the usual fire. "It goes both ways, remember?" he murmured, leaning so close their lips almost touched. "Next time I'll be prepared. And next time you try to pull my strings, I will end you."

It was a promise, not a threat.

"Amatus —."

"Don't call me that!" Cullen sharply cut over him. "We both know it's a lie."

"Do we?" Dorian dared ask.

Cullen hesitated, inhaling with clear intent to speak yet saying nothing. It was such a foolish thing to say, a dreadful question to push. If Cullen said yes…Dorian wasn't sure he could take it.

"The Inquisitor is correct," Cullen said as he took a small step backward. "We've given you every chance. This is the last one." He waited a beat, then added, "Do you understand, Pavus?"

Dorian struggled to nod; Cullen was still inside him, curious fingers testing their strength.

"You can turn around," Cullen said lightly, releasing his hold on Dorian with a little flourish; a heavy weight seemed to tug him down, threatening to bring Dorian to his knees. "That wasn't nearly as messy as anticipated."

Maxwell still hesitated before uncovering his eyes.

Dorian remained silent as the two discussed the plan to return to Skyhold, nothing but a bystander.

Apparently, that was that.

Dorian was not a wise man, and therefore he did not leave it at that. When Cullen headed to grab whatever he thought most needed on the journey back to Skyhold, Dorian stupidly followed him — after a right telling off by Maxwell, of course.

The Inquisitor did not have the same power over Dorian, which was likely a good thing considering that it was apparent Max no longer had any faith in him, but the loss of his trust hurt, too. Not nearly so much as Cullen's, but he had hoped their friendship had earned him some benefit of the doubt.

Maker, what a fucking mess he'd made.

When Dorian entered their shared tent without invitation, the lion's glare nearly killed him on the spot.

"You should keep away from me," Cullen advised as he viciously shoved a tunic into his pack. "I might not be able to stop next time," he added, his voice deathly quiet.

Dorian took a steadying breath before allowing the tent flap to fall shut behind him. He slowly raised his hand, waiting for Cullen to look at it before casting another silencing charm around them.

Cullen shuddered at the feeling, his gaze no less furious. "That was your only warning," Cullen said quietly. He slowly released his grasp of the pack and stood up, resting a hand on the hilt of his sword once more. Don't you fucking dare, mage, everything about Cullen's stance and scrutiny cautioned.

Dorian's heart skipped a beat as he realized that was more than an impression, it was a directive.

"Cullen, I am sorry," Dorian said before Cullen could do whatever else he was thinking of — whether it be speaking or lunging over the short distance to strangle him or simply cutting him in two. "I shouldn't have done that, but —."

"You're damn right," Cullen snapped.

Dorian struggled to swallow. "I didn't think —."

"I'm starting to wonder if you're capable of thinking," Cullen muttered.

"We need to be civil about this, we're heading into —."

Cullen did lunge at him now, hands gripping at his robes and lifting Dorian a few inches off of the ground. "You mages are all the same," he hissed through bared teeth. "But you're the worst of them all."

Dorian struggled to breathe, the hold on his robes strangling him as his feet tried to reach the ground. He knew Cullen was strong and usually found it quite an enticing fact, but just now it was simply frightening.

Cullen might actually, finally, kill him for this.

Dorian could stop him. He had power, after all, he'd proven that. But he could not do it again.

He would not let himself do it again. Not to Cullen.

"Because other mages are fucking feral," Cullen continued unprompted. "They don't know any better. They're either frightened children or narcissistic champions, but you, fucking Magister, oh you know exactly what you are doing and that makes you the worst joke the Maker ever pulled."

Dorian barely kept his face from hitting the dirt when Cullen roughly threw him to the ground. Before he could try and get up, a boot pressed against the back of his neck and forced him to stay down. Another pound of pressure might have snapped his spine.

"Remember this the next time you force your will on me," Cullen said, the sneer evident in his tone. "You've pushed your luck too far. Leashed me, but a leash can be pulled from either end. If I go down, you're going with me."

Magic thrashed around inside, desperately longing to lash out, to push Cullen away and show just how bloody wrong he was. Cullen might be able to tug on the thread between them, but it was Dorian who had the true power here. It had been so incredibly easy to make him move, to speak, if Dorian really tried he could make Cullen do anything despite the man's attempts to fight back.

Dorian nearly bit through his own lip in his attempt to silence that urge. He couldn't make the same mistake again.

"I'm sorry," was the first thing Dorian said once Cullen stepped away and allowed him to respond. "I am so sorry, Cullen. I truly am."

Cullen didn't respond, merely casting another cold glare at him that clearly meant that this conversation was over.

Dorian brushed off his robes as he got to his feet. If there was a chance to reclaim some of what they had, pushing now certainly wasn't going to do it. He reached to grab his own semi-packed bag with the intent to leave Cullen to seethe on his own at some measure of safe distance.

But there was no safe distance.

Cullen seemed intent on discovering just how hard he could pull on Dorian in turn, suddenly holding him back against the desire to flee. It was uncomfortable, clumsy, the violation itching like insects crawling under his skin — but Dorian decided to let him, choosing to allow Cullen that control.

The Commander said nothing for a long time. Dorian could hear his heavy breathing, some faint footsteps, the rustle of cloth as he messed with his pack or clothes or whatever he was doing behind his back. Then he heard Cullen approach and inhaled sharply with some panic — what if Cullen decided to simply end him now?

Cullen put a hand on his shoulder, and Dorian swallowed his alarm. Cullen might be trying to trigger him, to make him snap and use his blood magic again, just to prove a point.

Dorian did not dare breathe as those rough fingers slowly moved up his neck, lingered over his throat, then finally slid over the remnants of the bite wound. Cullen hovered there for a moment, a fingernail tracing along the curve before Cullen's hand moved down Dorian's arm.

Dorian gasped at the feeling of Cullen's mouth against that mark. It was not quite a kiss, the touch of chapped lips decidedly overwhelmed by the scape of teeth and heat of Cullen's breath.

He longed to turn around, to pull Cullen into a kiss that would convince him that Dorian had never intended to take that control, that he deeply regretted that lapse in judgment, that Dorian fucking loved him.

Dorian jerked from the pain when Cullen suddenly dug his teeth into the tender skin.

Maybe Dorian was somewhat delusional, clinging to any hint of warmth, but despite the hot pang, the aching throb, it felt curiously like an apology. When Cullen released him, his lips still against Dorian's neck, Cullen whispered, "I hate you."

And then his Commander abandoned the tent without another word, his pack slung over one shoulder, the back of his neck so red it was like he'd been the one bitten.

I hate you.

He'd be right to. It fit everything Dorian knew of Cullen, really. Everything between them, no matter how much Dorian's heart had believed, was a twisted fantasy. Hot loathing shifting to violent passion, warm words to cover poisonous thoughts, a literal bond of blood the only real connection between them.

He never truly trusted Cullen, all too aware of Cullen's ingrained hatred of magic and Dorian's magic in particular; and Cullen had never been stupid enough to trust the Magister, merely making the best of the entire situation to bring some amount of pleasure in this fucked up relationship he'd been unwittingly trapped in. The sharp about-face of Cullen's demeanor toward him proved that.

Yet Dorian couldn't help but hear another word in place of hate.

As Cullen had left, Dorian took some time to sift around for anything he might want to bring with him. He wasn't really looking, and thus didn't find anything, merely ambling around the tent and vividly recalling everything else that had happened within it.

His fingers drifted over the cot. It wasn't comfortable, but wrapped up in Cullen…it was grand.

Such a fleeting, stupid decision couldn't have ruined everything. Cullen would understand. He would stomp and glower and curse, but in the end, he and Dorian were linked.

And…well, at least Dorian's heart was in too deep. It may have been a romantic notion, but Dorian could not help but think that Cullen's heart must be overly involved as well.

Dorian sat on the empty bed, his mind drifting to that hideaway in the Fade.

They would still meet in their dreams. Cullen had more easily opened up to him there, away from the world and in the relative safety of that shared space. Surely Dorian would be able to convince him, eventually, that he had misunderstood, and that Dorian had been playing up his control for Erimond's sake.

The thought could have been comforting, had Dorian not slipped by breaking that promise — a promise that apparently meant more to Cullen than Dorian had recognized. That worst memory he had mentioned, where he had offered his own with the full knowledge Cullen would reject such an exchange, that must be related.

Understanding that was fairly useless now, though. It was too late.

No matter. Dorian had no intention of letting Cullen be a sacrificed piece of the game.

Dorian remained in the tent for so long that Maxwell ended up coming to fetch him to join their little quest back to Skyhold. He barely noticed that Livius was eyeing them suspiciously as they headed the wrong direction out of camp