Dorian was so groggy when he tried opening his eyes that he was certain he'd been on the biggest bender of his life — which was truly saying something. He groaned, shutting his eyes against the blazing Tevinter sun and instinctively curling into the warm body wrapped around him.

Dorian stilled, his mind too slow to fully understand why but vaguely recognizing that something of this was not right. A creeping tension curled about his heart with the realization that, if he were waking up on a morning like any other, he surely should not be waking up with anyone.

Panic tightened his throat as he desperately tried to recall who, exactly, he was in bed with. The man smelled rather wonderful, though less sweet or perfumed than he would expect and more like the air after a storm. The sun was warm, far too warm considering that one of them should have made a discreet exit before the dawn. Perhaps his partner was as intoxicated as he was, considering that he had not yet been rudely awoken by an angry or equally frantic man.

But, no…that wasn't right either.

He was not in Tevinter, he was in bloody Ferelden. He'd been in the Frostbacks, freezing to death as he tried to sleep in a lonely bedroll. But if that was the case, why was he warm and who was with him?

Ah, he was dreaming, of course. That gave him a short moment of relief before a far more visceral shock shot down his spine.

Oh fuck.

Dorian forced his eyes open, otherwise not daring to move as he looked up toward the man holding him. Soft curls shifted lightly in the morning breeze against the man's forehead, but his eyes were closed and his breathing remained slow. Commander Cullen was entirely asleep, despite the firm embrace holding Dorian against his bare chest.

Dorian swallowed, trying to sort out what had happened. Cullen had been appropriately furious with him after his slip in the Inquisitor's tent. He'd avoided anything resembling an earnest discussion, both in reality and in the Fade. It was frustrating, if entirely understandable, considering these brief escapes from reality were the only truly safe place to discuss their strategy.

No, not safe.

It was hazy, but other memories continued to creep back. Cullen had not said a word for so long, simply trying to run away from one setting to the next as Dorian dutifully chased after him. They'd gone from the gardens of Skyhold to Cullen's office, from the snowy lake at Haven to some dank dungeon. Cullen was clearly drawing on random memories, but Dorian had not considered the danger in how easily the Commander shifted their surroundings.

And somehow Dorian had fucked up yet again, just a small slip: "It was only for a moment." As if that declaration would somehow calm the lion — but Dorian had been frustrated at being so ignored over such a small misstep when there were far more dangerous circumstances that required their attention.

Although, considering what happened after the remark, perhaps Dorian's mistake was not such a tiny blunder after all.

The dream had shifted then, violently, clearly out of Cullen's control. There had been a young woman bleeding at Cullen's feet. It was the desire demon, so Dorian had understandably assumed where Cullen's mind had wandered — an illicit fantasy, maybe even a memory of a woman he'd indulged with during his time in the Templar Order.

It may very well have been exactly that, but it wasn't the carnal sort Dorian had anticipated at all.

The demon seemed to mock Cullen, to taunt him, urging him to take out his dreadful desires on Dorian.

The demon encouraged Cullen to indulge as the man apparently had with so many before Dorian. Cullen had not flinched at that accusation, nor did he deny it. The Commander had echoed the very same thing when facing Warden Hawke, and again privately back in Halamshiral, after all. Yet Dorian had since presumed that Cullen had been exaggerating, that his words had been meant as a deterrent. It was a warning Dorian consistently ignored.

He recalled little of the dream after that. There had been terror at being fully restrained, his magic out of reach; pain coursing throughout his body, marveling that he wasn't dead from it already; fear at the glimpse of Cullen's eyes as he stood over Dorian in his templar armor.

He was used to being on the other side of threatening snarls and deadly glares. Dorian had enjoyed seeking them out, early on, long before the two had stumbled into something one might mistake for a relationship. This had been nothing like any of that. Cullen's gaze had promised nothing but more agony and perhaps, if fate was kind, the sweet release of death.

"It's your fantasy, Commander," Cullen's voice had purred. "Isn't this just how you like them?"

So the demon had taken Cullen's form at some point as well. The events were still muddled, twisted and confused, yet Dorian was certain that Cullen had confirmed it: You're right.

Another flash of memory, of metal dragging over his skin and pulling away his robes. A promise that the Commander could do whatever he liked and Dorian would remember nothing.

Dorian glanced down to confirm that his robes were indeed gone; there was only a light sheet covering his body. He did not appear overtly injured — but then again, it was the Fade. If indeed Cullen had indulged, the only way to make sure Dorian was unable to put together the pieces would be to heal the imagined wounds after.

He couldn't remember much more than that. Some faint words, some in voices he did not recognize, others distinctly from Cullen, and just…pain.

Cullen gave a little start, and Dorian hated the realization that he had been trembling. He could run. Could he run? Cullen had tried to leave him behind, and Dorian had been the one to follow. Would Cullen pursue him, the hunter after the prey?

His confused thoughts came to a grinding halt when Cullen smiled warmly at him, a hand gently cupping his cheek to guide him into a kiss.

And what a kiss. His body wasn't entirely certain how to respond, torn between anxious fear and the desire to melt in Cullen's arms. Stubble scraped his chin, the hand at his cheek was unbearably warm, and the arm still wrapped around him pulled him closer.

This was a trick of the Fade. Or were his memories the trick? Was Cullen truly so depraved he could have brutally violated Dorian in the night before kissing him so affectionately in the morning?

Yes. Dorian did not even have an instant of hesitation before answering his own question. He knew Cullen, and Cullen was entirely capable of such a thing. Such violent retribution was probably the reason Cullen could show him warmth now, the lion having been sated by delivering the appropriate punishment for Dorian's little slip of blood magic.

He should just wake up. Pretend he recalled nothing and try again in the real world, with the Inquisitor's presence as protection. Cullen would never dare repeat such crimes in reality.

Except that, apparently, he had. Dorian may want to count himself lucky that he'd yet to turn out like those other mages did: bloody and broken by your hand.

Cullen pulled away, his smile somewhat sad as his thumb drifted delicately along Dorian's mustache. "I…regret I wasted so much of our time. You were right, we should talk. We need a plan." Cullen's brow furrowed slightly as his touch lingered over Dorian's quivering lips. "Dorian?" he prompted worriedly.

He thought Dorian did not remember anything. Dorian half-wished that was the truth. "Right, yes," he said, shifting away with the pretense of stretching. One of Cullen's hands lingered at the back of his neck, the threatening touch setting cold shivers all over Dorian's flesh. "Right, sorry, I…I'm not sure when I fell asleep."

"It's all right," Cullen purred, leaning over to press a kiss to Dorian's bare shoulder. Cullen briefly froze when Dorian unwittingly flinched. "Dorian?" Cullen breathed worriedly, a hand wrapping around his chest from behind.

Dorian was entirely ashamed that he was so out of control. It was so imperative to act none the wiser, and here he was, shaking like a leaf.

"Dorian, how much do you remember?"

Cullen did not sound overly annoyed at him, but then again he was the one in control now. He had no reason to be fearful. "It was bloody freezing," Dorian said, hoping Cullen might mistake the shaking for an understandable shiver at the thought of the snowy mountains. "I understand you not wanting to share a bedroll around the good Inquisitor, but —."

"Dorian," Cullen interrupted knowingly. "The demon claimed you wouldn't remember if I didn't want you to."

Dorian's blood ran cold. What angle was Cullen playing at? The Commander could be attempting to confirm that Dorian did not remember, maybe to make sure he would not be able to call out a lie. Or perhaps Cullen was assuming that the demon had lied and that Dorian did, in fact, remember everything. "Remember what, Commander?" Dorian asked, surprised by the soft touch of lips just beneath his ear. "Having an affair with that handsome demon behind my back, are you?" He inwardly flinched. That jest was surely tipping his hand.

Cullen sighed, tugging his arm away. "It was selfish of me," Cullen admitted, and when Dorian dared a glance over his shoulder he was surprised to see that the man had his face in his hands. "I'm sorry, I hoped you would remember, but…it's probably better that you don't."

Dorian stared blankly at him. He could not fathom why Cullen would want Dorian to remember any such abuse.

Although, to be fair, Dorian had no memory of Cullen actually committing that abuse. Yes, he had vague recollections of Cullen admitting to wanting mages like that, wanting to hurt them, make them bleed, even kill them — but when he tried to connect that to the pain he'd suffered, he had nothing to cement the link between the agony and his Commander.

"To be…honest," Dorian forced out, as much as his mind grated against the effort. "I don't actually remember much. I think I followed you…somewhere dark. It…smelled of blood."

Cullen lowered his hand, hesitantly raising his beautiful eyes to meet Dorian's.

Now it was the Commander who appeared afraid.

"That desire demon butted in again," Dorian said flippantly, making a little extraneous motion with his hand to try and cover how intently he was watching Cullen for any tell. "Took some woman's form. I didn't really follow much of that — I think I must have…I don't know, that I passed out or something."

Cullen let out a slow breath, bowing his head. "Her name was Arda," Cullen whispered finally.

Arda. That name did sound vaguely familiar; Cullen must have mentioned it during that nightmare.

"She was my first," Cullen added under his breath, keeping his head bowed and face mostly hidden from Dorian's scrutiny.

"The first mage you killed," Dorian guessed without thinking.

Cullen looked intently at him, amber eyes wet with tears. "My first love," he corrected after an agonizingly long moment.

Dorian barely kept from gaping at the admission. Commander Cullen, his Commander, had been in love with a young mage back while he was a member of the Templar Order. Perhaps Dorian shouldn't be surprised, but…well, no, he should be after hearing the rumors and discovering the half-truths about his wanton brutality and caustic hatred of magic.

Cullen averted his gaze, a cold chuckle passing over his lips. "Not the first mage I killed," he added before clarifying, "The first blood mage, yes."

Dorian was not entirely certain which part of this should be most alarming. He supposed he'd already pushed on this front, though, and if Cullen would punish him for the impertinence it could hardly hurt more than that pain he recalled. "She used blood magic on you," he ventured.

Cullen's eyes snapped back to him, but he did not reply aside from a short nod.

So this was that common ground. Both of them hurt by blood magic inflicted by someone they trusted, and while they turned to different means, both became villains in their own right. "She hurt you. It's understandable —."

"She didn't hurt me," Cullen cut over him.

Dorian simply stared, not quite understanding. If this woman had not hurt him, why had the demon used her form to goad him to hurt Dorian? Why the Void would Cullen have such a hatred of blood mages in the years since if he'd not been harmed? Why would the man have murdered the woman he claimed to love?

And how close was Dorian to becoming the Commander's next victim?

"It was little things," Cullen said in answer to the unasked inquiries whirling around in Dorian's head. "Turning a blind eye here, using a different word on a report there," Cullen explained. "Harmless, in their own right. But it led to…." Cullen shut his eyes. "How's your recent Fereldan history?"

"Rubbish," Dorian readily admitted. He had a very basic understanding of the current politics, some vague knowledge of the Fifth Blight….

Hang on.

Some unassuming footnote, a paragraph barely skimmed over and never fully deciphered nudged at his mind.

During the Fifth Blight, the Circle in Ferelden had fallen to abominations. It seemed a minor thing when he'd been rifling through the literature in preparation to come south, just something to scoff at because clearly these barbarians had no idea how to handle mages. It seemed fitting for their attempt at controlling such power to end so terribly.

For months, the Circle had been locked, awaiting some dastardly thing called the Right of Annulment, until the Hero of Ferelden had come instead.

And found the single survivor.

One young templar.

Dorian clapped a hand over his mouth, suppressing the sudden urge to vomit.

He had laughed when he read that. He'd found it hilarious that an entire Circle that claimed to be so stringent it could handle the worst mages could offer had perished by spectacularly failing to do exactly that. And leaving one survivor was the proverbial icing on the cake: one frightened young man to spread the word of the weakness of the Southern Chantry and its Circles, to spread fear and let everyone know that they were not protected by such organizations.

Dorian had not given a thought to the fact that that nameless templar was a person.

"Cullen, where—?" he rasped, clearing his throat before trying again. Desperately hoping he had the wrong impression, Dorian asked, "Where were you assigned before Kirkwall?"

Cullen gulped. "Kinloch Hold. Ferelden's Circle." He waited for Dorian to reply, but the mage found himself unusually speechless. That poor man, that last living remnant of an awful disaster, a man who had undoubtedly suffered physical and mental anguish the likes of which Dorian hoped to never know — and the result of all that was sitting before him, sharing this dreamscape. "You've heard of it, I take it?" Cullen finally prompted.

Dorian wet his lips, embarrassed to realize that he had been gaping in complete silence. "Everyone…."

"Yeah. Everyone died," Cullen thankfully interjected. "Not all at once. Uldred liked to make it last. He made—." Cullen shook his head, rejecting whatever memory tried to grip him. "After everything, I…I found a few mages that had holed up in some forgotten chamber." He took a pained breath before continuing, "Including Arda. I knew she'd been a part of the whole…Uldred had taken pleasure in telling me everything. She'd used me to help bring the Circle down, and I…."

"It wasn't your fault," Dorian said swiftly.

Cullen almost rolled his eyes, which usually would have made Dorian laugh.

"It wasn't," Dorian insisted.

"I knew she was a blood mage," Cullen countered. "And I kept it a secret. I lied to my Commander, and because of that —."

"It doesn't matter," Dorian managed to interrupt, though his throat greatly protested its use. "It wasn't your fault. If she used you, it wasn't your fault. If she didn't, it still wasn't your fault. You did what you could. What you thought was right."

The acceptance appeared to confuse Cullen almost as much as it did Dorian, though the mage was supremely careful to keep any doubt from touching his expression. "You don't know that," Cullen said weakly.

"I know you."

"Clearly not," Cullen scoffed.

"That memory wouldn't have been so painful if you'd meant it," Dorian pointed out. "If you…hurt her for being a blood mage. Or even if you'd somehow been the cause of the Circle's fall." Dorian shifted, delicately putting a hand over the clammy one clutching at the bedsheets. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated, careful to keep Cullen's gaze as solidly as possible as the other man struggled to look at him.

"I almost believed you for a moment, mage," Cullen said finally with a short huff of almost-amusement.

It wasn't quite my mage, but it was the closest Dorian had heard since the disaster in the tent — he'd certainly take it. "Well, I'm never wrong," Dorian said lightly, forcing a small smile that Cullen quite nearly returned. "I dare say I deserved what I got, after reminding you of her." Cullen's brow furrowed, and Dorian stumbled slightly over his words as he hastily added, "So we can move on from that business and focus on keeping you alive. Us alive." Dorian almost winced at that slip, apparently missing a drastic shift in Cullen's demeanor in that tiny moment.

Where Cullen had begun appearing almost amicable, the Commander now rather looked like Dorian had just slapped him across the face. Affronted, furious, bewildered — it seemed every emotion was flickering in those lovely eyes.

"If I —." Cullen gulped, deliberately turning to hide his face. "If that somehow was me, I swear I don't know how. It wasn't my intent. I had…the briefest thought, yes, I did consider what the demon was trying to — but it was only for —." Cullen cut off again, throat straining with the effort to swallow again. "A moment," he finally finished breathlessly, a hand over his eyes once more. "Maker's bleeding arsehole," he groaned.

Dorian pressed his fingers over his mouth too late to cover the short laugh. It wasn't that he'd never heard similar or that Cullen never swore, but that was more colorful than the man would usually let slip.

"So the demon made you do it," Dorian dared to prod, despite how dangerous a jest it was for him to make.

"I didn't say —." Cullen frowned as he looked at Dorian, eyes clearly searching out those hints of laughter on his face. "You said you didn't remember…you think I…." Cullen suddenly snarled, getting to his feet and taking a few heavy steps away. "Fine. You don't remember. And I know you won't believe me when I say I didn't do anything." Dorian hadn't come up with an appropriate reply — or an inappropriate one, which was truly what he'd been looking for — before Cullen turned back to face him. "So I won't bother. You're right, we need to focus on keeping you alive."

If Cullen realized he'd made the same slip Dorian had a minute before, he hid it just as successfully as Dorian hoped he had.

"Yes," Dorian said with some relief. He did not truly want to dwell on whatever Cullen may or may not have done to him in the time he could not remember. He seemed no worse for wear, the pain merely a memory, and perhaps that was just as well. Despite the fact Cullen assumed Dorian would not believe him — well, Dorian would never admit it, but he sort of did. "Yes, first, and I know you're going to hate this but please hear me out: we need to play up the bond." Cullen tilted his head slightly. "The blood magic," Dorian clarified apologetically.

Cullen's glare was so deadly Dorian was somewhat surprised that it wasn't accompanied by a flare of excruciating pain.

"As I said, I know," Dorian continued. "But assuming either the Venatori or the red templars have succeeded in taking Skyhold, it's the only way to ensure your safety."

Cullen's eyes narrowed, but he stepped back over to the bed and sat at the end of it. "Explain," Cullen demanded shortly, a hand tightened in a fist resting on his knee.

"Your old friends? They're insane," Dorian replied bluntly. "Samson will be with them, and he'll do whatever it takes to make you one of them."

Cullen stared blankly at him a moment before realization dawned. His mouth twisted with revulsion even as his eyes softened with something remarkably vulnerable. "He'll put me on the red."

"Exactly," Dorian confirmed quietly. "I assume you never told him that you've not been taking any lyrium at all?" Cullen nodded. "Then we'll be back to the start of this bloody mess, and I don't think either of us wants that. At least before we had the guidance of an infuriating elf and the concerned gaze of a young idealist." He sighed softly. "I'm saying I doubt there's a way we could save you from it again."

Not that Dorian would not try should it come to it; he knew himself well enough to recognize that. He also knew, considering the extent of their bond from the first, careful time, that any further attempt was highly likely to be permanently damaging to Cullen.

Best not offer that as a possibility until circumstances were desperate enough to warrant it.

Cullen swallowed, his eyes hard but determined. "Then we must avoid that. But how does…leaning into our bond factor into it?"

"It gives you an excuse to deny him. To fight back." Dorian tapped his fingers on his thigh before tentatively adding, "To give me the chance to save you, should it come to it."

Cullen glared again, though it lacked the fiery rage this time. "You mean you'll use blood magic to control me."

"Only to protect you."

Cullen's lip curled. "You promise?"

Dorian chuckled, the sound far sadder than he'd anticipated. "I would if you'd believe me."

Cullen said nothing further on that. He obviously did not trust Dorian on this, but was either unwilling or unable to press the particular point. "And if the Venatori are in control?"

Dorian relaxed a little at the thought, leaning back against the headboard with a small smile. "Much easier. They're all from Tevinter, and any in control would be a Magister. We can count on them to respect civilized rules and the concept of property."

The wording had escaped his lips before he could stop it. There were far better ways to have voiced that, but he'd had the idea so ingrained in his head he had not considered just how terrible that would sound aloud — especially to said property.

Cullen's jaw tensed. "Marking your territory like a mabari," he muttered with a shake of his head.

"You could have put it in a less disgusting manner," Dorian replied with a forced grin.

"It's less disgusting than slavery," Cullen scowled.

"I didn't mean it like that," Dorian lied.

And of course Cullen saw straight through him. "You did."

Dorian forced a deep breath, but did not flinch away from Cullen's gaze. The man made no move against him, but his feelings about the matter of being under Dorian's control were written all over his face.

"Fine, yes, but only in the sense that…." Dorian struggled for the words as he made a motion to the small space between them. "Claiming you as mine — in whatever way — grants you protection. The other Venatori won't touch you, not as long as you're…." There had to be a better word for it.

"Yours," Cullen finished for him, getting to his feet again and walking over to the window.

Fuck off, he's not yours!

Dorian blinked, grateful that Cullen was turned the other way. It was an echo, a memory forgotten — probably due to the sheer pain he'd been in.

He's not yours.

That…that had been the real Cullen who said that, right?

The corner of Dorian's mouth twitched into a smirk. So he wasn't the only one possessive. He quietly slipped off the bed, abruptly remembering the fact he was entirely naked but not much caring, as he approached his Commander.

"It's a show, Cullen," Dorian said quietly. Cullen startled slightly, apparently not realizing he'd come so close. "A feint. A shield." He slowly wrapped an arm about Cullen's midsection, carefully watching for any hint of a violent reaction. "But does that really matter when we both know the truth?"

Cullen glanced over at him, his tongue running between his lips as his gaze lingered on Dorian's mouth.

"I am yours, amatus," Dorian assured him in a whisper before pressing a kiss against the man's shoulder. "No one else's."

His words had an immediate effect. Cullen let out a shuddering breath, a faint tremor in his body before Cullen turned around and claimed Dorian's mouth with the violence Dorian had come to expect from him. Cullen did not give an inch, a hand clutching at the back of his neck and his other hand digging into Dorian's hip.

Dorian was already breathless and entirely dazed when he found himself pinned to the wall despite no memory of moving there. Cullen's teeth viciously dug into his lower lip, a punched out groan vibrating in his bones as Cullen eased a droplet of blood from the wound. Still Cullen gave no quarter, not even a chance to breathe. Dorian faintly wondered if perhaps he'd made an error as nails dragged along his skin, most definitely tearing him open.

It wasn't difficult to dismiss the thought. Pain and pleasure came hand in hand, especially with Cullen, and the danger had yet to truly put him off. They had something resembling a plan now and, even better, he had his Commander.

A hand clenched at Dorian's hair, roughly tugging his head back to bare his throat. Scarred lips and the scratch of unkempt stubble made a path down the vulnerable flesh as Dorian blindly tore at the trousers unbearably separating him from Cullen. He ripped them without a care, and when Cullen was similarly bared a growl rumbled against the crook of Dorian's neck just before teeth latched on to bite what seemed to be one of Cullen's favorite parts of him.

Perhaps recognizing how little time they likely had before they inevitably awoke, Cullen spun him to face the wall, one hand still tugging cruelly on his hair while the other hand slipped down to Dorian's ass. The mage certainly was not about to complain, instead shuffling his legs a little further apart to ease Cullen's way, wincing a little at the prickles of pain from his scalp as the movement fought against the Commander's grip.

It was urgent and hurried and the pain was just right as Cullen claimed him almost brutally, as though Dorian wasn't the one with the true power in this place.

"Fucking love you," Cullen growled in his ear, words Dorian decided to believe he had imagined or simply misheard.

Except for the little part of him that let his heart flutter at the idea. And maybe the part that almost immediately made a mess on the wall he was so forcefully held against.

Dorian awoke mere moments after, properly this time. He could see his breath in the air, but when he glanced over in Cullen's direction, the sight of the warm hunger in the man's eyes made his entire body as hot as it had been back in that Tevinter hideaway.