Dorian wakes to sounds of distress. Seth is tossing and turning in the bed beside him, skin damp, breath ragged. His hand twitches at his side; Dorian recognizes the subtle, sharp motion of a blade being drawn across a throat. "No," Seth murmurs. "No!"

"Amatus." Dorian brushes the damp silver hair back from Seth's forehead. "Shh. You're dreaming, my love."

Seth's features grow pinched, whether with pain or fear, Dorian can't tell. He moans quietly. "No," he says again. "Sathan, no. 'Ma vhen'an, ar gen'av'ahnan…"

Please, no. My love, I beg you…

Goodness. This dream does not sound at all pleasant. "Ir amahn," Dorian says gently. I'm here. He touches Seth's shoulder – and sucks in a breath as Seth starts up like a scalded cat, pinning Dorian down and straddling him, hand pressed to Dorian's throat. An empty hand, thank the Maker, or Dorian would be dead by now. "Seth," he says with a calmness belying the hammering of his pulse. "Wake up."

Seth doesn't react straightaway, and Dorian is transported viscerally to another time, another place, when the man he loved nearly murdered him in the Deep Roads.

A blade flashes, cold metal pressed against his throat. The figure crouched on top of him is half animal, his pupils dilated like a predator's. "Seth," he whispers.

There's no recognition in those feral eyes. The blade presses harder, threatening to break the skin. Dorian is afraid even to breathe. "Amatus…"

"Amatus," he says now, firmly. "Much as I enjoy this particular position, I've never been excited about snuff role play."

Seth blinks, and for a second he just stares. Then he draws a shuddering breath and presses a hard kiss to Dorian's mouth, kissing him over and over in a way that leaves little doubt what he was just dreaming about. "I killed you," he whispers, as though Dorian needs to be told. "We were in the Deep Roads and—"

"I know. You had me reliving the experience as well." His hand drifts unconsciously to his throat.

Seth's eyes are full of anguish. "I'm sorry," he says, fingertips ghosting across Dorian's face, as if he's afraid of breaking him. "I'm so sorry, vhen'an."

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't control what you dream."

"Even after I…" He swallows hard. "I couldn't tell if you were real, or… And then you were alive again, and I was sure you must be a demon, and…" He shudders violently.

"And here we are." Dorian sighs. "It's getting worse, amatus. This is the third time this week. Perhaps we ought to consider seeing a healer."

"So they can give me a sleeping draught that would knock out a druffalo? Thank you, no." Seth climbs off him and heads for the washing room.

Dorian understands his reluctance, but still. He can't go on like this. It is getting worse, for reasons Dorian can't quite fathom. They're happier than they've ever been, and safer too – though of course that's a relative term, especially here in the Imperium. Seth's ordeal in the Deep Roads, harrowing as it was, was months ago, and until recently he hasn't shown any sign that he still carried it with him. This is Seth, of course, the king of bury it deep until the pressure is too much and it erupts like a volcano, but still. Dorian doesn't think he's been burying this, exactly. It's more as if it's been stalking him from the shadows, waiting for its moment to pounce.

Perhaps that's it, he thinks. He remembers how it used to go back in their Inquisition days, when they'd return from a particularly difficult stint in the field. The moment they got back to Skyhold, everyone in the party would promptly fall sick. As if their bodies had been deferring it until they were safe and sound and able to deal with it. Seth never really had time to process the trauma of his experience in the Deep Roads. They still had a world to save, and Aerion Malkar to deal with. And once that was done, a wedding and a permanent move to the Tevinter Imperium. Perhaps it's only now, precisely because he's safe and happy, that Seth's subconscious is starting to process what he went through.

In which case, Dorian thinks, what he needs is a distraction. He has just the thing, if only he can muster enough support for it. Which means he'll be spending the morning with Maevaris.

He cleans up, kisses his husband goodbye, and sets off for the senate, where he finds Mae holding court for the younger members of the Lucerni faction. She's strewn magnificently across a velveteen settee, champagne in hand – with a splash of blood orange juice, in deference to the early hour. The senate complex is generously endowed with sumptuously appointed lounges like these, where magisters gather to drink and eat and engage in the real work, which is invariably conducted behind the scenes. By the time a matter reaches the senate floor, it is decided. "Debates" are mere pageantry, a bit of peacocking for the peasants. It is in these informal chambers that the true negotiations take place. Horses traded, threats issued, bribes offered, et cetera. There are a few buttoned-up magisters who eschew this manner of doing business, but Dorian doesn't trust anyone who wants to discuss matters of any importance without a drink in hand. Sober policy, by all means, but sober policymaking, never.

"Darling," says Mae. "You have that come hither look in your eye. Do I take it you need my support for some pro-public scheme everyone will hate?"

"Everyone important, anyway." Dorian explains what he has in mind. Mae laughs, of course, but that doesn't mean she won't help. She enjoys the challenge, and besides – she adores Seth.

"Let me see if I have this right. Not only do you wish to spend the city's ever-dwindling funds on a public garden, you propose to use land the Magisterium is currently planning to sell, thereby further depriving the city of funds. Moreover, you would like an elf – not just any elf, mind, but Inquisitor Lavellan – to be in charge of the project." She laughs again, shaking her head and sipping her champagne. "I'll say this for you, darling. You never lack for ambition."

"One does hate to be boring."

"Minrathous already has a public garden."

"If by garden you mean a shabby meadow full of weeds and dog shit and horribly ugly statues, then yes. But you've seen my gardens, Maevaris, dear. You know what he's capable of."

Mae eyes him shrewdly. "This is going to cost you a great deal of political capital, you know."

"Well, then, it's a good thing I'm still flush, thanks to my celebrity of a husband."

"In that case, you'd best grab yourself a drink, darling. It's going to be a long day."

It is, indeed, a very long day. By the time Dorian gets home, he's exhausted and cranky and not all that pleased with how the thing turned out. He doesn't particularly want to talk about it, but Seth is wondering why he's so cranky and also where he's been all day and most of the evening, so Dorian tells him.

"You actually did it?" Seth asks breathlessly. "You got them to agree?"

"We have the votes, but…" Dorian winces. This is the part he's cranky about. "I'm afraid it comes with a catch."

"Oh," Seth says, slightly crestfallen.

"If you decide to do this, your involvement will have to remain strictly on the hush. The feeling was that if your role were known, the gardens would come to be associated with you too closely. That the common folk would start calling them the Lavellan Gardens, or some such. It wouldn't do for it to appear as if the thing were some kind of monument to the Inquisitor."

"Is that all?" Seth's face brightens again. "I'll be allowed to design it so long as I don't take the credit?"

"That… doesn't bother you?"

"Of course not," he laughs. "Dorian, there are monuments in my name all over Thedas. They could all disappear tomorrow and it wouldn't bother me a lick. Quite the contrary. You must know that."

"You're right," Dorian says, and he feels a little silly now. "Of course you wouldn't care about the credit. I don't know what I was thinking."

"I do," Seth says with a knowing smile. "You wanted to win. All of it. No compromises."

"Nonsense," Dorian says. "Perhaps."

Seth takes his face in his hands and kisses him softly. "Thank you, vhen'an."

"Don't thank me yet. Wait until you hear what I had to promise Maevaris…"

They stay up late discussing ideas for the gardens, and when Seth finally drifts off, there's a little smile on his face.

They both sleep like babies.