A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

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Dorian was going to have words with Finley when she got back. She'd all but ordered him to return to Skyhold—along with the others who had fallen into the Fade—and while he had thought it a good idea at the time, he'd been more than a little peeved that he was one of the precious few who had followed her instructions.

How was he supposed to be a dashing rebel if he followed the rules?

Worse, his company had been miserable. The mages were in sour spirits, feeling that they'd been Harrowed all over again and grumbling about why they were flocking towards demonic armies instead of away from them.

Dorian had done his part to put them in their place, asking if they'd have rather stayed back and twiddled their thumbs while the inquisitor and templars grabbed all the glory—and all the general public's trust.

That had stopped them whining...at least in his presence anyway.

And their hurt feelings aside, he couldn't imagine the fighting would have gone better without them. Even with more templars, it would have just…

Things were as they were.

Which would have been fine, were it not for the fact that his only real friend in the south was off galavanting across the countryside without him and leaving him quite grumpy as he dealt with all the other grumps on the home front.

Commander Rutherford was abysmal company, always snapping out orders and rubbing his neck, moreso since they'd returned to the castle. Dorian had tried to heal him once, but the spell had died on his lips as the man gave him a withering look.

He had apologized for that, later, likely hoping that Dorian would apologize for defying that glare and healing him anyway.

He hadn't, of course.

No good deed could go unpunished, though, it seemed, for they'd been back at Skyhold for almost a week—one long, unbearable week—and Dorian was quite aware that the commander was avoiding him.

How ever was he supposed to redeem himself in their chess games if they never played them?

Of those who had fallen into the Fade, Solas had stayed behind to heal, ignoring orders completely. Garrett, Alistair, and Varric had all disappeared together—whether the dwarf was complicit in breaking the rules or had just been kidnapped by friends was hard to say—and that left Warden Blackwall.

The man hadn't been much for conversation, which suited Dorian just fine.

Well, he had taken up talking with that dreaded dwarf, Bree Cadash. The two seemed to enjoy one another's company—they probably spent the day talking about mundane things like axe handles and the like.

Maker's ass, but they were getting along swimmingly.

Perhaps a couple ought to be added to the betting pool.

Not that he really wanted that.

As far as he was concerned the bet was dead in the water. Finley wouldn't even entertain that things might be workable with Cullen, so he was going to lose his money regardless. He'd suggested they just cancel the damned thing, but of course no one would listen.

Bree had been adamant that they stick with it to the end, but then, she'd bet on the seeker's relationship, hadn't she?

As he leaned against the wall on the balcony that encircled the library's tower, he let his gaze wander down toward the stables. Sure enough, he could see Warden Blackwall and his little lady together, whispering quiet nothings to each other.

Well, they could have been shouting about greaves for all he knew, really. Considering how high up he was, he wouldn't have been able to hear.

Not that he'd want to hear them flirting.

It probably sounded incredibly boring, too. Like comparing eyes to shined armor or something equally droll.

Even as he wondered what anyone could see in that hairy, unkempt oaf of a man—and more importantly, how someone as exquisite as himself could still be alone when someone like Warden Blackwall was not—shouts he could hear began to raise up, noting the return of the inquisitor.

Dorian perked up, eyeing the incoming caravan to make sure that it was true, and then grinning when he saw the Iron Bull and his monstrous horse riding into the courtyard.

Finally.

He ignored the few tranquil that called for him not to run in the library—he didn't even shiver at their lifeless tones—and took the stairs two at a time on the way down.

He hadn't realized just how good it was to have a friend until he hadn't one. Upon returning to Skyhold, he'd received news that Felix had passed away after returning to Tevinter to speak out against the Venatori.

It brought his total number of real friends down to one, and he rather wanted the company, if only so he could reminisce with a genuine shoulder to cry on. Finley had never known Felix as anything more than a voice through a crystal, but…

When they'd gone to see his father, she'd accepted him in a way he hadn't expected. There hadn't been any hesitation—well, actually there had.

He'd told her he was attracted to men, that his father disapproved. She'd stared at him for a long moment before glancing at his father and back and then narrowing her eyes slowly. "What does it matter who you prefer?"

Then she'd learned that his father had tried to use blood magic on him, and Dorian had thought she was going to kill him on Dorian's behalf.

Instead, they'd left, and he'd told her about the upper class prejudices in Tevinter, and she'd told him that she thought Tevinter sounded deplorable—more or less—and asked if her own relationships with women would have been considered scandalous before offering again that Tevinter sounded awful.

Where his father had tried to change him and been ashamed, she simply accepted him as he was. There'd even been one night where she'd offered to let him come with her when she went back to the Wilds, stating that no one cared about who you loved—so long as it wasn't their significant other.

He'd had to laugh at that.

And at the idea of him living in the wilderness.

Maker, but he wanted to let Finley loose in the magisterium.

After he chided her for not taking her own advice and resting, of course.

Thus, he was equally surprised, disappointed, and annoyed when he made it to the courtyard and couldn't see that tiny figure with bright orange hair. There were a few other redheads that dotted the crowds, of course, but not as small or with hair quite as wild as the dear inquisitor.

It took a few minutes of searching the crowd for any well-known face before luck turned in his favor.

He reached out to catch Sera as she darted up the steps past him, but she easily dodged his attempt. In the least she did stop, giving him the evil eye as she danced about, making sure not to be in anyone's way. Finally he crossed the stairs to her side, and they both leaned against the wall, allowing as much room as possible.

"Speak your piece," Sera snapped, arms crossed in front of her.

"Where is Finley?"

Sera's scowl banished any fears of Finley having fallen in battle. There was no way she'd be this casual about their friend. Letting her gaze wander over the bustling courtyard, she jutted her chin out toward the gate. "Ran off to do apostate things with Solas."

Her voice dripped with disdain at the last word.

"Well, when will they be back?"

"They aren't already?"

Dorian nearly jumped out of his skin as the Iron Bull leaned down beside him, glancing from Dorian to Sera and back.

With a grin, he nudged Sera's shoulder. "Told you we'd be back first."

"Shut it, you." There was a playful tone to her voice now, however, as she darted up and past them.

"Don't forget you're buying tonight!" the Iron Bull called after her, letting out a loud bark of a laugh as he turned back to Dorian, still propping himself up and over the mage with one arm against the wall. "You're welcome to join us, vint, if you're lonely."

With a scoff, Dorian shoved away from the wall and made a point of thudding his shoulder into the qunari as he stalked by, a movement that threw him off balance rather than having any effect on the Iron Bull.

His laughter rang in Dorian's ears as he stormed back up to the library.

He managed to settle himself in for some quiet reading on spell theory that he thought might prove relevant to some of Finley's wards and the like, when rather abruptly he realized that the tower had become…

Loud.

With a mere glance, he could see why. Children were everywhere. Or at least, there seemed to be a great many more of him about than he remembered.

While he had nothing against them, personally, he just wasn't in the mood to deal with curious stares or listen to the older mages tell them to avoid that dastardly northern fellow. Not that they seemed to need to. One little boy bumped into Dorian after rounding a bookshelf too quickly and when Dorian asked if the child was hurt, the boy recognized his accent instantly and ran away without ever answering.

Once he made sure that his nook in the library would not be overtaken, he'd decided to make himself scarce.

Besides, he was in no mood to be found easily.

As he wandered the halls, he idly wondered if this was how Finley felt, always wanting to disappear and have time to herself.

Except he didn't want time to himself. He wanted to mourn, and staring at the bottom of a bottle by himself didn't sound exceptionally pleasant.

He'd done that far too much in Val Royeaux.

And he needed to hear the stories of Felix that he kept replaying in his head out loud. He needed someone else to hear them, to make it real, to remember and know that Felix was real and had been one of the best friends a man could have.

What better legacy could one leave?

And there wasn't a damned soul in the castle who would listen.

Not really, not without thinking of Felix as a 'scheming tevinter magister' instead of a friend who had been lost.

Bitter as he was, he almost missed seeing the Trevelyan brothers talking quietly outside of the guest quarters.

He wasn't sure why, but something about the way they were talking felt...suspicious.

And it made sense, that if templars could spy on mages for being thus, then mages ought to spy on templars. And a distraction would be most welcome at the moment.

Slipping along the wall in a manner that would no doubt earn him mistrusting once overs should he be seen, he snaked his way through the shadows until he could hide behind an old stone support column.

Even as he reached it, the younger of the brothers snapped, "Say what you want. I'm not here to get laid," and stormed off in the opposite direction.

The older brother ran his hands down his face and then over his hair before sighing and turning in the direction Dorian was spying. Just as Dorian whipped back behind the pillar and pressed himself against the stone, wondering how he might turn things around to look casual, a door banged open.

Jumping, he peered over in time to see Cassandra intercept the templar.

"Ser Yor—Trevelyan. I was...hoping we could speak privately."

Ser Yorric turned to face her, cocking his head and crossing his arms. "Well, your timing is perfect then."

"Good…" Cassandra replied and then stood there, looking rather helpless. It was a look unfitting the warrior, though Dorian couldn't help but wonder what on earth could be happening. "About the flirting…"

"As I said, I can stop if you'd like."

Maker's balls, but this was not the sort of thing Dorian wanted to be eavesdropping on. He'd thought there might be a conspiracy, a threat against the Inquisition. This...this was just…

"You cannot court me, if that is your intention. It is impossible."

"Why's it impossible exactly?"

Dorian looked around for a way out of this situation. He was essentially stuck behind the damned pillar. If he made a move for either door to his left, they'd see him and….well, while he didn't want to take part, he didn't want to interrupt their little…

Whatever this was.

"That should be obvious."

Ser Yorric's boots scuffed as he shifted his weight. "Well it isn't obvious to me."

"You intend to properly court me?"

If Dorian went back the way he'd come...it was too long a stretch without anywhere to go. They'd wonder where he came from...and looking at it from this angle, the shadows he'd so stealthily come through were hardly enough to hide a gnat, much less a man.

"Is that what you want?"

"No."

Before Dorian could turn back the way he'd come and just make a damned run for it, a door slammed.

Relief flood through him.

Relief and pity for the poor sod who'd just been rejected. Even as he took a breath and glanced out to see that Ser Yorric hadn't yet departed, the same door that had just slammed burst back open.

"I take it back," Cassandra announced, stepping purposefully back over to Ser Yorric. "That is what I want."

Dorian cursed under his breath as he flattened himself against the pillar again. Cassandra was going on about an ideal romance, with poetry and feet sweeping, and as happy as Dorian was that she would stick to her heart, he also very much wanted her to make up her mind for sure and leave so that he could, too.

Maybe if he just walked quickly, they'd think they'd been too caught up in their conversation to notice him coming up...

"I know what you see. I am a warrior. I am blunt and difficult and self-righteous. But my heart lies beneath all that. It yearns for these things I cannot have. If you cannot see that then desist. What enamors you is but the surface."

"I would happily bring you flowers," Ser Yorric replied.

"The world hinges on our actions. We face death at every turn." Cassandra's voice sounded so...lost.

"That doesn't change how I feel."

My, but Ser Yorric was adamant in his feelings, wasn't he? At this rate, the bet would be over by the end of the day.

"It changes everything."

Before Ser Yorric could argue further, that damnable door clicked shut again. Dorian waited a moment longer before he could hear Ser Yorric's footfalls growing fainter. Perhaps he'd decided to chase after his brother.

As though it mattered to Dorian. The whole ordeal was finally over. With a sigh, he leaned back against the support column and promised himself that he would not do any more sneaking about the castle. Best to leave that to someone who could sneak away unnoticed...or at least enjoy the drama of it all.

However, before he could think of somewhere else to be, a short, deep chuckle made Dorian freeze. "There's got to be something in the air up here, don't you think?"

Taking in a measured breath, he turned slowly to find...empty air.

Puzzled, he straightened up a bit. Something near the ground caught his eye and as he looked down, he nearly had a heart attack.

The Iron Bull lay flat on his stomach, seemingly having crawled up behind Dorian so as not to interrupt the scene with Cassandra and her beau.

The Iron Bull grinned up at him, and Dorian very much wanted to find something of an appropriate size to beat him with.

"What is wrong with you?" Dorian hissed, glaring down at the qunari and ignoring when he held his hand out, as though asking for help up.

Like Dorian could lift the brute if he wanted to.

"Well, I do have this ache in my—"

"Forget I asked." Dorian glanced over his shoulder to make sure Cassandra wasn't still close enough to have heard them. The last thing he needed was her wrath coming down on him after he'd successfully hidden himself the whole while.

"I'm disappointed," the Iron Bull was saying, as though there was someone nearby who would want to listen. "I thought for sure our Boss was gonna get laid first." When Dorian turned to scowl at him, he laughed and held his hands up in surrender. "I wanted to invite you to the tavern tonight. You look like you could use a drink. Or four." Before Dorian could offer that he had a terribly busy schedule that wouldn't allow much in the way for casual drinks, the Iron Bull lowered his head, face becoming serious. "I heard about your friend. Felix, was it?"

"And just what did you hear about him?" Dorian snapped before he could stop himself. "That he was a vile mage from Tevinter? That another wicked vint is gone?" Dorian stopped himself before he could say more. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes, and he wanted very much not to think about why they were there.

He wanted to blame someone, anyone.

The Iron Bull.

However, the insults that came so readily to mind died on his tongue as he stared up at the qunari. Instead of the usual smirk, he just looked...solemn.

"He was the best man I ever knew," Dorian whispered finally, slouching back against the small wall that ran the length of the outside hall, overlooking the garden. "He deserved a better fate than...that."

What was he doing?

The qunari had been at war with his people forever. And even if this one was Tal Vashoth...there was rumors that he wasn't, but Dorian hadn't given them any mind. He'd figured it was like with himself being rumored to be dastardly and plotting.

So many people always thought the worst of everyone else.

Not Felix.

He took in a few shaky breaths and was surprised to find a hand on his back, patting him gently. Swallowing hard, he looked up at the Iron Bull. He was sitting on the wall with him.

"If you break this, and I fall to my death, I will haunt you."

The Iron Bull allowed a fleeting smile before motioning with his head toward the tavern. "I know I'm not an adorable little redhead, but if you want to talk…"

"To you? About Felix?" His voice caught, and he had to close his eyes to will himself not to completely bawl. "I suppose...there's no harm in it."

And he felt like if he didn't talk to someone he would explode.

Wouldn't that be a sight?

And the waste of a perfectly handsome man.

Straightening up, he let the Iron Bull lead him back toward the tavern.

"I'm buying."

With a scoff, Dorian stood a bit straighter and tried to look down his nose at the qunari, though it was somewhat difficult when he had to look up. "And here I thought Sera was..."