A/N: Thank you for reading!

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If anyone in the world knew better than to eavesdrop at this point, it was Dorian.

He paced back and forth in front of the Statue of Andraste, occasionally scowling up at it. Warden Blackwall had gone off this morning to a small pond they'd passed on the way in, saying something about fishing for their dinner. After all, what the villagers had brought had been plenty for Finley, for 'Sister Anne', but with her valiant rescue party in tow, it made the offerings hardly enough to last a day.

Well, Cullen wasn't eating much.

Andraste's flaming tits, but the man was in poor shape. Dorian had been able to tell he was a bit off, but this...the vomiting and collapsing and…

And the fact that he abhorred healing from mages, apparently.

Dorian's pace slowed, and he drummed his fingers against his hips. Perhaps he ought to apologize for healing the man after all. If there was some great fear behind it, it made sense…

But how could he be so fond of Finley when he wouldn't let her heal him?

Everyone had seen his infatuation with their inquisitor, so it wasn't like Dorian had misread the situation.

Maferath's hairy balls, but there was a bet going about it and everything.

And the way he'd been so desperate to tell Finley that he had been afraid for her rather than of her the night before…

Even as they'd tucked him into bed, he'd still been rambling, repeating it over and over, as though his life depended on it.

Dorian glanced at the door to their sleeping quarters and scowled again before glaring up at Andraste. "I imagine her being tiny and adorable and wanting to keep you safe must have been quite a sight, but if you had any hand in what that bastard did to her—"

Dorian cut himself off and looked back toward the door.

When Cullen tripped over his boots last night, it had woken Dorian, and he'd started after the commander just to make sure the man was alright. Then he'd heard the story of little Finley wanting to save a stone Andraste and…

Well, she'd had motioned for the commander to follow her. He'd been about to go back to bed when he heard that this was where her magic had come in, and Dorian had wanted to hear that. He'd been curious about what shenanigans she might have gotten into, and so he'd settled into listening from beside the door.

And what he'd heard…

He wanted to find this Ser Caudry and set the bastard on fire. And then he wanted to raise him as a corpse and have him jump off cliffs until there was nothing left. Then he supposed a mabari could finish off what was left.

Leaving the man who could put a sword through a child he'd been raising as little more than a pile of excrement felt like a fitting fate.

Dorian had grown up hearing horror stories of what it was like for mages outside of the Imperium, of how lucky he was to be Tevene. He'd heard of children being ripped from families and all that, and it had always felt more than a little...dramatic, to say the least.

When he'd gotten here he'd certainly seen the difference in attitudes, but he'd never imagined…

He'd never thought someone could turn on a child they'd practically raised, just like that.

Just because of magic.

Maker, but if Finley had been in the Imperium, her family would have celebrated her being able to do something so intricate like healing as a first spell. They wouldn't have screamed blood magic and...stabbed her.

The door opened, and Finley stepped out into the main hall. Dorian could see the foot of Cullen's bed briefly before the door closed behind her.

"You know, he might feel better quicker if you'd stop dressing like that," Dorian muttered, pointing to her when she gave him a surprised look.

Her face pinched together and then she motioned for him to come with her, back into the Revered Mother's chambers. Her clothes were laid out on one of the beds there, and he couldn't help the bark of a laugh that escaped him.

"Don't wake the commander."

"I'm sorry, but did you fall into a bramble patch and then roll around in it for a day?" Dorian asked, hand in front of his mouth, trying to hide his amusement.

Her clothes had so many rips in them...the shirt was the best off, somehow, but even it was looking more ragged than anything he'd ever seen. Maker, but he wouldn't even use the these scraps for cleaning.

Not that he could if he wanted. The parts that were still intact were absolutely filthy.

"I didn't have time to change after I got back to Skyhold and then I was in a hurry and…about half of this happened as I was leaving Skyhold, really." Finley shrugged. "I tried to sew it, but…"

"But it's a disaster and can't be salvaged?" Dorian asked, brow arched. "What of extra clothes or…?"

"I gave them to someone in Orlais," Finley murmured, sitting on the bed opposite the carriage wreck, and pulled her knees up so that she could rest her chin on arms crossed on top of them.

Dorian rolled his eyes slowly toward her and then sat on the bed beside her. "So you've just been wearing miscellaneous robes because you've nothing else?"

"And I thought people would talk to a Chantry sister over some scraggly looking wanderer."

Dorian nodded slowly. His mind wandered back to what he'd heard the night before, but he tried not to think on it. "So then, what exactly happened here? I've not really been caught up. Cullen mentioned a templar you'd known living here, but beyond that, we weren't talking much on the way down."

Finley started to get up and then thought better of it, instead motioning toward the room with the long table beyond. The room where her magic had come in.

"Well, there was a Mother Clarette here for a while, but she left when the sky opened up to try to find out what had happened. She'd left the templars here to protect the people, and never came back. They stayed until two months ago."

The way her gaze dropped made Dorian hesitate to pry. Then he remembered one of them had been Ser Caudry. "I don't suppose one of them was eaten by a bear while the other cheered?" When Finley gave him an incredulous look, he flinched. "I...heard you. Last night." He paused and then added, "Ser Caudry better hope he's dead because when I find him there will be a reckoning."

"He did what he thought he had to."

"Are you insane?" Dorian asked, whirling on her, eyes wide. "The man stabbed—"

"I remember it quite well without you reminding me." The words were soft, but harsh.

He sat there a moment, staring at her, not knowing what to say. She stared down at the floor, still as death.

"It wasn't right."

"I know that."

"Then how can you make excuses—"

"I don't want to talk about it, Dorian."

He might have pushed it regardless, had it not been for the look she gave him. There was terror and pain and…

He slung an arm around her and squeezed her shoulders. She leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"In the very least I'm cursing him when we meet." He declared finally. "It doesn't have to be life threatening. Something inconvenient though. Like he can't hold a sword without getting shocked or...something."

She sighed, but didn't reply at first. Just when he was trying to think of a topic they could change to that wouldn't bring them back to that bastard, she rubbed her face and sat up. "Solas found me in the Fade, trying to see the memory of what happened to them. He offered to help, but was having so much difficulty—"

"Our dear Fade expert couldn't control the Fade?"

"He thought it might have to do with the fact that he was trying to view it from so far away." Finley said, standing up and brushing a few wrinkles out of her robe. "So he's on his way, and when he gets here, we're going to dream and see if we can figure out where the templars went."

"Do we really need to know?" Dorian asked, despite his earlier resolve to drop it. "Andraste's flaming tits, but one of them tried to murder you." He paused, considering it even as he spoke. "I suppose he might be trouble if he talks to the wrong people—"

"This isn't about Ser Caudry," Finley hissed, standing up and pacing. "Ser Ross was looking for me. For years. And then he fell sick and came back here. I wanted to help him."

"Do we know he won't react the same way his friend did?"

"His husband," Finley corrected. "Ser Ross and Ser Caudry were married. They had matching rings that they'd let me hold sometimes." There was a gentleness in her voice and her face, a softness that felt out of place, considering.

"Ser Ross has terrible taste in men," Dorian muttered. He couldn't help but wonder if those templars had something to do with her utter acceptance of him, though. He hoped not, though he didn't have the nerve to ask. He didn't want to be accepted or wanted because of the foundation laid out by a monster.

"Dorian," she warned, exasperation plain on her features. "Regardless of what you think of Ser Caudry, Ser Ross is ill. And he never hurt me. And I thought he was dead for ten years. I have to see him."

Dorian bit back the question of where was this heroic Ser Ross when Ser Caudry—his husband—had led the templars. It seemed odd that Ser Ross would have just disappeared during that time.

Or sat it out.

He floundered for something to say instead of harping further on the past. "We need to get you new clothes. I bet our dear Commander would offer an extra shirt—" he stopped himself when he realized that, the hurry that Cullen had left in, he'd barely brought anything with him. He considered their last companion and then scowled. "You can use something of mine, I suppose. Just...don't destroy it."

Despite his ample generosity, Finley declined, and the rest of the day and the next passed much as the first had, with Dorian falling asleep several times, and him helping out with mundane little things when he was awake.

They'd also talked about Felix a bit, and Finley had hugged him and listened most attentively, but something about this place made him reluctant to bring Felix up more than that first time.

And so he'd helped.

Like watching Commander Rutherford. Despite clearly needing bedrest for a month, he was constantly trying to get up and about and both Dorian and Finley had to argue with him to keep him from going and…

Dorian wasn't sure what the man expected to do. After all, they were just waiting about anyway. It wasn't like there was a dragon to slay or Corypheus was going to show up at the Chantry for them to conveniently smite then and there.

Maybe he just wanted to prove that he was still capable, to himself if no one else.

Whatever his motivations, Finley would have none of it.

During their time in the Fade, Finley had said that she'd seen the fearlings as templars, though Dorian hadn't quite bought into that. She was too upset when she watched them die for them to be nameless armored men she ran from. And once, when she'd been tackled by one that came from seemingly nowhere during the fighting, Dorian could have sworn he'd heard her whisper, "Cullen, no."

He hadn't bothered to tell anyone else. They'd all had their secrets laid bare before everyone else and that hurt enough with prying at others. He'd made an effort to kill the fearlings quicker after that, though, wondering who else she might be seeing in their path.

That fear demon, that Nightmare, was a bastard.

And worse, it was still out guide had weakened it, for sure, but he could feel it nettling his dreams sometimes. He'd used a few Tevene wards to protect himself and had offered them to Finley too, but she said she already had it taken care of.

It was good for them, but hardly for the rest of the inquisition. That demon was going to pick at their allies, no doubt. Dorian had warned Grand Enchanter Fiona when he'd been in Skyhold, and she'd said that she would take care of it.

Dorian assumed that meant the Circle mages had similar wards, as well.

Funny how all mages, regardless of background, seemed to find their way into demon warding spells.

It wasn't until the end of the fourth day that something remotely interesting happened.

Just as Dorian was beginning to think he might die of boredom—or from trying not to talk about any of the quickly growing taboo topics surrounding Finley's childhood guardian-turned-attempted-murderer—the main doors opening echoed into the building, along with heavy footsteps.

Instantly, he sat up from where he'd been napping on one of the pews—Finley was currently arguing with Cullen about his rest and Dorian had wanted to get his own, so he'd opted to let them do that behind closed doors.

Bull furrowed his brow as he looked around. "Where is everyone?"

"Our dearest inquisitor has joined the Chantry, Commander Rutherford is on strict bed rest, and Warden Blackwall is out manhandling a bear or something equally unnecessarily brutish to get us dinner."

"What about you?"

"I was sleeping." Despite the annoyance in his tone, Dorian had to say he was glad to see Bull. Odd that it was, the brute wasn't all bad, and Dorian found himself rather enjoying the few times they'd spent drinking together and the like. For all his show, he actually had somewhat of a heart buried under all that muscle.

All that muscle…

Dorian leaned his chin on the back of the pew and motioned around. "We're waiting for Solas to get here and then we'll be off, back to Skyhold."

"He's coming back, then?" Bull asked, walking slowly down the aisle between pews. While it had more than enough room for one person to walk down, the qunari had to turn to the side to make sure he didn't knock his arms against the wood.

"Good thinking, Finley—or rather, Sister Anne—would kill you if you knocked anything out of place," Dorian remarked glibly before registering what Bull had said. He arched his brow. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Because he abandoned the inquisitor in the Exalted Plains?"

That made Dorian stop, his rebuttal dying on his tongue. He'd assumed that when Finley had left, she'd just taken her most recent traveling companion with her and that Solas had gone to do...something in the Wilds while she looked for clues as to where her templars were in the safe obscurity of this little corner of nowhere.

That she'd been traveling alone for weeks had never crossed his mind.

"That ass!" Dorian hissed and then scowled as he considered that Solas was probably another person Finley wouldn't want him to 'speak ill of'.

Maker's balls, but she excused everyone's abhorrent behavior, didn't she?

Though...with Solas being a mage, Dorian could probably get away with a curse or two, as his fellow mage would be more than capable of saving himself.

Eventually.

It would need to be something good, though. Something annoying, that was more grating as time went on.

His mind went back to a time when he was still in school. He'd been cursed so that his quill never had quite enough ink on it, making all of his work looked scratchy and his penmanship atrocious. Felix had helped him figure out the spell and it'd been easy to dispel afterwards, but figuring it out had taken work. Frustrating amounts of work that was painful to write down.

How much did Solas write?

Dorian pulled himself from his thoughts to watch Bull open the side door to the room to wave at Finley, who waved back before shooing him away. "She's very protective of the dear commander, so you'll want to leave them be."

"He looks a bit less like death," Bull commented as he sauntered back toward Dorian. He paused in front of the statue of Andraste and gave it a critical once over. "You know, I've never been in a Chantry before. It's a lot more humble than I expected."

"If you want extravagance, go to Orlais or Tevinter," Dorian retorted. "To be honest, I'm just surprised there are no dog statues in here, considering where we are."

"I hear there's a song about Andraste having a mabari."

"I'm sure there is," Dorian sighed.

Bull grinned, but looked back at Andraste instead, tilting his head as his gaze moved to roam over the incense and candles and back toward the main door. "It's simple, I like it." As Dorian rolled his eyes, he tested one of the pews with his hand, then frowned and simply eased himself onto the floor. "So then. How've you been?"

Surprised, Dorian sat up a bit straighter. "Me? I'm stupendous. What else would I be?"

As he spoke, his mind went back to their conversations the few days before heading out, of talking about Felix. He'd been surprised at how earnestly Bull listened to him, how he'd raised a toast to Felix, how even the Chargers and Sera had joined them, listening and mourning a man they'd never known with him.

It meant more than words could express, though he'd tried. Inebriated as he'd been, Bull had said something along the lines of how he wouldn't fall to drunken flattery, even if the man speaking was a handsome sort and then—

Abruptly, Bull's comment replayed in Dorian's head. He hadn't had much time to think of that in the passing days, and he couldn't help but wonder why—now of all times—it would bring a flush to his cheeks.

When he looked at Bull, trying to think of something else to say, Bull waggled his brow. "Just where did your mind go, hmm vint?"

"I was imagining how loudly you'd scream if I turned your horns into snakes."

"To me then? Nice." Bull grinned at Dorian's scowl. He drummed his knuckles against his knees and then frowned. "Not much to do here, is there? Which way did Blackwall go? Maybe I can help him wrestle the bear."

"Your guess is as good as mine," Dorian said, trying not to think too hard on Bull's response. Surely this was just like Denerim, where he'd convinced him to wear Venatori garb. A joke, a jape, a jest.

Something to amuse the brute in his own boredom.

Even as Bull grunted in disapproval, Dorian eyed him. "Where did you hear about Solas leaving Finley? I've been with the Commander and Finley herself and no one's mentioned anything like that to me."

"Ben hassrath, remember?" Bull said almost instantly. However, he looked confused when Dorian's jaw hung slack. "You didn't...wow. Boss is good at keeping secrets, isn't she? Makes you wonder what else she's—where are you going?"

Dorian let out a huff, not looking back as he called over his shoulder. "A walk. You can take over for Finley if she needs a break from babysitting."

It wasn't until he'd stormed out of the Chantry and all the way to the edge of the woods that he finally stopped and looked over his shoulder to make sure that Bull hadn't followed.

As he stood there, he was baffled to find that he couldn't tell which hurt more, that The Iron Bull really was a spy for the Qun or that he hadn't come after him to pester him about being okay.

More importantly, he couldn't fathom why either of those things mattered. It wasn't like they were friends.

With a pointed glare, he settled for walking along the treeline until he saw Blackwall heading in from down the road, fresh fish slung over his shoulder and fishing rod bobbing behind him. As he headed back in, his own mind betrayed him as he considered that Bull would be relieved he hadn't missed the opportunity to fight a bear.

Scowl firmly in place, he headed back to the Chantry, intent on finding himself something to do.

Or someone.

His scowl worsened as he repeated in his head, something, something, something.