But the High Priest of Beauty was sorely troubled,

For he served only the Great Plans

And would in no way of wisdom raise a servant of Silence

Above himself or his God.

Silence 2:2

'How long?' Dorian spat.

Lexi rolled his eyes.

'Less strop, more thank you would be in order here,' he growled back. 'And dare I suggest you keep your voice down?'

'Why?' the Magister exclaimed, throwing his arms up in annoyance. 'I seem to be the only person in this house tonight who thinks proper magic is…proper. Have I been asleep for a decade, and conventional studies have become that passé? Am I that ridiculously out of step with fashion? Do I need to shop for new robes, preferably in crimson, so blood stains don't show, or will just getting a solid silver razor do?'

'You also need some sort of container, size varying by intended scale of effects…' Lexi shrugged, then, upon noticing Dorian's anger was not abating, sighed and let his shoulders slump. 'It is not that big of an issue, and I fail to comprehend why you are reacting this way. This was naught but tolerated practice…'

'How long, Lexi?'

'Since I was twelve, alright?' the Altus hissed. 'My instructors thought a pact with a dweller of the fade would help with my ascendance test, and it did. I've been doing it since always – and no, in twenty something years, I have not moved on to small animals, or large animals, or anything else but minor restorative spells. Blood of willing participant, remember?'

'Oh, I remember that part,' Dorian replied, beginning to pace rapidly. 'What I do not recall is you ever telling me about it.'

Lexi let himself drop in the armchair before the long spent fire in the room they shared when he visited. 'The opportunity never arose…'

'In eight years, the opportunity simply did not…arise,' Dorian ironically shot, stopping and crossing his arms over his chest. 'Interesting. Fascinating, even.'

'Alright,' Lexi relented, pleadingly looking up. 'At first, when we…began, it was not the sort of thing you blurt out in a drunken or climactic haze with a person you have just met. It's still only tolerated, not officially legal - what we are is dangerous enough, and my family is far lower than yours.'

'Then,' he whispered, 'when things between us changed, and you trusted me enough to tell me what occurred between you and your father, I was already past the point of no return – I did not know if you were; I desperately wanted you to like me, or at least feel more certain with the two of us before I chanced…'

'I am sorry,' he whispered, as Dorian crashed in the armchair opposite his. 'I love you so much, and I feel so far beneath you, for all of the things you have seen, all of the things that you have done, that…'

'I'm sorry too,' Dorian whispered, hiding his face in his hands. 'I'm sorry that I have never, for all of these years, made you feel like you could trust me.'

'It was never that, Amatus,' Lexi said, shaking his head and looking away. 'It is just…Look at us, Dorian,' he followed, softly. 'I am only two years younger than you, but I am still an Altus, while, I assure you, it's not only idiots who mention your name for Archon.'

'I inherited a seat.' The Magister briskly refuted.

'No, alright? No,' Lexi replied, in growing irritation at himself. 'If you had not inherited your father, you would have inherited Magister Alexius, via Felix, and we both know it. You managed to build support in the Magisterium from Orlais, long before you even had a seat, you married a woman who you care for and who cares for you, exactly as you are…You've defeated a would-be god and are now fighting another, while I still struggle to find a patron.'

Dorian lifted his glance to his lover's. 'I've already offered, Lexi.'

'And I have already said no,' the Altus replied. 'I adore you, and I don't want to be in your debt…No more than already am for this,' he said, angrily pressing his open palm on the chair's armrest. 'I never thought I could ever share what we share with anyone – sex in an alley, in a cupboard, when one cannot bear any longer - yes, but a friendship? a relationship? Love? A dream. With someone like you? Never, in all the ages,' he huffed, standing and turning away. 'You are sixty feet tall to me, Dorian…' Lexi whispered, swallowing dry. 'So when you, from that height, tell me blood magic is the resort of the weak mind, how am I to come out and tell you: Oh, I am a bit of a blood mage as well, you know, not a very good one, because I probably am not that great of a mage, in the first place?'

Dorian embraced him from behind then, yet he felt angry enough to fight it – not punish Dorian, but to punish himself. Still, the Magister held tight and Lexi's own struggles were weak.

'I should go,' Lexi nonetheless whispered. 'Long way to Quarinus, and I've disappointed you enough for one serving. I shall have to strive to outdo myself, next time…'

'Not like this, Lexi,' Dorian said. 'Please. Not like this,' he repeated, holding the other man's hand. 'I've had one of the heaviest days in my existence thus far, and that is saying quite a lot. Vel scared me, and I overreacted... I am grateful you stayed another day, and chanced…I am just grateful. I love you. Don't go yet.' The Magister said, bringing Lexi's fingers to his lips and causing him to simply want.

They did not need the firelight, not even candles, to find each other; the full moon was enough, while fingertips and lips knew all the paths to secret places. Dorian was far away, but not distant, and Lexi had many ways of calling him back and keeping him close, and finally, albeit briefly, keeping him prisoner to their shared pleasure…

On this eve, in the bed that the Altus loved to think of as theirs, he denied Dorian all control over the rhythm and manner of their caresses – Dorian yielded to his wrists being affixed to the bedpost without even the jest resistance he sometimes posed. The sweet way in which he surrendered all but made Lexi forget his resolve of making the most of the few hours they still had left, and simply surrender to brief climax himself; he pulled himself from the brink though, as much as he withheld his captive lover from it – not one more failure, he told himself, as he moved his hips against Dorian's, no more shortcuts. No rush, no time, no menacing dawn.

It would be weeks, perhaps months before they could again be together, and although he tried not to think on it, not now, when the man that he loved was his in all ways, the thought of the long separation was present and tempered the fire, allowing him to feel, at every motion, how much he loved this man's body – his arms, his chest, his stomach, his sex, his thighs…The colour of his skin, the angle of his jaw, his lips, the pale green of his eyes…And in this view, above all others, Lexi wished to get lost, on this continent he wished to aimlessly wander, and did, for he made the tender toil last, bringing them close, as often as he pulled them back from the edge countless times, drowning in giving the other pleasure until Dorian's breath carried more of the spice of pleading that the sweetness of moans. Only then did his thrusts gain true, all but painful strength, only then did his stroking of the other's sex gain both pressure and speed – and he released Dorian knowing that his lover's soft shudder would bring him release too, a creeping, bitter sweet sense of satisfaction at the end of a dream.

Dorian spun between the sheets and kissed him, holding his hand to Lexis' cheek, and snaking his arm under the other man's pillow to pull him closer.

'Can we at least not spread rumours of an abduction by brigands?' Dorian asked, as they cooled, under the hot and wet sheets, which would only keep the cold shroud of sorrow of their bodies for a few moments longer. 'An extravagant ransom? Invent a tale of how you were held chained to a post in a dark cellar for a week?'

Don't go. I love you, please stay – another day, another night, another week…

'I can indulge on the latter part,' the Magister added. 'You know, the best lie is a half truth…'

Lexi softly shook his head, and pressed his lips to Dorian's again, closing his eyes. 'You know I can't, Dorian,' he whispered. 'I wish…' Lexi began, but there were so many things he wished for that that speaking them all might have consumed even the painfully blanching darkness outside their window.

He turned his back on his lover, and pulled his arms around himself, snuggling to Dorian's chest. 'I wish I could help,' Lexi said. Dorian tightened his grip, and nodded, kissing him behind the ear – then, in hushed whispers, spoke of his day, since awakening to the southern Divine, through the meeting the dragon and the poisonous Nightingale…He spoke of treacherous gifts from Radonis, of old elven pathways and forgotten mirrors, of mere human boys who were vessels for old gods…Of how trapped he felt, in the tangled web of suspicion that was growing around him…and perhaps, Lexi thought, allowing his lover's silky voice to caress his hearing, and stifle him in warmth and comfort, it was truly all a jest, a lie, and inventive fairy tale that Dorian was telling him to lull him to sleep so he'd forget the approach of dawn and stay…He wished to do no more than fall asleep, and stay…

But it was not a fairy tale, it was not a romantic, childish trick – proof of it stood tall in the entry hallway of the mansion; further, incontestable proof slept soundly two doors down from their apartments, in the shape of an elven woman who had walked into the fade, and now walked through a field of thorns, in a dragon's dreams.

The elven woman who'd come further in three years of practicing blood magic than Lexi had in twenty.

He chased that particular thought away, in shame; Dorian would have hated it, so he hated it too. Like a rabid dog, the thought but circled and returned to bite in another way, leaving tooth marks which were not scars of envy, but jealousy that fed gluttonously on guilt.

'You do not sleep with Veldrin, do you, Dorian?' Lexi whispered.

The Magister lifted himself on an elbow, and beheld him from above. 'What foolishness is this?' he asked, frowning. 'Serious foolishness,' he remarked, a second later, taking note of the look of defeated sorrow in Lexi's eyes. 'I am flattered! Of course I do not sleep with Vel, Amatus – she is missing some parts I greatly enjoy, has some I don't particularly care for, and even if she had a ten-foot pole, she would not touch me with it if I begged her…'

'Because she is an elf, and you are…' Lexi began to ask.

'Because she is in utterly love with another person, Lexi,' Dorian scolded. 'You know, love? that inexplicable higher insanity that keeps even intelligent and otherwise frisky people in monogamous relationships? Or monoandrous, as the case may be.'

'Then, Dorian,' Lexis said, 'if I dare ask…'

'Anything, Amatus.' Dorian answered, setting his chin on his lover's shoulder.

'If I were to fall into the ways of a maleficarum, truly fall…If the Magisterium and Radonis would show you proof uncontestable of me having gone so far with the blood that I could not be brought back, If I had done great and terrible things, if then, a sentence of tranquility was passed…'

Dorian briskly sat up. 'What are you asking, Lexi?'

'If it was me, and not this Solas, would you stand by and watch them make me tranquil, even if my guilt was beyond doubt?'

'That is not in the realm of the imaginable, Lexi,' Dorian said, clenching his teeth. 'A century of blood magic would not render you capable of the utter destruction…'

The Altus sighed. 'I feel so appreciated; I am about to burst with pride.'

'It is a compliment,' Dorian said.

'It did not sound like one, Amatus.' Lexi bitterly answered. 'But…Let us not dwell on capability, for either harm or good, or anything else…Would you let them me tranquil?'

'No,' Dorian whispered, in a shudder. 'I would kill you, first; I cannot imagine your body without your soul.'

'What makes you think Vel could live with it, then?' Lexi gently replied. 'Don't do it, Dorian. Don't speak of it to your southern associates. Don't even think of it…' He whispered, brushing a sweaty strand of hair off his lover's forehead. 'Don't do it to yourself, first and foremost – you abhor the rites of tranquility. If Vel had rendered Magister Alexius tranquil…'

'Vel and I would probably not be where we are, no,' Dorian answered, laying back down, putting his hand on Lexi's chest, and huddling close. 'But the political implications of this are going to be catastrophic, whichever way we decide to play it.'

'Have you spoken to Magistra Tilani1?' Lexi asked; he felt his lover shirk, slightly, and it was his turn to frown. 'Well, Dorian,' the Altus said, 'you are running in circles because everyone in your immediate circle of trust has ulterior motives, and everyone is, understandably, either overcautious or after a piece of this Solas creature…'

'You're not,' Dorian muttered.

'Give me two weeks and a bit more pillow-side chatter and I might want an ear and a pint of god-elf blood off him too,' Lexi joked.

'That was unworthy, Lexi,' The Magister sighed.

'It was, but I am simply warning you not to wall yourself in,' Lexi reiterated, in all seriousness. 'So far, it is just you and Veldrin against the world, with me doing endearing, but pointless cheering from the sidelines. If you do not go for the tranquility or capture and imprisonment route, you will need something more solid than my love and goodwill.'

'And you think Maevaris would provide that?' Dorian sighed.

'I think she could give you a different perspective on this, which both of you desperately need,' Lexi shrugged. 'She's not a militant for elven rights…'

'Truth be told, Amatus, I doubt anyone but Veldrin outright is,' Dorian replied. 'Not even I could truthfully claim those credentials.'

'Perhaps, but Maevaris is one of very few Magisters who will absolutely understand why keeping this elven god of yours alive, in whatever box, is a very tricky proposition. She's had her hands full with the Venatori here, while you were cavorting in the south – the last thing she wants is for their remaining agents to know they still have a shot of breaching into the fade.'

'The politically intelligent and moral way out of this, Amatus,' Lexi softly followed, 'is killing this man. It's what Radonis expects you to do. Do it.'

'What I hope he expects us to do,' Dorian sighed. He turned on his back, and crossed his arms under his head. 'You still keep forgetting that…'

'I am not forgetting that, Dorian,' Lexi replied, a bit testily. 'I am just finding your – and Vel's, for that matter – faith in whatever the legend of Fen'Harel is, is oddly selective. You believe he created the veil; you believe he sealed away the rest of the Elvhen pantheon, but you do not believe what you say the man himself stated over and over: that he is mortal, just like the rest of the Evanuris.'

'You did not see Mythal,' the Magister groaned. 'They bloody are immortal.'

'No,' Lexi briskly refuted. 'It's true, I did not see Mythal, and I have not seen Fen'Harel, but the fact that they are still alive after all these millennia in no way implies they are immortal. It simply implies no one knows how to kill them, Dorian. Slight semantic difference, but one I find relevant.'

Dorian remained silent for a moment, and reached for Lexi's hand in blind. 'I love you,' he whispered, yet it was not the surrender Lexi was looking for – it was merely an attempt to escape the conversation. The Altus sighed.

'Alright,' he whispered. 'Let me then twist the semantics in a different way…Let us imagine a love affair so far beyond the confines of the real world that once one lover goes, the other's life comes to a grinding halt, too.'

Dorian turned his head to meet Lexi's glance and frowned deeply.

'I've made Veldrin…' he began to protest; his lover's incredulous smirk cut him off.

'You have made Veldrin happy, yes, and she has made you happy too, and I am more grateful for that than you know,' Lexi said, gently but sternly. 'But in marrying you, and coming here, Vel has made the most powerful statement she could possibly make… No woman with love scars she thinks will heal would marry you, Dorian, and not in Tevinter. What Veldrin has done here screams that she has absolutely no hope of ever mending: she'll not fall in love again, she'll never make love again, she will not have children, even if she might have once wanted them. She's cut herself off from any imaginable form of a normal future.'

'But she will build a legacy here that…'

'Maker, a legacy,' Lexi shot, 'I didn't realise I'd gone to bed with you and woken up next to your father, Dorian. I'm sorry, Amatus, but it is true.' He said, biting his lower lip. 'If I were you, I would not underestimate any feeling that leads to that amount of sacrifice. Even her enthusiasm for blood magic is a form of self-flagellation – every time she does it, she drifts further and further away from the fade, which is, conceivably, the only place where…'

'…she could still be with him, yes,' Dorian whispered.

'So then,' Lexi followed, 'let me move away from the politics of this all, and simply into a lover's heart. If this was you, Dorian, and I was faced with the prospect of knowing that you are locked away, conscious and tortured, in some cage, I would fight tooth and nail to free you; if anyone robbed you of yourself, I would stop at nothing to bring you back, I swear, regardless…'

The Magister tiredly rubbed his temples.

'Veldrin is remarkable in that she does not hate us all,' Lexi followed, 'but I would seriously consider how far that sentiment will stretch, if we erase or outright steal all that is left of Elvhen history, all while torturing the man she has sacrificed so much for.'

'Are you telling me not to trust Vel?' Dorian smirked.

'I'm telling you that all lovers' hearts have limits,' Lexi answered. 'And Dorian, perhaps the very last limits you wish to test are those of a militant wild elf with great spiritual affinity, unknown magical channeling capacity and very little left to lose. The dream walk she accomplished tonight is truly no small feat; the fact that she accomplished it with her blood alone is all but miraculous. You do not want to let Sister Nightingale or this Morrigan, or indeed, Radonis, to push Veldrin into agreeing with Fen'Harel in that this unchanging world must burn. Don't say…'

'…that Vel would never,' Dorian answered, opening his eyes to stare at the ceiling. 'I know, Lexi,' he said. 'If Solas had set off to expulse all humans from the Dales, I have no doubt in mind whose side Veldrin would be on. I would not even blame her.'

'Help her kill him, Amatus,' Lexi said, softly. 'Whether it will be a true death, or merely a return to the fade, it will free Vel or perhaps give her time to change his mind. Give us all time to change his mind – that too is a form of removing intent.'

The dread, blood-red light of dawn cruelly grabbed across their pillows. 'I have to go,' Lexi whispered; Dorian grasped his hand tight enough for the hold to be painful – they kissed, in a lingering, bitter-sweet and unspoken goodbye before the Altus tore himself away.

'I love you, Dorian,' he said, standing in the doorway and looking back on their bed. He clasped the doorsill so tightly that his fingers turned white.

'I know,' Dorian said, and Lexi turned, and left, one reluctant step after the other, not one easier than the previous one – a silent, injured shadow gliding along secret staircases.

Why saying goodbye to Dorian always felt so final, Lexi did not know. They always made plans for the next time they would meet – the plans always came to pass; they wrote and spoke through their crystal, yet, each and every time felt the last, and it took all of Lexi's self restraint to keep tears from stinging at the corners of his eyes as he ascended into the already waiting carriage.

Terrible, long weeks awaited him in Quarinus, and the one secret he still kept from Dorian would not remain a secret for very much longer, as women's bellies only took so few short weeks to grow round and heavy.

I am a wretched coward, Alexius Hadrian thought, burying his face in his hands, and not noticing that the carriage he was in was taking one wrong turn after the other.

Magister Cassius kicked the puppy.

Well, puppy was a way of saying. The bulky cross between a cow and a wolf was, according to its proudly Ferelden adorned pedigree scroll, five weeks old, but it already weighed a solid forty pounds. Wisdom would therefore have pointed that kicking the blasted thing was not an advisable course of action, as Cassius felt he'd break his ankle before he could sway the animal from chewing on his chair's legs. Or on the bookcase. Or on his priceless Rivain carpet – some small parts of which the Mabari had not yet peed on.

And it still peed like a bitch, Cassius thought, in utter disgust. His own hunt master had assured him that once the dog came of age, and his testicles descended, he'd start lifting his leg to take a piss, and then nothing would be safe: not his rosewood desk, not the books in the bookcase, not his own robes, nothing.

For what was even worse, the Mabari seemed to grasp exactly how unwanted it was, so, aside peeing far more than any intake of fluid might have physically justified, it also shat all over and then retired into a corner, growling with its needle-like milk teeth on full display.

'I'll make a carpet of you, beast!' Cassius shouted; the dog barked loud enough to make the windows rattle. 'Skin you and salt you on both sides! Just you wait!' the Magister menaced.

The dog's ears perked, and it tilted its head to the side listening for something out of the human's hearing range. It left its corner and positioned itself in front of the door, feet wide apart and head lowered. The growl it let out seemed to make the floor shake – if ever an earthquake might have had a forewarning noise…

This, at least, Cassius found soothing; he retreated behind his desk, and sat, taking great care to balance his chair off the leg the dog had weakened. It took some effort, but he'd be damned if he'd lose one further slither of dignity.

The man who opened the door wasted no time on the dog, and taught Cassius a valuable lesson on how the beast was to be handled – once he'd stepped in, the early morning visitor struck the Mabari across the snout with a horse crop. When the dog did not immediately back away, he did so again, twice, in rapid succession, drawing blood from the Mabari's nose; it whinnied and backed away in its corner.

'Truffle's pretty much the only place where you can hurt'em,' the newcomer explained in a thick and jarring Fereldan accent, wiping the horse crop of blood on his breeches. 'Get!' he shouted, causing the animal to curl and make itself small.

'Good to know,' Cassius said, smiling. 'Very good to know.'

He paused, taking satisfaction in watching the dog lick its wounded nose.

'Can it bleed to death that way?' he casually asked.

'Na,' the other man responded. 'But it'll teach him a manner.'

Without ceremony, the newcomer discarded his horse crop on the already stained carpet, and laid on the delicate, Orlesian ottoman across the room from Cassius's desk, propping his muddy boots on its elaborately carved arm rest, and not minding the blood traces he left on the embroidered silk.

'You have what I asked you to bring,' Cassius said.

'Sniveling, naked, bound and gagged,' the other man confirmed. 'I do wonder, Tevinter…who's the deviant to you? The one who pumps the arse or the one being pumped in the arse?'

'Both,' the Magister said, sweetly, not bothering to disguise the glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

The fact that Radonis had not kept his word in allowing him further time for investigation had infuriated Cassius to no end; he'd spent the best part of the previous eve in such a rage that his house slaves had not dared enter his apartments, and left his dinner in front of the door. This too had proven a terrible mistake for the dog, who was too young to be allowed to mingle with Cassius' own hunting hounds in the kennels had helped himself to half a pork leg and, the magister could swear, a carafe of wine.

Still, the pacing and cursing had not proven entirely useless, for, as he continuously rehashed his former master's words in his mind, Cassius had come to understand that of the stack of cards Radonis held, he'd truly dealt his student an ace, in the form of sound advice. He could not infiltrate House Pavus, that much was true, but it was not needed. Why fight the impossible odds of the new elven Andraste, when, just outside the gates of House Pavus opportunity waited, weak, nameless and frail, and ready to be penetrated…in more ways than one.

Cassius chuckled out loud at his own thoughts.

'Naked, bound and gagged,' he repeated, feeling the creeping warmth of triumph.

'Want me to bring him up?' the Fereldan asked.

'No,' Cassius said. 'Radonis gave me three days to inform him – I have two left. Use one of them to tenderise Altus Hadrian, and make his present plight...clear. I am sure I need not explain how you should endeavour. Leave the questioning to me…and get your filthy boots off my couch. I already have one Ferelden dog too many.'

The other man smirked, but picked himself off the couch in one fluid motion; to Magister Cassius' great displeasure, he did not hurry to leave.

'To the small matter of payment, then,' he said, grinning from ear to ear, and revealing yellowing teeth that hinted at foul breath.

'My secretary will handle you,' Cassius replied, finding that he could imagine the stench of the other man's mouth at six paces. As if sensing the Tevinter's thoughts, the kidnapper took a wide stride towards the desk.

'What is it?' he asked, his grin widening to such an extent that the Magister could see he was missing a canine. 'Don't wanna leave your prints on the coin?'

'Handling money is vulgar,' Cassius snarled. 'Go about your business, and be thorough. When I meet Hadrian, I hope to find him in a very talkative mood. Perhaps,' he added, feeling pleased of his sudden idea, 'with a few less teeth…'

Maybe Pavus will actually thank me for that one, Cassius dreamily thought.

'As you wish, Tevinter,' the Fereldan man agreeably said, finally turning to leave. 'Tho',' he threw in over his shoulder, 'you might not wish him that horribly scarred, in my professional opinion. Ya know, new scars cover old scars…'

'Old scars?' Cassius inquired, arching an eyebrow.

'Strikes me like your pretty caged song bird has some very fresh blood-letting scars on both his forearms. Thought it might interest you to keep those obvious…'

'How extensive?'

'I don't know, Tevinter, your ways are filthy to me. Don't look like he revived a horse, but I doubt it matters.'

Cassius threw his head back and laughed, congratulating himself on his choice of agent, and considering that, perhaps he'd struck gold in both directions here. It was not only what Alexius Hadrian would gracefully share, after experiencing the hospitality of the mansion's cellars; it was also what Dorian Pavus himself might share, to keep his lover from the templars.

He quickly ran the Liberalum though his mind, just to assure himself that the Hadrian line was short, and no unexpected protectors would arise – he could find none, off the top of his head and, as ancient Tevinter wisdom informed, the smaller the name, the larger the crime.

'That just earned you another stack of coin,' he said. 'See yourself out.'

The Fereldan man smacked his lips in anticipation, and headed for the door – the dog growled at him, but did not lounge.

'Leave me the horse crop,' Cassius suddenly remembered. 'You'll find everything you need in the cellar, and,' he ended, throwing a murderous glance in the Mabari's direction, 'I have a manner or two to teach as well.'

1 Maevaris Tilani is a member of the Magisterium that the Inquisition can support from afar in one of Dorian's first War Table missions in Inquisition. The lady (who is transgender) performs the top of all political and economical ploys to get her Magisterial seat - if gentle, camp, but still very male Dorian is in trouble, imagine what it must be like for this lady - and it is not only the Inquisition who helps her. I won't say more (read the comics, they are a couple of bucks each and not bad writing and visually beautiful), except that she is a close friend of Varric's, a powerful mage, very closely aligned to Dorian's vision of what the Imperium should be, and a genuinely good person. Also, she's hot. And seductive. Highly seductive. Alistair has to be warned off her in the comics…Not your type, Ali, NOT YOUR TYPE! Poor Varric warns.

Thank you for reading wish you would comment more,

Cheers, Abstract.