CW: brief sexually-charged scene.

Fuck I'm tired, and my stomach refuses to decide whether it's starving or queasy. I keep waking up at 5am. Hopefully staying up late and then taking some melatonin will fix that, though.

The Demands of Compassion

"No!"

Solas bit off the word as though he had already said it a dozen - two dozen - times.

"But you like demons!" Cole's voice was frantic, desperate, and I knew where the cry I had heard earlier had come from.

"I enjoy the company of spirits," Solas snapped at him, "which is precisely why I do not abuse them with bindings!"

There was quiet for a moment, though I still couldn't see them - they seemed to be on the other side of a rock formation that I had only, in the last five or ten steps, become capable of picking out from the desert surrounding it. It was all the same color, and texture didn't matter to me at any distance.

"It isn't abuse if I ask," Cole said at last, his voice meek and sad.

"Not always true," Solas retorted, though his voice was gentler than it had been a moment before. "Also," he added as I rounded the outcropping that sheltered them, "I do not practice blood magic, which renders this entire conversation academic."

Cole noticed me before Solas did, and - I thought - took a few steps in my direction. His words were certainly directed at me. "He won't bind me," the spirit complained. "He's a mage, and he likes demons, but he won't help!"

I held up my hands in a placating gesture. "All right, perhaps back up for a moment - how would Solas binding you help…anything?" I asked.

"It would - it would make me safe!" Cole insisted in a near-wail. I saw the movement as he began pacing restlessly. "If Solas won't do the ritual to bind me, someone else could. Will! Like the Warden mages! And then…" He stopped moving abruptly, though his voice, when he went on, was more harried than ever, nearly tripping over the words in his haste: "I'm not me anymore. Walls around what I want, blocking, bleeding, making me a monster."

"Cole, it wasn't just the demons who were bound in the Warden ritual," I pointed out. "Spirits may be easier to hold and enslave, but blood magic can conceivably affect anyone in the same way."

He marched up to me and took hold of my arms, his watery blue eyes searching mine. "Then you should ask Solas to bind you, too," he told me earnestly, now just as concerned for my safety as his own. "And - and then someone can bind him!"

"And whom do you suggest we hand the final leash to?" I asked. "How do you know it won't be abused? That something terrible won't befall that person?" His hand tightened on my arms and I could feel him beginning to tremble. "Binding isn't the way," I told him gently, bending my arms so I could cover his hands - however awkwardly - with my own. "Slavery may be more secure, but it isn't, ultimately, safer."

Solas's approval flashed through our bond. "Well said," he told me. "There are, as I said, other options, Cole." The spirit released me to turn and look at Solas.

"Don't Rivaini seers consort with unbound spirits?" I asked, trying to recall all the rumors I knew of them. There were few clans so far north - both Tevinter and the Qunari were a threat - but there was one that claimed Arlathan Forest as their range, and one other nearer Rivain. Both, as I remembered, had some traffic with Rivaini Circles, which was extremely unusual for the Dalish. We typically avoided Circles as though they might contain wellsprings of Blight.

"They do," Solas agreed slowly, "and they use amulets to guard the summoned spirits from unwanted bindings. That might be the simplest method."

"Though not the fastest," I sighed. "I can have a raven sent to Josephine in the morning, and she can work with her contacts to acquire such an amulet for Cole, but we won't be able to use it until we return to Skyhold - if it has even arrived by then."

"While we remain on the road, no solution can be sought," Solas said. "Most magics in that vein require a set of permanent wards, like those found at Skyhold."

"Good point," I allowed. "Can you give us that time, Cole?"

"Yes," he said, his voice fierce. "They will not take me."

"No," I agreed. "I won't let them."

He turned to look at me again, still close enough that I could see his nod - and then he abruptly disappeared. "Will he be all right, do you think?" I asked Solas.

"Yes, I believe so - for the moment," he answered, letting out a breath as he approached me. His slim, graceful hands touched my arms where Cole had grabbed me and stroked soothingly. "We have been arguing all evening - ever since you left to speak with Leliana." He peered down at me curiously, his expression making the statement into a question.

My jaw clenched. "I am going to Halamshiral as Shartan," I told him. "Were you, by chance, aware that Empress Celene had the elven quarter burned when the the elves dared protest a murder perpetrated by one of her nobles?" I asked him.

"Were you not?" he replied, mildly surprised.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. "City and Dalish elves have little contact - a tragedy, but shemlenaan often react violently to us, and we would not have their ire spent on our cousins whose hands remain empty of the weapons their ancestors laid down. Or, at least, that is what my clan reasons - I'm sure others say snide things about purity and cowardice."

"They do," Solas said, but the words were sympathetic rather than accusatory.

"I sent Sera ahead to do whatever she can to prepare the alienage - and any poorer human quarters - for whatever comes of the peace talks."

"Wise," he commented. "A useful task to set before Sera and her…organization."

"A useful task to keep them occupied, you mean," I translated wryly.

He inclined his head in acknowledgement, not even trying to deny it.

"I don't know what to do about Celene," I confessed. "I have no personal desire to save her life. I'm far from convinced she deserves another chance."

He was surprised, though I didn't know why. "It's doubtful she does. What of it?"

"Why would I support a woman who slaughters the most vulnerable members of her society to shore up her own power?" I asked.

"And you believe Corypheus won't do the same?" he retorted.

"I do think he will - that's why I don't support Corypheus," I shot back.

"Isn't that precisely what you're doing if Orlais should fall to chaos when you can prevent it?"

"Solas, if the means aren't ethical or just, can the end be either of those things?"

His breath caught. "Of course it can!" he snapped, before immediately apologizing: "Forgive me." He took another breath, slow this time, steadying himself, though I couldn't say why he needed to or where his anger had originated. "I…I believe it can be, yes. The answer appears…obvious to me."

"Well," I said, trying to keep my voice level, "what appears obvious to me is that our world keeps finding itself here, walking the edge of the Void, and each time we manage to prevent ourselves falling in only by the slimmest of margins. Perhaps we're going about it all wrong. Perhaps the world must change fundamentally before we can step back from the edge entirely…and perhaps if it doesn't, it was never meant to survive in the first place." I wrapped my arms around myself. "This willingness to pursue power at any cost must end, or there will soon be nothing left to save."

He blinked down at me, mingled consternation and hope choking our bond.

"I'm not a god - nor the herald of one," I said quietly. "I can't fix all of this myself - certainly not if the materials with which I am supposed to patch it up are so rotted that they tear apart even as I try to handle them."

"No," he said softly. "No one can fix a world like that. Perhaps not even gods."

"I suppose that's one lesson we could take from the Chantry's story of the Maker," I allowed, managing to find and offer him a small smile. "A supposedly all-powerful god who cannot right the world without destroying the very choices that make its existence meaningful. It calls into question whether the concept of omnipotence is not, at its heart, simply a paradox."

His lips quirked. "Indeed, though I doubt that's the principle the Chantry's lessons are meant to impart."

"Good," I retorted.

"Harilelan," he said, strangely proud of it - of me. "Ar lath ma."

"Ar lath ma," I agreed, accepting the heated kiss he pressed against my lips, though I pulled away after single blissful moment. "Sathan, don't tempt me tonight. I don't know how much strength I have to resist, and we're marching with the entire army. It's a little more consequential than some of our friends potentially overhearing us."

"Unfortunate, but true," he agreed, though his wicked smile undercut any reassurance I might have taken from his words. "Still," he went on, gathering me in his arms, "no one is observing us now." He bent, his mouth eagerly seeking mine, his tongue sweeping it possessively as he filled one of his hands with my ass. His other hand found one of my breasts, and then his fingers dipped between my legs. At the same time, he found my nipple and gave it a pinch just hard enough to be equal parts pain and pleasure. My hips thrust forward involuntarily, and he swallowed my small, breathless cry. Then he released me entirely.

I glared at him, breathing hard.

"I will await our return to Skyhold with…anticipation," he purred. "Inquisitor," he added as an afterthought, the title almost mocking.

"I am going to make you pay for that," I informed him.

"You're certainly welcome to try," he replied, still smugly unconcerned. And smugly sexy, damn him.

I looked him over thoughtfully - as much of him as I could see, anyway, which was mostly just his face and shoulders - and considered barring him from my tent. The trouble was that the nights were still cold, and no matter how many furs and blankets I piled on, I had trouble getting warm without the heat of another's body beside me. Telling him to sleep in his own tent wasn't very good revenge if I suffered for it just as much as - or perhaps even more than - he did. Better to be patient, perhaps.

I smiled at him. "I'm glad to have your approval."

He laughed, delighted, and although I was still determined to have revenge, I couldn't be angry in the face of his playfulness. He offered his arm, testing me. "May I walk you back to your tent, Inquisitor?"

"Seeing as I don't relish getting lost in either the desert or the camp, I'm not certain that's actually a choice," I retorted, accepting his help.

"A fair point," he chuckled.

The route he chose for us skirted the edge of camp for as long as possible, and then cut through the section in which Leliana's scouts were gathered, to reach the command tents. It wasn't the most direct path, probably, but if some of the scouts were somehow surprised to see me leaning on Solas's arm, they would keep it to themselves - unlike the soldiers, who were worse gossips than clan elders attending an Arlathvhen. Neither my poor sight nor my attachment to Solas were secrets any longer, but it wasn't wise to flaunt them, either.

"Someone is in my tent," I told Solas as we neared it. I squinted, as though that could possibly help me read an aura - but within a step or two we were near enough for me to identify it anyway. "Dorian," I added.

"Ah," he said, immediately releasing my arm. "Then I will save you a few minutes' effort, and write a request to Josephine to seek Cole's amulet."

"Ma serannas," I replied, catching his hand again for a brief squeeze.

He left, and I went in to find out what Dorian needed.

My tent smelled of wine when I entered - not overwhelmingly, but strongly enough to be noticeable, and I heard the clink of glass as Dorian raised something to my approach. "Share a toast with me, my friend," he said, and though there was no evidence that he was drunk, something in his voice told me he was well on the way.

"Certainly," I agreed. "What are we toasting?"

"Felix Alexius," Dorian told me, and I felt my heart sink. It sank further as Dorian rose from the only chair to shove a filled wine glass into my hand and continued: "I received a letter from his mother this morning before we left the keep. He went to Magisterium, you know. Stood on the senate floor and told them of you. A glowing testimonial, she says. Too early yet for word of the reaction, but everyone back home is talking. Felix always was as good as his word."

"Was," I repeated, already knowing what was coming next. Why else would Dorian have received word from Felix's mother, and not from Felix himself?

I was standing near enough to see a muscle in Dorian's cheek twitch before he turned away from me. "He's dead. The Blight caught up with him."

"Dorian…" I said softly.

"He was ill," my friend insisted, "and thus on borrowed time anyhow."

"That doesn't mean you can't - that you don't - grieve his death," I told him. " I grieve his death."

"Yes, but you bleed for anyone in pain," Dorian retorted sharply. "It's what we all love about you - our Inquisitor, the very embodiment of empathy and compassion."

"That's not true at all," I told him, remembering Gereon Alexius and the man who had previously held the loyalty of the Blades. I realized for the first time that I had killed him without ever knowing his name, and abruptly found the fact a little unsettling.

"Oh no, you've only attracted a literal spirit of compassion to join your cause," Dorian snapped, his voice filled with shards of misplaced fury.

"Dorian, what are you trying to fight with me about?" I asked patiently.

"Nothing." He heaved a sigh, and then was silent for a long moment. At last he turned to face me again, though he was further away now and I couldn't read his expression as clearly. "Felix used to sneak me treats from the kitchens when I was working late in his father's study." Dorian's voice became thick with unshed tears. "'Don't get into trouble on my behalf,' I'd tell him, and he would always reply: 'I like trouble.' Tevinter needs more mages like him, those who put the good of others above themselves." He was silent for another moment, though I could hear him breathing hard. "Even in illness," he went on finally, "Felix was the best of us."

"I know," I told him as he tried to strangle a sob. "I came within a breath of attempting to murder his father with my bare hands right in front of him - and he offered me sympathy for the pain that had caused me to lash out."

"He did, didn't he? Just like him." Dorian laughed quietly through the tears that I could hear in his voice, even though I stood too far away to actually see them on his face. "He always was a better person than I - though not nearly as handsome, of course." He went on quickly before I could do more than press my lips together in disapproval at his entirely unnecessary attempt at bravado. "This wasn't what I came for." He lifted what I could now clearly see was an entire bottle of wine, though I couldn't see how much he had already consumed - enough to feel it, based on the echo of the slosh, and that was assuming this was his first bottle. "To Felix," he said, "one of the finest men ever to set foot on the continent. And to my great good luck in finding and falling in with the only woman alive who could possibly hope to match him."

"Dorian," I protested.

"Hush - you can't refuse a toast to the dead. Drink, drink." He clinked his bottle carefully against my wine glass and took a long swallow - and I really couldn't refuse a toast to the dead, especially when the man in question was Felix, and so I took a grudging sip. The wine was rich and fruity and complex on my tongue.

"Where did you get this?" I asked the other mage.

"I never go anywhere without a decent bottle or two," he replied absently as I took a longer drink, unable to resist. I didn't know a lot about wine, but I knew when they tasted like halla piss. This one tasted like fruit and spice and wood, and it was delicious.

"Will you sit for a while?" I asked.

"I think I could stand your company for a little longer," he teased, even though his nose sounded stuffy and I was fairly certain he was still crying.

"Good, because I want more of your wine," I teased him right back, though my voice was gentle. I hoped it said what I knew he didn't want me to say in words: Lathan ma. I love you. I nudged him toward the chair and took the bed for myself. "Tell me about how you first met Felix," I requested, holding out my glass to be refilled.

"Ah," he said, "now that's a very funny story…"

It was - funny enough for Dorian to pretend the tears standing in my eyes were from laughter, even though we both knew better.

Harilelan: "Rebel." Obviously the Elvhen used "harellan" for this, but the modern elves only associate that word with traitors and tricksters, so they need another word for rebel.

Sathan: Please