Dorian wasn't sure how long he wandered in his slumber before he realized he was in the Fade. All mages knew they visited the Fade in their sleep, of course, and learned to ward their dreams as a result. This, though, this was… different. This wasn't his mind recalling embarrassing moments of the past, or the lure of a demon, or a nightmare of his father from which he invariably woke to lying in a pool of his own sweat. No, this was a waking dream: he walked the Fade in his sleep, a state both intriguing and quite, quite dangerous.

And highly unusual, if his own experience and study was any indication.

The landscape shifted and changed around him as he walked, though he could not perceive the pattern of the changes. One moment he saw men in armor practicing their weapon and shield work in a large room with a wooden floor, the next he saw vague figures moving through gloomy corridors with walls of large, grey bricks. The clash of swords striking shields turned into wails of horror, and the sound of his footsteps suddenly carried little splashes as he walked through pools of a dark liquid, which Dorian realized with a grimace was blood.

Random events and visions were not unheard of in the Fade, of course, so Dorian simply noted what was going on around him without taking especial heed. The sight of a man kneeling, surrounded by demons and shouting at them to stop invading his mind made the mage pause only because there was a vague familiarity somewhere in the scene. Then they vanished, replaced by a horde of rampaging Qunari destroying everything in their path in some unknown city.

It was only when a familiar face suddenly appeared that Dorian paused, arrested by the sudden appearance of what seemed to be a younger version of Viscount Hawke - the man who had occupied much of Dorian's attention the previous day. This Hawke was angry and defiant as he glared at the man to whom he flung the words, "Mages have been systematically abused by the Templars for a thousand years."

Dorian's eyebrow rose, resisting the urge to interject himself into the conversation with the comment of, "Only in the south." Partially it was because he knew he was in the Fade, but it was also because he realized that Hawke wasn't the only familiar face in this new tableau before him.

"Mages cannot be treated like people," declared the man in Templar armor standing across from Hawke, in a temper and tone quite familiar Dorian. Cullen seemed even more severe here in the Fade than he was in life, but the words and the conviction behind them rang true. "They are not like you and me," Cullen continued, "They are weapons. They have the ability to light a city on fire in a fit of pique."

Ah. Well, that explains a great deal, Dorian thought sadly. Not that Cullen had ever truly hidden his past status as a Templar, but to hear him - or even a simulacrum of him - say what seemed to be such a common southern misconception about mages… Well, it reinforced that feeling of unease he'd felt around the man. As Dorian turned away, however, Cullen cried out and fell to his knees, one hand raised as if to ward off danger.

Hawke began to laugh and circle Cullen, with every step changing until he was someone else entirely: an older woman, elegant with hard-edged pride etched into a face framed by pale hair, dressed in Templar armor and carrying a large red blade which seemed to sing. "Look at all this," the woman snarled, gesturing around them. Dorian couldn't help but do so, and saw more bodies, more blood, and more death. "Magic is a cancer in the heart of our land, just as it was in the time of Andraste. And like her," the woman paused her circle around Cullen, lowering her blade to rest on Cullen's neck, "we are left with no choice but to purify it with fire and blood."

"No, Knight-Commander," Cullen gasped. "We are protectors, not murderers."

"I will not allow insubordination! We must stay true to our path!" The woman hefted her sword, then drove it down - and both woman and weapon vanished just before the blade bit into Cullen's neck.

Dorian stepped back as the Fade changed around him once more. Oddly, Cullen remained, but he also changed: the Templar armor shifted to more familiar fur and cloth over a standard breastplate, and his face grew pinched with pain and covered with a sheen of sweat. Shakily he pulled himself to his feet, every movement speaking of a torment whose cause was hidden. "I never meant for this to interfere," he said in a hoarse voice.

As if the words were a trigger, agony suddenly flared into life in Dorian's left arm, and he sank to the ground with a gasp as green light consumed his hand. A cold wind swept around him for a moment, then left, carrying the pain away but leaving him shuddering on the ground.

"I believe you," a soft voice replied, and Dorian froze for a moment as the shock of recognition coursed through him. Slowly his eyes sought the source of those simple words, though he knew who it was before he found her standing next to him, framed by odd greenish sunlight which washed out the details. It didn't matter, of course. He'd know the voice anywhere, even in a blizzard. The ache moved from his hand and head to his heart, and he pressed his hand over his mouth, trying to remind himself that it was not Mailani who even now crossed the room to approach Cullen.

"For whatever good it does," Cullen said in a flat voice. "Promises mean nothing if I cannot keep them. You asked what happened to Ferelden's Circle? It was taken over by abominations."

Tearing his gaze from Mailani, Dorian instead stared at Cullen. The Commander had been in Ferelden during the Blight, Dorian knew that, but he had never heard the details. As Cullen continued talking about his past, as Mailani comforted his pain and his confusion, Dorian found himself frowning more and more, and not simply because of what he heard. His complex mind took those words, of course, those little bits of information about Cullen, and filed them away for later pondering. More importantly, though, he came to the realization that this wasn't some shade, or a passing spirit, or even a random occurrence of the Fade. While that wasn't - couldn't possibly be - Mailani, the man with her was most definitely Cullen.

Yet… how could that be? Only a somniari could walk the dreams of another, particularly without an invitation, and Dorian knew he was not such a mage. Yet, as Cullen spoke, Dorian realized that he hadn't been seeing random scenes pulled from the ether of the Fade: he had in fact borne witness to events in Cullen's life as the Fade had shaped itself around the man's dreams, a feat which should have been impossible without a great deal of ritual and magical expenditure.

A change in Cullen's tone brought Dorian's focus back to the two in front of him, but he found he could not ignore the pain in the man's voice. "But these memories have always haunted me. If they become worse, if I - if I cannot endure this…"

If I cannot endure this… It was like an echo, an echo that fell on Dorian's ears as well as his mind, and slowly he turned as again the Fade shifted around him. This time, however, it was not Cullen's mind the Fade latched onto for inspiration. No Fereldan would ever have such intimate knowledge of the estates of House Pavus in Qarinus, after all, where Dorian had spent the better part of two years locked away from the world. This room he remembered all too well, sparse as it was. Only a chair and table, a single candle, and no windows, no comfort.

No hope.

His breath caught when he saw himself, seated at that table with his face buried in his hands, trying to ignore the stern-faced man who paced around him, to hold on to his sense of self even as the harsh words and harsher disapproval struck blows at every foundation of his soul. Two years he had been held there by his father, two years of browbeating and invective and guilt and self-doubt, two years where all he had had to cling to were memories and his own thoughts.

"You're a disgrace to House Pavus, Dorian," Halward grated, the disappointment evident in his voice. It was not the first time Dorian had heard it, of course - it had been a running theme in the privacy of their estates for many years. But hearing his father say it each and every day somehow did not make the words sting any less, and it was but a part of the lashing his father had heaped upon him during those two years.

Dorian forced himself to breathe slowly as he watched Halward lean onto the table, pressing in close so that the man seated there could not possibly ignore his words. "I raised you to be the next Archon, and instead you've become the laughingstock of the Imperium. Feckless, selfish, and thoughtless: that is what you are now." He paused, as if waiting for a reaction. When he received none, he leaned even closer and growled, "Useless."

Dorian remembered his thoughts in that moment. It had been days since he'd been allowed out from that room, a last push to try to get him to succumb to Halward's will before resorting to more extreme measures. No sleep, little food, and no alcohol had left his thoughts scattered and dim. He remembered the warring urges to either blast his father with magic or to beg for forgiveness. Somehow, he had managed to simply do nothing, to endure.

"Very well, Dorian." Moving to the door, Halward set his hand on the wood before stopping to look back at his son. "You leave me no choice." Even now, the sense of finality in the words sent a shiver up Dorian's spine, made that much worse as he recalled the precise nature of his father's last resort, and what the man had been willing to do to force Dorian to obedience.

Halward left the room, slamming the door behind him, and Dorian watched as the man at the table lifted his head from his hands to reveal wet cheeks and reddened eyes. Unconsciously, Dorian reached up to wipe his own dry cheeks in a mirrored motion with his younger self as their lips moved in concert: "If I cannot endure this, I will cease to be."

The room abruptly disappeared around him. His ears filled with the sound of the wind whistling over the battlements of Skyhold, while an odd green sunlight replaced the dimness of the single candle. He didn't move, though, not sure what to think of what was happening, until he heard Mailani's voice once more from behind him. "Is it always that bad?"

For the briefest of moments, Dorian thought she was talking to him, and the thought made Dorian smile despite the ache. When he turned around, however, it was to see Mailani settle her hand on Cullen's arm, a little line of worry marring her forehead. She had worried about Cullen quite a bit, after all, a fact which Dorian had teased her about frequently.

"The pain comes and goes," the Commander replied. "Sometimes I feel as if I'm back there. I should not have pushed myself so far that day."

Mailani smiled and reached out to touch his cheek gently. "I'm just glad you're all right."

A smile came to Cullen's face as he looked at her before turning to take in the vistas around Skyhold. "I am. I never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden's Circle. I was… not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me. Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened."

Dorian stared at the man as he heard words coming from Cullen's mouth which could so very easily have come from his own. He'd escaped Qarinus, yes, but he'd never truly managed to escape his own past, both who he'd been and what he'd done. The decision to come to Ferelden, to seek out Alexius, had been an attempt to break the cycle he often lost himself to, the futility of seeking pleasure and finding only emptiness.

It had been Mailani who, gentle and encouraging, had pulled him from that cycle and given him a new focus, a new purpose: a worthy life. It could be argued that the Inquisition was his new purpose, but truly, all he had wanted was to ease Mailani's burden. For all the reasons they should have hated each other, the Tevinter mage and the Dalish archer, she had found and cultivated the one reason for them not to: friendship.

His eyes stung as he watched her with Cullen, watched her smile and ease his pain as she had with Dorian, though he did avert his gaze when she leaned in to kiss the Commander tenderly. Watching such a tender moment seemed an invasion, even if only one of the people in front of him was real.

As he glanced away, the urge to leave the Fade settled over him. In all honesty, he should have departed long ago. He was a mage, after all, and there were techniques for leaving the Fade without resorting to brute force or waiting to wake up.

Drawing his wits about him, Dorian concentrated on getting out of the Fade, forcing his mind down the path which would put him back in his body in the waking world and out of the land of dreams. It wasn't until he'd reached the clarity he needed to return to Thedas that the suspicion about the true nature of the mark on his hand, a suspicion which had sprung into being that morning in his bedroom, abruptly returned full force, and he whipped around to look at Mailani.

Cullen was still gazing at the world beyond Skyhold, but Mailani's eyes were latched onto Dorian. Instinctively the mage reached out to her with his left hand, and her own lifted in response. For a moment, the green light in their palms pulsed and glowed with the same rhythm, the same heartbeat, and then her mouth moved in a whisper, the words terrifyingly audible even at this distance and despite the nature of the Fade itself.

I'm so sorry.

Then, without further ado, Dorian was plucked from the Fade and flung back to the waking world.