Air rushed into Dorian's lungs as he woke from that push out of the Fade, eyes flying open even as his left hand flared with pain. Mailani?

"Does it always do that in the morning?" a deep voice asked from nearby. "Your hand, I mean, before you get any funny ideas."

Dorian started, then yelped as that little twitch made him to roll out of bed and onto the floor. Bare skin struck cold wood, and he quickly wrenched himself to his feet, eyes wide as he stared at the man lounging in his bed. The naked man lounging in his bed, a blanket pulled up in a semblance of modesty that seemed to ill fit him. "Hawke?"

"Back to using family names already? Was last night such a terrible ordeal?" The man chuckled, his eyes roaming over Dorian's body. "I suppose Hawke is better than Viscount, at that." Before the mage could respond, though, Hawke's eyes settled on the green glow at Dorian's side. "It wasn't doing that last night. Not when we were otherwise occupied, anyway."

"Didn't it?" Dorian asked, mind racing. The dream had been so thoroughly distracting that he had to force himself to recollect the night leading up to it. At first all he could remember was the drinking, but then he remembered the rest of it, and cleared his throat to cover the abrupt memory. "Ah, I wouldn't know." The words slipped out before he could stop them, though Hawke's boisterous laugh made him smile. "That…wasn't precisely what I meant to say."

Hawke snorted. "Trust me, if we're going to exchange tales of pathetic love lives, I would win the contest, title, and crown in the matter, especially when it comes to mages." For a moment, Hawke's face darkened, and he quickly looked away. "But I'm sure you don't want to hear about that."

Though tempted to let the matter lie, Dorian couldn't help but wonder - and the specification of mages had him a little concerned, based on what had happened last night. Slowly he settled down on the bed again, a little frown on his face. "You'll forgive me if I pry, but-"

Hawke waved the comment off, sighing heavily. "No, no, I'm used to people being curious. You simply have a better reason than most to ask." He turned back to Dorian, hazel eyes just as arresting now as they had been after they'd shared a few drinks in the secret study the day before. "Anders was my lover."

Dorian's brows rose. He wasn't as intimately aware of the details surrounding the conflict between the Southern mages and Templars as perhaps he should be, but even he knew of the explosion in Kirkwall, and the name of the man who had caused it. And his ultimate fate. "I-I never knew."

"I didn't want it to become part of his story. I don't think he would have appreciated it." Hawke frowned, his gaze growing distant as he continued, "I'm Viscount of Kirkwall, sometimes called Champion, and Anders traveled with me. That is common knowledge, but that's not all we were. We were lovers, then more. Or so I thought - sometimes it was hard to tell. For every tender moment, there was a vicious argument to go with it. Mages were mistreated, yes, but his methods, his rhetoric…I could only go so far with him down that path. Justice..." Hawke's face twisted, and he fell silent for a long while. When Dorian opened his mouth to ask if Hawke would prefer to speak no further on the matter, Hawke reached out and set his finger on Dorian's lips, silencing the effort. "Never forget that justice can all too easily turn to vengeance," he said softly.

Sensing that Hawke was waiting for an answer, Dorian nodded slowly. Only then did Hawke lower his hand, a grim look on his face. "I had nothing to do with his actions against the Chantry. He refused to discuss his plans with me, because he knew what my response would be. And he was right." Hawke sighed. "I'm not proud of what I did, though I cannot say I truly regret my decision. But it seemed better, afterwards, for people not to know of what had been between the two of us. Let his legacy remain as a martyr against the Chantry, for the Circle. I don't need to be part of it."

Dorian remained silent for a long while, considering the other man carefully. Their nakedness leant a certain vulnerability to the situation, despite what Hawke had just confessed, and he felt a grudging sympathy where otherwise he might have felt none. Finally Dorian cleared his throat. "You'll understand if I don't condone your action, but I think you might be wrong about saying you do not regret it."

"Oh, I regret his death. I regret the need for it. But my decision? No." Hawke shook his head. "That I cannot regret, or I would be tacitly approving the deaths of hundreds of innocents. You weren't there, Pavus. You didn't see what he did, what he set into motion."

"Perhaps not, Hawke, but I have seen quite a bit of the conflict since arriving in the South," Dorian pointed out. "Certainly you can't expect me to accept that condemning a mage to eternal confinement is a reasonable response for them being born with the ability to light a candle with a flick of their fingers." He did so, a minute motion that set alight the candles spread throughout the room.

Hawke wrinkled his nose, then sighed. "Family names it is, then. Still, I suppose there are worse ways to end a long drought. For what it's worth, it is not magic itself I fear. Having a father and a sister who were both mages will do that for you. I had my reasons, though, for all of it. Don't we all?" With a shrug, Hawke rolled out of bed. "So you'll set up a meeting with your Advisors, then? They'll want to hear what we discussed last night. You know." Hawke gestured around the room. "Before the wine came up with better ideas."

"Clever wine," Dorian murmured as he glanced at the haphazard scattering of clothing, empty bottles, and toppled furniture. Clever, perhaps, but not wise. "And yes, I'll set up a meeting. Where will I be able to find you?"

"That little underground study works as well as any other place," Hawke said with a shrug as he began to pick up his clothes. "Though I would appreciate it if you could set aside some quarters for me. I believe you even mentioned something along those lines before dragging me in here."

"Naturally. I'll arrange for them right away, Your Grace," he said in a teasing tone. He wanted to keep things friendly, so as to avoid antagonizing the man. Hawke was the Champion of Kirkwall, after all. Still, Dorian he couldn't deny he'd be happier to see the man gone from his room. What had seemed a brilliant idea while under the haze of alcohol seemed far less so in the bright light of a new morning, particularly after such an unsettling conversation.

"Good." As Hawke pulled on his clothes, he glanced up at Dorian. "And I'd appreciate it if you would keep that particular conversation to yourself. As I said, I'd prefer to keep my relationship with Anders out of his story. Even Varric respects that decision."

Even Varric? Odd way to put it. "I give you my word that none shall learn of it from me," he promised somberly. His next words were much lighter in tone. "Though I wouldn't recommend it for general morning after conversation material for you."

Hawke laughed loudly at that, then winked at Dorian. "I'll keep that in mind. You know, in case I have any other ill-advised one night stands." Hawke shifted to look in the mirror, running his fingers through his hair to attempt some semblance of order. "Not that I have anything against you, mind, but I think we both might have reconsidered had the wine not been flowing quite so freely."

"Enjoyable as it was, I tend to agree. I'm not really in a position for-" Dorian paused, unsure how to phrase it without offering possible insult.

"Compromise, political or otherwise. I understand." Hawke turned to face him, leaning back against the bureau with his arms folded in front of him. "I envy the man who ultimately ends up in your bed, but for now we should both avoid compromise of any sort. Which is why I hope you remember my request."

Dorian was impressed. There weren't many with enough authority in their tone in such a situation to turn a favor into an order without actually saying so. Ignoring the thinly veiled threat, he simply smiled and nodded in return. "Naturally. My memory is, after all, as perfect as the rest of me. Or not, when necessary." He put a finger to his lips to indicate his intent to remain silent on the matter, and offered a cheeky wink to Hawke.

Hawke's shoulders lowered just a small amount, and he nodded. "I'll see you later, then. Oh, and make sure Alistair is at the meeting, too. He's the Warden who's traveling with me, if you recall. He's not the most reliable fellow in the world, but he knows more about the Wardens and their problems than I do. Your Advisors will want to hear what he has to say."

"Noted," Dorian said with a nod.

"For now I'll leave you to your normal morning routine." Pushing himself away from the bureau, Hawke headed towards the door, then paused for a moment. "And keep in mind what I told you yesterday. Your position is precarious here. Wishes and rainbows aren't going solve your problems." He looked over his shoulder at Dorian. "You need me."

And with that lingering in the air behind him, Hawke left the room.

Dorian took a deep breath and collapsed back on the bed. It had been a long time since he'd had such an ill-advised liaison. "Fasta vass," he muttered under his breath. The headache he'd been ignoring since being pushed from his dream suddenly came raging to the fore, and he winced. "Maker preserve me, but I hope I don't come to regret this."

After another few seconds of fretting, Dorian's left hand began to throb, and reflexively Dorian groaned and began to move. "All right, all right, I'm getting up," he grunted. As he gained his feet, he idly wondered why he'd reacted in quite that manner. The change from horizontal to vertical made the pain in his head spike, however, so he dismissed the odd thought and stumbled to where he stored the elfroot tincture he kept for just such occasions.

Despite the ache in his head, though, he knew precisely who he was going to visit once he was ready. And it wasn't the Iron Trio. The very idea of discussing his rather unwise liaison with any of those three ladies filled him with dread, particularly Cassandra. No, no, best to seek out another expert first.

He found Varric standing in front of the fireplace in his little corner of the Hall that most now called the Storyteller's Corner. The dwarf seemed to be in a pensive mood, hands clasped behind his back as he watched the flames dance and flicker, and normally Dorian would have left the dwarf to his own devices. This morning, however, that simply was not an option.

Still, he had to be cautious: the eyes were on him once again. Watching, waiting, perhaps even hoping for Dorian to make that one mistake they could use against him. Hawke hadn't been wrong, unfortunately, about Dorian's precarious position, and Dorian kept that in mind as he entered the Hall and moved to Varric's side, each movement a study of a man at ease and quite cheerful. Normally, of course, he would have headed to the library, or, more recently, to the War Room, but Varric had enough visitors that his own presence shouldn't raise too many eyebrows. Or so he hoped.

As he came to a halt next to Varric, he mimicked the dwarf's posture and settled his hands behind his back. "A word?"

Varric grunted and glanced up at him. "I was wondering when I'd see you again."

Dorian reddened slightly, something about the twinkle in the dwarf's gaze making him wonder if perhaps the relocation to his room last night had, indeed, been observed by someone. "If you don't have time-"

"No, I have time, Sparkler. I have plenty of time." Varric casually glanced to the main door, then gave a little shrug. "I wouldn't mind stretching my legs. Why don't we go check out the ramparts? Isn't that one of your duties now? To make sure they're…I don't know, impregnable or something?"

"An excellent point, my dear Varric," Dorian said, knowing full well that Varric would never suggest such a thing unless he wanted to make sure they weren't overheard. "I'm not quite sure why I haven't thought of that all-important duty. Shall we?" He gestured to the door.

They chatted amicably about books and past bets as they strolled down into the courtyard and then up to the battlements. Dorian nodded and smiled at the guards they passed, more than a bit surprised when most of them smiled back. That certainly hadn't been the case before. Though curious, his time with Varric was important enough that he couldn't really stop to pursue the matter. He did, however, tuck it away into his complicated mind for later analysis.

Varric led him to a part of the battlements that was more a landing than a rampart, and moved to lean on the wall where it overlooked the courtyard. As Dorian settled in beside him, Varric said softly, "This is where Mailani met Hawke for the first time."

That got Dorian's immediate attention, of course, though he kept his reaction reserved. "Ah, yes, Hawke. Quite the fellow, isn't he?"

"That's one way to describe him, yeah." Varric drummed his fingers on the stone for a moment. "There are others, of course."

"Oh, certainly. Confident comes to mind." When Varric only snorted and shook his head, Dorian continued his list. "Knows how to handle authority. Intimidating. A bit…dangerous for mages, perhaps."

Varric didn't immediately respond to Dorian's fishing, but he did sigh and shift his footing. When he next spoke, Dorian recognized the caution in his voice. "One doesn't become Viscount of a city like Kirkwall easily. That business with the Chantry…It left shadows, you know?"

"I can well imagine," Dorian assured him. "It would be difficult to recover from something like that."

"Especially for Hawke." He frowned. "Except…not really. You have to know him as well as I do to know why, of course." He glanced up at Dorian, and his voice got softer. "Did he mention Blondie?" Then, before Dorian could ask him to clarify, he added, "The Chantry guy."

Dorian just dipped his head in a short, curt nod, and Varric heaved another sigh.

"That's what I thought. I saw you two together last night, and…" Varric gave Dorian a sidelong glance. "No offense, Sparkler, but you looked like you weren't really the one making the decisions."

Wincing, Dorian fought the urge to rub his neck. "The Viscount and I may have shared a bottle or two of some rather excellent wine, yes."

"Uh huh. Well…I'm not one to judge, and Hawke isn't a good target for that kind of thing anyhow. But you've been a good Wicked Grace partner-"

Dorian snorted. "Which means you've been able to fleece me out of enough money to pay for all your writing materials for a year."

That made Varric grin. "Maybe. The point is that you've been…well, a friend. And I don't have a lot of those." His eyes narrowed, and he muttered, almost too quiet for Dorian to hear, "Hawke made sure of that." Before Dorian could comment, he looked back up at Dorian. "I don't think it's a good idea to go into too much detail, but let's just say that you should be cautious around Hawke. Really cautious."

"The kind of cautious that avoids stumbling into my room with him in the wee hours of the morning?" Dorian guessed.

"Especially that kind of cautious, yeah." A grimace crossed Varric's face, though it faded back to a neutral expression quickly enough. "Look, he and I, we went through some serious shit in Kirkwall together, and he's saved my life a few times, but…" Varric looked guilty for a moment, then shook his head. "You're a mage. I'm just saying…be careful, okay? You're doing a pretty good job at getting a handle on the whole Inquisition thing. Don't make a mistake just because the Champion of Kirkwall has decided to grace us with his presence. Fair enough?"

Nodding slowly, Dorian puffed his cheeks full of air. "Quite." He paused, not entirely certain that his next question was wise. Finally, he gave in to the impulse and asked, "I rather think it important that I know more about the shit, as you called it. Can you-"

"Not yet," Varric said, cutting him off. "Later. When you're- When the time is right, you know?"

Interesting answer. It was one Dorian had to accept, however, and he did so with a gracious inclination of his head. "Naturally. What better time could there possibly be?"

Varric chuckled as he pushed himself upright. "Right. Trust me, when that time arrives, we'll be talking again. Until then, we'll just talk about how much money you owe me." He offered a sly grin. "I'll even split a bottle of wine with you next time we play Wicked Grace, because I'm just that kind of guy."

"Oh, thank you, how generous of you," Dorian drawled as he, too, straightened. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I want to wake up with a hole in my coin purse."

"Any time, Sparkler. Any time," Varric said expansively.

As they turned and, by mutual unspoken agreement, headed back to the courtyard, Dorian said in a hushed whisper, "Thank you, Varric. I will be cautious."

"Good," the dwarf replied just as quietly.

They didn't speak again, though Varric gave him a friendly enough nod before he left Dorian in the courtyard to return to his normal spot in the Hall.

With a pensive sigh, Dorian glanced at the door of Cullen's office. The man had been in Kirkwall, after all - perhaps he would be able to offer yet another perspective on Hawke. As he mounted the steps to Cullen's office, however, the door opened and a vaguely familiar man stepped outside, blinking up at the bright sun for a moment.

That man... "Warden Alistair?" Dorian called, hurrying up the remaining steps.

"That's me," Alistair said cheerfully, then tilted his head. "Hang on, you're that mage, right? The one with the funny hand thing."

Dorian pressed his lips together in amusement, then chuckled and nodded. "In the flesh, even if it glows on occasion." Lifting his left hand, he flexed his fingers as the familiar green light emerged and swirled around him.

For a moment, he thought he heard a soft giggle, but the impression quickly passed as Alistair leaned closer and grunted. "Huh. And I thought I'd seen it all. Does it hurt?"

The question distracted him away from the momentary oddity, and he focused on Alistair, then his hand, as he considered his answer. "Hmm? Oh." Did it hurt? The better question would be, Did it ever not hurt? The first few days of agony aside, there was never a moment when he forgot about the mark. Even if the ache was dull and distant, he was still aware of it with every breath and pulse of blood through his body. Did it hurt? How could he answer that? "It can be a bit of an inconvenience, but on the other hand, I don't need a light spell to read in the dark anymore."

Alistair's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Dorian knew the Warden had recognized the evasion. Rather than challenge it, though, Alistair just grunted. "That actually sounds familiar," he said cryptically, then turned as the office door opened behind him. "Ah, Cullen. I was beginning to think you'd gotten stuck to that desk again. I was ready to ask our friend here to help me pry you out."

Cullen chuckled as he shut the door behind him. "I don't think that will be necessary. Leliana and the Ambassador have taken to leaving little notes mixed in with the reports. Don't forget to take a walk. Or Time for some fresh air." As Alistair and Dorian laughed, Cullen shook his head. "I'm just waiting for Cassandra to catch on and start leaving me little reminders to eat."

"Are you sure you only have one sister, Commander?" Dorian asked with a teasing grin.

"Oh, Maker, don't remind me," Cullen groaned. "And I have two, actually, though only Mia is stubborn enough to track me down every time I forget to write her." He looked at Dorian curiously. "How did you know about my sister, anyway? I don't recall telling you about my family."

Dorian paused, mouth slightly open, as he tried to remember. "I'm not sure, actually. Perhaps I overheard it. I didn't always stay ensconced in my little niche of the library, after all."

"Perhaps not, but you emerge from it about as often as I leave my desk," Cullen said with a grin. "At least according to Mai-" The grin faded, and Cullen cleared his throat as he looked out over the mountains. "That's not important right now," he said quietly.

An awkward silence fell over the trio, during which Alistair reached over and wordlessly put his hand on Cullen's shoulder. When Dorian inhaled to say something, Alistair shook his head slightly, and Dorian subsided, waiting for Cullen or Alistair to speak.

After a few moments, Cullen took a deep breath and reached up to squeeze Alistair's hand before removing it from his shoulder. "Thank you."

"Remember what I told you," Alistair said. "Don't keep it bottled inside. Talk about her. Find someone who cared about her and let it out. It will help. I promise."

"It does help," Dorian offered. "I've talked with some of the others. It hurts," Maker, did it hurt, especially at first, "but I think she would prefer you not to hold it within." A sad smile settled on his face as he became wistful for the presence of his dearest friend. "She never was one for keeping her emotions hidden, remember?"

Cullen chuckled as he bowed his head. "No. No, in fact, I remember one time when she-"

When he paused, Alistair nodded encouragingly. "Go on."

"I..." Cullen reached up to rub the back of his neck, then smiled. "I was just thinking of that time she got angry at that merchant. Remember that?"

Dorian laughed. "The one who thought he could use one donkey instead of three to bring that overladen wagon of supplies to Skyhold? Oh, yes. I almost felt more sorry for the merchant than the donkey when she was done with him. Almost."

"After she finished yelling at him in front of everyone in Skyhold, I doubt anyone had sympathy for him. I was sorry for Josephine, though. She was the one who had to make sure the merchant's displeasure didn't leave the mountain." Cullen smiled, an expression overlaid with sadness, then looked at Dorian. "You were looking for me?"

"Ah, both of you, actually," Dorian said, pulling his mind back to the present. "Hawke wants to have a meeting with all of us. We three and the Iron Trio, at any rate."

"The Iron- Oh, the three ladies?" Alistair ventured, then smiled when Dorian tapped his nose and pointed at him to indicate he had guessed correctly. "Right. So we'll discuss the situation with the Wardens, then?"

"Among other things, yes. I thought perhaps we could meet in half an hour? That should give us time to gather everyone."

"Or sooner than that," Cullen said, then began issuing clipped orders. "Alistair, you can find Leliana in the top floor above the library - any servant can take you there. I'll fetch Cassandra. Josephine will, of course, be in her office - not difficult to find. Dorian, you find Hawke and bring him to the War Room. I think it better to discuss the matter as soon as may be, since we have already been delayed."

"Yes, Commander," Dorian said, then gave the man a cheeky salute.

Cullen feigned an impressive glower at Dorian. "Just get going, soldier. I'd better not be kept waiting!"

Dorian laughed as he turned. "I wouldn't dream of it," he called back over his shoulder as he descended the stairs.

Still, as he made his way through Skyhold - first to Josephine, so that she could arrange some quarters for Hawke, and then to the secret study to fetch the man himself - he had to wonder at his choice of phrasing. His dreams the night before… It was Cullen, I'm certain of it. But how?

The thought made his hand twitch, and he glanced down at it, brows beetling. He'd had a pressing thought when he'd woken up, a thought which had been abruptly overwhelmed by the discovery of a naked Hawke in his bed. As he rolled his fingers and the green light pulsed, the core idea returned to him, and again he had to ponder: how had he gotten the mark?

And again, he put the question aside. Later. He would ponder the matter later.

"So you're saying the Inquisition will do nothing about the Grey Wardens?" Alistair asked in a tight voice.

They had all gathered around the War Table, which was large enough to accommodate the additional numbers with ease. Refreshments had been brought but largely ignored as a discussion of the Wardens had quickly turned a bit more heated than Dorian had expected. Hawke stood with his arms across his chest, face impassive, as Alistair leaned against the table and glared at the Inquisition's Advisors, sparing not even Cullen.

"No, Warden Alistair," Josephine replied calmly in the face of the man's accusation. "I am saying we cannot. Our financial situation is poor, our troop numbers are diminished in size, and we have very few political favors upon which we can call to make up for that lack. The death of Inquisitor Lavellan dealt the Inquisition a serious blow, and it is one from which we are still recovering."

Hawke grunted and shook his head. "That's what you get for putting all your hopes on that little elf. Did you really not have a backup plan?" When that dismissive tone earned the Viscount a few icy stares from around the room, he put up his hands defensively. "All right, perhaps I could have worded that a little more nicely, but the fact remains that all of you pinned the hopes of Thedas on one person. That's always a bad idea, especially when you put religion into the mix. Believe me, I know." He nodded to Alistair, whose face was grim. "So does Warden Alistair and, I daresay, you, Lady Leliana. You don't have any coalition, you relied far too much on morale and religious fervor to inspire the troops, and now you're paying the consequences."

"Are you quite finished, Viscount?" Cassandra said in clipped tones.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't think that the Inquisition is exactly what Thedas needs right now. Maker, as long as it's anyone but me, I'm all for it. And you had a promising start - there's nothing to say that you can't rebuild what's been lost." Pausing, Hawke looked around the table at each person in turn. "You just have to figure out how to do that."

"And what, precisely, do you propose we do?" the Seeker demanded. "We have lost the support of the Chantry, our Templar allies are greatly weakened, and the mages have joined with the enemy. Our options are limited. Berating us about decisions we made in the past does little to aid us now."

Dorian had never heard Cassandra speak quite so coldly, save perhaps for the time he'd accidentally frozen her with a Winter's Grasp spell. Either Hawke's comments had really gotten under her skin, or he had already been there before the meeting had even started. Didn't Mailani mention something about Varric telling Cassandra all about the events in Kirkwall? If that were true, and the events were as unsavory as the dwarf had hinted…Well, that was definitely a matter for later consideration.

Pulling his thoughts back to the meeting at hand, he cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. When they had all turned to him, some with surprise on their faces, he smiled faintly, then tried to ease the chill in the room. "Is it really a surprise when I wish to contribute something to the discussion? I thought everyone knew how fond I am of the sound of my own voice." When that earned him some grudging smiles, he continued. "At any rate, it is an excellent question. What is the Inquisition to do? I am not the Inquisitor, nor do I wish to be. That title belongs to Mailani, to the Herald of Andraste. However, like Andraste herself, Mailani would not wish her works to fail simply because she has left this world."

Sensing he had everyone's undivided attention, Dorian turned to Leliana and Cassandra, who stood next to each other. "We must find a way to reinvigorate the faithful. Would it be possible to change our narrative from the Inquisitor being guided by Andraste's hand to the Inquisition? I don't think we'll ever convince anyone that I was chosen by Andraste, but perhaps we could persuade them to view the organization as such. We do have the writ of the last Divine, do we not?"

Cassandra nodded. "Justinia entrusted her Right and Left Hands with the writ, believing we would use it for the good of the Chantry - even if the Chantry, currently, does not hold the same belief."

"And it is something concrete, something physical, linking the Inquisition to the Divine, to the legitimate voice of the Chantry," Leliana said in a musing tone. "We were so focused on promoting the Herald of Andraste as the Inquisitor, we have perhaps neglected our task in establishing the authority of the Inquisition itself." Her long fingers tapped thoughtfully at her chin. "I have been distracted for too long in chasing rumors surrounding the Inquisitor's death. That is a message my agents can disperse." She looked at Josephine. "I will need your aid to craft it, of course, but he is right. That should be our task."

Josephine nodded thoughtfully, her pen tapping her clipboard. "For a message such as that, there may be one or two clerics whom I can contact. While they would never enthusiastically support a Tevinter," she smiled apologetically at Dorian, who gave her a little what can you do? shrug, "they might extend their names to bolster the Inquisition as a whole, particularly if we emphasize Divine Justinia's writ." Her face grew thoughtful. "And we must not let Mailani's name fail. As Dorian said, Andraste herself did not lose the war after her death. Perhaps we could extend that belief to encompass Her Herald."

Cullen grimaced. "That smacks of religious manipulation. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with Mailani's memory being used in such a fashion."

"It does," Josephine replied with a sympathetic look on her face, "but if it helps us save Thedas, then we must not discount it as a possibility."

"I know, I just..." He sighed and shook his head.

Josephine's face softened. "Perhaps we could use it only if necessary?" she suggested, then turned to Dorian. "Do you have any more suggestions for us?"

Dorian, who had figuratively stepped back while they talked amongst themselves, nodded. "Commander," Dorian said, turning to Cullen. "You need to keep doing what you've been doing: promoting order in a world gone mad. The Hinterlands are free of mages and templars, but refugees in the Hinterlands still fill the Crossroads and Redcliffe both. As the Inquisition regains lost ground and the troops surge in number once more, I trust you to continue the task set on you by Inquisitor Lavellan. Keep the peace, and keep the populace safe."

Cullen straightened, splaying his hand on his chest as he bowed slightly. "Of course. I will not fail her memory."

Knowing that, to Cullen, those words were a stronger invocation than the name of the Maker himself, Dorian accepted the Commander's response with a nod, then moved on to the next person. "Viscount Hawke."

"Somehow I knew you'd think of me," Hawke said with a grin.

"How could I not?" Dorian said, winking in return. "You have said you wish to help the Inquisition, have you not? It seems the time has arrived for us to call in those favors which haven't yet been negotiated."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "You're going to ask for an alliance, aren't you?"

"Actually, I'm going to suggest that you act in both your roles: as Viscount and as Champion."

"Oh, this ought to be good." Hawke settled his arms on his chest again. "All right, let's hear what you have to say."

Dorian nodded. "As Viscount, you could offer an alliance which would be to our distinct advantage, particularly given the strong connections we each have to the Templars, you in Kirkwall and the Inquisition in Orlais. As Champion, you are beloved by the people." He laughed when Hawke and Cullen snorted in unison. "Deny it all you like, but the general populace hears the term Champion, and they don't stop to wonder why he's called that. The important thing is that you're a hero to them. If you were to endorse the Inquisition directly, and in a manner that our lovely Ambassador and cunning Spymaster can swiftly turn to our advantage, that would be of immeasurable value in lifting our sinking ship from the cold waters. Don't you agree?"

"I do. I just thought I would be the one who would have to suggest it." Hawke inclined his head. "You'll have your alliance, and your endorsement. I just don't want to be the only one doing all the heavy lifting."

"Perish the thought," Dorian said, putting his hand over his heart. Turning to Alistair, he added, "And you can help our Ambassador. You were in Ferelden in the Fifth Blight, after all. That was the last time the Grey Wardens called in those treaties of theirs, yes?"

Alistair blinked, obviously caught by surprise. "Yes, I was, but what does that have to do with the present situation? We're not in a Blight."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "Hawke did tell you that the leader of this army we are up against is, in fact, one of the first darkspawn? One of the very magisters who dared to enter the Golden City and thus, according to your Chantry, brought the Blights to Thedas? A man, in fact, who may have an influence over the Grey Wardens not terribly unlike the influence the Archdemon has over the hordes in the Deep Roads?" He gestured to Alistair with a bow. "Perhaps you could explain to the class why the Treaties would not apply in this case?"

"It's not- I mean, he's not-" Alistair paused, face turning thoughtful. "I'll admit I didn't view it in quite that light."

"We have already attempted to use the Treaties to garner support, but recent events halted my progress," Josephine added. "With Warden Alistair's assistance - the same Grey Warden who fought at the side of the man who stopped the Fifth Blight - I am certain we could use the Treaties to the Inquisition's advantage."

Alistair's back straightened, and his expression grew determined. "As long as you're willing to protect me from the Grey Wardens who might come looking for me, I'll do that. It's better than waiting around doing nothing."

"You will have our full support in the interim," Josephine assured him. "And remember, all these efforts are to ensure the Inquisition has the wherewithal to help you investigate the Grey Wardens."

"I find it impossible to believe that Corypheus is not involved, considering what you told the Inquisitor," Dorian interjected. "We dare not be at anything less than our best when we return to the Western Approach to confront the Wardens."

That elicited a weary sigh from Alistair. "I don't like it, but I get it." His head bowed for a moment, and then he looked up at Dorian. "And when the Inquisition is back to full strength?"

Though Alistair likely didn't recognize the tension he'd just created, Dorian did, and the mage only had an instant to decide how to react. Dorian could either decide the Inquisition's role, consult with the Advisors, or give the matter over to them entirely. Each choice had a different nuance regarding his self-perceived role within in the Inquisition, in both the present and the future. Mailani, as much as he adored her, would simply not have realized the true nature of this inadvertent test.

And Dorian was not the only one who saw it.

In that moment before he responded, he knew why Josephine's fingers tightened around her quill, why Hawke smirked and Leliana frowned. He'd spent the last few days so carefully avoiding the idea of authority within the Inquisition that he'd managed to convince himself that a green glow in his palm meant little more than being turned into a glorified errand boy.

Yet he had been the one to step forward in this meeting, issuing orders and deciding how best to build the Inquisition's strength. Surely he couldn't deny that implied a bit of assumed authority on his part.

So what would he do?

A gentle smile came to his face. The answer was simple, really, though it was, itself, another question: what would Mailani do?

With a nod, he turned to the Iron Trio and Cullen. "I believe once the Inquisition has returned to its former strength that we should aid Warden Alistair. Thoughts?"

Josephine and Leliana exchanged a glance, and something subtle relaxed in the latter's stance. After a small nod from the others, the Ambassador turned back to Dorian. "I believe that would be the best course of action for the Inquisition, yes."

Dorian nodded, accepting his part of the now shared authority, and turned to Alistair. "There you have it. The Inquisition will stand with you."

"Thank you," Alistair told him sincerely.

Setting his hands on his hips, Hawke looked pointedly at Dorian. "And what will you be doing while we're all running around like nugs in a thunderstorm?"

"I rather think it's time I started pulling my own weight, don't you?" Raising his left hand, Dorian tilted his head as he regarded the fitful light which awoke. "This is an obligation I've been ignoring for far too long. There are quite a few rifts out there, and as many desperate cries for help." He set his hand down on the table, splaying it so that his fingers bridged both Ferelden and Orlais on the map. "It is time for me to venture forth."

There. That sounded bold enough. Hopefully he wouldn't come to regret the decision.

"Why on Thedas did I ever think this was a good idea?" Dorian shouted as he brought his staff around in a swift arc, blasting the approaching demons with a wave of fire. They'd stumbled upon this rift while exploring the ass-end of the Hinterlands in search of a place to rest following an ambush by three of the largest bears Dorian had ever seen in his life, and he was not in a good mood.

"Don't ask me, Sparkler!" Varric yelled back, even as he hurled some grenades at some nearby wraiths. "I was perfectly happy getting my ass warmed by the fire in Skyhold!"

"Well, you're absolutely no help!" Dorian snarled as he hastily danced out of the way of the ice sleeting from the despair demon they fought. "Kaffas! I'm getting slaughtered over here!"

Suddenly a huge axe appeared behind the demon, then slammed down into the thing's head. The demon gave a high pitched shriek, then collapsed to the ground. Taking no chances, Iron Bull chopped it once more, then grunted. "You're welcome, Vint."

Dorian quickly pointed his staff forward, sending a thin lance of fire into the shade that suddenly reared up behind the hulking Qunari. "Take that, you filth!"

"Hey!" Bull protested.

"Not you," Dorian snapped. He quickly formed a barrier around the warrior, then pointed towards where Cassandra stood, shield raised, before a towering rage demon. "Go help her. Varric and I will attend to the rest."

Iron Bull just nodded and ran towards the demon, bellowing "Next!" to attract its attention just before his axe swung into its torso.

Once the last demon was down and the rift sputtered into a semi-quiescent state once more, Dorian pressed his hand to his side and panted heavily. He couldn't quite remember when he'd been hit, but he could tell there was at least a broken rib and possibly worse. "Not the most impressive showing for my first rift," he groaned with a grimace.

Varric chuckled breathily as he walked up to pat Dorian on the arm. "It could have been worse. At least this time you didn't have to run halfway across the Hinterlands looking for reinforcements."

"True," Dorian admitted. "Maker, don't remind me."

Axe slung over his shoulder, Iron Bull strolled over. "Well? It isn't going to get any greener, and I personally don't want to see if a pride demon decides it wants to visit."

Dorian took a deep breath and nodded before stepping forward. As he approached the rift, the light in his hand awoke - which he'd expected - and then began to burn - which he had not. Every step took him closer to the dancing chaos in front of him, and every step made the heat intensify and spread.

Oh, Mailani, how did you stand this? He couldn't know if this is what she had felt when closing a rift, of course. Her entire bearing had always been full of determination, her slight frame displaying a strength that bespoke grim purpose seemingly at odds with her gentle smiles and enthusiastic hugs. She had always seemed a touch otherworldly when she'd wrestled with the rifts, and only now did Dorian understood why.

He lifted his hand as he'd seen the Inquisitor do at least a dozen times, yet nothing happened save for a sudden ache that surged down his arm. He kept his face as neutral as he could, trying to keep his uncertainty hidden as he desperately tried to find the mechanism. No matter what he tried, however, it refused to yield to him, and the torment grew without restraint. When the pain finally grew too great for his body to handle, the world began to dim.

The presence of the rift meant that the Veil was thin, a risk that mages were always told to avoid. As he was drawn inexorably to the Fade, his soul walked the line between the waking world and the other side of Veil with a delicacy that surprised even himself. It was only when he reached an equilibrium between the two, when the Veil wrapped around him like a snug blanket, that he felt a faint touch on his wrist, and a suggestion of breath against his ear. Like this.

And, just like that, it happened: a wrenching sensation which sent a burst of energy directly from the Anchor to the heart of the rift. He struggled to comprehend exactly how the rift worked, how the mark affected it, but in the end, it seemed to come down to just wiggling his fingers, which was followed shortly after by a boom as the rift exploded into plasmic debris.

Fascinating. He didn't notice his knees hitting the ground, or the sudden impact as his body tipped over to lie still in the grass. The world was a distant place, unknowable and untouchable for now, and his eyes fluttered shut as his mind tried to understand why it felt like a kiss had just been placed on his cheek.

The last thing he remembered before the remainder of his consciousness slipped away was a soft susurration, so soft he almost didn't hear the words hidden inside.

I'm so sorry.