This time when Dorian emerged from sleep, he found himself curled tightly around his hand, sweating and freezing all at once. Agony lanced up his left arm as the light flared brightly enough to light the entire room with a sickly green glow. His right hand latched onto his left wrist, instinctively trying to straighten it, but the muscles had seized into a tortured hook. The pain reminded him of when he had first awoken after being anointed with the mark - certainly not the happiest of memories. When he tried to move his fingers, agony shot up his arm and into his shoulder and neck.

"Fasta vass," he groaned. Pushing himself out of bed, he stumbled towards the basin of water he used for his morning ablutions. Once there, he shoved his rigid hand into it and fed heat into the water with magic. Soon the basin was hot enough that his skin gained a red tinge, and he diligently massaged his hand and wrist as best as he could with his right hand. After an agonizing eternity during which he forced himself to breathe slowly, the knots in his wrist and fingers slowly began to unwind. He patiently worked at them for a while longer, until suddenly they released with an audible crack.

Hissing in pain, he yanked his arm out of the water and lightly ran fingers chilled with frost over his skin until it returned to its customary hue. After that, it was a matter of slowly pacing at the foot of his bed as he flexed and shook his hand until the pain was at least tolerable. Though this particular episode of cramping remained by far the worst to which he'd awoken, it wasn't the first such occurrence - and, he suspected, it would not be the last.

It was only after he could rotate his left wrist without a sharp pain in his shoulder that he allowed himself to sag down onto his mattress. A glance to the window showed the faint light of early dawn, and Dorian sighed. He had a great deal of work ahead of him, and a restless night of sleep had done little to prepare him for it. He looked down at his hand, absently watching the mark flicker fitfully as he pondered the events in his dream.

"Is it the mark?" he mused in a hushed voice. "Is that why he was drawn to my dreams?" Any mage of the Imperium worth their weight in lyrium received training in how to deal with demons in a variety of settings, but this one... "Not a demon I'll forget about any time soon." It would mean a few extra precautionary measures before sleep, and a bit of extra wariness in places where the Veil was thin. Add to that the whole business of Dorian actively seeking out rifts, and it was a complicating factor that he would have preferred to live without. Still, it wasn't overwhelming.

Yet.

With a small shake of his head, he stood and began to prepare for the day, knowing he shouldn't keep the Iron Ladies waiting for too much longer. Cassandra had let it be known that Leliana and Josephine wanted a meeting, and he assumed Cullen would be there, too. Despite his haste, however, he maintained his ritual of a bath with scented oil, a morning habit as yet unbroken while in Skyhold. The slowly lowering level of the oil in the bottle gave him a gauge, something to measure how time was pressing against him, and against the Inquisition.

As he scrubbed his arms, hoping the movement and friction would ease away the last of the ache to which he'd awoken, a light knock came to his door. Before he was able to do much more than mutter, "Kaffas," to himself and look around for his towel, however, the door opened.

"Well, now," Hawke murmured as he entered the room and closed the door behind him. "That's a rather enchanting view." Moving closer to Dorian, he settled his hands on his hips and canted his head, eyes freely wandering. "Not a bad way to start the day, I must say."

"Be grateful I don't enchant some manners into you," Dorian said rather pointedly as he tried to subtly rearrange himself so as to keep the view to a minimum. Usually, such admiration wouldn't bother Dorian, particularly with someone with whom he'd passed a rather enjoyable vigorous evening, but there was something about the man's gaze which made Dorian more than a little discomfited. "And here I thought that even Fereldans knew enough about common courtesy to wait for an answer before barging in."

With a laugh, Hawke settled himself on the bed and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You can blame Kirkwall for that. What rough edges I still had after leaving Ferelden were encouraged while I was there. A fascinating city, Kirkwall. You would probably like it."

Unsure how to deal with Hawke's invasion or odd conversational choice, and unwilling to insult the Viscount's city to his face, Dorian affected a light chuckle. "Well, it used to be part of the Imperium, so that is likely true. I have a fondness for Tevinter history and architecture, after all, just not to the same extent as the Venatori. I prefer to leave the past in the past."

An odd smile came to Hawke's face then, warm but with a touch of sadness. "I'm glad to hear you say that."

"I can imagine. It would be a very bad thing if the mark somehow fell into the hands of Corypheus, hmm?" Dorian asked with a wink.

"That's one reason, yes." Hawke began to roll up his sleeves. "I didn't realize I would be interrupting your bath, but I may as well help." Making a circular motion with his finger, he said, "Your back. That's the usual place one offers to help scrub, isn't it?"

"Oh, there's no need to bother yourself," Dorian assured him. "I'm perfectly content as I am. Though I admit I'm rather curious as to what brought you to my room at such an early hour and with so little decorum." As careful as he was to keep the tone light and teasing, Dorian still tried to convey a hint of the disapproval he felt at the entire situation. "After all, the last time you were in my chambers, you spoke as if would be the last time."

Hawke's eyes narrowed slightly as he scrutinized Dorian. The answer obviously did not suit the man, and Dorian felt that edge of wariness inside grow sharper. "While that may be true, a man is entitled to change his opinion, isn't he? And you've presented some very compelling arguments."

"By not seeing you for weeks on end?" Dorian asked with a forced smile as he began going through the motions of cleaning once more.

"Temporary circumstance," Hawke dismissed with a wave of his hand. "It's become quite clear that you're a man of conviction, a man who wants to change the world. I admire that." His gaze softened as he added in a quiet voice, he said, "It reminds me of someone else, someone quite dear to me."

Dorian's mouth went dry at those words, his previous conversation with Hawke echoing in his mind. From anyone else, such a statement would have been flattering. From Hawke? Maker preserve me. Before he could figure out what on Thedas he could say in reply, however, another knock came at the door, crisp and precise, and Dorian knew who it would be even before he opened the door and entered.

"Dorian, Cassandra sent me to- Oh." Cullen paused as he caught sight of Dorian in the bathtub, obviously a bit taken aback to find the mage thus. The glance he sent to Hawke, however, held no such surprise. "Ah, yes, Cassandra sent me to let you know they're waiting for you. I'm under strict orders to bring you back with me." He gave a shrug. "And you know Cassandra."

Considering that the Iron Trio weren't expecting him until mid-morning at the earliest, that explanation was... interesting. Incredibly so, in fact. Still, Dorian was all too happy at that precise moment to play along with the charade. "I do, indeed. Far be it from me to invite the wrath of Cassandra."

"And such convenient timing, too," Hawke mused in a flat tone.

"Varric could tell you a great deal about Cassandra, if you'd like," Cullen offered, expression neutral. "When she says jump, you don't pause to ask how high?"

Hawke stood smoothly from his position on the bed. "Oh, I'm sure. I'll just let myself out, then. Dorian and I can continue our conversation later." When he crossed in front of Cullen, he paused and leaned in slightly. "Good day, Commander."

Cullen lifted his chin slightly. "And to you as well, Your Grace."

With a snort, Hawke sauntered to the door. "Enjoy yourselves," he called back as he opened the door, then closed it with a firmness that wasn't quite a slam, but wasn't far off.

"That man," Cullen muttered as he shook his head. He looked at Dorian, holding his hand out as if to assure himself the mage was unharmed. "Are you all right?"

"Quite, Commander," Dorian replied. "Though my pride has taken a few more hits than I'm used to, particularly so early in the morning. It usually takes until midday at the earliest to reach this level of indignity."

Cullen laughed as he fetched Dorian's towel and held it out to him. "Indignity, or indignance?"

Dorian snatched the towel out of Cullen's hand as he stood. "Now, that level of sarcasm is simply unwarranted, Commander. Have some respect for-" He paused as he saw the door open and hastily wrapped the towel around himself as Varric's head poked through the door.

"We good?" the dwarf asked.

With a nod, Cullen said, "For now. Thanks for letting me know."

"Anytime, Curly. Now I have to go hide in the basement all day before Hawke puts it all together." Varric nodded towards Dorian. "Sparkler. Looks like you're almost ready to pay off your last bet."

Dorian had to chuckle at that. "I didn't literally mean the clothes off my back, Varric. You do realize It's rather unfair to hold a man to a drunken wager made in the arse-end of nowhere, don't you?"

"Maybe, but I might just hold you to it," Varric replied with a wink. "All those buckles you normally wear could be melted down and sold for a tidy profit."

"Casting aspersion upon my national dress, are we?" Dorian held the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. "Oh, my poor, benighted Imperium!"

Varric snorted. "And you started it by asking if it was a natural curl or not. I happen to like my shirts."

"Did I ever say I didn't admire the view?" Dorian protested.

"Maybe you should ask Curly that right now," Varric told him with a grin. "See you later, Sparkler." And with that, he backed out of the room.

Dorian's brow furrowed, then looked at Cullen. "What did he- Commander, are you blushing?"

"What? No," Cullen said immediately, then politely turned his back, presumably to allow Dorian some privacy. "You should get dressed, though. There is someone who wants to see you."

"Someone who isn't Cassandra, I take it." As he spoke, Dorian briskly wicked the water away with his towel and stepped from the tub. As he pulled his clothes on, he added, "And don't think I didn't notice that little conspiracy between you and Varric. What was that about?"

When Cullen didn't answer right away, Dorian paused in his buckling and turned to look at him. He immediately noticed the tension in the man's shoulders - something that not even all that fur could disguise - and the way his arms were crossed across his chest, hands locked around his elbows. Stepping closer, he reached out and gently touched Cullen's arm. "Cullen?" he asked softly.

Cullen's shoulders sagged, and he released a long, soft sigh before turning to look at Dorian. "I don't trust Hawke around mages. And if you knew about my past, you would understand why that statement is one of the more ironic things you will ever hear me say."

A frown came to Dorian's face, since he did know some of Cullen's past - if his odd dreams could be trusted, at any rate. "I know what happened to Anders," Dorian said quietly. "Word of that moved through the Imperium fairly quickly, and Hawke even told me his side. You are saying there were other mages in his life?"

For a moment, Cullen looked to the side as he took another long, slow breath. Finally he looked up at Dorian, a grim expression on his face. "There were."

"I see." That deliberate emphasis on were explained far too much, including a great deal of Varric's caution around the Viscount. "I will be cautious, I promise."

"That is all I can ask for," Cullen said with a nod. "And it still remains that someone is waiting for us."

"You are quite insistent upon this meeting, then?" Dorian chuckled and turned his attention back to his buckles, quickly latching them closed. "Then I ask you bear with me as I finish up." Moving to the vanity, he sat and attended to his hair, repairing the damage done to it after a night of restless sleep with deft fingers and a judicious mix of oil and magic. His face was given a similar treatment, and when he turned to Cullen it was with a bright smile. "There. Perfection achieved."

A crooked grin came to Cullen's face as he chuckled. "Ah, of course. That's what all that that was about."

"Now, now, Commander," Dorian chided him, "don't think I'm oblivious to just how much effort you put into your hair every day. We all have our vanities."

Cullen reddened and cleared his throat. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," he said, then pushed himself away from the door so he could open it. "Let's go. We've kept them waiting long enough."

"Them?" Dorian asked as they emerged. "You are certainly piquing my curiosity."

"Good," Cullen said as he led Dorian through Skyhold.

As they walked, Dorian noted that Cullen was taking quite a roundabout route to whatever part of Skyhold he was taking them. He was able to quickly rule out the library, war room, and forge as probable destinations, a fact which only fed his curiosity. He was in the midst of constructing a map of Skyhold in his head so he could pinpoint where, in fact, Cullen was leading him when the man gave him a sidelong glance.

"Do you know what my soldiers have started to call you?"

"Hmm?" Dorian glanced at some stairs going up into the Keep proper as they passed. Those go up to the main hall, if I recall. "I presume I am still 'the Vint'? That's fairly common, after all." He had grown accustomed to it, in fact, ever since leaving the Imperium proper.

"Not exactly," Cullen said with a little smile. "They're starting to call you the Chosen, actually."

Those words stopped Dorian in his tracks, staring at Cullen as the man turned to face him. "The- What?" For once, he felt at a loss for words.

"The Chosen of the Herald, specifically," Cullen added. "I'm still not convinced that Leliana had nothing to do with its origin, mind, but I'm hearing it more and more." A sad little smile came to face. "Just as with the Herald after she closed her first rift."

"I am not trying to replace Mailani." The response was almost instinctive. It wasn't that Dorian could claim he had no ambition, but his purpose here in the Inquisition was, to his mind, absolutely clear: to continue his friend's legacy, close the rifts, and defeat Corypheus. After that... His hand flexed unconsciously. After that, we'll just have to see. "I never knew."

Cullen laughed and clapped his hand on Dorian's shoulder. "When have you been back in Skyhold long enough to hear it, hmm?" he asked. "You've been so busy running around wearing yourself to a thread that you haven't stopped long enough to hear it." His fingers gripped hard for a moment as he added in a soft voice, "I think she would be proud of you."

Dorian's throat tightened as a smile came to his lips. "Nothing would please me more," he said in a hoarse voice, "save for her being here to do all of this in my stead."

For a moment, Cullen bowed his head and took a deep breath, just before Dorian found himself being pulled into tight embrace. The other man's breath tickled Dorian's ear as Cullen whispered, "Thank you." Before Dorian could really react, Cullen pulled back abruptly and cleared his throat. "We should move along. We don't want to keep them waiting."

Dorian quickly followed after Cullen, swallowing several times to ease the tension in his throat. Unfortunately, that did little to address the pounding of his heart, or the odd flutter he felt in the pit of his stomach, neither of which made sense to him. It must be the emotion of the moment. There had been an instant, though, when Cullen's lips had brushed his ear...

No, no. No. No, Dorian scolded internally, thoughts shying away from considering any of the implications of those particular sensations. Out of habit and a sudden need to direct his thoughts elsewhere, he flexed his left hand and let the little spike of pain clear his mind as effectively as a shock of cold water. "So, ah, where precisely are we going?"

"What, tell you and spoil the surprise?" Cullen asked, turning to Dorian long enough to give him a broad smile. "Don't worry. It's not much farther."

"Don't worry, he says, as if there's nothing to worry about," Dorian shot back. When that earned him nothing more than a laugh in response, Dorian sighed and settled back into speculation.

As they emerged from Skyhold into the courtyard, Dorian's eyes widened when they found Horsemaster Dennet waiting with a... steed at his side, though Dorian used the word only generously. If nugs could grow to the size of horses and somehow acquire horns along the way, then that's what was standing calmly next to Dennet.

A faint memory from Val Royeaux stirred in his mind as they approached the Horsemaster and his charge. "Oh, sweet Maker," Dorian said as they got closer. "Is this the ware of that insipid merchant?"

Dennet chuckled and scratched it behind its horn. "Indeed she is. A right fearsome war mount, too. And good for climbing, if it comes to that." Dennet pointed at the paws, which looked disturbingly like hands . "Climb on, give her a try."

"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow. "What is this thing called, anyway?"

"A nuggalope," Dennet said with an absolutely straight face, even as Cullen crossed his arms with one hand conveniently raised to cover what had to be a smirk.

Dorian paused with his hand on the saddle. "Truly? Dare I ask why?"

"That tale involves a Chevalier, a Crow, a Warden, and a great deal of drinking, so probably not," Dennet replied in a deadpan. "There might even have been bards involved."

"I see." A suspicious sound which closely resembled laughter emerged from behind Cullen's hand, and Dorian looked at the warrior with narrowed eyes before finally sighing and giving in to the inevitable. He didn't see anything wrong with humoring the man, after all. Dennet knew his mounts and, more importantly, his saddles - for which Dorian's hindquarters were eternally grateful. "Then I shall mount my majestic steed, which is in no way one of the most simultaneously adorable and terrifying creatures I've yet to behold, and... do what, precisely, hmm? Strike a pose? I am rather pretty to look at."

Dennet barked a laugh as Cullen bowed his head, shoulders shaking. "Up you go," he said. "They're waiting."

Dorian's eyes narrowed once more, but the look he sent towards Cullen found the Commander with a straight face. "You do realize this is quite suspicious, don't you?" Still, with a sigh, he moved to the nuggalope's side and smoothly mounted. Laying one hand on the saddlehorn, he set the other on his hip and turned his head to strike a dramatic pose. "Now, commemorate this moment - particularly my profile - in marble, and we'll have something truly majestic to display for the visitors to Skyhold, hmm?"

Cullen grinned and moved to grab the nuggalope's reins, smacking Dorian's thigh along the way. "I'm not sure the Inquisition could find that much marble."

Rubbing his leg to ease the sting, Dorian chuckled. "Why not? We've performed miracles before."

"Inquisition's got more important things to do," Dennet declared, just before his hand slapped the nuggalope on the rump.

The mount made an odd braying sound and then started forward in the direction it was facing - walking at Cullen's heels towards the stairs leading up to the main hall of Skyhold. "I say," Dorian said, "not quite the destination I had in mind for the ware's first mission."

"She's fine," Dennet told him with a shrug. "It's why we chose her, actually. Hands like that can't hurt the carpet."

"Carpet?" His suspicion increased sharply as he looked ahead and saw that the doors, open since they'd all trooped in from Haven, were rather mysteriously closed. Dorian's eyes narrowed as they crested the stairs. "Commander, what is this all about?"

Cullen paused with his hand on the door and looked back at Dorian, a smile on his face. "Making the Inquisition whole again." With a roll of his shoulders, he dropped the nuggalope's reins and pushed open the doors.

As he did so, the swelling sound of a cheer erupted from within, and Cullen stepped aside with a bow. "He's all yours, Horsemaster."

"Thank you, Commander." Dennet loosely wrapped the reins around his arm as he stepped forward and took hold of the cheek piece on the nuggalope's bridle. Then he led them inside.

Dorian simply stared around him as Dennet guided the nuggalope. As far as he could tell, everyone in Skyhold had gathered there, from the soldiers to the nobility to the companions, and they were…yes, they were cheering. For him. It wasn't to be believed, and yet, there they were, clapping and waving at him, and here he was, being led towards the other end of the hall. At first he simply stared, unable to stop the smile that crept onto his face, until finally he raised his left hand and waved, almost not feeling the pain as the green light flared into wakefulness. That was when he first heard the word Chosen, and once he heard it, he didn't stop hearing it. And the smile on his face remained as he found an answering one on so many faces.

Am I Chosen? He glanced at his left hand for a moment, a line of concern marring his forehead as he again wondered how, exactly, he had come to bear the mark. Solas and he had discussed it extensively when he'd called Solas to the field to assist with the exploration of several of the elvish ruins and landmarks in the Emerald Graves, but neither of them had been able to develop a conclusive theory that explained why. Perhaps once Dorian had a day to himself when he could truly investigate, he'd learn more. Until then...

The sound of the nuggalope's bray snapped him out of his thoughts, and he instinctively grabbed the saddle horn as it drew to a halt at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the throne, which was still turned to face the wall. The hall had grown silent behind him, and a glance around showed Dennet standing beside the nuggalope with his hand outstretched. "I think it's about time we set things to right."

Dorian glanced at the throne, still turned to face the wall, then back at Dennet's hand, then towards the Cullen and the Iron Trio, who stood prominently to the side. After receiving several smiles and nods, he took a breath and looked down at the waiting man. "I do believe you're correct, Horsemaster."

A cheer erupted as Dorian took Dennet's hand and slid from the saddle. As the two men approached the throne, footsteps followed them, so that by the time they had reached the throne and began to turn it, they had plenty of assistance. Soon enough the throne was turned, and Dennet stepped back and looked appraisingly at it as once again the hall fell silent.

"No usurpers allowed. That's what you said, all those weeks ago," Dennet said with a short nod. "And right enough, I don't see one here. Now, why don't you sit your Magister's fat Tevinter ass down, Inquisition? We've got work to do."

Dorian laughed and clapped the man on the back. "As long as the Advisors give their blessing." He spoke loud enough to be heard, but not so loud as to make it obvious . It wasn't precisely theatre, not as much as his last encounter with Dennet in this very room, but the legitimacy came from both the people and the leaders.

Cullen stepped forward and gestured towards the throne. "Take your seat, Inquisitor."

A hush fell over the room as Dorian approached the throne, a quiet which was quickly broken as he settled himself into the wooden seat. He accepted the cheers, though each flare of his hand reminded him all too readily of the price they'd all paid for him to sit there. It was heady, true, but he tried not to let it go to his head - there was still far too much work to be done, after all.

The next few minutes blurred into each other after that, since Dorian insisted on rising from the throne and heading back into the hall, taking his time to talk to as many of the people as he could, including the Advisors and all his companions. Even Warden Alistair was there for a congratulatory shake of the hand and an easy smile.

The only time Dorian's smile faltered was when he turned to find Hawke beside him, a broad grin on the man's face and with his hand extended. "Congratulations, Inquisitor."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Dorian said demurely as he took the hand to shake - only to find himself pulled into a rather tight embrace.

Hawke's breath tickled at Dorian's ear. "Do let me know if you wish to celebrate later, hmm?" The words were followed by the press of lips to the shell of Dorian's ear, and then Hawke released him, a friendly smile on his face. "Until we meet again," he said with a little bow, then turned and walked away through the crowd, which gave the Champion a wide berth.

Dorian kept the frown off his face, but he did allow himself a sigh. That man... He was quickly coming to mean trouble.

Eventually the hall began to clear as people returned to their duties, leaving only the nobles, gossips, and perpetually curious remaining in the hall. Dorian found himself standing at the foot of the stairs leading up to the throne, left hand flexing in time to the pulse of green light coming from it. His mind whirled, grappling with the idea that Mailani wasn't here, and that he was the-

"Inquisitor?"

Clearing his throat, Dorian put a warm smile on his face as he turned to face Josephine. "Ambassador. A pleasure to see you, though I'll admit, a little warning for all this," he gestured around them, "would not have been amiss."

"It's more fun this way, Inquisitor," Josephine said with a little smile. "However, I also would appreciate it if you could please sit on the throne in a more official capacity. The need for judgment has not diminished in the last few weeks, and the Inquisition never rests. With your new acquisition the title of Inquisitor, it is even more important that you accept all the responsibilities of it, and show Thedas that you can hold those reins with competence and dignity."

"Ah. Yes, of course, Ambassador." He gave her a small bow, impressed all over again by her intelligence. "I'd quite forgotten about that aspect of being the..." His voice trailed off as his smile faded. It still didn't feel real. Perhaps it never would, and yet…he had to be her legacy.

Jospehine's gaze softened as she smiled in understanding. "The Inquisitor?"

"Indeed. Yet, if that is what must be done, then you shall not find me wanting." Straightening, Dorian moved towards the throne and settled upon it, then inclined his head towards Josephine. "Let us begin."

She nodded and gestured to the waiting guards, who obligingly brought someone forward. "This was a surprise," she began. "After you returned from the bogs, we discovered this man attacking the building. With a…goat."

Dorian quickly held up his hand. "I beg your pardon?"

"A goat, Inquisitor," Josephine repeated.

"The shaggy animal with horns that bleats? That kind of a goat?"

Josephine smiled. "Yes, Inquisitor."

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose as he took a deep breath. Mailani, give me strength. "Very well, Ambassador." He gestured broadly to the man decorated with paint and horns. "Pray continue."

As Josephine laid out the details of the man's case, Dorian paid close attention. Unfortunately, he simply couldn't keep the smirk off his face, even when he sent the man and his clan packing off to the Imperium. Everyone needs a hobby, after all .

As the afternoon wore on, he caught himself more than once lightly stroking the palm of his left hand, pondering what Mailani would do. Somehow, it just felt right. Later, he would ponder the ramifications, both political and personal, for being thrust into the role he'd sworn he never wanted. For now, he would just do the best he could.

For her sake.

.~^~.

.~^~.

End Act I - Inquisitor