Dorian's eyes flew open as he jerked himself into an upright sitting position. The sound of pounding on a distant door finally penetrated awareness, a moment before the pounding of blood in his groin seized his attention with a vengeance. With a groan, he fell back into the soft mattress on which he lay and rubbed his hands over his face, pondering his options.

And stopped mid-ponder as something occurred to him. Wait. How did I get on the bed?

Instinctively he let his hands flop to the sides, trying to gauge his position. When one of them found a warm body, he yelped and jerked away, falling off the bed and landing on the floor in an all-too-familiar manner. Muttering curses, he rose to his feet, hoping desperately that this morning wouldn't be a repeat of the last time he'd ended up ignominiously on his ass right after awakening. His eyes widened when he saw Cullen, tucked under the blanket and with his fur mantle carefully folded under his head, still quite asleep. He wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Cullen was able to sleep through the persistent abuse of the poor door, or the surge that increased the ache between his legs at the mere sight of the man peacefully sleeping.

"Maker's breath," Dorian muttered softly. His own clothing was all still in place, if a bit rumpled, so obviously the night had been innocent enough. The dream, though… it lingered, in ways both subtle and not-so-subtle.

Yet the ingrate at the door could not be ignored, so Dorian sighed and set into motion towards it. A quick run of his hands through his hair told him that it was hopeless, but there was no choice but to answer the door as he was, warts and all.

When he reached it, he jerked the portal open and growled, "What?" to the person on the other side - who turned out to be the Iron Bull, as dressed as he ever got and ready for travel.

Bull looked Dorian up and down, taking in the man's dishabille with a widening smirk. "I interrupt something?"

Dorian reached up to massage his forehead with long fingers. "No. You interrupted nothing."

"Ah, so that's why you're grumpy." Ignoring Dorian's dire glare, Bull gave a little shrug and stepped back. "We're supposed to be leaving soon to go to the Western Approach. I thought you'd prefer me to find you rather than Hawke, given who rumor says you disappeared with yesterday."

"Oh, Maker. Just what I need," Dorian groaned as he rubbed his forehead once more. "More rumors."

"Yeah, well, maybe getting away for a while would be a good thing. The Commander can take care of himself." Clapping his arm on Dorian's shoulder, he added, "Let's go. I got your bath ready and everything, complete with that special oil of yours."

Dorian blinked. "You know about that?"

"I'm hurt that you're surprised I know your little secrets, Vint," Bull said, pressing his hand to his chest. "Come on. We don't have much time, and frankly, your hair's a mess."

"Thank you, Bull," Dorian said through gritted teeth. "Very well, let's go."

The journey through the hall meant, of course, the scrutiny of the masses. Dorian grew acutely aware of his mussed hair, his clothing all askew, and the man he'd left in the Inquisitor's chambers behind him after a night together. After this, he could deny until he was blue in the face that it was an entirely different part of his body which suffered from that hue, and the rumors would still be flying before the sun hit its zenith. The thought of it made his face settle into a scowl, and Bull, predictably, began to tease him.

"Look, I know you can wiggle your fingers and summon a thunderstorm, but I don't think your face can, can it?" he asked, giving Dorian a sly glance as they passed a group of whispering Orlesians.

"How will I know unless I try?" Dorian quipped. "Do let me know if any passing clouds zaps you, would you? That will let me know if pure wrath is sufficient."

"Will do, boss, will do," Bull said with a grin.

Dorian gave him a startled glance, though a muted one, since Bull had never referred to him that way before. Of course, they'd never been in the Hall together before, either. Bull tended to haunt the Herald's Rest since he was rather conspicuous in a crowd, so it was a rarity for the nobility to see him. Covering his surprise quickly, Dorian snorted. "Those horns of yours put you at particular risk, you know. Lightning always seeks the highest object."

Their banter continued until they reached his room, with what Dorian presumed to be Bull's intended result. Dorian was fully awake and feeling almost cheerful, returning each sally from Bull with one of his own, and the ache between his legs was nothing but an awkward memory. After sending Bull off to fetch him a quick breakfast, he stripped down and sank into the water, letting the heat melt away his cares.

The inappropriate thoughts lingered, however, as he struggled to reconcile the growing, and much desired, friendship with Cullen with the rising, palpable attraction he had for the man. He'd let a few things slip through in the past few weeks, though thankfully Cullen seemed to remain relatively oblivious to them. Cullen wasn't simply some handsome soldier with whom he could spend a pleasant evening, after all. Granted, he wasn't Hawke either, with the latter's ever-present hunger under a veneer of dangerous beauty, but the fact remained that Cullen was - should be - off the table as an option.

But the dream lingered. The feel of Cullen's warm, oil-slicked skin under his fingers could not simply be dismissed, nor could Cullen's reaction when he'd learned just who had given him that not-so-therapeutic massage.

Ultimately, his thoughts simply ended up chasing each other round and round, and he had to stomp on them rather firmly to avoid getting himself into the same condition he'd been when he'd woken up earlier. Forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand, he conducted his daily bathing ritual with a meticulous care which spoke of long habit, then reached for his towel. As he did so, the floor outside his door creaked just before it opened to let the hulking form of Bull through.

"Breakfast," the man said cheerfully as kicked the door shut behind him. Setting the tray down on the desk, he glanced at Dorian and grinned. "Still naked, huh? Looks like I'm just in time for the best part."

Dorian groaned. "Honestly, Bull. Haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"Yeah, someone tried to tell me about that shit once. A southern thing, right? Come on, we don't have much time left." He took the towel and tugged it wide, then shook it. "Out with you."

After a moment's hesitation, Dorian sighed and stood, using tendrils of magic to force water out of his hair and off his body. By the time he stepped into the towel, he was mostly dry. "Thank you," he said as he reached to take the towel.

Bull, however, didn't relinquish it. "Just stay still," Bull told him. Before Dorian could ask him what he was about, Bull knelt and started to rub the towel briskly over Dorian's body. When Dorian opened his mouth to protest, Bull shook his head. As he worked his way down Dorian's torso, Bull rumbled in a surprisingly quiet voice, "Remember that Wicked Grace game about a week after your coronation?"

"It was not a-" Dorian began.

"Coronation," Bull said firmly. "It was, even if the crown is invisible and the only reward is a hand that glows green. Anyway, do you remember it?"

Dorian frowned, memories slowly trickling back. It had been a busy few weeks, after all. "The only one I remember you in was the one Hawke- Oh."

"Yeah. You and Varric started, and Hawke bullied his way in. So I bullied my way in." Bull chuckled. "And I'm pretty good at bullying. Get it? BULLying?"

Dorian grudgingly smiled at the terrible pun. "Yes, I recall, Bull."

"Remember what happened after the game?"

Now Dorian's smile faltered. "Not as clearly," he admitted. "The wine flowed quite freely during that game."

Bull grunted. "With the way Hawke was eyeing you and kept refilling your cup, I'm not surprised. I really didn't get myself on his good side when I declared the Inquisitor had had enough and hauled you out of there."

"Considering he was likely hoping to do the same, I can imagine," Dorian said with a sigh. "Thank you. I don't really recall that part."

"Yeah." By now the towel had reached Dorian's waist, wicking away what little water remained, but it slowed as Bull moved even lower. "You remember what happened when we got back here?"

Dorian froze as vague images arose in his mind. His mouth suddenly went dry as the distinct image of Bull's pants piled on the floor flashed through his mind. "Maker. Did we-?" He glanced down, not quite sure what to say without being terribly insulting. "I thought we agreed after last time that-"

Bull's face split into a grin. "Your expression is priceless right now. And yeah, we agreed the last one was a pity fuck after the whole 'getting kicked out of the Qun' assassination attempt thing."

"I wouldn't quite call it that," Dorian protested, but Bull's huge shoulders moved in an expansive shrug.

"I would. It's what I needed, and you were willing to provide. It was fun, we both got some stress relief, and learned a little more about each other. I'm still grateful, but that's all it was, and that's okay. This, though... if you still want to know, that is." At Dorian's nod, he resumed his toweling, brisk and efficient. "We barely got through the door before you'd pushed me up against it. I have to admit, I was impressed that you had all that wine in you and were still hot to trot."

Dorian's hand reached up to massage his forehead again, a headache rising. "So we did."

Bull shrugged. "Depends on your definition."

"Definition?" Dorian asked, glancing down at Bull.

"Yeah. I mean, we got to the 'naked on a bed' part, and the 'hey let's toss all the blankets on the floor' part, but after that?" Bull looked up at him, the towel coming to a halt a hip height. "That's as far as we got."

Dorian's eyebrows rose, then pinched together. "Was I so uncivil as to fall asleep?" Given the circumstances, it was the most likely scenario, he had to admit.

"Nah. I mean, I would have left you alone then, too, don't get me wrong. As long as I felt you were agreeing to it, I was fine with a good fuck. But that wasn't it. No, things were going pretty smoothly until you gave this nice, long groan and gasped a name." His gaze was shrewd as he looked up and added, "I'll give you two guesses whose it was."

It took more than a few seconds for the implication to sink in, and then Dorian felt the blood drain from his face. "Maker."

"No, definitely not the Maker," Bull said with a grin. "Second guess?"

Restraining himself from batting the man's horns, Dorian buried his face in his hand instead. "Cullen."

"There we go." Bull chuckled. "And that was it for me. I'm into a lot of different things when it comes to sex, but I could tell it wasn't my cock you wanted to play with."

Dorian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Is there a reason you waited to talk about this until your hand was on mine?" he asked pointedly.

Sighing heavily, Bull turned serious as he settled back on his haunches. "Look, boss, we're going to be together a lot over the next few weeks. Going to the Western Approach isn't an afternoon jaunt, and we're not quite sure what we're going to find there. I know you and I have had our differences and our fun in the past, but shit's about to get a bit more real. The idea of a fucking demon army scares the shit out of me, and this is our first real step to figuring out how to make sure that doesn't happen. And a lot of that rests on you."

"Oh. Wonderful. Well, that takes all the pressure right off," Dorian said sarcastically.

Bull rolled his eye. "Yeah, yeah. Now listen, I'm being serious here, and that doesn't happen often. Before I stopped getting the reports, the Ben-Hassrath were really concerned about the things they'd dug up about the Wardens, and it's bad. Like, worst-nightmare-inducing bad. Pretty sure Nightingale has told you some of the more lurid rumors running around."

Dorian nodded, now equally somber. Alistair had also managed to get some additional information, though only he, Leliana, and Dorian knew all the details. "Go on."

"I'm just saying that you're the Inquisitor, but more importantly, you're my boss," Bull told him. "I owe you a lot, probably more than you can really understand without being from the Qun yourself. I don't know what's going on between you and Cullen, but I do know it's something that might get a bit distracting, and we can't really afford that now." He squeezed Dorian intimately, making the man jump. "And that's where I come in."

Dorian frowned. "Are you offering-"

"Call it stress relief, and yeah, you got it, boss," Bull told him with a nod. "Something nice and simple so that you won't work yourself up in a knot while you try to figure out what the fuck is going on with Cullen."

"There's nothing going on with Cullen," Dorian said. "And there shouldn't be. He is Commander of the Inquisition Forces and mourning love of my predecessor. It would be inappropriate to say the least. Besides, I'm a-"

"Vint, and yeah, all that is true. Some of the troops won't like it, some of the nobles would gossip, and some of your enemies will try to use it to weaken your position. I got that, trust me. I'm horny, not stupid." Bull sighed. "That's why you need me. Everyone knows I don't do the romance shit, and the rumors about us are already around. It will distract everyone else from the whole you and Cullen thing - and that will be a thing after you both entered that room and didn't come out all night - and you'll have the bonus of not running around with a rod between your legs at the most inconvenient times."

"But Cullen-" Dorian began, then bit his lip.

"Has his own shit to work through," Bull pointed out. "But I will add that he did stay in there with you all night. Maybe he's still working out the details himself, but I'm pretty sure he would have retreated to his tower if he didn't like the position he was in. And we both know him well enough to know that."

Dorian frowned as he remembered Cullen's reaction from the dream the night before. So it was you. That was not what he would have expected the man to say if he had truly thought it was Mailani kneading his back, and the ramifications made him swallow harshly.

"Hey, whoa now," Bull said with a chuckle as he patted Dorian's groin. "I didn't say you should start thinking about him again right this minute."

Dorian groaned and snatched the towel out of Bull's hands. "I can take it from here," he snapped.

"Right you are, boss. Just keep in mind what I said, all right?" Bull headed to the door, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. "We can't afford to have you distracted, and you're not going to see him again for a while." With a final nod, Bull tugged the door open, then paused before speaking to someone in the corridor. "Hawke. Fancy meeting you here."

"Is the Inquisitor ready yet?" Hawke asked, clearly irritated.

"The boss'll be down in a few minutes," Bull said as he stepped through the door in a fashion that blocked it entirely. "I was just getting some last minute instructions about the Chargers."

"Is that what you're calling it now?" Hawke asked in a sardonic tone as the door closed. After that, the voices continued for a few more exchanges before moving away from the room.

Only when the voices dimmed entirely did Dorian's shoulders drop. Hawke wasn't the most relaxing person to be around in the first place, given his reputation and the presence the man possessed, but his interest in Dorian had long ago shifted from flattering to worrying. Still, one did not simply tell the Viscount of Kirkwall to take himself and his support away, not when the man's own reputation and history pointed to a poor reaction to rejection.

Still, that was a worry for another time. The sooner Dorian and the rest of his party got in the saddle and headed west, the better.

As he wolfed down his breakfast and tugged his clothes on, he privately admitted that he was grateful that Bull would be with him. Even if he never took the man up on his offer, at least there would be someone there who understood the pressures Dorian labored under.

Particularly the self-inflicted ones.

Dorian looked down at the outfit lying on his sleeping roll with a sigh. He'd done his best, but even magic could only do so much against the constant onslaught of dust and sand, and the Western Approach had plenty of both. The grit was everywhere - in the food, in his hair, in his smalls - despite all his efforts to rid himself of it entirely. With a sigh of resignation, he ran a damp cloth over his body one last time, then slowly began to dress.

"Hey, Hawke."

"That's Champion to you, Qunari," Hawke replied with a sneer in his voice.

Dorian jumped. The voices sounded so loud that it seemed they were standing right outside Dorian's tent, but a quick glance around showed no telltale shadow. Curious, Dorian opened the flap of his tent cautiously and peered out into the camp. Seeing nothing, he shrugged and retreated into his tent to continue his task.

"Not a Qunari any more. Didn't you hear?" Bull replied with a grunt. This time there was enough of an echo that Dorian realized what was going on. The two men were standing in the nearby ravine, and a trick of acoustics worked to bring their conversation up to Dorian as if he were standing next to them.

Quite aware of the tension between the two, Dorian quickly summoned a wisp between his curled fingers, then whispered to it for a moment before releasing it from the tent. Once that was done, he summoned another one and whispered to it as well, still listening with half an ear.

"I did, but I don't believe it, Hissrad." A creak of leather and the scrape of metal sounded, and Hawke's voice was a bit clearer when he next spoke, as if he'd turned around. "What is it?"

"That elf you spoke to back at the Keep, while the Inquisition Forces were running around setting things up. Who was that?"

"Maker. I can't even speak to servants now? What if I was just looking for a good fuck?" Hawke asked acidly.

"Never seen a servant carry as many weapons as that elf did," Bull pointed out. "Or speak with an Antivan accent when in western Orlais. And you didn't spend enough time with him for a bad fuck, much less a good one."

"It's none of your business, ox-man," Hawke shot back.

As they spoke, the other wisp moved to hover above them, and the spell linking the wisps mirrored what it saw to the one between Dorian's hands. He stared at it intently, able to at least pick up the gist of the scene.

Bull grunted, and the larger of the two shapes edged towards the smaller one. "My instincts say otherwise, and I trust them more than I trust you."

"Watch your tongue," Hawke warned him. "I am a valued ally of the Inquisition."

"A valued ally who travels a lot for no real reason and speaks with suspicious characters when everyone else is busy," Bull said in a musing tone. "Yeah. Totally trustworthy."

The smaller figure stepped forward, hand going to his waist. The sound of singing metal outside followed the motion as Hawke drew one of his serrated daggers. "Listen to me, you hulking buffoon," Hawke snarled. "Who I meet with and who I speak to is of no concern to you, or the Inquisition. You can rest assured that everything I do is to defeat Corypheus. He's the one mistake I will not let survive. Is that clear?"

Bull's dark chuckle echoed up to Dorian, who was still staring intently into his wisp. "Clear as crystal. And I'm sure the Crow was just passing through on his way to somewhere more civilized."

"He's no longer a-" Hawke stopped, and a silence fell as Hawke stared up at Bull for a few moments. Finally he slammed his dagger back into his sheath. "This conversation is over, ox-man. This is not a matter that concerns the brutes of the Inquisition." With the sound of creaking leather, Hawke pivoted and stormed up the ravine, the effect slightly marred by his lack of solid footing on the sandy ravine floor.

Dismissing the wisps with a motion, Dorian quickly set about finishing the task of dressing in his newly de-sanded outfit. Just as he'd buckled the last part of his sleeve, a hand jerked the flap of his tent sharply upward to reveal Bull bending over awkwardly so he could look inside. "Wanna take a walk?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow, but nodded as he grabbed his staff. "As you wish."

"Varric said he spotted Alistair coming back," Bull said as he stepped away to give Dorian enough room to emerge. "Once he's back, everything starts, right? I thought you might want to go meet him."

"Thank the Maker," Dorian barked. "He said he'd only be gone an hour or so. He's been gone all night."

"Tell me something I don't know," Bull said with a grunt as he started to lead the way through their camp. "Still, if he really does have a contact out there with newer information, it's worth the wait. I don't like going into situations blind." Reaching up to tap his eye patch, he said, "I'm already at a half-disadvantage there, ya know?"

With a chuckle, Dorian patted Bull on the arm. "And the horns don't help, either."

"Just point me in the right direction and I'll charge wherever you tell me to," Bull said with a chuckle. After a few moments, he glanced at Dorian. "You heard all that, right?" he asked in a quiet voice. "I picked where to pitch your tent for a reason."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. He supposed by now he shouldn't really be surprised when Bull showed exactly how smart he could be, but setting up a tent in a location precisely so that its occupant could clandestinely overhear a conversation? "Clever," he murmured. "And here I thought it was just so it was far enough away that no one could hear us if the need arose."

Bull snorted and shook his head. "If you haven't taken me up on my offer by now, you never will, boss. And that's fine. It's still on the table, though." A grin came to his face. "Just like you could be, if you wanted."

"Bull," Dorian said in a chiding tone.

"Yeah, yeah, all right. Focus. Got it." He glanced over to where Hawke stood at the edge of camp, staring out into the desert and presumably the tower where they'd tracked the Wardens the previous day. "Anyway, this elf. It doesn't feel right. He was armed like an assassin, dressed in rich leathers and silks, and he wore a hooded cloak that covered his face. If that doesn't scream Ignore me or die I don't know what does."

"You suspect he's a Crow, then?" When Bull nodded, Dorian frowned in thought. "Why would he be talking with Hawke?"

Shoulders moving in an expansive shrug, Bull said, "You got me. I just thought you should know. The last thing we need is the Crows - or even a Crow - getting involved in a way we can't track."

"As if this weren't complicated enough," Dorian said with a sigh.

"That's why you get paid the big sovereigns," Bull told him with a grin. "I just hit people hard. Really hard."

"Thank you ever so much," Dorian drawled sarcastically, then looked forward as a movement caught his eye. "Ah. There's our man. " As Alistair crested the dune and closed the last few feet between them, Dorian bowed smoothly. "Good to see you again, Warden Alistair. We were worried you would be late to the party."

Alistair laughed as he looked them up and down. "You don't look like you're having a good time," the Warden noted.

"Oh, but we are. Swimming, actually," Dorian replied brightly.

Alistair ran a hand through his hair, causing a pattering of sand to fall from his hair onto his armor. "I wouldn't mind a swim," he said sourly. "I can't wait until we can get out of here."

"What did you learn?" Bull pressed. "I'm ready for some action. Is it time?"

Alistair nodded, face turning grim. "Sorry I took so long to get back here, but it was worth it. My contact is waiting for us at the tower now, keeping an eye on them to make sure they don't suddenly decide to leave like they did last time."

"Good. Let's get going," Dorian declared as he turned to head back into camp. And in the process, almost ran headlong into Hawke, who had approached them from behind.

"Inquisitor," Hawke greeted Dorian in a brittle voice. "A word, if you please?"

Putting a brilliant smile on his face, Dorian said, "But of course, Viscount. I live but to serve."

"In private," Hawke added, looking at Bull and Alistair with disdain. "There are matters of a delicate nature to discuss."

"Sounds like someone woke up on the grumpy side of bed this morning," Alistair muttered, ignoring Hawke's glare as he looked at Dorian. "I'll brief Cassandra on what to expect. No time to strike camp, though. We shouldn't dally too long." With a final glance at Hawke, Alistair clapped Bull on the back as they headed back to the camp.

Once they were out of earshot, Hawke stepped closer and set his hand on Dorian's shoulder. "I don't know what your pet ox has told you," he said quietly, "but I met with a trusted agent in Griffon Wing Keep."

Feeling a little better that Hawke was telling him of his own volition, Dorian nodded. "I take it he brought you some important information?"

"He did: the name of the man the Wardens were waiting for."

Dorian straightened. "The one who arrived yesterday?"

With a nod, Hawke replied, "The very same. He's a Venatori, a venal Magister by the name of Livius Erimond."

"Livius?" Dorian asked in disbelief. "That pillock serves Corypheus? Actually, no, that doesn't surprise me."

"I take it you're familiar with him?" Hawke asked in an amused tone.

"Familiar? Enough to know that he's an idiot of the first order. Just the sort to fall for Corypheus' promise of the return of the Golden Age of the Imperium." Dorian sighed and shook his head. "And a blood mage, at that. It is the last resort of the weak mind, after all." It wasn't until the words fell from his lips that he realized what he'd said, and he quickly looked down, trying to push through the bitter moment of recalling that last conversation with his father.

Hawke settled his hand on the back of Dorian's neck. "Is everything all right?" he asked in a low, intimate tone.

"What?" Dorian cleared his throat and looked up. Hawke was close, a bit too close for comfort, perhaps, but the genuine concern on his face was more than a bit disarming. "I'm perfectly fine, I assure you."

After a few moments of searching Dorian's face, Hawke finally nodded. "As you say. But if you need anyone to talk to, I am here. I know what it's like to be weighed down by a burden you never asked for. Sometimes it's comforting to have someone to talk to who understands the pressures you're facing."

"I'll keep that in mind," Dorian said in a deliberately lighter vein, though silently he realized that he did have someone like that - back at Skyhold. "Though I admit, I thought I was but a passing fancy for you."

One side of Hawke's mouth lifted in an almost tender smile. "Oh, no, my dear Inquisitor. You're far too exquisite for that. But I am a patient man, and you are worth waiting for."

"And you'll have to wait longer," he reminded Hawke, grateful that the man hadn't come to him last night when other excuses would have fallen flat and it would have been harder to turn the man away outright without risking a poor reaction. "We're due to give a rather odious toad a very sound thrashing. Oh, and to figure out the whole demon army of Corypheus thing."

Hawke chuckled softly as his thumb moved to stroke Dorian's cheek. "Later, then. I like the sound of that." Leaning in, he stole a gentle kiss from Dorian, then pressed in for something more passionate, if not lingering. When their lips parted, he murmured, "After we've dealt with these troublesome Wardens."

Lips tingling oddly and heart racing, Dorian gave Hawke a smile. Something felt... off, but he couldn't quite place his finger on what. Whatever it was, however, it made his teeth tingle. "They are overdue for a lesson, yes," he said a trifle breathlessly. It wasn't a commitment, but it obviously sounded enough like one that Hawke smiled and leaned in, presumably for another kiss. "Ah, but… we should be going. We won't get this opportunity again, I think."

"You're right." After a moment's further hesitation, Hawke took one of Dorian's hands so he could raise it and brush his lips across the knuckles. Then he straightened, a cruel sneer coming to his face as he said, "Now let's go attend to these Wardens, hmm? No one unleashes a demon army on my watch."

Dorian chuckled, trying not to show his unease. "That is a sentiment with which I can heartily agree. Let us sally forth, then. It's time to save the world."

They approached the tower with caution from the east side, using the natural placement and size of the dunes and the shadows cast by the sun to conceal as much of their movements as possible. Every once in a while they'd send Varric or Hawke ahead in stealth to find the best route, and adjust according to the lay of the land.

When they were close enough to see the pillars marking one side of the bridge leading to the tower, Alistair drew close to Dorian and pointed ahead. "Keep an eye on the pillar closest to us," he murmured. "I told him to use his shield to reflect the sun once Varric gives the signal. Four times if it's safe to proceed, three times if it's not."

Dorian held up his hand to signal everyone to halt, then looked to Varric and nodded. Varric lifted Bianca and sent a special bolt up into the sky. When it reached its zenith, Dorian activated the spell he'd enchanted it with. Unless someone were watching the sky south of the tower, the brief flash of light would go unnoticed - at least, that was their hope.

Alistair's expression was tense as he locked his gaze on the pillar, then let his breath out explosively as the first glint of light finally showed. Once, twice, then three times. They all held their breaths until a fourth flash was seen, and Alistair nodded. "It's safe. Let's go."

Whipping his hand over his head, Dorian signaled Bull and Alistair to take the lead, falling in behind them with Varric and Hawke, leaving Cassandra to take the flanking position. They moved quickly but quietly, only slowing when they found a man in Warden armor and helm standing beside the pillar.

The man gestured them closer, moving towards them as he did so. Alistair extended his arm wordlessly, which the other man clasped and held for a moment before he turned to Dorian. "Inquisitor. Alistair has told me a great deal about you." Reaching up to remove his helm, he tucked it under an arm as he offered a bow. The face beneath was lined with care and years of sun, but the hair was still black as night. "My name is Loghain Mac Tir. I daresay you have heard of me."

"Ah, the pariah of Ferelden," Dorian said with a light chuckle. "As the pariah of the Imperium, I greet you as a comrade in arms regardless of the reason we are here."

A faint smile touched Loghain's lips. "As you say."

Glancing at Alistair, Dorian added, "I admit, based on what I've heard in the tales, I'm a bit surprised to see you two working together."

Loghain and Alistair exchanged a glance. "That was a long time ago," Loghain said finally. Turning, he pointed towards the tower at the other end of the bridge. "Whatever's happening has already started. I saw lights coming from the tower, but dared not approach alone. Whatever they're doing, it's holding their attention, at least. I counted no more than twenty Wardens who entered, half of them mages, and a single man in Tevinter garb."

"That would be Livius," Dorian mused.

Loghain raised an eyebrow. "You know who it is?"

"One of my agents was able to get the information," Hawke said with a pointed look at Bull.

"Fair enough. What is this man's nature, Inquisitor?" Loghain asked, turning back to Dorian. "Anything useful we should know?"

"He's a lickspittle," Dorian said with a snort. "A born toady. I'm not at all surprised he's serving Corypheus. He is a Magister, though, so he does have magic at his beck. Not harmless, but no Corypheus, or even an Alexius, when it comes to that."

"Then I suppose the time for action has come," Loghain said as he settled his helm back onto his head.

"Yes!" Bull said, drawing his weapon.

"Now, now," Dorian cautioned. "Let's observe for a bit first. The less information we have to drag out of them later, the better. If there's an opportunity to observe undetected, we should take it rather than go in swords swinging."

"Maul," Bull said.

Dorian blinked. "Pardon?"

"This isn't a sword, it's a maul," Bull pointed out helpfully.

After glaring at the grinning Bull for a moment, Dorian shook his head. "Let's just get going, shall we?"

They kept the same formation, though Loghain fell in on the other side of Bull from Alistair to provide him another shield for the front. They encountered no scouts or resistance of any sort. In fact, they encountered no one at all until they reached the top of the stairs which led to a large open area at the top of the tower, and even then, their presence went unnoticed. Taking advantage of that, Loghain gestured towards some cover offered by a few stacked crates, and they moved to crouch behind them.

It soon became apparent why no one was watching them. All eyes were locked on a platform at the other side of the large open area at the top of the tower. On that platform stood a man Dorian did indeed recognize, and a sneer formed reflexively on his lip. "What a tool," he murmured.

Hawke glanced at him. "So my agent was right," he murmured.

"Evidently so," Dorian replied, then frowned. "Wait. Something's happening."

Though they couldn't quite hear the words being spoken, it was clear that there was an argument of some sort. Dorian's eyes swept over the assemblage, though their view wasn't the best, his eyes widening as he slowly put the pieces together concerning the mysterious 'ritual' mentioned in the notes. He rose with a shout on his lips just as one of the Wardens stepped forward and stabbed his dagger deep into another, and the cry died in his throat. It was too late to save the man, after all, and perhaps watching the ritual which was to inevitably follow would glean some further insight.

Dorian's eyes narrowed as he watched the flow of magic around the Warden who had murdered his fellow while he wove a spell using the blood of the fallen. Once the spell settled into place and the demon was summoned, however, Dorian saw Erimond make his move, and made a soft, "Ah," sound. "That's it," he said softly. "That's their game."

"What?" Hawke asked. It was clear from the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared that he found the whole proceedings reprehensible, but he still waited for the signal to advance.

"They don't want to help the Wardens," Dorian said. "They want to control them." Abruptly he strode out of their concealment and moved to confront the Magister, deciding that enough was enough.

"Well, well, well, Dorian," Erimond sneered as he approached. "So you've finally come for a visit? And how is the south treating you, altus?" The word was spoken with a biting sarcasm. Certainly the man meant it as an insult, given his own rank as Magister technically outranked Dorian as a mere Altus by Imperium standards.

"That's Inquisitor," Hawke snapped as he came to a halt next to Dorian. "And Inquisitor outranks worm by a fair bit, blood mage."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Erimond's face, but he quickly recovered. "Your presence is not entirely expected, but it would be remiss of me not to offer greetings," he continued as if Hawke hadn't interrupted him. "We heard about the demise of your predecessor. So very sad."

"You're positively dripping with sincerity, Livius," Dorian remarked coldly. "I suppose that's suitable, since you've never dripped with talent. Perhaps you should use sarcasm as a weapon. It's certainly stronger than your magic."

Erimond took an involuntary step forward. "I was recovering from being sick that day," he told Dorian in an insistent voice.

"You expect me to believe that I was able to beat you in a magical duel because you had a case of the sniffles?" Dorian asked in an amused voice. "I thought it was because I was the better mage than you, even as a youth. As I still am," he added pointedly, then gestured to the Wardens around them. "This is the stuff of rank amateurs, Livius. You're acting exactly like the sort of villainous cliche everyone expects us to be. It's bad enough you're forcing the Wardens to perform blood magic, but to then to also seal their souls to your Master? That's directly out of every horrible two-copper lavatory novel back home. Is that really the highest level of sophistication you can garner with this new Master of yours?"

"We're not forcing the Wardens to do anything," Erimond told him in an angry voice, then stopped and took a deep breath. In a more controlled tone, he said, "We are merely helping them defeat their greatest enemy: the Blight itself. That, and their Calling had them terrified. They were looking everywhere for help."

"And there you were, willing to help them," Alistair drawled. "How convenient."

Erimond's eyes narrowed. "I know you. You're one of the pair that Clarel let slip." His gaze shifted to Loghain, whose face was still hidden under his helm. "And I presume you're the other." When Loghain didn't answer, he flipped his hand in dismissal and continued. "It was hardly a coincidence, either, since it was my Master who put the Calling into your little heads. When they went looking for help, we Venatori were prepared."

"So you cheated. Just like you did in the Circle to get your Enchanter's stole," Dorian remarked.

The Magister's face darkened. "I did not cheat."

"Oh, proclaim it all you want, we both know you only attained that position because of your father," Dorian drawled. "Clearly you can only dream of greatness and must ride someone else's robe hem to get there. Is that what you get out of it? While Corypheus contemplates eternity from the Golden City - though how he plans to restore it, I've no idea - you'll be some sort of pathetic little god-king down here on Thedas?"

"Will you shut up?" Erimond snarled.

Dorian smiled privately. With only a little prodding, it seemed, Erimond was willing to tell them everything they needed to know. "Oh, please, do go on, Livius. Perhaps at some point what you say will actually have import." He glanced around at the piled bodies of dead Wardens. "So that's your game, is it? Teach them a ritual that binds the demons to them, and the mages to Corypheus? How very droll."

Erimond's hateful glare warmed the cockles of Dorian's petty little heart, though his words had the opposite effect. "This was a test," he said, gesturing around the platform at the pile of dead Wardens. "Once the rest of the Wardens complete the ritual, the army will conquer Thedas."

"I don't believe it," Alistair said flatly. "No Warden would do this just for a promise to end the song of the Calling."

Now Erimond's expression grew smug. "Ah. But they think they're raising the demon army to invade the Deep Roads and kill the Old Gods."

"Clever bastard," Alistair admitted grudgingly. "If it had the chance of a fire surviving in the Void, the Wardens might take that chance."

"Am I missing something here?" Dorian asked.

"The Blights are caused by Archdemons," Loghain started to explain, but Erimond cut him off.

"And an Archdemon is a corrupted Old God. No more Old Gods… Poof!" Erimond made, to Dorian's eye, a rather silly gesture. "No more Blights."

"And that's why Clarel agreed at all," Alistair said grimly.

"Indeed, Warden. All of you seemed to be so happy at finally being the ones to defeat the Blight completely that you went right along with my Master's scheme like sheep into a fold."

"A pity they don't know that Corypheus is a Blight," Hawke muttered.

Erimond's eyes narrowed. "He commands the Blight," he insisted. "He is not commanded by it, like the mindless darkspawn. The Blight is not unstoppable or uncontrollable. It is simply a tool."

"No, Livius," Dorian said in a resigned tone. "You're the tool. And a fool."

Erimond's face darkened. "You know, my Master studied your predecessor at Haven quite closely when they met." With a gesture, Erimond's left hand came alive with red flames, and he pointed it at Dorian.

When his left forearm exploded with green flames in answer, a sharp pain shot up Dorian's arm, forcing him to his knees with a sudden cry.

Somewhere, Erimond continued his prattling. "The Elder One showed me how to deal with you, in the event the Inquisition was foolish enough to interfere again," Erimond said in a smug tone. "That mark you bear? The Anchor that lets you pass safely through the Veil? Your precious slant-eared Inquisitor stole that from my Master. He's been forced to seek other ways to access the Fade."

Through the fog of pain which wrapped around his mind, Dorian focused on those words. Pass safely through the Veil? Dagna had said something to that effect, but to hear Erimond refer to it so casually gave the idea more weight - and gave him a better idea of why Corypheus was so angry about losing the Anchor.

Forcing his mind away from speculation and ignoring the idiot's blathering, Dorian concentrated instead on the spell Erimond had cast on the Anchor. Knowing Erimond's abilities when it came to magic - or rather his lack thereof - Dorian had to assume that Erimond had learned the technique as a brute force concept rather than as something intelligently applied. Pushing through the pain, he delved deep, poking and prodding at the magical matrix of the spell surrounding the Anchor. Yes, it agitated the Anchor to cause the pain in the first place, but the nature of the spell was rooted in the nature of the Anchor itself. He felt the tension there, as if something was pulling at it deep within, and he narrowed his eyes as he mentally followed that tension.

There, a voice whispered, just on the edge of his consciousness, and he automatically followed the thought until he found his answer: the point where Erimond's spell had tapped into the complexity that was the Anchor and yanked it askew. With a grim determination, he rose to his feet and extended his hand, seizing that weak point - and Erimond's spell - with the same mental twist he used to close rifts. Once it was well-seated in his magical grasp, he shoved it back in Erimond's face - hard.

Erimond choked back a cry in the middle of his tiresome pontification and staggered back, the pain of his broken spell enough to make him fall flat on his ass - a lovely sight, as far as Dorian was concerned. Erimond scrambled to his feet, mouth agape, as Dorian clucked his tongue and laughed.

"There, there, Livius," Dorian said as he raised his hand and summoned the flickering light of the Anchor. "Maybe someday you'll be a match for me. Not while I'm alive, of course." He gave Erimond a charming smile. "I'm far too good for that." Then he pointed his hand at the man and unleashed a spell borne of both his necromancy arts and the Anchor itself.

The attack scored, and Erimond fell back, clutching his side as crimson flowed between his fingers. "Kill them!" he shouted, finally rousing his guard dogs from their stupor as he stumbled away from them.

"Coward!" Dorian shouted after him, surging forward in pursuit.

A hand landed on his shoulder and pulled him back. "Let him go. We've more pressing business," Hawke grated.

"Now we go in mauls swinging," Bull grunted with satisfaction, then roared as he raised his weapon over his head. "Time to have some fun!"

The fight was short and brutal, considering they had four warriors in the fray and the blood-controlled Warden mages tended to emphasize offense over defense. When the last Warden fell, Hawke shook his head and sneered, "Well, that went well."

Alistair sighed and shook his head, sorrow on his face as he looked at the dead Wardens around them. "Our worst fears are realized. Thanks to that ritual, the Warden mages are enslaved to Corypheus."

"Worse, the rest of the Wardens won't know it until it's too late," Loghain said grimly as he tugged his helm off to examine a dent in one side. "Though now that we know Corypheus is indeed involved, I might be able to persuade a few away from this course of action. That name is known among Wardens."

"I had a bad feeling about this business from the beginning, but this?" Hawke frowned fiercely. "I knew the Wardens would go too far."

Dorian reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Blood magic, human sacrifice, demon summoning… Honestly, who looks at this and thinks, 'Maybe the Maker will forgive me just this once'?"

Hawke snorted. "The fearful and the foolish," he declared, then looked at the two Wardens nearby.

Both men straightened, but it was Loghain who answered. "Despite their lack of wisdom, they acted out of necessity."

"All blood mages do," Hawke said, rounding on Loghain. "Everyone has a story to tell themselves to justify bad decisions, blood mages or not, but it never matters. In the end, you are always alone with your actions. Trust me. I know that intimately."

Dorian looked at Hawke, considering those words coming from that particular man, and wondered if perhaps he had misjudged him after all.

Loghain snorted. "Don't throw that at me, Champion. I've been regretting decisions longer than you've been alive, but that doesn't make all of those decisions wrong. And it doesn't make the decisions you don't regret right." Turning to Dorian, he said, "In the direction Erimond fled, the only structure of note is an abandoned Warden fortress. Adamant. I suspect we'll find the Wardens there."

"I guess they didn't want to summon a demon army out in public," Dorian noted. "Bad for their image, I suppose."

"So what now?" Hawke asked, looking to Dorian.

Dorian sighed. "We split up," he said grimly. "Loghain, you've been a valuable field agent for us thus far. Would you mind continuing that work?"

"For the sake of the Grey Wardens, I will do what is necessary," the older man said with a nod. "I take it you want me to go ahead to Adamant?"

"Indeed. I'll send along a few Inquisition agents from Griffon Wing Keep to aid you, but you can at least confirm that the Wardens are, in fact, there, and get a rough idea of the size and scope of the Fortress." Dorian set his hand on Loghain's shoulder. "It will be a dangerous business, but I'd prefer the eye of someone who's been on more than a few battlefields and studied his fair share of fortresses to analyze the situation before we set the Inquisition Forces against it."

Loghain nodded gravely. "That I can do, Inquisitor. It was going to be my suggestion regardless."

"Good man," Dorian said with a smile. "We pariahs have to help each other as much as we can."

Loghain smiled faintly. "Not alone do we stand on the field of battle," he murmured. "I will journey to Skyhold once I've confirmed the numbers and deployment of the Wardens at Adamant Fortress. Until we meet again, Inquisitor." Giving Dorian a formal bow, Loghain turned to Alistair and extended his hand.

Clasping it with his own, Alistair pulled the man into a bear hug. "Don't you die on me, old man," he said softly. "It took me far too long to figure out why that's a bad idea."

Loghain smiled, and when he was released, nodded to Alistair. "You're sounding more and more like your father every time I see you."

"Maker forbid I let down the Theirin line," Alistair said with a grin.

"Never that, my friend, never that. Some would argue I've done enough of that for the both of us." He patted Alistair's arm one last time, then settled his helm into place and set off towards the stairs.

Dorian turned his attention to Alistair and Hawke. "I need you to return to Skyhold. They need to start mustering the Inquisition Forces for battle at Adamant."

Hawke frowned, eyes narrowing. "Alistair could go on his own, or you could even send a message from Griffon Wing Keep, if you didn't want to return to Skyhold right away," he pointed out. "I'd rather to stay with you and have that private discussion we talked about earlier. Why aren't you heading back now?"

"Because there are still too many Venatori running around this place, and the last thing we need is a contingent of them joining the Wardens at Adamant," Dorian pointed out. It was a reason, of course, and a perfectly valid one, just not the reason - which was that he needed to be away from Hawke right now. He simply couldn't trust himself to resist Hawke if the man pressed him again, but Dorian didn't know why, and that worried him. "We'll sweep up the last remnants of the Venatori and head back to Skyhold, so we shouldn't be too far behind you."

"Alistair and I could help you with that," Hawke insisted. "Why send us ahead?"

"I need both of you to give an in-person brief to Leliana and Josephine about everything we've learned here," he explained. "While you do that, I'll go back to Griffon Wing Keep and check in with Knight-Captain Rylen. I really didn't get to spend much time there after we captured it for the Inquisition, after all. After that, as I said, we'll sweep away the last of the Venatori here. Don't worry, Hawke," he added with a wink. "You'll see me again."

A slow smile came to Hawke's face. "Good. That's the important part." Before Dorian could step away, Hawke reached out and pulled Dorian close, claiming his lips in a lingering kiss. Again, Dorian felt that odd edge of wrong, a warning humming at the brink of his conscious mind, but the sensation was overwhelmed by a heady rush of pleasure that swept over him, and he felt his hands sinking into Hawke's hair before he realized he'd raised them at all. When their lips parted, Hawke seemed quite pleased with himself. "Until later, Inquisitor," Hawke murmured, then pulled back and looked at Alistair. "Let's go," he commanded as he turned and marched to the stairs.

"Yes, ser," Alistair muttered under his breath. He did pause long enough to give Dorian a worried glance, then shook his head and trotted after Hawke.

"You've got a real strange sense of good ideas sometimes, boss," Bull noted with a grunt once they well out of earshot.

"Thank you for that incredibly insightful comment, Bull," Dorian said, squinting as he looked north. "Let's be on our way, shall we? That Servis fellow who's been littering the Western Approach with notes and agents seems to have an overwhelming talent for causing trouble. It's past time we paid him a visit." And hopefully doing so will take long enough for me to recall why kissing Hawke is a bad idea.

With a weary gesture for his companions to follow after him, he set into motion. Why does it have to be so complicated?