Cullen frowned at the paper in his hand as he climbed the stairs to the Nightingale's Roost, as most in Skyhold called it by now. "Leliana, have you seen this report from-" he asked as he looked up, then paused when he realized that Leliana wasn't in her usual spot. "And here I am speaking to thin air," he muttered, awkwardly reaching up to rub his neck.

"She's outside on the terrace, Commander."

Cullen jumped slightly, then looked to the elven woman on his right and smiled. "Thank you, Charter. Now I don't feel quite so foolish, knowing someone was here." Only somewhat foolish, he added privately.

Charter didn't smile in return, but then, she rarely did. "She's got company, ser."

"An agent?" Cullen guessed.

"No, ser." Charter's chin dipped down as she repeated with an odd emphasis, "Company."

Cullen blinked a few times, then looked over to the door leading outside. "Oh, company. Right. Well." Leliana and company was an odd concept to accept, honestly. He hesitated, glancing down at the paper in his hand, and finally sighed. "Then she'll have to arrange to meet them later," he said grimly and headed for the door.

As he approached, he realized that it had been left ajar, and hesitated at the threshold when hushed voices reached his ears. Deciding that a bit of eavesdropping was preferable to barging in on something else on a different tier of unforgivable, he paused and listened for a moment.

"-sure it was him?" Leliana was saying.

"It had to be," her company replied, and Cullen's eyebrows rose as he recognized the voice. "No one else has that tattoo or that scar."

"But what was he doing there?" Leliana asked, a faint and quite unexpected tremor in her voice.

Alistair sighed, and Cullen heard a sound much like a fist hitting stone in frustration. "I don't know. But we both know that he would never be allowed to wander around Thedas without a damned good reason. Maker knows we were all kept on a short leash."

"Until I was murdered," Leliana said in a soft voice.

Cullen's hand froze in the act of reaching out to push the door open, jaw dropping in disbelief. No. He must have misheard that.

"Maker, Leliana," Alistair breathed, and there was a creak of leather as someone moved. "I'm sorry, I didn't want to remind you of that."

"I still remember his face," Leliana said in an oddly toneless voice. "He enjoyed it. Enjoyed watching me lie there, burned and bleeding, knowing there was no way I would survive what he had done to me. The last thing I remember of him was the pressure of his lips on my forehead. And then-" Finally her voice cracked, and Alistair made some comforting noises.

Cullen's mind raced as he struggled with what he'd heard, torn between interrupting what was obviously a private moment and the need to learn more. His indecision kept him frozen long enough to hear Alistair speak again. "When I heard you were with the Inquisition, I could hardly believe it. It was like a sign from the Maker, that maybe… maybe what we went through during the Blight was truly over. I may not be the Nightingale, but maybe I could be the Warden who helps to save Thedas. You know. This time. I didn't do such a smashing good job last time, I suppose." After a pause, he chuckled, though the sound was a bit strained. "Oh, good. A smile. You had me worried there for a moment."

"This isn't the time for games, Alistair," Leliana scolded him, though she did sound far more herself than a few moments before. "We need to find out what Amell is up to."

At the mention of that name, Cullen's expression turned grim, and he shoved the door open to step out onto the terrace. As he'd suspected, Alistair had his arms around Leliana, though they quickly separated after Cullen's abrupt entrance. He would apologize for interrupting later, but something else was more important at the moment. "What's this about Amell?" he demanded.

Alistair and Leliana exchanged a glance, and Alistair conceded the matter to Leliana with a gesture. Face grim, she said, "Alistair saw Zevran Arainai at Griffon Wing Keep."

"You're absolutely sure?" Cullen asked in a sharp tone.

"Trust me," Alistair said with a grimace. "Amell made sure I knew Zev very well before the Blight was over."

"Maker." Cullen ran his fingers through his hair. "I thought Amell was sitting this one out." It had seemed too good to be true...

"The last I heard of him, he was trying to find a cure for the Calling," Leliana told him. "But you know what he's like. He'll do whatever suits him, no matter the consequences."

"I remember." Cullen could never forget the man, nor forgive him. Shaking his head, he looked to Leliana. "But until we know more, there's not much we can do, is there?"

She shook her head mutely, a tension around her eyes that Cullen had never seen before, not even in the worst moments after the explosion at the Conclave. "No. But my agents will be looking for any signs of Amell or Zevran, that I promise you."

Alistair's expression turned a bit wistful. "He wasn't such a bad fellow, once. Zevran, I mean. Yes, he was an assassin, and yes, he tried to kill me the first time we met, but... You know. Water under the bridge and all that. Amell changed him, though. After Kinloch Hold, he-" He looked at Cullen as the man flinched. "Oh. Right. Sorry," he said softly.

"A time best left in the past. For all of us." Cullen scrubbed his face with his hand, then shook his head. "Regardless, there is nothing we can do now except watch and wait." After a moment, he realized he still held the report in his hand, and raised it, desperate for a new topic. "Leliana, this came in. Have you seen it yet?" he asked, holding it out to her.

She took the paper and scanned it quickly, then more slowly as her eyes widened. "When did this arrive?"

"Jim brought it to me just a few minutes ago, fresh from the message bin." Suddenly he snapped his fingers. "Charter."

"Charter?" Leliana asked, confused.

"She's in your roost, but was probably a bit more hesitant to, ah, interrupt," he said, glancing at Alistair.

The faintest hint of color darkened Leliana's cheeks, and she shoved the paper back into Cullen's hands. "I need to speak with her," she declared, then hastily pushed past Cullen and through the door.

"No comments, please," Alistair said in a firm voice.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Cullen said, then smiled. "It sounds like you both could use a friend who understands."

Alistair frowned, staring intently at the door through which Leliana had passed. "There's not a single thing about the Blight that I don't regret, save one. Knowing her. And Amell made sure he took even that away." With a shake of his head, Alistair faced Cullen. "Or so I thought. Thank the Maker He had other plans. Or Andraste. I'd even sacrifice a boar to that wolf god of the Dalish if it turned out to be him."

Cullen sighed and pinched his nose. "Alistair…"

"A little too blasphemous for the ex-Templar, am I?" Alistair said with a chuckle. "Don't worry, I was joking. Mostly. I'll let you know if I get accosted by any furry divinities."

"Thank you, that's exactly what I wanted to picture," Cullen groaned.

Punching him lightly in the arm, Alistair said, "You weren't always so uptight. I remember, you know." He tapped the side of his nose. "You had a mischievous streak in you when we were young."

"Young and stupid," Cullen said with a reluctant grin.

Putting a stern look on his face, Alistair put his hands on his hips and posed. "No kitchen was safe from us, especially in the middle of the night."

With a snort, Cullen looked him up and down. "That bottomless pit you call a stomach kept waking me up at night with its growling. Besides, an invasion of the kitchen was an excellent practical application of the tactical lessons we were taught."

Alistair grinned. "And more suitable for nocturnal activities than some others I could name, according to you."

"Alistair." Reaching up to rub his forehead, Cullen sighed. "You're certainly more forthright than when we were younger," he finally observed dryly.

"I try," Alistair said as his grin widened. "So, since we're talking about me being nosy-"

"Were we?" Cullen asked.

"We were. What was in that report you showed Lel?" He made as if to reach for it, but Cullen folded it and tucked it away.

"Not your concern, Warden Alistair," he said, tone part-teasing but also part-serious.

Alistair made a face at him. "Inquisition business, eh? Fair enough. I'm an ally, not a member. I envy you, you know."

"Oh?" Cullen tilted his head. "Whatever for this time?"

"What do you mean, this time?" Alistair protested.

"Just answer the question," Cullen told him with a smirk. He had to admit that the banter with Alistair was a good distraction from the earlier conversation, and he hoped it was the same for Alistair. "You're the one who brought it up, anyway."

Crossing his arms across his chest in a way that reminded Cullen of their shared Templar training, Alistair said, "Fair enough. I just meant I envy you your part in this. I was forced to be a Templar, as you know, but I muddled my way through until Duncan took pity on me. I enjoyed being a Warden, at least, until I met Amell. Now, though? Now I'm looking in the teeth of the Wardens being as much a danger to Thedas as the very Magister that inflicted the Blight upon us in the first place." His hand clenched in a fist as his shoulders grew tense. "At least you're part of something that's fighting him. My side? No, they're plunging headlong into their own destruction and spitting on their own legacy all the while."

Cullen's hand shot out to grip Alistair's shoulder tightly. "It won't get that far," he promised. "The Inquisition won't let that happen."

After a few tense moments, Alistair released his breath explosively. "But it won't be the Wardens who save themselves," he said. "And that hurts. More than I'd like to admit, it hurts."

"I wouldn't say that. That it won't be the Wardens." Cullen nudged Alistair with a little grin. "You're here, aren't you?"

"True," Alistair mused. "And it's not like they've corrupted Weisshaupt. I suppose as long as we prevent the whole demon army business and trounce Corypheus like the blighter he is, the Wardens will still be around to fight the next Archdemon."

"An ambitious man, I see," Cullen said with a half-grin.

Giving Cullen a subtle wink, Alistair said, "Ambitious times, my friend. And ambitious times call for ambitious men."

A little smile came to Cullen's face. "Or maybe just the right man," he murmured.

His friend gave him a shrewd glance. "Anyone in particular on your mind, hmm?"

"What?" The question caught Cullen by surprise, and he felt his ears heat. There had been, but it certainly didn't warrant that tone from Alistair… did it? "No. No, of course not." He hastened towards the door. "I'm going to talk to Leliana about that report."

"Right, no one at all. I totally believe you," Alistair called after him. The door cut off his chuckle, and Cullen paused to lean against it and regain his composure as best he could. Finally he looked around the roost and spotted Leliana and Charter standing next to her map on the table and pushed himself forward to join them.

"You are certain it was he?" Leliana asked.

Charter nodded. "One of our agents was able to get close enough to listen to the servants gossip. That name was used several times to refer to someone in the retinue. Lord Pavus."

Well, that got Cullen's attention faster than almost anything else would have. "Not just any Magister, then," he said. "My report didn't have a name."

"No, Commander," Charter said with a nod. "We didn't want to trust the name to paper, considering…"

"Considering who our Inquisitor is, yes," Cullen said with a nod. "A good decision, that. So a group of Magisters is coming to Skyhold. When will they arrive?"

Leliana grabbed the measuring line next to her map, consulting the report as she worked her way from the position in there to Skyhold. "A month, at the absolute earliest, and that's if they don't run into weather or giants," she said. "My agents can move much more quickly than a caravan of dignitaries, after all, and the ravens can move even faster than them."

Cullen frowned, brow knotting in thought. "We'll be in the Western Approach by then, laying siege to Adamant, or making our way back if it's a short siege."

"Josephine can greet them on behalf of the Inquisition," Leliana told him. "That, at least, we do not have to worry about, though we will need to make sure there are plenty of mages here in Skyhold when they arrive."

"It's a fairly sizable retinue coming from the Imperium," Cullen said with a frown. "I don't know if we can spare enough soldiers or mages to leave here to create a proper impression of the Inquisition's force."

"There are ways to give the semblance without needing the reality," Leliana assured him. "A few stable hands and servants in the right uniforms and livery, and it will appear we are at full strength regardless of how many actually know what to do with a sword."

Conceding the point, Cullen scrutinized the map and sighed. "Well, hopefully it will take longer than a month for them to arrive."

"There are ways to delay them without tipping our hand," Charter said. "They might be able to recover from a broken wheel more quickly than most, but a well-timed avalanche in a mountain pass could hold them up for a week or two, or force them to find another way."

"And Josephine is not without resources, either," Leliana noted with a smile. "She could approach key allies in their path and suggest all sorts of ways to give the ambassadors from the Imperium a welcome worthy of their status. And a proper Orlesian fete can take up to a week, if not more."

Cullen chuckled as he thought about that. "All excellent ideas. I knew the Inquisition could rely upon you. Let's plan on that. I would feel much better if they did not arrive while we were away." And I likely won't be the only one to feel that way. "When is the Inquisitor expected back, according to your birds?"

"Tomorrow," Leliana said, still frowning at the map.

Tomorrow. For a brief instant, it felt like an eternity, and in the next instant, Cullen felt total confusion at that knee-jerk reaction. Forcing himself to nod briskly, he headed towards the stairs. "Then you go brief Josephine on the situation while I get back to readying the troops. The trebuchets needs to be calibrated."

"Again?" Leliana asked in a bland voice.

"Yes, again," he said irritably as he looked back at her. "One frayed rope could mean-" He paused when he saw the subtle twitch of her lips. "A siege is not a jaunt in the park," he muttered as he stomped down the stairs. "I'll send a report in the morning."

"As long as you sleep before you send it," she called after him.

He frowned as he moved through the library, since he'd hoped no one had noticed the sparseness of his sleeping hours. Most of it he blamed on lyrium withdrawal and the upcoming deployment to Adamant, but he had to admit that that wasn't the only reason. His bed seemed awfully lonely of late, and that one morning of waking up in the Inquisitor's bed with the mattress still warm next to him hadn't exactly helped - especially given the nature of the dream which had left him both aroused and bewildered and even a trifle guilty. He slowed as he passed the now empty niche where Dorian had once set up shop in the library, Mailani's teasing once more echoing in his mind.

Little remained of Dorian in the niche now, of course. They'd moved everything but the chair to the Inquisitor's quarters after Mailani's portrait had been transferred to the hall. Yet just the mere sight of that plush, lonely chair tucked away in the corner of the library also reminded him of twinkling grey eyes and a curl of a mustache. He found himself smiling a bit wistfully at the thought, realizing just how much he'd missed Dorian's presence in Skyhold over the past weeks. Though the loss of Mailani had left a hole in his life, it was no longer the aching wound it had once been, and his growing friendship with Dorian exemplified his return to normalcy in a fashion that felt… right. In addition to being a friend, Dorian had also become something more: a shoulder Cullen could lean on when needed, and Cullen had precious few of those.

And then, of course, there was that dream , still as vivid in his mind as when he had awakened with a warm emptiness in the bed next to him.

After a few moments, he realized he was just standing and staring while there was work to be done. When a quick, guilty look around him showed that thankfully no one seemed to have noticed, he straightened and set into motion again. He could let his mind wander when he was in bed. Now was not the time for woolgathering.

He had trebuchets to calibrate.

For the next few hours, Cullen traversed the expanse of Skyhold and the surrounding country several times over. Nothing was spared his attention, from the newest recruits to the grizzled veterans. The push to Adamant was going to be their first decisive blow against Corypheus since Haven's fall, and Cullen knew that more than a few of those in the Inquisition saw this as a way to get a bit of personal revenge against the mad Magister for the devastation he'd wrought.

As he worked his way through the ranks, sending scouts and soldiers alike scattering to get the last few pieces in place as he did so, he lost track of time. Even when the sun went down, he only paused long enough to get a lantern before setting back to work. It was only when everything was in place to his satisfaction that he headed back to his office, more than ready for his bed.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to his quarters, however, a voice whispered to him from a nearby shadowed niche. "Psst. Hey, Commander."

Cullen frowned and turned to the source of the sound, stepping towards it as he raised his lantern. "Bull? Is that you?"

"Yeah, yeah, keep it quiet, would ya?" The large man stepped out of the shadows, looming larger in the night than during the day. Reaching out, he took the lantern from Cullen and blew it out, leaving the area dark around them. "It's time to skulk."

Cullen's eyebrows rose. "Skulk? You want to skulk? You're starting to sound like Alistair."

Bull laughed softly. "He's an okay guy. Come on."

As Bull turned and headed towards a side door to the main building, Cullen hurried to catch up with him, his mind waking up from its pre-slumber stupor. "Wait, Bull. You were with Dor- the Inquisitor. Is he here?"

Bull nodded as he held open the door and gestured Cullen through. "We got back a couple of hours ago. Josephine and Leliana pulled the boss into that fancy bedroom next to the throne for some sort of meeting right away. I tried to find you then, but couldn't track you down."

Muttering an oath, Cullen picked up his pace. "Where is he? The Inquisitor, I mean. Is he still there?"

"Josephine and Leliana left, but he didn't. Hawke went in for a while, but Varric lured him out when Cole started to panic."

"Maker," Cullen breathed.

"Yeah, it wasn't a pretty sight. I figure the boss needs a friend right now, and you came to mind, so I staked out your office."

"How long-"

"Was I waiting for you?" Bull finished for him, then shrugged. "Not long. Hopefully Varric's kept Hawke occupied, but the faster we move, the better."

"Agreed," Cullen said shortly. Despite his wariness concerning Cole, he remembered the last time the spirit-man had warned him about Hawke's predatory instincts when it came to Dorian, and knew he could trust Cole on that matter implicitly.

By that point, they'd reached one of the side doors for the main hall, and Bull eased it open to peek out. "Right," he said with a grunt. "I can see them arguing in front of the fire, but Varric's made sure Hawke's back is towards us. I'll stand and loom so it's harder to see you, but I'd still move fast if I were you."

Cullen didn't need any further encouragement. As soon as Bull stepped into the hall, he did as well, moving to the Inquisitor's bedroom with a quick step. As he shut the door behind him, he opened his mouth to call out, but paused when a faint sound reached his ears. Pushing away from the door, he stepped further into the room, trying to discern the nature of what he heard.

His eyes widened when he recognized the faint strains of music drifting in the air, played upon a string instrument of some kind. It wasn't, perhaps, as polished as some of the bards who had passed through Skyhold, but it was lovely nonetheless, and held a sense of heartache that woke an echo of pain in Cullen. He suddenly recalled the small mandolin which had sat in Dorian's nook in the library, and his steps hurried as worry overcame him once more.

When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he had to strain to find Dorian amidst the shadows. There was no candle lit, so the only light to go by was the moonlight streaming in through the window. The first glint he saw proved to be a buckle from Dorian's outfit, but it had been flung over the side of the couch near the stairs. It wasn't until the music stopped and he heard the slosh of liquid in glass, then saw the moonlight dance on the bottle, that he saw Dorian sitting on the balcony. The same light also glowed on the sides of several other bottles littered on the ground around him, several tipped over on their sides.

"Dorian," he breathed, then hurried over.

As he moved, Dorian set the bottle down and began to pluck at the mandolin once more. He sang as he played, so softly that Cullen couldn't even hear it until he was very close. As he stepped out onto the balcony, the music stopped once more, but this time Dorian just stared blindly into the distance, face void of expression.

Hesitantly, Cullen laid his hand on the other man's shoulder and whispered his name. Dorian started, nearly dropping his mandolin as he kicked one of the bottles off the balcony. "Oh dear," he said. "I do hope that doesn't ruin anyone's evening." When a curse rose from below, he tilted his head. "Ah. One more sin on my head. Or… well, I suppose my foot." He turned to look up at Cullen, gaze bleary. "Is that you, Commander? How charming to see you. Would you-" He paused for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Would you care to join in my celebration?"

Cullen frowned. Dorian's bright smile held the brittleness of a droplet of ice, and the dark circles under his eyes spoke of nothing to do with celebrating. "Are you all right?" he asked softly.

"I? Never better!" Dorian said brightly. "Why, I learned that I will be seeing my father soon. Isn't that wonderful? He can finally put his arms on my shoulders and tell me how very proud of his son he is. I'm sure he'll tell me… tell me how clever I was to infiltrate a powerful southern operation, or congratulate me on… on scheming my way to the top." As Dorian spoke, his inebriation became more pronounced, his words slurring as he continued, "I guarantee you he'll im-imply that power should never have been… been trusted to an elf anyway, and only a member of a House of the Magisterium will be able to deal appra-appro-appre-" He finally paused, staring at Cullen for a long moment before he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. "My father's coming."

"I gathered." Gently Cullen reached down and extracted the mandolin from Dorian's grasp, setting it to lean against the wall. Taking both of Dorian's hands, he pulled the man to his feet. "Steady now," he said as Dorian almost fell into him. "Let's get you to bed."

"Ha!" Dorian said, then laughed as if Cullen had said something uproariously funny. "Bed. Yes. Oh, yes, that's expactly... ah, exactly what Father will say." Reaching up to tap the side of his nose and missing, Dorian glared at his hand suspiciously for a moment, then tried to take a step towards the door.

When he stumbled and kicked another bottle off the balcony, Cullen quickly swooped in and tugged one of Dorian's arms over his shoulders. Ignoring the shouted curse from below as the bottle landed, he steered Dorian inside. "I think someone needs some tea," he said with a chuckle.

"Tea? No, no, no, not tea. I think I had one bottle left. Besides, it did tell me to serve myself. Or at least one of them did." He tried to turn to look behind them, almost knocking Cullen over. They were saved by the desk, but for a moment, Cullen found himself pinned between wood and mage.

"You got into the Ritewine?" Cullen asked, straining to right them. He didn't want to push too hard with Dorian in his current state, or he might inadvertently knock the man over. "I thought Alistair warned you it tasted worse than horse piss."

"Which makes it the perfect...the perfect wine for a pissy mood," Dorian said, letting out a groan as he let his head fall forward to land in the crook of Cullen's neck and shoulder. "I don't suppose we can make it all go away? My father coming, or me being the Inquisitor, or the whole… the whole Corypheus thing? That would be ever so lovely."

The hot blast of Dorian's breath on his neck made Cullen acutely aware of how very close they were. For a few moments he tried to get his hands situated in a way that wouldn't be scandalous, then finally gave up. "Ah… Can you perhaps push yourself up a bit?"

"When the world stops its in...infernal spinning," Dorian replied in a dull tone.

Finally getting his feet under him, Cullen managed to lift Dorian enough that he could set himself under the man's arm and get him moving forward again. "I think it might stop doing that when you're in bed," he said in a light tone. "Come on, let's go."

"It's not even fair," Dorian complained. "Father will simply assume I've claimed the most handsome man in Skyhold for my bed, and you've never even been near it. Well. Not in the way my father would think, I mean."

Cullen swallowed, a bit surprised at how much it pleased him that Dorian considered him handsome, then eased Dorian down onto the mattress. "Can you sit there while I go get you some tea?"

Dorian peered at him owlishly, blinking slowly. "Sit? Sit. Sit! Yes, I can sit here and do nothing. That's simple enough, I suppose, even for a failure like myself."

"Don't say that," Cullen said, a knee-jerk response as soon as the words left Dorian's lips.

"Oh, that scowl you're wearing," Dorian said with laugh as he reached up to tap the furrowed skin between Cullen's eyebrows. "So very fierce, Commander. I would almost think you cared. But yes, a failure, at least as far as my father is concerned. I'm not Archon. I'm not a First Enchanter. I was caught fuck...fucking my way through the entire workforce of some of the seedier all-male brothels in Minrathous. Oh, and of course I had the audaci...the audacity to tell him no when he wanted to scramble my brain. What else can I… can I be?" His voice trailed away as he stared into Cullen's eyes. "I tried so very hard, you see, but I was never good enough."

Grateful that it was himself who had found Dorian in this state, and not a predator like Hawke, Cullen crouched in front of Dorian and took his hands. "Listen to me, Dorian," he said in a firm tone. "You're not a failure, and you are free to ignore your father as much as he ignored you."

Dorian shook his head. "We're far too much alike to be able to ignore each other. I've seen his best and I've seen his worst, and I know we're not done with each other, not entirely." He fell silent for a long moment. "And apparently there's a woman with him. I fear that, too."

"Your mother, perhaps?" Cullen asked.

"Or worse. Fianceé." Dorian shuddered violently. "Just the thought of it makes me ill."

Fianceé. Cullen remembered Dorian's previous references to the marriage his family had arranged for him, and frowned. He wanted to ask more about that possibility, about what Dorian being Inquisitor meant to the Imperium, but knew this was not the best time to pursue the matter. So he kept his fretting silent. "Let me get you some tea," Cullen offered. "Then we'll talk, all right? I don't want you to go to sleep like this. Maker knows what size your head would be."

Dorian stared at him for a few long moments, then nodded. "Tea. Yes, I suppose that's better than joining juice."

"Good man," Cullen said with a chuckle as he rose to his feet. "Don't move. I'll be right back."

"Promises, promises, Commander," Dorian said, giving Cullen a nonchalant wave of his hand. "We'll just see, won't we?"

With a quick step, Cullen raced down to the hall and hailed the nearest servant. He gave the orders quietly, trying not to let his concern for the Inquisitor show, but inevitably wondered if he was successful as he turned to head back to Dorian. In the end, it didn't matter - only the welfare of his friend mattered.

When he reached the bed again, he found that Dorian had slumped to his side on the mattress in an incredibly uncomfortable-looking position. Gently tugging the man upright, Cullen sat down next to him and set his arm around the man's shoulders to steady him. "Tea's on it's way," he told Dorian. "Now. Maybe we could get you ready for bed in the meantime."

"All the buckles are off already," Dorian told him. "Hawke helped with that. Offered to take off more. Helpful fellow, Hawke."

Cullen didn't like the sound of that at all, or the way an almost haunted look came to Dorian's face as he spoke. "He didn't... hurt you, did he?"

"Hurt me?" Dorian blinked and turned to look at Cullen. "No, no. No. No, he didn't hurt me. He kissed me, touched me, told me... told me I was beautiful." His brow furrowed as his gaze went blank for a moment. "I felt… I felt something when he touched me, like someone telling me what to feel, telling me that it should feel good. Telling me to enjoy it when he… when his hands…" His voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes as his face took on an almost pained expression. For a moment, one of his hands settled on his groin before quickly moving away, and Cullen felt his teeth grind together when he saw that the laces on his trousers had been yanked askew. "Like I had no… no choice but to enjoy it. That's not right, is it?"

"No." Cullen swallowed harshly, a whisper of anger awakening deep inside. "No, it's not right at all."

"I thought as... thought as much." For a long moment, Dorian kept staring past Cullen into the darkness. Abruptly a shudder ran through his body, and green light flickered in his left palm as Dorian's eyes suddenly focused on Cullen. "Commander. It is good to see you. Did I… did I tell you that yet?"

Resisting the urge to take Dorian's hand and squeeze it, Cullen said, "No. But I am glad to see you, if a bit worried as well."

"Oh, this? Tut tut, Commander," Dorian said. "I'll be fine. It was simply that kind of- kind of day which needed to end with some drinking." He stared into Cullen's eyes for a long moment, and Cullen felt heat slowly rise in his ears as he found he could not look away. When Dorian shifted towards him, Cullen's gaze dropped to consider Dorian's lips for a moment, biting the inside of his lip when Dorian's tongue emerged to moisten them.

When a knock came at the door, Cullen found himself gasping for the air he'd forgotten to breathe, and stunned at what he'd been contemplating. Besides, whatever might have happened, the moment had passed, and Dorian slumped down once more. "That would be the tea," Cullen said as he stood, feeling oddly helpless. "I'll, ah, I'll go- I shall return." When Dorian only sighed in response, Cullen quickly moved to the door.

When he opened the door, the tea was waiting for him, and so was Bull. As the horned man thrust the tray at him, he muttered, "Varric and Hawke went downstairs to that little library when they started shouting at each other, so you're still good. How's the boss?"

"Toiling under the auspices of several bottles of Ritewine," Cullen said with a sigh.

"Ouch. That shit is brutal." Bull grimaced and shook his head. "Got it. I'll let the redhead know, at least. Good luck." He gently pushed Cullen back, then reached in to pull the door closed, leaving Cullen blinking.

After a moment, he gave a mental shrug and headed back to the bed. Dorian still needed the tea, after all. Setting the tray on the desk, he quickly poured a cup, added a bit of sugar to sweeten it, and pressed it into Dorian's hands. "There we are. Drink it down," he said in a gentle voice.

As Dorian sipped slowly at the tea, Cullen walked to the balcony and collected the mandolin to bring inside. It was a beautiful instrument, with silver inlaid in the wood in a pattern he could only surmise was Tevinter in nature, but as he turned it over to follow the silver along the back, he came across a surprise. "Felix?" he read, his finger tracing along the detailed filigree engraved on the body.

"Hmm? Oh, the mandolin? Yes." Dorian smiled at what was obviously a fond memory. "He gifted it to me when I separated from his father's mentoring. It was his way to let me know that he was still my friend, you see, regardless of what words Alexius and I had exchanged."

"You miss him, don't you?" Cullen asked as he gently set the mandolin on Dorian's bureau.

"Every day. He and I used to have the most fascinating conversations. Why, I remember once when we argued all night about whether or not someone could be made into a mage if they were not born with the ability. As a mage of lesser talent than might be expected of his heritage, it weighed heavily on him." Dorian's face grew sad for a moment. "Where another Magister might have disowned him or adopted another heir from a close bloodline, Alexius never held it against Felix. He loved his son so very much, it didn't matter to him that Felix wanted to be a scholar rather than a First Enchanter. I… envied that, once upon a time."

Cullen nodded as he carefully set the mandolin on the desk where it would be safe. "Did Leliana's agents ever track him down?"

"They found the body of Alexius, after the Venatori were done with him," Dorian said softly, a vast sorrow on his face. "I wish… I wish it hadn't ended where it did between us."

Wincing at the man's sudden melancholy, Cullen moved to the bed and sat down. Taking one of Dorian's hands into his own, he said, "I'm sorry."

"As am I." Dorian's eyebrows peaked together. "Whatever he became at the… at the end, he saved me from my… from myself. He found me in a brothel, you know." A faint smile touched Dorian's lips. "I propositioned him, actually. I was… I was drunk at the time. Not on Ritewine, of course. And he politely declined, and then gently… ah, gently bullied me into his carriage and took me far away. To somewhere safe." Dorian's gaze grew distant. "That was a good time, with him. Until…"

"Until the darkspawn," Cullen guessed softly.

"Yes. They ruin all they… all they touch, do they not?" A gleam came to Dorian's eyes, and he took a deep breath and closed them. "As for Felix, no. Leli-Leliana says they found nothing. He must be dead. If even Alexius couldn't sustain him, there is… there is no hope."

Wrapping an arm around Dorian, Cullen pulled him into an awkward embrace. Dorian's head fell onto his be-furred shoulder, so Cullen found his other hand rising naturally to stroke the man's head. The feel of the silken strands under his fingers made him wonder if the man's mustache would be as soft to the touch - and then he wondered why his thoughts had even wandered in that direction.

"At least I'm not alone," Dorian murmured. Raising his head, his grey eyes met Cullen's gaze as a winsome little smile came to his lips. "You're a good friend, Commander, staying with me even when I'm… when I'm so dreadfully maudlin."

The combination of that smile and those eyes left Cullen speechless for a moment, and he cleared his throat to buy some time to think up a response. "You're not so dreadful," he finally said with a dry chuckle. "Though I think your perception of my virtues is a bit clouded at the moment."

"Are you implying that I am drunk?" Dorian demanded. "I'll have you know, ser, that I am not so easily drunk as that miscreant of a furry-chested storyteller in the hall."

"Perhaps not," Cullen said, amused, "but few could drink seven bottles of Ritewine-"

"Joining juice," Dorian corrected, waggling his finger at Cullen. "Very important detail."

"Of 'joining juice' strong enough to knock a Grey Warden on their ass and not be sozzled at the end of it," Cullen finished, then firmly patted the mattress. "So why don't you lie down and sleep, hmm?"

"Sleep. Yes." Dorian glanced at the pillow. "That does sound marvelous."

"Then get under the covers while I get you a glass of water. Hopefully that will help with the headache." Rising to his feet, Cullen moved to the ever-present water pitcher next to the wardrobe and poured out a glass. Of course, by this point, it might be as effective as pouring a cup of hot water on a snowbank in terms of any effect it would have on the hangover, but at least it would be something. By the time he brought the glass back, Dorian had managed to lie flat on the bed, but the covers were proving to be a challenge. "Here you are," Cullen said, holding out the glass.

Dorian took it with a look of distaste. "Are you sure wine wouldn't be better?"

"Water," Cullen said firmly.

"You truly are an unpleasant person when I'm drunk," Dorian complained, yet gulped the liquid down nonetheless as Cullen drew the blanket over him.

When he was done, Cullen took the glass. "Now sleep," he told Dorian. "And I'll see you tomorrow."

As he turned to leave, however, a hand reached out and caught his. "Wait, Commander."

Eyebrow raised, Cullen turned back. "What is it?"

"Will you stay yet a while? I… I need a friend tonight." Dorian's voice was soft, but the look in his eyes was so vulnerable that Cullen was doubly grateful he was here rather than Hawke. The thought of how Hawke would take advantage of Dorian as he had those in Kirkwall made his stomach churn, and he nodded.

"Of course I'll stay," he said. "Let me bar the door, though."

The grateful smile that came to Dorian's face could only be described as poignant. "Of course. I'll be here, I promise." He squeezed Cullen's hand before releasing it. "Not sure I could stumble to the desk right now, honestly."

Cullen chuckled. "Then perhaps it is better not to try." As he made his way to the door, a moment of uncertainty came over him. He'd heard the rumors, naturally, about the Inquisitor and himself, but they'd dissipated quickly during Dorian's absence. If Cullen were to spend the Inquisitor's first night back with Dorian, no matter how chaste, the rumors would start again. His hand paused on the bar, pondering if he was creating a problem where none should exist, then remembered Dorian's pleading look. He knew Bull was right - if Hawke got wind of Dorian in this state, he would try to take advantage of it. With that in mind, he quietly slid the bar home, then turned to go back to the bed.

As he did so, he heard footsteps approach the door, and a creak as someone tried to push the door open. A soft curse reached his ears when the way was found to be barred, and he stiffened as he recognized the voice. Hawke. Standing absolutely still and almost forgetting to breathe, his ears strained as he heard a muttered epithet of "Idiotic dwarf" before the footsteps retreated.

Shaking his head and frowning, Cullen set into motion again. Hawke was clearly going to present more of a problem than they'd realized. Still, for the moment, at least, they could both rest easy.

Quietly he returned to the bed and stripped off his outer layers. Gauntlets, a breastplate, and vambraces made poor bed companions for everyone, himself included. Settling down on top of the covers on the empty side of the bed, he lay on his back and glanced at Dorian.

When he saw a gleam of wetness on the man's cheeks, he frowned and sat up again. "Dorian?" he ventured.

"It's always too late, isn't it?" Dorian replied in a whisper, his eyes still closed. "I can never do anything right. Not back home, not here. Not for Father, not for my friends. I'm always too late."

Cullen closed his eyes for a moment, wondering how he could have ever thought that Dorian was culpable in Mailani's death. Without a word, he shifted until he could pull Dorian into a tight embrace, since it was the best comfort he had to offer at the moment. "You're not too late," he said softly. "We need you, Inquisitor, because of who you are and what you've done, not in spite of it."

"Kind words, ser," Dorian mumbled. "You're too kind." Cullen felt him relax, though, and forced himself to relax further, hoping it would help the man.

"It's not too late for the Inquisition," he told Dorian. "You'll see that more clearly tomorrow."

"Will I?" Dorian asked, but it was clear that he was falling asleep even as he spoke.

Cullen smiled, patting Dorian on the back. "Go to sleep, Dorian," he said quietly. "Things will be better in the morning."

His only answer was a soft snore, and Cullen suppressed a chuckle. After a few more snores, he eased Dorian slowly onto his back, hand resting on the man's chest until Cullen was certain Dorian would remain asleep. Only then did he start to pull back, then froze as Dorian's hand rose and grasped Cullen's tightly.

"Don't worry," Dorian murmured, eyes still closed. "I'm here. I'll protect you."

Cullen blinked, confused by the non sequitur. Unsure exactly what to say, he finally said, "Thank you."

For another long moment, Dorian's hand retained its grip. Abruptly it loosened, and Dorian's hand slipped down to rest on the blanket. "I'm sorry, Mailani," he whispered, clearly speaking from the throes of sleep. "I'm sorry."

Cullen's brow furrowed as sudden tears came to his eyes. He had no words to comfort Dorian, since the man clearly felt the same guilt as Cullen himself did. Instead, he watched as Dorian's breathing slowed and deepened, then lay back on the covers and slipped his hands beneath his head.

Thoughts whirling, he stared at the ceiling with an unblinking gaze as sleep eluded him for a long, long time.