As Dorian's eyelids fluttered open, the first thing he noticed was bright sunlight streaming in through the stained glass windows. Of course, as soon as the light hit his eyes, he squeezed them shut immediately, wincing slightly as a hideous pain started to throb in his head. Whatever had transpired the previous night had definitely involved a large quantity of alcohol, and he could only pray that there hadn't been a commensurate amount of embarrassment to go along with it.

The second thing he noticed, however, was the feel of another body next to him and the sensation of something tickling his ear. Slowly he opened one eye and cocked his head so he could investigate, and thus found a wavy nest of dark blond hair tucked into his neck. Further down, he saw an arm flung over his waist, and a fully clothed Cullen pressed against him. Opening both eyes and striving to push the pain of his hangover aside, Dorian shifted slightly so that he could get a better view of the sleeping beauty on his arm.

Slowly it dawned on him that his own arm was wholly asleep under Cullen's weight, indicating that Cullen had taken this position some time ago. Still, it seemed a small enough price to pay to see Cullen so utterly relaxed in sleep, an image completed by the small smile on the man's face. Dorian found an answering one on his own as he watched Cullen, though his memory of the previous evening wasn't quite clear on how Cullen had ended up in bed with him.

Even if the man was tragically, and chastely, fully clothed.

Still, it seemed peaceful contemplation had a limited lifespan in the Inquisition, as Cullen's eyes suddenly flew open and he jerked upright with a gasp. After a few bleary-eyed blinks, he turned his head and focused on Dorian, who gave him a little wave with his left hand. "Good morning, Commander," he said cheerfully.

Cullen blinked again, then squinted at the sun for a moment until he finally ran his hand through his hair. "Maker's breath," he muttered.

Afraid that this was about to go the way of almost every time he'd woken up with someone in his bed, Dorian gave a light laugh. "Oh, don't worry, your virtue is perfectly intact. Even in my inebriation, I was a model of a gentleman."

"What? No, that's not the problem," Cullen told him, dismissing the notion out of hand. "It's past dawn, and I'm well beyond late for the morning patrol reports."

A little relieved at such a pedestrian explanation rather than the outright rejection he'd half-feared, Dorian chuckled and said, "The world won't end because of you're late, Commander, not when there are so many more juicy reasons available. A little problem called Corypheus comes to mind."

Cullen gave him a withering glance, then frowned as he scrutinized Dorian a bit more closely. "Your head hurts, doesn't it?"

"Not nearly as much as my arm will when it wakes up," Dorian admitted, glancing down at the offending limb. He still couldn't even lift a finger, much less move the arm. The tingle was just beginning to hit him, and it promised to be quite the pain when it finally roared into wakefulness. "A sacrifice I was glad to make to fulfill the all-important role of your bolster."

A rueful smile came to Cullen's face as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "I was a log for that long?" he asked. "You have my apologies." Shifting on the mattress, he took Dorian's arm between his hands and started to rub it vigorously. "Best to get the worst of it out of the way then."

Dorian winced as the tingling surged into a wave of prickles, but endured it. It was a distraction from the headache, at least. "So... what was I like last night?"

Cullen glanced up at him, expression pensive. "You mean before you slept? Not in a good place. You needed a friend, and I was glad to be here."

"That's why you stayed, then?" Dorian ventured. "Because I needed a friend?" At Cullen's nod, he let his head fall back in the pillows. "I must have been feeling fairly pathetic, then."

"I'll admit, the image of a kicked Mabari did cross my mind once or twice," Cullen teased him.

"I protest, Commander," Dorian said, aghast. "I would never resemble a Mabaaaaah- Kaffas!" He cut off with a gasp as suddenly the prickling turned into a raging fire. Clenching and unclenching his hand even though he could barely feel anything but a multitude of tiny little daggers stabbing it, he groaned, "Vishante kaffas. Festis bei umo canavarum."

"I'm not sure what you just said, but the pain is a good sign," Cullen told him, his lips twitching a bit too obviously. "It will be over soon."

Writhing in agony, Dorian gasped, "You just-quiet, you," he gasped. "This is all your fault."

"My fault?" Cullen asked with a grin.

"You slept on it," Dorian reminded him. "And after I saved you from that little trap you were in, too. Very uncouth."

Cullen's levity faded, and his hands stilled on Dorian's arm. "Then it was real," he murmured. "And Amell... You still think he wasn't a demon?"

"I'm afraid not." Dorian tensed his hand in a claw for a moment, breath hissing through his teeth, then relaxed it and tried to concentrate on something else. At least the sensation was slowly starting to fade. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was a somniari. Legends say that they could walk in the dreams of others."

"Are you one?" Cullen asked.

"Me?" Dorian gave a little laugh. "Oh, how my Father would love that. He'd view it as practically a guarantee to be considered for Archon. Of course, he also would have been far less likely to let me out of my breeding obligations to House Pavus if that were the case."

"But we've been sharing dreams for months now. Ever since-" He paused, obviously still finding it difficult to actually speak the words.

Dorian nodded, understanding both Cullen's point and his reluctance. "Honestly, I blame this." He wiggled his left hand at Cullen, sparking an obliging green glow. "Dagna described it as a key, and in many ways, the dreams of the sleeping are little locked rooms in the Fade. I'm still not entirely sure of the mechanism, mind, but that's my working theory. We both had very strong emotional connections to the previous owner of the Anchor."

"But Amell didn't."

"Amell certainly didn't, no. Thus my theory on what he may be." After a last shake of his other hand, Dorian patted Cullen's arm. "Thank you. It is sufficiently roused now."

"But why would Amell be in my dream at all?" The thought made Cullen visibly distraught, though based on what Dorian had witnessed, he couldn't blame the man.

"That is the far more disturbing question, to my mind." Dorian tapped his lip with a finger, sifting through the information at his disposal. "This is not the first time we've encountered a third party in these odd little dreams of ours, if you will recall."

Cullen shuddered and shook his head. "That monstrous spider-thing, yes. I remember it quite well. But that at least was a demon. Amell is..." His voice trailed off as he shifted uncomfortably before continuing. "Amell is unscrupulous and unsettling, even evil, but I wouldn't go so far as to call him a demon."

"No, but a man might ally with a powerful demon for nefarious purposes," Dorian pointed out. "Such a practice has an unsavory precedent in the Imperium."

"That is not reassuring," Cullen groaned, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose tightly.

With a sigh, Dorian pushed the blankets back and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "No. It isn't. Perhaps Solas will have some advice on how to ward your dreams from such visitations again. My own I can protect, but you'd need to be sleeping in the room with me if I were to apply the same protections to you. And while that has a certain direct charm, I daresay the gossipmongers of Val Royeaux would be quite happy to turn it into something far more sordid than is necessary."

Cullen winced as he followed suit, rolling out of the bed to reach for his discarded armor and mantle. "What is it about Orlesians that makes them so obnoxious?" he asked sourly, all too clearly remembering how the tongues had wagged about himself and Mailani.

Dorian chuckled as he moved to the washbasin to rinse the foul taste from his mouth. "That, I could not tell you, though I think it has as much to do with the Game as with idle minds. The Game in Minrathous is a bit more direct, in my experience. Magic and such is far more a part of the machinations there than the subtleties of rumor and malice."

As Cullen opened his mouth to retort, a loud pounding came at the door. "And there's our reminder that the real world awaits," he said with a sigh.

"I'll go see who it is," Dorian told him. "Perhaps it's someone with a headache remedy. I could certainly use one."

Idly grabbing his tunic as he walked by the couch, he slipped it over his head and let habit of magic snap all the buckles into place as he walked. He did pause a moment to let the same magic settle his hair into place, since he was sure it looked horrific and he had a reputation for impeccability to maintain. Only then did he pull the bar back and tug the door open.

"Ah. Viscount. What a pleasant surprise," he said with a bright smile to the man glowering on the other side. "I was just about to fetch some breakfast. It's deucedly early for me, I'll admit, but the sun is so very bright today."

Hawke's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You're quite chipper this morning," he noted.

"Well, I spent a wonderful night of falling down drunk and passed out in bed. Thankfully I didn't make a complete fool of myself, but I am more than a bit hungry as a result." Dorian smoothed a finger over his mustache with a slow wink. "For food, before you ask."

"I wasn't going to," Hawke said a bit sourly, though the edge of flirtation seemed to relax his shoulders a bit. "I came by last night to see if you needed any more help, but you'd already barred your door."

"A better alternative than making a fool of myself in the tavern," Dorian pointed out with a laugh. "A pariah from the Imperium has that luxury. The Inquisitor does not."

"True." Hawke's gaze warmed as he looked Dorian up and down. "And as much as I'd like to discuss a bit of private fool-making, I didn't come here for that."

"No?" Dorian asked in mock surprise, using it to cover the relief he felt. "Then whyfor are you here?"

Hawke grunted and gestured down the hall. "Council's been summoned," he said drily. "Loghain is here. Apparently the Wardens are planning something rather significant at Adamant Fortress, and he thinks it's the final push to summoning the demon army."

Dorian stiffened. "I'll be right there," he said. "I just need to get my boots."

As he hurried away, Hawke said in a tone with extra bite, "And tell Cullen he's expected to attend."

Dorian hid his wince as he turned and gave Hawke a grin and a wave. "That I shall."

With a final glower, Hawke disappeared from sight, and Dorian hurried the rest of the way back to Cullen. Kaffas, why does it have to be so complicated?

"So we just gather the trebuchets, march the troops up to the walls, and begin firing?" Alistair said. "Sounds simple enough."

Cullen sighed and rubbed his forehead. "No, Alistair, it's not that simple," he muttered. "Maker, this is why you needed my help to raid the kitchens when we were training together."

Alistair grinned at him. "You do the strategy, I'll do the tactics. And my tactic is to tell you to formulate the strategy."

Dorian joined in on the general chuckle as Cullen glared at Alistair. "Perhaps we should start from the beginning?" Dorian suggested. "I thought the Inquisition didn't have a sufficient number of trebuchets to try such a tactic. Did you go digging in the snow around Haven while I was gallivanting about the wilderness?"

"Not quite, Inquisitor," Josephine said. "I was able to procure a promise from Lady Seryl of Jader for the use of her sappers in this matter. The additional trebuchets have been on their way to us for some time now, and the information you garnered in the Western Approach has ensured they will arrive at Adamant shortly before Inquisition Forces reach the area."

"Clever," Dorian said with a smile. "Even in Minrathous we've heard stories about her sappers. Dwarf-trained, aren't they? Jader's not that far from Orzammar, if my recollection suffices."

"Indeed, Inquisitor," Cullen said. "And they will be especially useful against Adamant Fortress."

"The Commander is correct," Loghain said, leaning over the table to spread out some large pieces of paper. While he set some markers on it, he continued, "Adamant is a formidable example of a Fortress from its Age, but it was not built to withstand modern siege equipment. With the help of the trebuchets, we will be able to overcome some rather severe disadvantages."

"Oh, I don't like the sound of that," Dorian noted. "What exactly are we looking at, then?"

Cullen and Loghain exchanged a glance before Cullen conceded to the older man with a nod. "The battle won't be easy," Loghain said grimly as he straightened. "The Wardens outnumber us by a fair margin, and even without the demons in the mix, they make formidable foes. The nature of their training, among other factors, makes each of them an elite in their own right." His face turned grim. "The Inquisition forces are well trained, but if we faced the Wardens on a standard battlefield, I would advise retreat. Thankfully, they have holed up in Adamant."

"Thankfully?" Dorian's eyebrow rose. "I thought the side who had their own fortress usually has the advantage."

"It means that we have more control over the encounter than we would on a straight out head-to-head battle in the open," Cullen explained. "It will be tough, but with sappers and trebuchets, we have a chance to use the capabilities of our own specialized forces to counter their advantage of numbers. Especially given these." He tapped the papers Loghain had spread out.

Dorian bent over the table, grabbing one corner as his eyes scanned the paper, eyebrows rising as he realized what he was looking at. "These are plans for Adamant, aren't they? Where did you find these?"

"I prefer to think of them as maps, Inquisitor," Loghain told him with a slight smile. "Although your Spymaster did aid me in acquiring them." He looked to Leliana. "You have my thanks."

Leliana inclined her head. "All for a good cause, Teyrn."

Loghain made a curt gesture with his hand. "I no longer have any claim to that title," he said. "I am a Warden, and I will be a Warden until the day I die, whenever that day may be." He surveyed those around the table with narrowed eyes, the weight of his gaze sufficient to stiffen their spines. "And I will not stand by while my fellow Wardens kill each other at the behest of the cause of the very Blight we are tasked to fight against."

"Damn right," Alistair said with a firm nod. "If this Coryphilus thinks he can use the Wardens as his pawns, then it's time to show him why darkspawn fear to show their faces above ground."

A silence fell around the table before Dorian finally asked, "You've been spending time with Sera, haven't you, Warden Alistair?"

Alistair coughed and rubbed his neck as the mood in the room lightened. "Oh. Ah. Sorry. That sort of ruined the moment, didn't it?"

Loghain smiled and chuckled. "Actually, you reminded me of someone else for a moment, though he was quite a bit younger than you at the time."

A sorrowful expression came to Alistair's face. "Yes, Maker keep his soul." Shaking his head, he laid his hand on the map of Adamant. "You know, Loghain, you really should see someone about this little obsession of yours. Your quarters are simply festooned with maps of all sorts. I swear there's even one for the Deep Roads down there, with each cluster of darkspawn carefully marked in varying shades of ick."

"I like to be prepared," Loghain said.

"Prepared, he calls it," Alistair said with a grin, though he subsided as Loghain gave him a look. "Right. Sorry. What were we talking about?"

"You were explaining how even with sappers and trebuchets and maps, we still have a chance against a superior force in their own territory," Dorian said helpfully.

Leliana leaned down to tap one of the markers Loghain had set into place. "With the help of Warden Loghain, we've located areas within Adamant Fortress which will serve as perfect chokepoints."

"Meaning?" Dorian asked. "Sadly my education on military matters is mostly through rather pompous asses pontificating upon their own past glory."

A faint smile came to Loghain's face, though it was Cullen who answered. "Meaning that while our troops draw the attention of the greater part of their forces, a small, mobile force can infiltrate the castle and move to confront Warden-Commander Clarel. The choke points mean that the small force can control the battles as they move through Adamant, and not get overwhelmed by superior numbers."

"And by a small, mobile force, I assume you mean me?" Dorian asked in a resigned tone, though he made sure to add a grin to the words to let them know it was humor. "Lovely. I get to be dangled in front of the enemy again. I suppose I am an attractive little dish for demons."

"Not just you, of course," Hawke said, speaking for the first time. "You'll have my daggers, and that's no small aid."

"And I'll be with you," Alistair added. "We know that the mages are all creatures of Corypheus, but Loghain and I hope that a fellow Warden will be able to persuade some of the other Wardens to lay down their arms, even if they won't join our side. The goal is to save the Wardens, after all, not obliterate them."

"The goal is to prevent a demon army from sweeping across the whole of Thedas," Hawke said harshly. "Let's not forget that. Saving the Wardens is all well and good, but if it comes down to a choice between them and Thedas, I'm afraid you'll find me no longer a supporter."

Alistair's face darkened as he opened his mouth to respond, but Loghain reached over and set his hand on Alistair's arm. Gaze set on Hawke, Loghain said quietly, "I was once in a situation where I had to choose the good of Ferelden over the good of those who I thought could not be saved. There will never be a day in which I do not regret my decision, yet I cannot say that I would change it, based on what I knew at the time. Take care to ensure that you know everything about a situation before you condemn people to their deaths, or your sleep will be as restless as mine for the remainder of your life."

Hawke stiffened, but didn't respond directly to Loghain's words. Instead, he turned to look at Dorian, head canted at an angry angle as he said, "We've gotten a bit off topic here. Who are you going to take with you into Adamant?"

Dorian pondered that for a few moments. "I think taking Solas with us would be ideal," he mused. "For all that he has an absolutely deplorable sense of fashion, his knowledge where demons are concerned is formidable. Surely that expertise can be of use to us on this mission. Of course, I'd still like to have a wall of muscle between my poor, delicate body and the demons, so Bull seems to be an obvious choice as well. Other than those two..." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, pondering the matter.

"Perhaps Blackwall?" Josephine suggested. "He is a Grey Warden, after all."

Loghain and Alistair exchanged an odd little glance before Loghain said, "I think it better he remain with the Inquisition troops. I'd prefer that someone with his knowledge of Warden tactics be available behind the lines for referral."

"But won't you be with us?" Cullen asked, taken aback.

"For the initial part of the attack, yes, but I intend to also enter Adamant, though not with the Inquisitor. My hope is that if I am alone and not with Inquisition forces, more of my brethren will be willing to listen to me and lay down their arms."

"Or kill you outright, since you'll be alone," Dorian pointed out. "They did try to kill Alistair, after all."

"That is a risk," Loghain said with a grim nod. "But it is one I choose to take upon myself. Having Blackwall remain with the troops will at least leave someone in Warden armor with the main body of troops."

An odd way to phrase it, Dorian noted, but shrugged and tapped his chin thoughtfully once more. "I should probably bring someone sneaky. Perhaps-"

"Oh, Maker, you're going to suggest the dwarf, aren't you?" Hawke groaned.

"What is wrong with Varric?" Dorian asked. "Besides, I owe him money. He'll take extra care to ensure I emerge from the whole thing unscathed."

"What about the knife-ear girl, or the ghost?" Hawke suggested. "Anyone but Varric."

Dorian felt the others bristle, but kept the hint of a smile on his face as he kept his attention on Hawke. "While I adore Sera to little pieces, I don't think taking her into a situation which may require diplomacy is best suited to her nature," Dorian said delicately. "And Cole, well..." A little sigh escaped Dorian. "He's having a difficult time with this business. Wardens are supposed to help people, and yet they aren't. It's a bit too confusing for him. Besides, we already have you if we need death dealt by dagger. Best stick with Varric for death from afar, I think."

Hawke glowered at Dorian, but it was clear he didn't really have an objection beyond personal preference. "Fine. Have it your way. And when he writes the story about how we saved the world from the perils of a demon army, don't come crying to me when he gets all the details wrong and makes you look like an arse."

Now that was truly a fascinating remark, and Dorian considered Hawke silently as several thoughts ran through his head in quick succession.

"That crossbow of his will come in handy, though," Alistair noted. "And if we're going to have good control of the choke points, having an archer there with a lot of grenades at the ready is never a bad idea."

"Very well, then. Bull, Varric, and Solas, along with Hawke and Alistair." Dorian nodded. "Any more than that, and we'll end up tripping over each other when it matters the most." He looked around the table, then down at the maps of Adamant again. "Commander, work with Loghain and Leliana on a final strategy and path through Adamant."

"Yes, Inquisitor," Cullen said. "We'll need to pick the path that ensures you don't end up too exposed to our activities from the walls, either. It wouldn't do for you to get brained by one our own boulders."

"Excellent point, Commander. I'd rather like to keep my mind where it is at present." He tapped his temple with a wink at Cullen, then turned to Josephine. "I presume you've already arranged a lovely thank you of some sort for Lady Seryl, but do let me know if you need anything from me in particular."

Josephine smiled at him. "Of course, Inquisitor. I shall consider the matter."

"Leliana, you… well, I certainly don't need to tell you what to do," Dorian said with a florid bow.

"Actually, I'd like to steal her away for a while, if I could," Alistair interjected. "A question came up about Wardens and stamina."

Dorian, to his credit, didn't bat an eye. "As you wish, though of course, Leliana is a better person to ask than I am concerning her time."

"Inquisitor," Hawke said, "might I have a word?"

Though he'd been half-dreading that Hawke would want a moment alone, Dorian knew he should not refuse the man a simple meeting. "Naturally, Viscount." With a casual wave, he gestured for Hawke to follow him from the war room. As they walked down the corridor, Dorian paused at the still broken wall, ostensibly to admire the view outside Skyhold. "This truly is a beautiful place, isn't it?"

Hawke came up to stand next to him, close enough for their bodies to touch. "I've found the view quite pleasant in some parts of Skyhold, yes," he murmured.

"The gardens, I presume?"

Hawke grunted. "Let's keep moving. I'd rather discuss this in private."

Dorian's brow furrowed, but he nodded. His quarters were closer, so it made sense to lead the man there, but he had to admit, privately at least, to more than a bit of discomfiture. As they entered the main part of his room, he headed to the side table. "Brandy, Viscount? It's from Antiva, a gift from one of Josephine's many friends there."

"I'd prefer it if you called me Hawke," Hawke said softly as he came to stand behind Dorian. "Or even Garrett."

Dorian paused, then poured two stiff measures of brandy. Taking one for himself, he turned and offered the other to Hawke. "The story doesn't really highlight your given name," he noted.

Hawke half-smiled as he took the brandy. "No. But then, Varric's little tale is an exercise in masterful storytelling." As he sipped the brandy, he studied Dorian's face. "I'd have to be blind not to notice that you've been avoiding me," he finally said. "You must realize how very clumsy your accomplices are. Varric, Bull… Cullen." The last name was said with a bit of an edge, but then he exhaled slowly. "Is it wrong to admit my thoughts stray to you often of late?"

"How could it be wrong to contemplate perfection?" Dorian asked, trying to keep the tone light.

That made Hawke chuckle, and he reached up to lightly stroke Dorian's cheek. When Dorian flinched and turned away, Hawke's hand balled up and fell away as his expression turned darker. "What have they told you about me? Last night you were willing enough before we were interrupted. Whatever they said must have been pretty damned convincing to drive you into Cullen's embrace."

Last night I was drunk, Dorian noted silently. "Well, you did tell me that you killed your last lover," Dorian reminded him. "That's-"

"Hard, I know," Hawke said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And not something I'm proud of, which I also told you, necessary or not." With a sigh, he drained the brandy, then again met Dorian's gaze. "Though I admit I'm a bit surprised you would go from me to Cullen. The man doesn't have a good history with mages himself, you know. Head for head, he's probably killed more than I have."

Dorian's jaw tightened, even if he couldn't deny the facts. "He doesn't view mages in that fashion anymore," he said softly.

"Are you sure?" Hawke reached past Dorian to set the glass down, though he didn't retreat after the motion. "He was a Templar that served under a Knight-Commander that called for a Right of Annulment. Do you know what that is? It means that she asked the Chantry for the legal right to kill every. Single. Mage in Kirkwall's Circle. And Cullen went right along with it until he finally got some sense through his thick skull."

Dorian's eyes narrowed slightly, trying not to flinch as the ugly truth was thrown at him. "You helped the Templars yourself, or they would not have supported your bid to become Viscount," he pointed out. "Surely that's not a detail Varric made out of whole cloth."

"After I saw my lover destroy the Chantry and kill hundreds of people, yes, I helped the Templars," he said. "They were the only part of Kirkwall's power structure left that could possibly bring peace to the city after something like that. But Knight-Commander Meredith? You can damn well bet that I made sure to get rid of her as soon as I could. And to do that, I had to convince Cullen to come over to my side." Putting his hand on Dorian's shoulder, he said in an earnest tone, "You're from the Imperium. You know that men of power are often called upon to do things which are distasteful but necessary. I killed Anders, yes. Reluctantly, but the crime merited it. I used the Templars, yes. The city was reeling from what had happened to the Chantry, and the Circle certainly couldn't be trusted. For all I knew, they helped Anders."

Hawke's tone was oddly soothing, almost hypnotizing - enough so that Dorian found himself wanting to believe. This side of Hawke was more than a bit disarming, and, he had to admit, more than a bit compelling as well. Had his relationship with Cullen still been stuck where it had been after Mailani's death, he knew he would have been tempted to accept Hawke's interpretation of events, including the evaluation of Cullen's character, with few qualms.

But he knew better now.

"I do think that Cullen no longer hates mages," Dorian said. Though not the strongest of return sallies, it was the easiest to say to Hawke's face. The truth of the matter was that most of the reasons why Dorian trusted Cullen boiled down to experiences and conversations that he felt were rather private. "And I also think that none of us have any right to lob stones at another's past."

Hawke snorted. "He certainly doesn't seem to hate your cock, at least. But then, I can understand that on a personal level."

"No, you misunderstand," Dorian said hastily. "We're friends." Good friends, who can sleep in the same bed all night and dream the same dream, but who have never gone further than a more-than-friendly massage. Yes. Friends. Certainly that's how Cullen viewed him, and Dorian preferred to treasure that than throw it away on some foolish fantasy chasing unicorns.

"You expect me to believe that?" Hawke asked skeptically.

"You should, for it is the truth," Dorian told him.

"I'm glad to hear it," Hawke murmured, then leaned in and seized Dorian's lips in a kiss.

Though he'd been half-expecting it, the suddenness of the move still caught Dorian by surprise. For an instant, a heat filled him, the same heat he remembered from that admittedly glorious night of raw, hot sex the first time he'd met Hawke. At the same time, though, something rang oddly false, and his instincts rebelled. Pressing his hand on Hawke's chest, he tried to push Hawke away, but the man's arm wrapped around him and drew him closer. Raising both hands to grab Hawke's face, Dorian finally managed to separate them, but the man's strength was formidable.

Hawke stared at him intently for a few moments, pupils dilated and lips parted slightly. Then he laughed and unwrapped his arm from around Dorian. "Too much?"

Dorian just nodded, heart racing and mouth dry. Too much was not wholly accurate, but it was easier than saying that for a moment, he had simply been afraid that Hawke wouldn't stop. And it was far, far better than admitting that, deep down, a small voice inside had whispered that it would be better if Hawke hadn't pulled back. That thought still tingled, nebulous and frightening, in the back of his mind, and he tried desperately to push the notion away.

"My apologies." Hawke again stroked Dorian's face. "You're far too handsome for your own good, you know."

"And you're very pushy," Dorian noted.

"With you, apparently, I have to be." Still, Hawke did step back at that point. "And as much as I'd love to pursue the matter, you do have Inquisition matters to attend to, I'm sure. We'll be leaving in the morning, I presume? Cullen will see to that, I'm sure. He's very efficient." Hawke's words dripped with biting sarcasm.

"He is, isn't he?" Dorian said with a light tone. "And yes, there are several people I need to see."

"I wish you farewell, then. For now." Hawke took Dorian's hand and pressed a sensuous kiss to each knuckle, then gave Dorian a slow wink before heading towards the door.

Only when the door closed did Dorian release his breath in an explosive gasp. His drink clattered onto the side table, unnoticed as he brought a shaking hand up to wipe away the sweat on his forehead, not sure why his reaction was so very strong, and so very negative. Hawke was a handsome man, after all, and a powerful one - two traits Dorian had found quite attractive in the past.

So what was different this time?

Shaking his head, he walked to the window, absently rubbing his bare arm. "Well, for one," he muttered under his breath, "the others weren't murderers." He had to admit, though, that Hawke had brought up an uncomfortable, and true, point. If he could forgive Cullen for his past - as he most certainly had, no questions asked - why couldn't he forgive Hawke for similar sins?

His feet set to pacing back and forth as he tried to reconcile his thoughts, hands occasionally rising to press against his temples as he struggled with it. "Their past… I don't care about their past. Yes, they're neither of them saints, but then, neither am I. I could not throw a stone of condemnation in their direction without getting pummeled in return." With a groan, he moved to the side table and poured himself another brandy. As he raised it to his lips, he paused, then shook his head and set it back down. "Then it's not the past, is it? It's the present."

Yes. That was it, wasn't it? That felt right. It was the present that presented a problem. His hands clenched and unclenched a few times before he reached out and grabbed the glass again, bringing it to his lips for a long drink.

"What's the present, boss?"

It was truly unfortunate that Bull chose just that moment to intrude on Dorian's thoughts, since it meant a mist of fine brandy was sprayed all over the nearest windows. As Dorian coughed and futilely tried to wipe the brandy off his clothes before it stained them, Bull came over and pounded him a couple of times on the back.

"Sorry," Bull said with a grin. "I thought you could hear me coming a mile away."

"Outside I can, you lummox! Not on carpet!" Dorian snapped, then forced himself to take a deep breath. "Why are you here, Bull?"

"Cullen sent word you wanted to talk to me," Bull told him. "Thought I'd come right away. I was a little surprised to see Hawke strolling through the hall with a smirk on his face as I came over, though. And let me tell you, the man knows how to smirk, too."

Dorian groaned again and turned to head to the bed, where he collapsed. "Of course he is. He probably waited until everyone noticed him in the doorway before leaving the room." He sighed and buried his face in his hands. "Maker."

"Pretty much what I figured, yeah. He's a preener." Bull crossed his arms over his chest as he gave Dorian a pointed look. "So what were you talking about when I came in? What's not the past, but the present? Aside from, you know, the present."

"Everything," Dorian said with a groan as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Thanks, that really narrows it down," Bull said sarcastically. "Come on, what's going on?"

"Hawke is… pressing his case," Dorian explained. "And he's not quite someone I can say no to at this point. We need him for Adamant."

"We need Kirkwall not to fuck off after, either, you mean," Bull said with a nod. "Times like this make strange bedfellows. Or is that part of the problem? He wants to be a different kind of bedfellow, and you don't?"

The question forced Dorian to pull himself back from the unease into which he had spiraled while speaking with Hawke and fully focus. "Hawke has decided that he wants me," Dorian said slowly. "And it seems my feelings on the matter have little influence over it."

Bull grunted and nodded. "He strikes me as that type. Met a lot of those kind in Val Royeaux, though usually it was human lords and elf servants."

Dorian's eyes narrowed as he thought of that, the reason for his unease becoming more clear. "And in the Imperium," he said softly.

"Well, I wasn't going to come right out and say it," Bull said, "but yeah. There, too. Not that you haven't been influenced on that whole bronto in the room since coming south."

"Yes. Mailani saw to that." Dorian felt a wave of sweet melancholy sweep over him as the memories rose. "She could put up with me being an arrogant shem and a vain peacock, but when I tried to tell her that slavery had a purpose…" He chuckled and shook his head. "Maker. I miss her, even when her tongue was sharper than any assassin's blade."

Settling down on the bed next to him with a loud creak, Bull laughed. "Yeah, we had a few of those tiffs, too. She didn't like some things she heard about the Qun at all. I wouldn't have expected her to stay silent when you started spewing the Imperium line about that shit."

"And she didn't." In fact, all of those conversations they'd had together had gained new focus and new impetus in the months following her death.

"Is that why you told Morris to make sure we pay good wages to those escaped slaves who keep trickling into Skyhold?" Bull asked shrewdly.

"I pay you good wages, don't I?" Dorian sallied back.

"Ouch, boss. That hurts," Bull said with a laugh. "I wasn't a slave, though. I was a Qunari. Damn, that still feels weird to say, you know? Thinking of it in the past tense, I mean."

"Just because you thought the shackles were what you needed doesn't mean you didn't have them," Dorian pointed out. "Everyone has shackles, though the ones we put on ourselves are harder to break."

With a nudge, Bull said, "Just now figuring that out? And what does this have to do with Hawke, anyway?"

Dorian sobered again, trying to trace his thought patterns back. "I'm not… absolutely sure," he admitted. "Aside from the fact that he keeps pressing his case to have me."

"You mean possess you," Bull said seriously. "That's what he wants to do. I see the way he watches you, and the way he went after anyone who might have enticed you away."

"What's this?" Dorian asked, brow furrowing.

"What, Cullen never tell you about that?" Bull asked, then grunted thoughtfully. "Wonder why. But yeah, not long after you and Hawke had your little romp, Hawke went around Skyhold and found anyone who'd spent a night with you and told them to back off. Even tried to threaten me, and we hadn't even had sex yet."

Dorian's ears heated a bit at the reminder of that night, but quickly cooled as he considered what Bull had told him. "No. No, Cullen didn't tell me that. He probably didn't want me to worry. And he's hardly the only one who's been warning me to stay away from Hawke when it came to the bedroom."

"Good advice," Bull noted.

"It's more than that, though," Dorian said slowly. "Just now, when I was alone with him, I felt as if there was… something more."

"Not following you." Bull craned his neck so he could give Dorian a straight look. "More than what?"

"More at play than just an obsession," Dorian said. "The difference between pushing yourself, and being pushed, if that makes any sense. It's a… feeling, but a strong one, and I can't shake it."

"Yeah, well, that sounds way above my pay grade," Bull said with an expansive shrug.

"I wish it were above mine," Dorian complained, then sighed. "At least I don't have to worry about it for a while. It's not like Hawke and I will be alone for any length of time in the near future."

"That what you wanted to talk to me about?" Bull asked. "The near future?"

Dorian nodded. "The battle is planned, and it's time for the pieces to be set."

"Adamant, then?" A grin came to Bull's face. "Good. A demon's head makes a real pretty sight when I bash it open with my maul." He smacked a fist into his open palm for emphasis. "Can't wait to beat the bastards back into the Fade."

"Be careful how hard you hit them," Dorian said with a laugh. "You might accidentally follow after."

"Oh, fuck, no," Bull said vehemently, shuddering as he rose to his feet. "Just the thought of the Fade gives me the creeps. Show me a demon and I'll kill it, but ask me to follow it home and I'll find something else to bash instead."

"I'm sure there's a wall you could hit with your head somewhere," Dorian said, amused by Bull's reaction.

"Very funny, boss," Bull drawled. "Very funny." With a final grin, Bull turned and headed out of the room, leaving Dorian with his own thoughts.

When those proved too difficult to wrangle, Dorian sighed and stood. Perhaps a long, scholarly discussion with Solas about the nature of demons and dreams would help drive those thoughts away.

Then maybe he could forget the feel of Hawke's lips on his own.