After Mailani left them, the attacks came more frequently, both in the form of demons and little snarly things which kept shifting form. Solas identified them as Fearlings, and noted that they reflected the fears of those who fought them. "An unusual form of demon, certainly," he observed, "but not necessarily a surprising one given the nature of our surroundings."

Bull's nose wrinkled as he shoved the disintegrating carcass of one away with his foot. "I wish they'd leave us alone," he noted. "The squirmy little things leave a mess on my maul when I smash them."

"We could lodge a complaint if you'd like," Varric told Bull. "I'm sure the Nightmare would be interested to know if any improvements could be made. 'Not scary enough?'" Varric said in a deep voice, obviously trying to sound like the demon they'd heard earlier. "'Maybe I could find something worse for you.'"

"Don't give it any smart ideas," Bull muttered as he stomped to one side to swing his maul in a wide circle.

"And here you all are," the deep voice said with a dry chuckle.

Bull stiffened. "Dammit, Varric, tell me that was you."

"Sorry, Tiny," Varric said, Bianca shifting in his hands as he looked around anxiously. "I'm not that good."

"So this is who the Inquisition has sent to defeat me," the demon said dryly. "And somehow, with this motley collection, you presume that you will defeat fear itself?"

"It would appear our host has a fondness for its own voice," Loghain observed from where he sat inspecting his sword for damage. "Its words have no meaning otherwise."

"Ah, Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir, the brilliant commander," the voice noted in a sardonic tone. "Pity the one time you tried to rule, you failed so miserably. You had to be beaten, humiliated, lest you destroy your own country. You even doomed the Wardens by bringing the Inquisitor down on them. You destroy everything you touch, including your own children."

Loghain grunted as he sheathed his weapon and stood. "Is that all you've got? It's nothing I've not said to myself." When no reply came from the demon, Loghain shook his head and looked at Dorian. "Shall we move on, Inquisitor? I have an appointment to keep with our host."

Dorian nodded. "Capital idea. Let's go."

As they continued, their path twisted and turned while the meaning of time melted away. They could always see their goal, since the rift never quite disappeared from their sight, but the way towards it meandered, running back over itself before ducking through gullies designed to confuse the mind. Around every corner, yet another batch of foes lurked in waiting, until it seemed as if their progress forward became nothing more than a constant fight to gain their next measure of steps.

And, as a counterpart between each bloody skirmish, the Nightmare taunted them mercilessly, goading them in a manner similar to the way it had treated Loghain. It settled into a pattern as it sought to provoke fear and uncertainty: a battle, then a barb, fearingly crafted for each of them.

"The Qunari will make a lovely host for one of my minions. Or maybe I will ride his body myself."

Bull grunted as he led the way through a pile of bodies. "I'd like to see you try. Besides, looks like your 'minions' can't handle me anyway."

"Did the king's bastard think he could prove himself? It's far too late for that. Your whole life, you've left everything to more capable hands. The Archdemon, the throne of Ferelden, even that pathetic attempt of a rescue of your father... Who will you hide behind now?"

"Oh, please, is that all it's got?" Alistair sneered. "I've heard worse than that from Morrigan. Now there's a sharp tongue."

"Once again, you are in danger because of Hawke, Varric. Do you ever wonder when that danger will be him?"

Varric just rolled his eyes and went back to examining Bianca. "Just keep talking, Smiley."

"Dirth ma, harellan. Ma banal enasalin. Mar solas ena mar din."

Solas straightened, his face showing only a faint amusement as he replied. "Banal nadas."

"Any clues for the peanut gallery what that was about?" Varric asked hopefully.

"A philosophical discussion on the nature of inevitability," Solas told him.

Varric shook his head and sighed. "Right. Whatever you say, Chuckles."

"Greetings, Dorian... It is Dorian, isn't it? For a moment, I mistook you for your father."

Dorian sniffed when the demon finally targeted him. "Rather uncalled for," he muttered.

"It got tiresome rather quickly, didn't it?" Hawke noted with a growl.

Dorian frowned and looked at Hawke. As they'd progressed through the Fade, Dorian had quietly kept an eye on his companions. Some of them seemed almost unaffected by the circumstances. Loghain, not surprisingly, was one of those - the man seemed unflappable - as was Solas. Alistair and Varric both took a couple of opportunities while the group recovered after a fight to simply stand to one side and stare out into the Fade, lost in their own thoughts. Bull was a trifle worrying, given that he kept moving with a restless energy even when they paused to regroup or use potions. Dorian suspected that Bull would be paying for the constant adrenaline rush later, once they were finally out of the Fade and away from any possibility of encountering another demon.

Hawke, however... The first few battles he'd seemed to shrug off with ease. Once the Fearlings had appeared, though, something had changed. Each battle left him a little more agitated, a little more angry, and more prone to snapping at the others and going ahead for 'scouting'. It fed into his fighting and made his attacks that much more ferocious, but it was worrying, and Dorian found himself not looking forward to when the Nightmare finally decided to nudge Hawke directly.

Even as Dorian pondered the matter, another group of Fearlings burst forth from the area ahead of them. Hawke surged forward, using that odd, headache-inducing maneuver where he seemed to blur through the enemy so he could turn and pierce them from behind. He seemed almost reckless, striking at their foes without care for his own safety, and by the time the others had caught up with him, he'd paid for it with a deep slash across his face.

He didn't seem to notice, though, carrying the battle forward until a cliff stopped them and more demons joined in. His actions simply became more agitated, his blades a constant blur as they sought out any foe who dared draw near. When the last one finally fell, it was Hawke who dealt the final blow which ripped off its head.

Even then, the man didn't slow. He moved to the cliff, serrated daggers still in his hands, and stared down at the formless lands below, chest heaving from his exertions. Uncertain what was running through the man's mind, Dorian kept a close eye on Hawke as the man paced restlessly along the precipice. Every aspect of Hawke's mien spoke of agitation, from his narrowed eyes to his jerky movements to the way his lips moved silently as if he were arguing with himself. He'd witnessed Hawke's anger before, of course, but this was closer to incandescent. He'd never seen the man in such a condition and, based on the expression on Varric's face, neither had he.

And then, to make matters worse, the demon spoke once more.

"Do you think you mattered, Hawke? Did you think anything you ever did mattered? You couldn't even protect yourself. How could you expect to strike down a god?"

Hawke stilled, his shoulders so tense that Dorian's ached just looking them. His head twitched, but he didn't acknowledge Nightmare in any other way.

"You're a failure," the demon told Hawke with an insouciant sneer in its voice, "and your family died knowing it."

Suddenly Hawke whirled in a complete circle, slicing the air around him, then raised his daggers high and roared, "I'm going to enjoy killing this thing!"

The demon's dry laugh was Hawke's only answer, the sound fading even as Hawke blindly stabbed the air in front of him. After a few more volleys, he finally collapsed to his knees and drove one of his daggers into the ground, then the other, his shoulders trembling with what Dorian had to presume was rage. Eventually, Hawke simply started slamming his fist into the ground over and over.

Dorian exchanged a pointed glance with Varric, and they hurried over to Hawke. Bracing himself against the possible reaction, Dorian laid his hand carefully on Hawke's shoulder. "Viscount?"

Releasing an explosive breath, Hawke's shoulders released all their tension at once. "Inquisitor," he gasped as he sagged. "My apologies. This… thing certainly knows how to find sore points, doesn't he?"

"Oh, I don't know," Varric volunteered, obviously trying to calm Hawke. "It's still not as bad as listening to Acting Provisional Viscount Bran when he starts talking about himself."

Hawke barked a laugh, though it was short. "Maker. That puts things in perspective, doesn't it? And people call me arrogant." Taking a long, deep breath, he shot Varric a glance. "Thank you."

"No charge," Varric said as a nervous smile came to his face. "You were, ah, pretty intense there for a moment. I've never seen you like that before."

Hawke's jaw rippled for a moment. "No. No, you wouldn't have." He reached up to rub his eyes, then winced. "Ow. What happened to my face?" he asked as he gingerly prodded at the cut over his nose.

"Honestly?" Varric asked. "Looks like one of the demons read my book."

"Andraste's flaming tits," Hawke groaned. "A blood streak across my nose?"

Varric grinned. "About right, yeah."

"Just like your damned book's cover?"

"You got it, Hawke." Varric's grin widened. "Who knew I had fans in the Fade?"

"Shut up, dwarf," Hawke muttered as he dabbed at the injury. He succeeded only in smearing the blood a bit, and finally sighed. "It doesn't matter, does it? Just like everything else I do." Yanking his blades from the ground, he pushed himself to his feet. "Dorian," he said softly as he sheathed his weapons in a measured motion. "Might I have a word?"

Taken aback by the abrupt change from title to name, Dorian nodded. "As you wish, Hawke. Are you… all right?"

Hawke met Dorian's gaze for a long moment, then looked away without answering as he moved away from the cliff. After a moment, he paused and glanced back. "You too, Varric. Get over here."

Snapping to attention at the sound of his name, Varric grunted in surprise. "Well, how can I turn down such a gracious invitation?" he asked as he moved to join them. His face grew more puzzled as Hawke just set his hand on the dwarf's shoulder and pulled him along until all three of them were as far as he could get them from the others and still remain within sight. "Uh, is this a good idea?" Varric asked, glancing around a bit nervously. "Those things are still out there, you know."

"It won't take long," Hawke said softly.

"You're really starting to creep me out, Hawke," Varric admitted.

"Just… give me a moment. You can do that, can't you?" Hawke pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "You know how I've always said you didn't know enough to tell the whole story?"

Varric snorted. "All the damn time. And I was with you pretty much everywhere except when you snuck off to be alone with-" His voice faltered for a moment as he clearly backed away from finishing that particular thought. Finally he simply nodded. "Yeah. I remember."

"Didn't you ever wonder why I asked you to tag along?" Hawke asked, staring intently at Varric. "Even though our relationship can be termed, at best, friendly rivals?"

"The thought crossed my mind a time or two, yeah." Varric frowned and crossed his arms over his chest. "What are you getting at?"

Hawke's head fell back as he stared upwards for a while. "I needed a witness," he said after a while. "Someone good at noticing things, someone who wouldn't easily forgive me."

Shifting on his feet, Varric exchanged an uneasy glance with Dorian. "All right, Hawke, now that you've really weirded me out, would you mind telling us why you've called this little meeting?"

Hawke frowned at a rock formation as it floated past above them. "Because I lied about something. Something important."

"Oh, like that's anything new," Varric muttered.

"Ouch, but fair," Hawke said with a breathy chuckle, but the mirth quickly passed. "Dorian," he said, turning his eyes towards the man as he spoke, "I lied to you as well. When you asked me about Jorath Amell."

A frisson shivered over Dorian's skin as Varric inhaled sharply. "So you have met him," Dorian said, trying to keep his tone neutral.

"Not in the flesh, no," Hawke admitted. "And long, long before Corypheus was even a name on anyone's lips who wasn't a Warden."

"In your dreams, then?" Dorian guessed.

Hawke nodded. "I think he's a somniari."

Taken aback by hearing his own surmise echoed by Hawke, he canted his head slightly. "I'm impressed someone not of the Imperium has even heard the word."

"I first heard it from an elf, actually. One of Merrill's Dalish friends, her Keeper or some such, used the word when we were dealing with a half-blood back in Kirkwall." Hawke glanced to the dwarf near them. "Varric, you remember. It was when you all betrayed me in the Fade."

"Yeah, Hawke, I remember. Not that it ended well for the poor guy in question," Varric reminded him. "Some of us didn't follow the advice we were given."

Hawke's nostrils flared. "By that point I already knew how dangerous someone so powerful in the dream realm could be," he said acidly. "You'll forgive me if I didn't want to give Feynriel the benefit of the doubt. The point is that Amell found me after I came back from the Deep Roads. Apparently once I got famous enough for him to care, he went looking for me. Told me blood calls to blood."

"Maker," Dorian breathed. "Not something you want to hear from a blood mage."

"Back then, I didn't know he was one," Hawke said in a flat voice. "We talked a few times. At first, it was flattering. He was the Hero of Ferelden, after all, and I hadn't heard the horror stories about him. I mean, Isabela always went quiet when the name came up in a song or tale, but it didn't really mean anything at the time."

Varric's eyebrows rose. "And the fact that Blondie never mentioned him wasn't a clue either? He was only a Warden because of Amell."

"Later he talked about Amell," Hawke said, eyes closing. "After it was too late."

When Hawke fell silent, Dorian reached out and gently touched Hawke's arm. "I take it eventually Amell did more than simply talk?"

Hawke nodded. "At first, I didn't really notice. I just knew that I started to hear stories and rumors about things I'd done that I couldn't remember doing."

"Sweet Andraste's ass, Hawke," Varric breathed. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"And say what?" Hawke snapped. "Oh, by the way, those things you saw me do and say? Not me. Blame the scary man in my dreams." He leveled a look at Varric. "Would you really have bought that as an excuse?"

Varric looked uncomfortable as he looked down. "I… guess not," he finally admitted.

"At first, it seemed fairly trivial, and usually happened after some of my worst nights at the Hanged Man," Hawke said. "After that it began to get a bit more sinister, and I thought perhaps I was simply going mad. After all, the world was going mad around me, or so it felt like. The truth didn't really occur to me until…" Hawke's jaw rippled. "Something happened with Anders. And afterwards, he started talking about some of the things Amell had done to him, to the people of Amaranthine, and… I realized what was going on."

"Did you tell Blondie?" Varric asked. "He had that… friend of his, maybe he could have helped."

"I couldn't." Hawke grimaced and ran his fingers through his hair. "Literally couldn't. Whatever Amell had done to me, my tongue was sealed."

"So… giving Fenris back to Danarius?" Varric asked. "That was one of the top three for me."

Hawke's eyes squeezed shut. "I didn't even know until I received a letter from the Magister, aside from the cold shoulders you lot gave me and the fact that Fenris wasn't at home anymore. Not that Fenris and I were chums, of course. He was still a knife ear and drank all the good wine without me, but… No. No, I would never have done that." A haunted look came to his face. "Believe me, I would never give someone over to a blood mage. Not willingly."

Varric reached out and patted Hawke's back awkwardly. "I never knew. I never even suspected. I mean… well…"

Batting Varric's hand away, Hawke frowned. "I was always a bit of a todger, I know. When I started getting nastier, it wasn't as if it were a sudden change from sweetness and butterflies to abomination. Some of the things you couldn't stomach probably were me, if we sat down and compared notes. I call elves knife-ears. I have no problem getting a little rough with the gents at the Blooming Rose. And I did kill Feynriel. And Anders."

"Yeah, but…" Varric subsided when Hawke gave him a glare. "All right. So why tell us this now?"

"Because of where we are, and what we've been doing." Hawke gave a long, drawn-out sigh. "I don't know about the rest of you, but with each and every little Fearling we've killed, I'm actually starting to remember what he did through me."

Dorian's eyes widened as he caught the implication immediately. "That must mean the Nightmare stole your memories," he breathed.

Hawke nodded, face grim. "And I've been getting more and more of myself back with each and every horde we've faced."

"Well, shit," Varric grunted. "No wonder you're so angry. What did you remember this time? I thought you were going to turn into a rage demon for a moment there."

"Bethany," Hawke said curtly.

Varric paled and looked away. "Oh. Yeah, that was… that was pretty bad."

Hawke nodded, but didn't say anything more on the matter. "It got me to thinking, if my memories were coming back, and since it's become so clear that Amell is not just my own personal demon anymore, that perhaps I could actually talk about him, and should. It seems his influence on me is diminished while I'm here."

"So you think he can't affect you here?" Dorian frowned, puzzled. "But the Fade was how he found you."

"My dreams were how he found me," Hawke corrected. "This isn't one of my dreams, we're here physically. That has to be the difference that keeps him at bay. And by the Maker, I'm going to take advantage of that."

Raising an eyebrow, Dorian asked, "How, precisely?"

"That part I'm still working out," Hawke admitted. "But at least now you both know not to trust me once we get out of here. I have to assume he'll get his hooks in me again as soon as circumstances change. For now, though, I am wholly your man, Inquisitor."

"There must be a way to fight him in the waking world," Dorian argued.

"Maybe, but we might not find out in time." Hawke gave a shrug. "Either way, we need to get back to finding our way out. We certainly won't reach the exit by standing still."

"There's one thing I don't understand, though," Dorian mused. "You said he approached you before you'd ever freed Corypheus."

Hawke nodded. "Yes."

"And you said that you've been recovering memories as we've been merrily slaughtering our way through the Fade," Dorian continued.

With another nod, Hawke repeated, "Yes."

"But isn't the Nightmare a servant of Corypheus?" Dorian asked. "If it is, and Corypheus wasn't free yet when you began forgetting things, what does that mean for the tie between the Nightmare and Amell?"

Hawke's expression grew troubled. "Well… shit. I didn't think of that."

"Maybe the Nightmare thinks Corypheus is a better bet right now?" Varric guessed. "I mean, who would you pick for an ally? The Hero of Ferelden who, although a bastard, is still just a Grey Warden with some ability at magic, or one of the Magisters who started the Blight in the first place? Maybe the demon just switched allies when he found something higher on the level of fear."

"True," Dorian mused. "And a very good point, actually."

"And it's probably the closest we'll get to answer right now," Hawke said. "We should go."

As Varric nodded and walked towards the others, Dorian reached out and set his hand on Hawke's shoulder to pull him back. "We should do something about that wound on your face."

Hawke made a dismissive gesture. "'Tis but a scratch." When Dorian gave him a look, he sighed and folded his arms over his chest. "Oh, all right. If you insist, Inquisitor."

As Dorian pulled a kerchief from one of his many pouches and cleaned the cut, he murmured, "Thank you for telling us. It can't have been easy."

With a little shrug, Hawke said, "What did I have to lose? You both hate me already."

Dorian smiled slightly. "I wouldn't go that far. You made me uncomfortable, perhaps, but I won't deny that our first night together was quite enjoyable."

Hawke smiled at him, the expression oddly gentle in a way Dorian had never seen before. "I'm glad to hear it. I don't want to hurt you, Dorian." He paused as Dorian pulled the cloth away and probed his nose, then met Dorian's gaze intently. "I never did."

Dorian frowned slightly at the odd emphasis, then recalled the strange tension in Hawke the last few times they'd been alone together, and the odd feeling of being pushed. "Then Amell-"

"Thought he could work through me to get to you. But I'm not using that as an excuse. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it to happen, though for a different reason than he did. In that case, I let him use me, and I shouldn't have. I fooled myself into thinking that if I did what he wanted willingly, it would make it better somehow, that if you wanted me, it would not be the same as what he did to me." Hawke grimaced. "Pure sophistry, I know."

Unsure how to respond that, Dorian turned his thoughts instead to remembering those attempts. "It wasn't just you, though, was it?"

"Not lately. He was getting impatient, you see. So he sent a little gift to help, a charm I was supposed to wear when I was with you." Hawke looked down for a moment. "And to my shame, I did."

"That agent you met at Griffon Wing Keep," Dorian said as the timing suddenly fell into place. "He was the one who gave it to you, wasn't he?"

Hawke gave a short nod. "It was supposed to make it harder for you to say no, to resist. I'm no mage, so I don't know the words or anything for what he did, but it has to involve blood magic. I should have thrown the damned thing away without using it, and I didn't. And that's on me. I wish I could say I was afraid of what he'd do to me if I did toss it, but the truth is I wanted you to fill the void inside of me, and I saw it as the best way to sway you." A sad smile came to his face. "Anders would have had my guts for garters by now, and I'd deserve it. He always was the best of me. Maybe that's why I failed him so badly when he was no longer the best of himself."

Dorian's heart ached in sympathy, even despite Hawke's earlier confessions. "Blood magic does things to people," he told Hawke. "I'm from the Imperium, so I know of what I speak. It's why I've always sworn never to use it myself."

"No. No excuses. I don't deserve the benefit of the doubt here." Putting his hands on Dorian's shoulders, he said, "I've wronged you, Dorian, and for that I am sorry. I'm just grateful that it didn't succeed. But don't let me fool myself or you into thinking that just because it didn't work doesn't mean I didn't intend evil. I may be an arrogant asshole, but I know right from wrong, and I chose wrong. I don't want an easy out. There are some things a man should have to earn, and your trust is definitely one of them, if ever I can regain it. If ever I had it," he added. "I don't really have a lot to recommend me beyond being the Champion of Kirkwall, and as I told your predecessor, I don't use that title much anymore."

Touched, Dorian nodded and put one of his hands on top of Hawke's. "I… I will think on it, though I do wish to offer forgiveness, even if the trust may be delayed a while."

Hawke snorted and shook his head. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but your forgiveness won't mean much until I forgive myself, and I'm still working on that for other things I've done. No offense, but… what I did to you isn't exactly the worst sin I've committed."

"I understand. There are a lot of things I'm still working on myself," Dorian said quietly. After a moment of silent contemplation, he asked, "You're, ah, not still wearing the charm, are you?"

Hawke chuckled with a rueful grimace. "A fair question, but no. I threw it into the sands of the Western Approach last night after the first or second bottle of Antivan brandy."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "We had Antivan brandy on the march?"

"I brought it with me, for… fortitude, you might say. To remind myself how I'd stomped right over the line I'd sworn I would never cross. There's a difference between a bit of rough sex and forcing myself on a man who doesn't want it, even if it is only a kiss." With a little shrug, he added, "And you didn't want it. At least, not from me. Not that I blame you, of course."

Uncertain how to respond, Dorian simply asked, "Why Antivan brandy?"

A haunted expression captured his face as Hawke looked away and swallowed harshly. "That's… personal. Maybe after we kill Amell, I'll tell you."

"All right," Dorian said in a hushed tone, recognizing deeply buried pain readily enough. It was why he'd tried to find the bottom of so many bottles himself, after all.

Squeezing Dorian's shoulders one last time, Hawke lowered his arms. "What I'm really afraid of is that once I stop being a willing accomplice in the matter, Amell might do more than a simple charm-which is why you should stay away from me once we get back. I don't want to hurt you, I swear it." A grin suddenly came to his face, easing his stern expression. "But don't think for a moment that I wouldn't hop back into bed with you given a proper opportunity. I just know I can't trust myself, and neither should you."

Dorian chuckled. "It was a rather poorly thought-out decision on both our parts that first night, wasn't it?"

A cocky smirk came to Hawke's face. "Oh, that night I'll own entirely. Especially the bits where you screamed my name. Amell had nothing to do with that. His influence came later." Hawke reached up to cup Dorian's cheek, and for the first time since that first night, Dorian smiled at the touch. Hawke's face, however, grew serious. "Promise me you won't let anyone treat you the way I did after that night," he said softly. "Politics or not, alliance or not, feelings or not. You deserve better from me, or anyone. You always have."

Dorian's eyes widened as the words hit home and resonated deep inside. "I…I don't know what to say."

"Then just agree with me and give me that promise," Hawke told him.

"I promise," Dorian said with a little laugh. "No one's ever told me that before."

"Shame on them, then," Hawke said as his thumb lightly stroked Dorian's cheek.

Before Dorian realized the other man had shifted closer, he felt Hawke's lips on his, a soft caress with uncharacteristic tenderness. Letting his eyes flutter shut, Dorian accepted the tenderness as it was offered, with nothing expected or required other than the kiss itself. Only when Hawke drew away did he open his eyes to meet Hawke's gaze. "What was that for?"

"A lot of things," Hawke said softly. "Who knows? Maybe someday I'll even tell you."

Dorian wrinkled his nose at the man. "Beast."

"Oh, that only begins to describe me," Hawke said with a chuckle as he stepped back. "Come on, Inquisitor. We have a demon whose ass needs some serious boot damage dealt to it."

"Just what I was thinking," Dorian said as they walked back to the others.

The demons didn't stop coming, though it seemed that the Nightmare had tired of taunting them personally. There did seem to be an escalation in the fights as the foes grew in both numbers and strength, but they simply bore down and pressed on regardless.

At long last, they turned the corner in yet another twisting canyon, and saw, closer than ever before and directly ahead, a beacon of shifting green energy. "The rift!" Hawke yelled, pointing at it. "We're almost there!"

"Great, Hawke," Varric said with a bite of sarcasm. "Why not just dare the Old Gods to try and stop you?"

"Let them try," Hawke declared as he started forward. Started, but then stopped when a barrier suddenly sprang up in front of them, blocking the way. "Well, shit."

"Good job, Hawke. You pissed off the gods," Varric sighed. "I suppose I should be used to that around you."

"Shut it, dwarf," Hawke groused, but the glare he sent to Varric nevertheless had a fair mix of humor in it as well.

And for a wonder, Varric grinned back at Hawke. "Bite me."

"Don't tempt me," Hawke quipped. With a frustrated grunt, he jabbed the barrier with one of his daggers, then yelped when it flared and zapped him. "Well, that didn't work."

"Anything else obvious you'd like to point out to the class?" Varric asked with a roll of his eyes.

"Perhaps we could try a magical solution?" Dorian suggested. "I'd recommend stepping away from the barrier, Viscount."

"With pleasure," Hawke said as he trotted back to the others. "It didn't seem to like me, anyway."

Varric snorted. "I should welcome it to the club."

Whatever response Hawke made was lost in the sound of Dorian's magical assault on the barrier. After a few moments, he frowned and set his staff on the ground, looking at the still-intact barrier. "Hmph. Well, that didn't work either." Glancing at Solas, he gestured the elf forward. "Perhaps you could use that teeth-tingling magic of yours?"

"I do not think that magic will be very helpful in this case, Inquisitor," Solas told him as he reached Dorian's side. His eyes scanned the green barrier for a long moment, and then he nodded. "I suspect, however, that the key to this barrier is in your hands." When Dorian raised an eyebrow, Solas dipped his head slightly. "Or should I say, in your hand."

Dorian blinked, then laughed a bit sheepishly. "Ah. Yes, well. That did slip my mind. Perhaps I should have tried that first." Flexing his left hand, he held it up as it burst into green flame, and his eyes widened slightly. "Odd. It feels more powerful than before."

"That could be attributed to the absence of Inquisitor Lavellan," Solas surmised. "Or even your time spent here in the Fade. You will likely find that the Anchor will undergo subtle changes as time passes, particularly now that it is wholly yours."

"Oh, that sounds thrilling," Dorian drawled, then wove his will around the green energy and what he had come to think of as the Anchor's magic. After taking a moment to center himself, he unleashed the energy with pinpoint precision at the barrier.

The green wall of energy jumped, then shimmered. Under the pressure of the Anchor's magic, it slowly began to ripple and warp. Encouraged, Dorian called deeper into the Anchor and funneled even more magic into it, pushing harder and harder until the barrier suddenly burst into a cloud of shimmering motes of energy. Cutting off the Anchor's magic, he smiled and tilted his head. "Well, that's pretty."

"Well done, Inquisitor," Solas told him, sounding grudgingly impressed. "Your control of the Anchor is admirable. Perhaps we could speak further, mage to mage, of the possibilities with its usage once we are back in Skyhold."

"I think that's an excellent idea, Solas," Dorian agreed. "I should have done so as soon as I—Mailani?" He blinked at the golden figure which appeared in the archway where the barrier had stood.

"The Nightmare is close, and it knows you seek escape. With each moment, it grows stronger," Mailani declared. "When it is strong enough, it will not need a mage to unleash itself upon the world. As long as the rift is open, it is a danger to Thedas."

Dorian took a deep breath, then nodded. "Then it is time, gentlemen," he said as he raised his staff. Already he could see the demons and Fearlings ahead, but he did not falter. "For Thedas!"

They surged up the final set of stairs towards the rift, cutting their way through their foes with practiced ease. The previous fights in the Fade had only honed their skills and their ability to fight together, and they moved in a violent dance that mowed down the enemy. When they emerged at the top of the stairs, however, their steps faltered for the first time.

"Maker's breath," Alistair gasped. "Look at the size of that thing!"

"Finally, something that won't fall apart with one good hit! Let's go!" Bull roared.

Dorian, however, found his eyes dropping from the hulking monstrosity in front of them to something hidden in its shadow. It took a moment for his eyes to pierce the darkness and parse the various elements into a cohesive whole, but once his eyes recognized the wavy blond hair for what it was, a pang of desperate hope ran through him. When he saw the blood covering Cullen's face, anger joined in with it, and he felt his face turn into a mask of rage.

Before any of them could take another step, however, Mailani was in front of them, her golden light bright and growing moreso with every second. She paused long enough to look back at Dorian. "Farewell, Dorian. Take care of Cullen for me."

"Mailani!" Dorian cried, reaching out, but it was too late. She was already moving up and forward, directly for the core of the gargantuan spider which lay between them and the rift. The light intensified until all of them had to turn away or be blinded, and when the light disappeared, she was gone.

As was the spidery terror of the Nightmare.

That didn't mean they were without a foe, however. An aspect of the Nightmare remained, with no eyes, a mouth full of fangs, and several spider-like arms protruding from its torso. With a roar, Bull charged, maul already swinging. "Let me out of here!"

Loghain and Alistair followed after, coordinating their attacks with that of Bull's in a deadly ballet of blades. As Dorian and Solas quickly buttressed them with protective spells, movement caught his attention, and he saw more demons converge on them from all directions. "Hawke!" he cried, then quickly wove a spell he'd created while working with Alexius on time magic. Hawke, already lethal, became a literal blur as he stepped outside time temporarily and moved faster than the eye could follow.

Varric, meanwhile, had worked his way over to stand next to Cullen. A clever mix of his caltrops and grenades, combined with the deadly accuracy of Bianca, worked to make the area around them unapproachable. He met Dorian's gaze and gave him a subtle wink, clearly telling Dorian, I got this.

With a twitch of his eyebrow, Dorian turned his head to exchange a glance with Solas. "I'll take defense," Dorian told him, and Solas accepted that with a nod before blurring to the other side of the other fight's arena, leaving demons screeching with pain in his wake.

After that, Dorian's focus narrowed down to supporting the others with every fiber of his being. Oh, he got hit a few times, and had to down a few potions of various colors to keep going, but the stakes were too high to care about such things as blood in his clothes or cuts in his skin. All that really mattered was the defeat of their foes.

The demon with no eyes was the last to fall, unsurprisingly, though it was in doubt as to whether it was Bull's maul to its head or Hawke's daggers in its back which felled it at last. As it screamed and collapsed to the ground to curl up into a ball, Bull kept hitting it, over and over, long past when it had stopped moving. "How do you like that, huh?" Bull yelled at it. "Who's afraid now?"

Finally Loghain reached out and grabbed the handle of Bull's maul, effectively halting it with surprising strength. "Enough," he said in a firm voice. "It's dead."

Chest heaving, Bull stared at the demon as it slowly dissolved, then nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, it's dead." He spat at the ground as he slung his weapon across his back. "And good riddance."

As Loghain and Alistair both chuckled and patted Bull on the back, Solas said, "I would not celebrate yet. That was but an aspect of the demon, not its entirety. We have conquered its current form, but it could return at any moment. We'd best make haste through the rift."

"What about the demon army?" Hawke demanded.

"Closing the rift should prevent them from coming through as well," Solas said.

"But you don't know for sure," Hawke noted.

Solas shook his head. "No. I do not."

"So there's a possibility that it could still come through?" Hawke persisted.

"Can we just get out of here?" Bull asked as he rolled his shoulders. "I really don't want to tackle another version of that thing, you know? What if the that spider thing comes back?"

"Soon, Bull, I promise," Dorian said, then ran past all of them to where Cullen was bound. Ruthlessly he used bursts of magic to break through the red, glowing tendrils of the spell which held the man in an unnatural position and pulled him into his arms. "Commander," he said as he scrubbed the blood away as best as he could. "Commander!"

Cullen's eyes fluttered open. "In-Inquisitor?"

Dorian nearly cried with relief, but managed to contain himself to a harsh swallow and a strained voice when he said, "Don't worry, I'm here." Cradling the man's head with one hand, he whispered, "I'll protect you."

"Kn-knew you'd come," Cullen gasped, a little smile curling his lips. "Knew you wouldn't… leave me behind."

Without thinking, Dorian pressed a kiss to Cullen's forehead, then quickly cleared his throat as he drew back hastily. "Of course I wouldn't," he scolded the man. "I don't have so many friends that I can afford to leave any behind." Evading Varric's knowing look, Dorian beckoned Bull over with an urgent gesture. "Bull will carry you out. Somehow the lummox only has a few scratches on him."

"Hey, now, that's not fair. It's called talent," Bull said as he knelt next to Dorian and spread his arms wide. "I can't help it if I'm just that good."

As Dorian transferred Cullen to Bull's arms, he was able to take a quick survey of the damage, and winced in sympathy. "You'll be all right, Commander," he repeated, desperately hoping it would prove to be true.

Before Bull rose to his feet, Cullen's hand landed on Dorian's arm. "The Nightmare," he said, fighting for each word, looking intently into Dorian's eyes. "It's the one in control of the demon army. It's not… just part of it, or the leader. It's how the army... happens at all."

Dorian's eyes widened. "What?"

"They're bound to it. To Nightmare," Cullen said. "It told me so while it was… holding me. So if you… banish it, keep it out of Thedas…"

"We stop the whole bloody army," Dorian finished for him, the pieces which had evaded him on how, precisely, to do exactly that falling into place. "Marvelous."

"Yes," Cullen said, obviously relieved that Dorian understood, though the words were clearly getting more difficult to get out. Dorian couldn't help but take one of Cullen's hands between his own as the man struggled to continue despite the pain. "Once you... get through the rift, close it behind you with… all you have. NIghtmare will be… cut off and that will… banish the demons who already…" Suddenly his eyes rolled up in his head as he sagged, limp, in Bull's arms.

"I think Curly's down for the count, Sparkler," Varric said with a frown. "Look at his wrist and that knee. That's not how they're supposed to bend."

Bull stood, taking care not to exacerbate Cullen's injuries. "I'll take it from here, boss. He'll make it, don't worry."

Dorian took a deep breath, then nodded. "You're right, Bull." Cullen had to make it. Dorian refused to believe any other outcome. He finally relinquished his grasp on Cullen's hand and let Bull take him towards the rift, holding Cullen as gently as he would a child. Suddenly full of nervous energy, Dorian sprang to his feet and limped to stand in front of the rift. Ignoring his own wounds, he held out his left hand and commanded the damned rift to open. "Take him through," he ordered Bull. "Varric, Solas, go with them. We'll watch your back and make sure nothing follows."

Varric nodded and led the way to the rift. "Come on, Tiny. I never want to see the Fade again. It's unnatural."

"That makes two of us," Bull said fervently.

Solas followed after them, though he did linger to look behind him for a few moments. His eyes moved over the Fade, as if drinking the sight in one last time, and then he smiled. "Fascinating," he said softly, then turned and walked through the rift.

Once they were through and he knew Cullen was safe, Dorian returned to Hawke and the Wardens. As he approached, he saw that Hawke's armor was dark with blood in his right side. "Can you make it, Hawke?"

"What, this?" Hawke asked, dismissing the wound with a snort. "I've had worse."

"Good." And he meant it. Despite the tension which had grown between them, their time in the Fade had given him another perspective of the man. He hoped they would be able to find a way to help Hawke escape his cousin's nefarious clutches, and perhaps even learn more about Amell once that hold was broken. Certainly the Inquisition knew far more about Amell now than they had before Dorian had inadvertently broken several rules in every major religion of Thedas. "Then let's go. The sooner you're in the hands of a healer, the better."

"Inquisitor," Hawke said, "remember what I told you."

Dorian set a hand on the man's shoulder. "I remember," he said, "and I will not forget."

"Then let's get out of here," Hawke grunted. Though his first few steps had a hitch in them, he quickly evened his stride as he led them to the exit. "I've had enough of the Fade for a lifetime. At least no one betrayed me this time."

"And at least I didn't find a hitherto unknown family member," Alistair said with a chuckle as Dorian and the Wardens fell in behind Hawke.

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Dorian asked with affected surprise, feeling a bit whimsical now that the end of their little adventure was in sight.

Alistair gave him a confused look. "Tell me what?"

"That somewhere in the dank nethers of my family tree, your ancestors and my ancestors share a common person?" Dorian shrugged. "I could have sworn I told you."

"You're… We're… related?" Alistair asked, blinking a few times.

"Oh, not very closely, mind. But bloodlines are very serious business in Tevinter. You're taught lessons and tested," Dorian explained.

A grin came to Alistair's face. "Is that so?"

Dorian nodded, face quite serious. "Oh, yes. By very strict nannies."

"Riiiight." Alistair squinted at Dorian. "This is a joke, right? You're just having me on?"

"Would I do that to you, Warden Alistair?" Dorian said, though one corner of his mustache did begin to twitch. He couldn't quite suppress it entirely.

Before Alistair could respond, however, a large, segmented leg descended from above. They all looked up in surprise as the monstrosity from before slowly lowered itself through the mists of the Fade. "Oh, come on!" Alistair protested. "I thought that thing was gone!"

"Apparently not," Hawke said grimly, dashing to push Dorian back as another leg lowered to land in the place where the mage had been. "Quick, get out of its reach!"

"We need to clear a path," Loghain declared as he readied his own sword and shield.

"All well and good, but how?" Alistair asked.

Hawke's face turned grim as he spun his daggers in his hands. "We need a distraction." Glancing at Dorian, he gestured towards the exit. "Go. I'll cover you."

"This isn't the time to argue over who gets to stay behind," Loghain said. "I've had my time. I'll go." He took a step forward, but Alistair grabbed his shield.

"No. The Wardens need you, need your experience, now more than ever," Alistair told him. "You stood down the archdemon. You've fought more battles than I've even heard about. They need you to help them rebuild."

Hawke rolled his eyes. "The Wardens need both of you. They lack a Commander, and they need to know what Amell is capable of. That means both of you need to go back. Besides, you need to make sure the Inquisitor survives long enough to close the damned rift. If he doesn't, all that we've gone through will be for naught."

"But the Wardens caused this mess in the first place," Alistair shot back. "A Warden must-"

"Oh, stuff it, Alistair," Hawke snapped as he glared at the younger Warden. "Go back to Thedas. Save your reputation. Get a pretty girl. Be the bloody hero. For me, there are more important things." Hawke stared up at the beast as it shifted its bulk. "Like making sure this damned demon never sees the light of day." Twirling his daggers once more, he looked at Dorian for a moment. "Take care of Varric for me, Inquisitor."

And then, before any of them had a chance to respond, Hawke charged forward with a yell, slicing deep into the underbelly of the beast. It reared up with a loud scream, opening up enough room for them to get by.

"That's our cue," Loghain grunted, then surged forward, batting an errant leg of the monster out of the way with his shield when it got too close.

Dorian followed hot on his heels, though when Loghain paused at the rift itself, he did as well. It was only then that he realized that the two of them were alone, and he turned to see Alistair buckling his shield onto his arm. "Alistair! What are you doing?"

Glancing up from his task, Alistair shook his head. "I'm sorry, Inquisitor, but I need to see this all the way through. This thing cannot be allowed to control the Wardens again." He took a deep breath, then turned back towards the Nightmare with an expression of grim determination. "Tell Leliana I'm sorry." Only then did he roar and charge towards the Nightmare with sword raised, hitting it with a smite that knocked it off its balance just before its leg would have crushed Hawke like a bug. "For the Wardens! For Thedas!"

Instinctively Dorian took a step towards Alistair, only half-aware that he moved at all. He was halted by Loghain's firm grip on his arm as the Warden said in a rough voice, "We should go, Inquisitor!" As Loghain hauled him through the rift, Dorian kept his gaze locked on the two seemingly tiny figures battling the monstrous bulk of the Nightmare, knowing why he had to leave, and wishing he could remain.

After that, there was only light.