Dorian managed not to stumble as he crossed from one side of the rift to the other, though the abrupt return to the real world fell like a hammer of renewed reality. Acting on pure instinct, he turned and held up his left hand, slamming the rift shut with a stern command sent through the Anchor. In doing so, he sealed not only the rift, but any possibility of a rift back to that part of the Fade to be made again. Once that was done, every demon still in the main courtyard screeched and melted into the floor as they returned to the Fade, unable to maintain their presence in the waking world without the strength of the Nightmare to draw upon.

When the last one disappeared, a cheer arose from the assembled soldiers and Wardens, and Loghain limped towards him. "Without the Nightmare, Corypheus loses both his Warden Mages and his demon army," the Warden observed. "But in the eyes of your soldiers, their Inquisitor broke the spell with the power given him by the Herald of Andraste."

Dorian gave a nervous laugh. "Ah, but surely a Vint couldn't possibly be blessed by Andraste, even indirectly?"

Loghain canted his head to one side. "I think you underestimate yourself, Inquisitor," he said softly. "But also remember that sometimes, people just want to believe the legend."

Before Dorian could think of an adequate response, a familiar face hurried up and gave a sharp salute. "Inquisitor!" After Dorian's nod of acknowledgement, Jim launched into his report. "The archdemon flew off as soon as you disappeared. The Venatori Magister is unconscious but alive. Seeker Cassandra thought you might wish to deal with him yourself. The Commander has been taken to the healers outside the gates. As for the Wardens, those who weren't corrupted helped us fight the demons."

Next to Jim, a Grey Warden in heavy armor straightened and gave Dorian a salute of his own, banging his hand across his chest. "We stand ready to help make up for Clarel's tragic mistake."

As Dorian considered the Warden's statement, Varric moved closer, a puzzled frown on his face. "Sparkler, wait. What about Hawke?"

Yes, what about Hawke? The man had once more surprised him with his actions, and Dorian was still reeling with them himself. That last kiss he'd shared with Hawke… Dorian couldn't help but wonder if the man had intended that to be his final farewell all along.

Putting his hand over his heart in a gesture of respect, Dorian spoke so that those gathered around him could hear his words. "Hawke sacrificed himself to save us and strike a decisive blow against Corypheus."

"Are we talking about the same Hawke?" Varric asked incredulously. "Tall, dark hair, good looking, kind of an asshole?"

A sad smile came to Dorian's face as he set a hand on Varric's shoulder and said in a quiet voice, "I think he wanted to remain true to himself. Perhaps he feared he could not do so if he returned."

"Oh. Right." Varric looked down for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. "Yeah. That sounds like Hawke on his good days. When he wasn't… you know." He looked at the space where the rift had been, a pensive expression on his face, then shook his head. "I'm heading back to camp, Sparkler. Why don't you come see me when you've got a moment?"

"I will," Dorian promised, then turned his attention to where the Wardens stood speaking with Loghain. When they asked about Alistair, Loghain hesitated for a moment before looking around at the gathered Wardens and Inquisition soldiers. "Warden Alistair died striking a blow against the servant of the Blight. We will honor his sacrifice, and remember how he exemplified the ideals of the Grey Wardens." Turning slowly so he could catch the eyes of each Warden as he spoke, Loghain added, "Do not forget the wiles of those who serve the Blight. We are better than what we have done and what we have shown to the world of late. It is our task to ensure that we live up to the honor of the Grey Wardens in the name of those who have fallen against the Blight." Drawing his sword, Loghain lifted it above his head. "To Warden Alistair!"

Around him, the Grey Wardens lifted their own weapons in response. "To Warden Alistair!"

"May the Grey Wardens keep his name alive forever," Loghain declared, then sheathed his weapon and turned to Dorian. While the Wardens followed suit, he said, "As the senior surviving Grey Warden in Orlais, I place our fate into your hands, Inquisitor. What would you have of us?"

After a long moment's consideration, Dorian straightened. "You stay and do what you can to assist the Inquisition, just as the Templars have. Alistair sacrificed himself with the fate and duty of the Wardens forefront in his mind. You can now honor his memory by saving the world from the very enemy who misused you so. It is in your motto, is it not? In war, victory?"

As heads nodded, Dorian continued. "And we are still at war with Corypheus. Loghain believes the Wardens are worth saving, or he would not have fought so hard on your behalf. And I trust him. Be alert, though," he added, raising a warning finger, "for you are still vulnerable to Corypheus, and possibly even his Venatori, so you can't just go running off on your own. You can, however, kill demons. That's usually a bit of fun." His tone conveyed his sarcasm, since, of course, fighting demons generally proved to be the opposite of fun.

A chuckle did roll through the Wardens, but dimmed quickly as Loghain called for their attention with a raised hand. "I give all of you to the care of the Inquisition, then, until Corypheus is defeated. I can think of no greater enemy for the Grey Wardens than he who inflicted the Blight upon our world. Obey the Inquisitor as you would obey me."

"But… but where are you going, Warden Loghain?" one of the Grey Wardens called to him.

"I have to report this to Weisshaupt, and make sure that Corypheus doesn't catch the rest of the Order by surprise." He lay his hand on his breastplate. "Until my return, remember your oath! In war!"

"Victory!" the Wardens shouted.

"In peace!"

"Vigilance!"

Loghain raised his hand and turned it into a fist. "And in death?"

"Sacrifice!" they roared as one, then fell silent as Loghain turned back to Dorian.

Giving a pained bow to Dorian, Loghain said, "The Grey Wardens now serve the Inquisition." For a long moment, Loghain considered Dorian closely. "You have the makings of a great army, Inquisitor. Use it well."

"I shall, Warden Loghain," Dorian assured him. "Corypheus doesn't stand a chance, I promise you that."

"Good man." Loghain stepped closer and put his hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Take care, Inquisitor. Another good man gave his life so that you might live today."

Dorian swallowed and nodded. "The Inquisition will honor his sacrifice. He will not be forgotten."

Loghain exhaled, for a moment sounding far older than he ever had before. "Then that shall be sufficient. And now," he added, in a voice quiet enough so that only Dorian could hear it, "I go to the heart of the Grey Wardens to ensure that Amell's influence hasn't reached there."

"Amell- Oh. Oh." Dorian's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I traveled with the man. I saw what he did to my daughter," Loghain said, face grim. "He would find a strange sort of satisfaction in bending the First Warden to his will, or to that of Corypheus if that is where his allegiance now lies. The world can ill afford to lose the Grey Wardens, even if there is no Blight at the moment." With a heavy sigh, he squeezed Dorian's shoulder and let his hand fall away. "Until we meet again, Inquisitor."

As he moved to step away, Dorian reached out to stop him. "Loghain," he said softly, "I'm sorry. It was never my intention to-"

"-leave a man behind?" Loghain asked. For a moment, he simply stood and stared at the spot where the rift had been only a short time ago. "No leader ever wants to leave their troops behind, Inquisitor, even when the circumstances demand it. Perhaps especially then."

For a moment his gaze grew distant. "Had I known Alistair intended to remain, I would have taken his place without hesitation. If there is any blame to be assigned here, it belongs rightfully to me. He was right, and he was brave, and now… Now he is gone." On that last word, Loghain's voice broke, and he quickly looked down as he took a steadying breath.

After a moment, Loghain lifted his face to show reddened eyes but dry cheeks, and when he continued, his voice shook only slightly. "It was hard enough to lose his father, not once but twice. Now…" His words trailed off as his eyes closed for a moment. "Now I feel as if I have lost our son. I have much to answer for when I next see Maric. I doubt I will ever be able to wash the blood of both his sons from my conscience."

Dorian's brow contracted. "I don't know what to say, Warden, save that you have my sympathy and my gratitude. The Inquisition will always have a place for you."

Loghain barked a short laugh, and his voice grew stronger as he replied, "Depending on how matters proceed in Weisshaupt, I may just take you up on that offer." With a shake of his head, he gave Dorian another awkward bow. "Regardless, it is time to take my leave, though I do believe I shall seek the services of your healers before I go."

"An excellent idea after what we've endured," Dorian agreed, but the words had already distracted him. The healers. That's where Cullen was, wasn't it?

Without another word, Dorian headed towards the gates, and to the tents of the healers beyond them. There would always be work for the Inquisitor. For now, though, he had something more important in mind.

Or rather, someone.

As Dorian passed through the gates of Adamant, a short, lonely figure standing next to a trebuchet on a hill overlooking the empty sands of the Approach caught his attention. The tightness of Varric's shoulders and the way his hands were clenched as they clutched each other behind his back spoke volumes of the dwarf's mood. With a little sigh and an internal reminder that Cullen would likely be in the hands of the healers for a while yet, Dorian turned his feet so that his path led him to Varric's side.

Without looking up at Dorian, Varric said, "Did I ever tell you about the time Hawke was on a Merchant Guild hit list?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Only once? Are we talking about the same Hawke?"

Varric chuckled, though it sounded a bit forced. "Once was enough for them. You see, Hawke's uncle got into an investment scheme with a couple of Merchant Caste businessmen. They took a lot of people's coin in order to arrange the import of wandering hills from the Anderfels. A delicacy, I'm told."

"Wandering… hills." Dorian shook his head. "Let me guess. After they got to Kirkwall, they wandered off on their own."

"One of them did, at least." Varric snorted. "The Guild traced the shipment back to Hawke's uncle, but as usual, he was so far in debt he couldn't see daylight. So they went after Hawke instead."

"That sounds like a very poor series of decisions on their part," Dorian mused.

"The Guild hadn't quite caught on to what Hawke was really like, so they sent the guys from the local Carta to Hawke's estate one night. Five big dusters, all armed to the teeth. They kick in the door, ready to make their demands, and find Hawke just standing there, fully armed, with me and the Guard-Captain on either side. Nobody said a word. The poor sods just looked at Hawke, looked at the Captain, and dropped their weapons. They never came back."

Dorian gave a little sigh. "He did have an effect on people, didn't he?"

"That he did," Varric said softly. "A few days later when the Guild suddenly told Gamlen that all his debt to them was cleared, I got suspicious and investigated. Turns out that over the last few nights, someone had infiltrated the local Carta's headquarters and left a few presents for them. You could say Hawke had gotten ahead of the game."

WIth a wince, Dorian asked, "The five poor sods?"

"Yeah, the five poor sods." Varric sighed. "Word was sent back to the Guild, and Hawke-and his family-was put on the list of people you don't mess with."

"I imagine that came in handy for you a few times, given your association with him," Dorian mused.

"Well… it did," Varric admitted. "They sometimes cut me special rates they wouldn't give to anyone else, just to curry favor. But…" Varric shook his head. "I still didn't like that he'd killed them. When I asked him about it, he just gave me an odd look and then laughed it off. Now, I just wonder if it was even him that did it-and if he wanted to tell me the truth, and couldn't." He glanced up at Dorian. "I always wanted to tell that story, but… well…"

Dorian sighed. "It would have been a nicer story if it ended with the poor sods simply leaving his estate, yes."

"Yeah." Varric gave a heavy sigh. "I guess I've got some letters to write. Acting Provisional Viscount Bran will need to know that Kirkwall needs a new Viscount."

Settling his hand on Varric's shoulder, Dorian said softly, "Hawke told me to take care of you."

Varric's shoulders sagged as he reached up to rub his forehead. "Dammit. I don't know what's worse. Him dying without telling me the whole story, or wondering if maybe I could have helped him if I'd… I don't know. Paid more attention. Something. Anything."

"Don't do that to yourself," Dorian told him softly. "It sounds like Amell took care to make sure that no one would notice. If even his victim couldn't figure it out at first, and then couldn't say anything about it after he did, how could you have known?"

"I suppose." Gaze lifting to the stars, Varric said, "I guess I'll never know. I will say this, though: I'm going to compose the worst poem ever written in his honor. Bastard. Dying on me before I could get the full story." Turning to look up at Dorian, Varric added, "Thanks. I mean it."

"Enough that I don't owe you those five sovereigns anymore?" Dorian asked, hoping to lift the dwarf's mood a little.

"Hey, now, let's not get crazy," Varric said, though the sadness lingered even in his smile. "Besides, I got Curly out of the Fade safely, didn't I? You owe me an introduction to a book publisher in the Imperium, at the very least."

Refraining himself from reminding Varric that the deal was supposed to cover all of them, Dorian just chuckled lightly. "I'll send the letter as soon as we get back to Skyhold."

"You do that, Sparkler," Varric said, then faced the sands once more. "I think I'd like to be alone with my memories for a while," he said softly, then muttered under his breath, "What I'll do with them, I have no idea."

"I quite understand." Dorian patted Varric on the shoulder and then left quietly. He wished Varric luck in dealing with the complex ramifications of Hawke's confession and subsequent sacrifice, but suspected it would take Varric a while to fully wrap his head around all of them.

As for himself, Dorian's task at the moment was far more straightforward. A moment's pause to orient himself was all he needed to locate the tents for the wounded, and in the next moment he was in motion towards them.

When Dorian arrived at his destination, he found the area bustling with activity. After a few moments of peering through the crowds, he finally managed to find a familiar face-or horns, in this case. Hoping that Cullen would be near him, Dorian worked his way through the crowd towards Bull, using those wide set horns as a guide.

"There you are," Bull grunted as Dorian approached him. His wounds had been dressed, and though he looked a bit odd sporting bandages over his torso, he still looked fit enough to fight a gurn. "Thought you'd swing by here." Jerking his thumb over his shoulder towards the tent behind him, Bull said, "They took him in there when I first arrived. Lots of people coming and going, but he's getting help, probably the best help there is to get. He is the Commander, you know."

Dorian peered at the tent, noting the number of silhouettes moving around within, and swallowed. "So I should... leave them to their work?"

Bull put a sympathetic hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Give them a bit more time, yeah." He glanced around the area, then gently turned Dorian back to face it. "There's a lot of people out there who could use a word of encouragement after a big battle like that. And they all saw their Commander get brought here, so they know he's pretty badly hurt. Now, normally Cullen would be the one going from bed to bed and giving them a good word, but he can't."

After mulling that over for a moment, Dorian ventured, "So... you think I should do that in his stead? Give them a bit of encouragement, and all that?"

"It can't hurt," Bull told him. "It'll be a good distraction, and that way Cullen won't fret about it after he wakes up."

"He would, wouldn't he?" Dorian mused, realizing that Bull had come up with both a distraction for himself and a gift for Cullen all in one suggestion. "I'd better get started then. Thank you, Bull."

"No charge, boss," Bull rumbled.

Time passed more quickly than Dorian thought it would, but then, his focus on his task aided with that. After all, the wounded had earned more than simple gratitude. There were some here who had been with the Inquisition since Haven, and those who had joined only the month before. It didn't matter, of course: they were all Inquisition soldiers, and they'd all put their lives on the line. They'd earned more than a pretty speech or a perfunctory handshake.

So Dorian gave them all he had. He shook hands, yes, but that was only the beginning. He used techniques garnered from the tedious recitation of the Pavus family line through the Ages to recall names he'd heard during inspections and in passing at Skyhold. For those temporarily bound to their bed, he settled in and expounded upon the Inquisition's victory over Corypheus at Adamant, reinforcing the idea that their injuries had not been in vain. He brought meals to those who had been overlooked, told bawdy tales to those who needed a good laugh, and reassured them, over and over, that their Commander would indeed recover and be back to form before they knew it.

And, in a few cases, he simply sat by their side and held their hand as they slipped into the beyond.

The deaths shook him more than he cared to admit. It reminded him keenly not only of his responsibilities to them, but of the consequences should he fail. Raised a pampered noble, Dorian knew that he had been sheltered from quite a few of life's ugly truths, but death itself was not something which he dreaded. After all, as a necromantic mage, he had more than a passing familiarity with the soul's journey from flesh to Fade. But seeing a woman's final breath, knowing that it was his decision at the war table which had brought her to this end, was sobering.

As he rose from the chair beside her cot with a sigh of regret, a voice behind him said, "Thank you."

Dorian quickly turned towards Cole, eyebrows rising in surprise. Cole looked... different, somehow, his features more defined and his gaze more intense. Ever since Dorian had acquired the Anchor, Cole had seemed to keep his distance when not actually fighting at Dorian's side. Dorian had given the spirit the distance he seemed to desire, presuming that perhaps Cole, as a spirit of compassion, might not appreciate the finer points of associating with a necromancer. After a moment and a blink, Dorian replied, "Pardon?"

Cole's gaze darted to look behind Dorian as the attendant healer drew a sheet up to cover the woman's body. "The demon fell from the ramparts above so quickly they had no time to think," Cole said in his pale voice. "She had only one chance to save the sons who fought at her side, to ensure the life she'd brought into the world lived on after her time ended. She remembered them when they were young and innocent, straw still in their hair and stars in their eyes, but after the demons had poured from the rift over their home and killed all the others, they joined her to put on the uniform of the Inquisition and march at her side, to fight back. She was their mother, and she knew they would fight in her place if she fell. So she took that chance and gave them time, time to escape and fight the battles she would never see. Her only fear was that no one would know of her sacrifice, or that it might have been in vain." Cole reached out and hesitantly touched Dorian's arm. "But you came back, Inquisitor. You sat by her side and held her hand, and she knew you would not let the demons win, and that she helped. You made her happy before she left. Thank you."

Throat tightening, Dorian gave Cole a little smile. "I'm glad for that, at least," he said softly. "She deserved better than to die at the hands of a demon."

"I know," Cole said, and Dorian had to smile at the matter-of-fact way Cole said it, though Dorian hadn't meant his words to be taken literally. "But it is good you know that. The Inquisitor should know that."

"And the Inquisitor does," Dorian assured him. "Though I haven't seen you often of late. I was worried you didn't like me anymore."

Cole swallowed. "She asked me not to tell you," he whispered. "She said you couldn't know, that you would try to bring her back. I didn't want to stay away, but I was afraid I would say something and you would know what I was saying."

After puzzling through all that, comprehension finally dawned on Dorian. "You mean you knew Mailani was lurking?"

"She was so bright, bright as the last flash of sunlight before it sets. How could I not see her?" Cole asked. "I wanted to tell you, but I gave her my word."

"That's quite all right, Cole," Dorian assured him with a pat on his shoulder. "It worked out in the end, never you fear."

Cole's eyes widened as an awed expression came to his face. "I believe you. You went to the land where fear dwelt and and then returned, barring the path back against all who might use it."

Dorian's smile faltered, and he looked down to study his left hand as the now-familiar green light flickered in his palm. "I only wish the price had not been so very high," Dorian said with a regretful sigh. "We lost two good men there." Or at least, one good man and one man who deserved a chance to aspire for more.

"Dark, darker, darkest their path leads, Inquisitor," Cole breathed. "Their sacrifice is not what you believe."

With a start, Dorian jerked his head. "What do you-" He stopped as he realized that the spirit was already gone. With a frown, Dorian looked down at his hand again, trying to solve the enigma of Cole's last words. In the end, he had to simply shake his head and hope that he could track down Cole later for a lengthier explanation.

Now that his thoughts were no longer focused on others, however, Dorian realized that his wounds, minor as they were in his own eyes, hadn't yet been cleaned. Even as he turned his arm to see just how far one particular cut ran, a hand landed on his other arm. "All right, come with me, then."

Startled, Dorian turned to find a woman with the white linen armband of a healer looking up at him with a determined expression. "Ah... I take it, dear lady, that any answer other than yes will be met with a firm scolding?"

Her face relaxed into a smile as she laughed. "Well, at least you've still got your wits about you. Good on you. This way, Inquisitor."

Letting himself be dragged to a small canopy near where Bull had stood, Dorian took the offered seat and held out his left arm wordlessly. Her sharp eyes found far more wounds than that, of course, and he ended up sitting patiently on the low stool as she cleaned each and every one of his wounds, smiling as she muttered darkly about taking care of him properly. After a while, he finally allowed himself to ask the question which had never truly left his thoughts since his departure from the Fade. "How fares the Commander?"

The healer gave him a smile as she cleaned what he hoped was the last injury. "Still asleep, poor love," she said with a distinct accent Dorian had come to associate with the more remote areas of Ferelden. "He'll be in bed for a while yet. Not that that's a bad thing, mind," she added with a sniff. "Tends to work himself far too hard, does the Commander. Some time off will do him good, that's what I say."

A faint smile came to his face. "I heartily agree with you."

"Mind, I could say the same about you, Inquisitor," the woman added with a raised eyebrow. "You've worn yourself to the bone a fair few times yourself. What would the Herald, Andraste bless her, say if she saw the hours you kept? Send you straight off to your bed with a bowl of porridge is what she'd do, I reckon."

Dorian couldn't help but chuckle at the woman's remonstration. "I daresay you are correct. Though does it really have to be porridge? I would much prefer something with more taste, such as, oh, an old boiled shoe."

The healer laughed as she wrapped a bandage tightly around the clean wound. "Keep that smile on, then, there's a dear. The Commander could use a bit of cheer after all he's been through." After a bit more fussing with the dressing, she finally nodded and jerked her chin towards the tent where Cullen lay recuperating. "Go on, then. There's a chair for visitors."

"Thank you, dear lady," Dorian breathed, even as he headed for the indicated tent. Once he reached it, he paused for a moment to brace himself, then pulled the entrance flap aside.

Cullen lay within, looking quite small in the midst of an expanse of blankets and linen bandages. Almost every part of him, it seemed, had been treated, leaving only one of his hands and most of his face uncovered, if still showing bruises. Dorian swallowed harshly as his eyes moved over the man slowly, trying not to imagine the damage under those bandages and failing rather miserably.

Stepping inside, he let the flap close behind him and settled into the chair. He reached out tentatively, his touch gentle as his fingers ran down the side of Cullen's face. A burst of relief flared within when Cullen's mouth twitched in response, and he took the bared hand between his own and squeezed lightly.

When that same hand weakly squeezed him back, his eyes widened and he leaned forward. "Commander?"

"Tingles," Cullen mumbled, and Dorian looked down to find that his hand had begun to glow.

"My apologies," Dorian said with a throaty chuckle.

"'S fine." Cullen said. "Best way to know it's you." His eyes opened slowly, showing deep bloodshot around the warm brown. "How bad do I look?"

Dorian gave him a smile. "You look wonderful."

With a snort, Cullen looked away, but a smile pulled at his lips. "I meant the injuries. How bad are they?"

"They look fairly terrifying, yes." Dorian kept the tone light, not wanting to chase that smile away. "I wouldn't recommend a round of calibrations any time soon."

"Nothing's missing?"

"No, nothing's missing." Dorian patted Cullen's hand companionably. "Granted, I haven't done a full inspection myself, but I think they would have told me if my Commander had left anything behind in his jaunt to the Fade."

"A full inspection, hmm?" Cullen asked as his half-smile trended towards a smirk.

"Oh, definitely. I am quite the hands-on Inquisitor. Hadn't you noticed?" Dorian sallied back with a grin of his own.

Though the reply made Cullen laugh, the laugh in turn made him wince with obvious pain. "Ouch. Perhaps... perhaps a bit less humor would be well-advised," he gasped.

Immediately contrite, Dorian patted Cullen's hand. "My apologies, Commander. Ask me anything, and we'll discuss that instead."

Cullen nodded, eyes closing as he caught his breath. "Did Alistair make it out in one piece?" When Dorian didn't answer immediately, he opened his eyes again. "No. Maker, not Alistair."

"A lot has happened." Bowing his head, Dorian started to speak softly, beginning with the moment they'd fallen into the Fade. He paused once or twice when the healers came in to check on Cullen and and administer more potions as necessary, then continued when they were alone again. He held nothing back, including what he had learned about Hawke, and when he finished, Cullen simply stared at him in shock for a few moments before he finally let his head fall back onto the pillow.

"Mailani was with us all this time. I… I can't believe it." His brows twitched as Cullen considered that for a few moments of silence. "I wish I could have seen her."

A wistful smile came to Dorian's face. "I wish you could have, too. Not that it was easy, seeing her as I knew her, and seeing that… diminish. And knowing she could never come back."

"And all because of Amell." Eyes narrowing in anger, Cullen growled, "Even more reason to hate the bastard."

"It does seem that way, yes. Certainly we can't afford ourselves the illusion that he's not involved in this business," Dorian noted. "But finding him will likely prove to be a tricky business."

"Leliana will find him," Cullen whispered. "I'm sure of it." His eyelids fluttered shut as he swallowed. "And Hawke… If he told you the truth, he suffered more than the rest of us at Amell's hands."

Dorian nodded. "So he claims. For what it's worth, I believe him. I felt a hint of magic around him a few times, so subtle I didn't realize that's what it was, but in hindsight, I think it could easily have been that charm Hawke mentioned."

"Oh, I can definitely believe Amell made him do things," Cullen said in a hollow voice. "That bastard seemed to delight in forcing people to do as he commanded."

Dorian frowned and reached up to lightly touch Cullen's cheek, trying to pull him back from wherever that particular memory had taken him. "What I saw in your dream... there's more to it, isn't there?"

Swallowing harshly, Cullen nodded. "He had no love for Templars. I was alone, and vulnerable, and needed his aid to escape the demons. He took advantage of that, and then took it further. I... I'm sorry." He turned to look at Dorian. "I'd rather not go into details. Suffice it to say, he was a large part of my distrust of mages, particularly blood mages, in my time at Kirkwall."

"Commander," Dorian breathed, surprised at how difficult it was to see the man's emotional pain. "You need never speak of that time again, I assure you. I will not inquire further."

Cullen relaxed visibly. "Thank you. Though I do wonder if Amell's influence had anything to do with the way Hawke treated Alistair. He told me once that Amell seemed to delight in tormenting his fellow Wardens."

"We'll never know now, I suppose." When the silence dragged on too long, Dorian cleared his throat and continued, "But the great mystery of our shared dreams is solved, at least."

Cullen's eyes closed as he took a deep breath, obviously forcing himself away from unpleasant memories. After a while, a little smile returned to his face. "Leave it to Mailani to figure out a way to speak to us from the beyond," he murmured. "Given that the first dream didn't happen until after I shoved you into a wall, perhaps that was even her way to try to make me come around about you."

Dorian's eyebrows rose, then fell as he considered the remark. "She always was our little peace-maker here in Skyhold," he mused. "I... Yes, actually, I could easily see her do that given the opportunity. Certainly our first few dreams were almost designed to make us sympathise with the other's plight. Almost suspiciously so, now that I think of it."

Cullen's lips curved in a fond smile. "They must have been. Minx."

"Is it wrong to admit that I am glad for every bit of interference from her?" Dorian said a bit wistfully. "Being Inquisitor has been much easier knowing I had a friend nearby."

Hand squeezing Dorian's tightly, Cullen said, "I am glad. That I help you, and that we have grown so close."

Dorian smiled. "Why, you're making me blush, Commander," he teased.

"Even your buttcheeks?" Cullen said with a grin

Dorian's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Are those on your mind of late?"

"What? No!" Cullen's cheeks darkened precipitously. "I was just quoting-I didn't mean- Maker's breath," he groaned, reaching up to cover his face.

Quickly taking pity on the man, Dorian chuckled lightly. "I know, Commander. I do believe I have mentioned my penchant for teasing before, and you are not at your best. I offer my apologies for taking advantage."

"No, no, don't apologize." Cullen's hand rubbed awkwardly at his neck for a moment. "Though I'm still not used to you sassing me."

Tilting his head, Dorian asked, "Instead of the reverse?"

"Only during chess," Cullen said firmly, his attempt to be serious betrayed by the twinkle in his eyes. "I reserve my best sass for when I need to distract an opponent."

With a laugh, Dorian shook his head. "Just how many potions have the healers stuffed down your gullet?"

"Enough to make me wonder if I should stop talking," Cullen admitted wryly.

"Don't worry, Commander, my lips are sealed no matter what you say," Dorian told him with a wink.

"Thank the Maker for small favors," Cullen said, then closed his eyes and let his head fall back into the pillow. After a moment, he opened them again and stared up at the ceiling of the tent. "I almost can't believe it's over. All that planning and preparation..." He sniffed and turned his gaze to Dorian. "And instead of appreciating what we've accomplished, all I can think about is what is to come and what needs to be done."

Dorian's expression turned thoughtful as Cullen's words sparked thoughts which had been swimming in his mind beneath the leviathan of dealing with the demon army. "I admit to similar thoughts myself. This is the first decisive blow we've dealt Corypheus since he attacked Haven, that is certain, but it is still only the first of many. A victory here doesn't assure a victory elsewhere, after all."

Cullen sighed heavily and passed his hand over his face. "And here I am lying broken and useless on a healer's cot."

"Hardly useless, Commander," Dorian said, quickly trying to break that depressing line of thought. "Impressive as your body is, I believe what we need right now is that mind of yours."

"What do you mean, impressive as my-" Cullen stopped, then looked away from Dorian and cleared his throat. "Ah. Yes. My mind. You mean strategy."

"Among other things. I hope you don't think that just because you can't walk, you're going to be excused from going to Halamshiral with me," Dorian warned him. "I am certainly not going into that Orlesian lion's den without the Inquisition's lion at my side, I assure you."

The comment made Cullen chuckle and relax enough to look back at Dorian with a grin. "I don't suppose Josephine will let me wear my mantle, will she?"

"No, but even if she would, I would ask the Inquisitor to expressly forbid it. And since I'm the Inquisitor… Well, consider the matter closed," Dorian told him mock-sternly. "This is a ball, after all, not some Fereldan country fair."

"And knowing Josephine, she already has some sort of Inquisition outfit we're all supposed to wear," Cullen said in resignation.

Dorian's brow furrowed. "Ah. True. Hmm. Do remind me to have a word with her about that when we get back to Skyhold, would you? I'd rather be certain that we are stylish as well as functional. Uniformity is all well and good, but I refuse to be boring for the sake of politics."

"Wouldn't that be the safer path?" Cullen asked with amusement.

"I do have standards, Commander," Dorian declared with a sniff.

"Plus I wouldn't want to be there if you tried to force First Enchanter Vivienne to wear something that isn't the height of fashion to an Orlesian ball," Cullen pointed out.

"That thought had crossed my mind, yes." Shaking his head, Dorian steepled his hands in front of his face. "So. Halamshiral. If Adamant has taught us anything, it's that those threats Mailani uncovered in Therinfal Redoubt are exactly, if not more, dangerous than we expected. The Nightmare was no mean foe, and the sacrifice to be rid of it proved far too dear. And if my gallivanting about the Exalted Plains taught me anything, it's that Orlesians are perfectly happy to smile in your face just before they stab you in the back. Not very different from home, really."

"You make the Imperium sound so lovely," Cullen noted.

"It is extraordinarily lovely," Dorian protested. "The people, however, can leave a bit to be desired at times. At any rate, we can't possibly know what Corypheus has in store for us at Halamshiral, but we must do everything in our power to ensure that it does not come to outright battle."

"Agreed. We lost far too many in Adamant for my taste." Cullen glanced to the tent flaps. "And I haven't been able to make the rounds with the wounded. Hopefully Cassandra will have some time to see to them."

Dorian reached out and patted Cullen's hand. "I attended to that," he assured Cullen. "You needn't fret." When Cullen's eyebrows rose, Dorian added, "You don't have to look so very surprised. They serve the Inquisition, and that makes them my responsibility. Granted, responsibility is something I've quite often fled from with alacrity, but it is not something which I will deny or defer now."

Cullen blinked, then smiled slowly. "I… couldn't have put it better myself. Or… or differently, actually."

"You know," Dorian mused, leaning in so that he could speak in a more intimate tone, "I told Mailani that I would serve her legacy. For so long, I did what I thought she would do as Inquisitor. Yet when I told her that, she said I should walk my own path and not hers."

"That sounds like her," Cullen murmured. His hand curled around Dorian's and gave it a gentle squeeze. "How did that make you feel?"

"Honestly?" Dorian's brow furrowed as he considered their clasped hands, and slowly he put his other hand on top of them, twining their fingers together idly. "I felt a bit empty. Or perhaps bereft is a better word, as if I'd lost her again, except… I'd lost more than her this time, I'd lost her guidance, her support, her… her friendship. I hadn't felt that before, possibly because I'd been so focused on only doing what she would have done, or possibly because she was, in fact, still with me." The green light flickered into being in his hand, and he sighed heavily. "Though I knew it not."

Cullen's fingers ran over the green light pulsing restlessly in Dorian's palm. "You may no longer have Mailani with you," he said in a low voice, meeting Dorian's gaze with a sober intensity, "but you have me, broken and worn as I am. I may not be able to guide you, but I can and will support you, and be your friend regardless of what lies ahead, if you will have me." A faint smile came to his face. "Even when things were darkest, even when the Nightmare found and exposed the fears I had thought long gone and buried, there was one certainty to which I held: your promise. I knew you would come for me. That's why I never lost hope."

Dorian opened his mouth, then shut it again as he blinked rapidly a few times against the sudden pricking in his eyes. He couldn't help but think of Hawke's admonition in the Fade, that Dorian deserved better. Was this what Hawke had meant? Not some fanciful ideal of unicorns and impossibilities, but the lasting, firm foundation of unshakable friendship? Oh, he'd had friends before, naturally, and quite lovely ones: Felix, in his time with House Alexius and, of course, Mailani. Yet this felt… different, somehow. Stronger, deeper, a bond such as he'd never shared with another person before, man or woman. His hands shifted so that they could clasp Cullen's hands between them as a tremulous smile came to his face, yet no sound emerged from his mouth.

"You're speechless," Cullen observed, his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

"It doesn't happen often." A breathy little chuckle escaped Dorian's lips. "You've managed to catch me unprepared with such a strident declaration, Commander."

"My strategy worked, then," Cullen quipped with a subtle wink.

Dorian squeezed Cullen's hand gently, still mindful of the man's injuries. "Always the master of the field, even when broken and worn, is that it? I should find something for you to calibrate while you're recuperating just to make sure you do not fall out of practice."

"Just… not a trebuchet. Please," Cullen said hurriedly. "I've seen enough of those to last me at least a month."

"An entire month? Really? Hmm. Perhaps I could indulge in more teasing?" When Cullen just gave him a flat stare in return, Dorian had to laugh. "Definitely a no, then. You know, I'll have to find something we can do that doesn't involve teasing. Soon, ideally, before you wither away from all this boring healing business."

A smirk formed on Cullen's lips. "Something simple, perhaps? Like defeating you in chess again?"

Pressing a hand to his chest in mock indignation, Dorian drew himself upright. "You dare, my good ser! I believe I shall take that as an insult to my honor and challenge you to a daily duel. Of chess," he added hastily. "You're not quite in the right condition for any other sort of duel."

"No," Cullen said with a grimace, again glancing down at the bandages and splints and other evidence of his wounds. "And the pain is starting to creep back in."

Dorian immediately rose to his feet. "I'll go fetch the healer."

"No, no, stay. Please," Cullen said hastily, almost desperately, reaching out to grab Dorian's hand. "Just… give me a potion or two and I'll drift away. I should sleep anyway. Or try to." Squeezing Dorian's hand, he added in a whisper, "And… stay, if you would. Please"

When a haunted look stole over Cullen's face, Dorian quickly sat down and leaned forward once more, squeezing the man's hand between his. "Of course. After what you endured while in the clutches of that monstrosity, and what you've been through before… Sleep is no simple surcease for you now, is it?"

Swallowing harshly, Cullen's eyes squeezed shut as he shook his head. "I... don't want to be alone tonight," he whispered. "What if the Nightmare is still there? If I go to the Fade… if he finds me…" Suddenly his eyes sprang open, gleaming with unshed tears. "And when I close my eyes, I see… I see more than darkness, more than dreams filled with demons. I see flame, and blood, and… and…" His face scrunched up in a grimace of both pain and fear as his breathing came hard and fast, and the hand wrapped around Dorian's suddenly turned into a rigid claw of fear. "And him. You once said he was in my dreams, before even we went to the Fade."

Amell. Abruptly Dorian understood exactly what Cullen feared. Dorian pressed a quick kiss to the back of Cullen's hand, then reached out and cradled the side of the man's face. "I understand," he said in hushed tones. "They will not have you, not while I live." Kissing Cullen's hand again for emphasis, Dorian added, "I made you a promise, Cullen. I will protect you, even against the very source of fear. You trusted me before, remember? You can trust me now."

Cullen's gaze rose to look at Dorian, who gave him an encouraging smile in response. Gradually his breathing returned to normal, until finally his hand relaxed all at once. "You said my name," he said softly.

Dorian blinked, surprised that that was what Cullen had latched onto. "Oh. I did, didn't I?"

A faint smile touched Cullen's lips. "I just hadn't realized how little you've used it before."

"Then perhaps I should use it more often," Dorian suggested in a soft voice, grateful that the panic seemed to have passed-for now. "But it's true. You are my dearest friend, Cullen, and as long as I have breath, I will do what I can to protect you."

Cullen drew Dorian's hand up to rest on his chest, though the eye contact between them remained unbroken. "And I promise to do the same for you… Dorian."

The sheer sincerity of the comment, so very outside the stilted and restricted formal dance of words with which he'd been reared, made a tender smile come to Dorian's face. "I know."

"So very certain," Cullen said with a chuckle, then frowned in obvious discomfort. "I could do with those potions now," he admitted.

"Yes, yes, of course." Giving Cullen's hand one final squeeze before releasing it, Dorian rummaged through the potions sitting in a basket next to the cot until he finally found two he knew to be particularly efficacious. "I may not be able to heal a papercut-which, considering the amount of time I prefer to spend in libraries, is rather tragic-but I do understand the arts of the chirurgeon." Leaning forward once more, Dorian popped the cork off of one bottle and gently lifted Cullen's head so that he could swallow more easily. "Here we go. The numbing draught first."

"Thank the Maker," Cullen breathed, then quickly gulped the mixture down.

As Cullen relaxed into the mattress, Dorian prepared the other one and held it to his lips. "And the sleeping draught."

Once he'd downed that as well, Cullen made a face. "Bitter," he said. "Is that a requirement, do you think, that medicine is supposed to taste so bad?" Before Dorian could respond, Cullen suddenly broke into a jaw-cracking yawn, and laughed a bit sheepishly. "At least it works."

"Just what the healer ordered, if I recall," Dorian said with a little smile. "Sleep well, Cullen. I shall make sure your slumber is quite safe."

"Thank you." Cullen's eyelids sagged shut. After a minute or so, his breathing slowed and evened, and his hand went limp in Dorian's grasp. Just when Dorian thought he was asleep, Cullen mumbled, "You're a… a true friend, Dorian."

"And I always will be," Dorian whispered, though he suspected Cullen wouldn't even hear it. For a time he contemplated the sleeping man, searching for any sign of discomfort, then leaned in and pressed a kiss to Cullen's forehead. When he found himself considering the man's lips for a long moment, he forced himself to sit back and settle deeper into the chair. He'd made a promise to protect Cullen's dreams, after all, and that meant he could allow no distractions.

Closing his eyes, he gathered his magic and wove a defensive ward around the tent, one which would bar any attempts to invade whether by land or by Fade. With a bit of inspiration, he enhanced the ward with the magic of the Anchor, reinforcing his standard spells with magic few would recognize or be able to counter. Only then did he let himself take a long breath and seek his own rest.

It would be a long journey back to Skyhold, but at least he had the best of company.