Dorian kept his face calm as he made his way to Skyhold's vaulted entrance. Calm. Yes. Calm. That would be his watchword no matter what happened, no matter what his father said, no matter the provocation by any member of the delegation or whatever they styled themselves to be. He would be the Inquisitor, Chosen of the Herald of Andraste and leader of the Inquisition, not merely a recalcitrant Altus or a pariah of the Imperium, and that would be that.

Josephine was already there, of course. He would have been shocked had she not been waiting for him. Coming to a halt beside her as they waited for the carriages to negotiate the final turn on the winding road leading up to Skyhold, he gave her a bright smile. "Ambassador. Why, it has been far too long since last we met."

"Inquisitor," she said with a little bow over her ledger, though her lips did curve slightly since it had been only an hour or so since their earlier meeting. "I have done what I can to accommodate our guests, but-"

Dorian waved her apology aside. "But they are here sooner than we expected, yes. I suspect someone wiggled their fingers. Otherwise I'm not sure how they traveled a day's worth of travel in half the time."

"Or perhaps this is only part of the entourage," Josephine said as the carriages came into sight. "Surely they did not travel so far with so little."

"Ah. Perhaps," Dorian murmured, but his eyes were on the lead centurions. Someone had taken care to remove all House insignias from their armor and spears, leaving their attire oddly plain. Even the snakes of the Imperium had been removed from their greaves and breastplates, though the pennants the standard bearers bore showed the serpent of the Imperium. Tugging his eyes from the soldiers, he scrutinized the carriages, hoping for a hint of who accompanied his father, but they bore no mark whatsoever. Rented, more than likely. "I don't suppose Charter received a report in the last bit of time with some sort of list?" he asked a bit plaintively.

"No, Inquisitor," she told him. "For all the flowery language in their official missive sent to the Inquisition, only Magister Pavus was named directly."

He sighed. "And no word from Leliana yet?"

"No, Inquisitor," Josephine said softly. "Nothing."

"I see." Dorian frowned for a moment, tucking that particular lingering worry into the back of his mind once more. There was little they could do about it now, after all.

"The lack of detail concerning our guests is a common ploy, Inquisitor," Josephine said. "Particularly when the visiting party wishes to keep their host off-balance upon their arrival."

"Or it could just as easily be that they didn't want the Venatori to intercept such a list. There are those in the Imperium who sympathize with the Venatori, and I'm sure it has become a gambit in the Magisterium. A list written down might prove politically inconvenient. My father, at least, could be viewed as a logical choice for this delegation." He fell silent for a moment, then muttered, "At least, logical if you have no heart."

Concern on her face, Josephine lightly set her hand on his arm. "I could welcome them in the name of the Inquisition on my own," she offered.

He patted her hand gently, grateful for the offer. "No, and you know precisely why I must be here, now, when they arrive. It would be seen as a sign of weakness if I am not here." With a little sigh, he squared his shoulders as the carriages drew to a halt and the centurions parted in precise formation to clear the way for those within. "Though I do hope you have a plan in the event that I blast the stubborn man off the top of the mountain."

"Ah..." Her expression in response to his words, he had to admit, proved priceless. "I would very strongly suggest you do not act in such a manner, Inquisitor."

With a chuckle, he gave her a slow wink. "I shall strive to avoid embarrassing you so very much, Lady Ambassador." Relief settled on her face, but it was the ching of mailed boots on cobblestones which made Dorian turn with a grateful smile. "Why, it appears the reinforcements have arrived."

"I'm not about to let a bunch of foreign soldiers into Skyhold without suffering my scrutiny," Cullen grunted as he settled into place next to Dorian. His normal armor and fur mantle were back in place, and he'd even gone so far as to strap his sword and shield on for display. "Besides, I wouldn't want them to think us without our own strength. The soldiers, at least, will respect my presence, even if the Magisters don't." Settling his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes swept over the soldiers. "And those centurions are professionals, if I'm any judge."

"That they are." And, Dorian realized for the first time, unfamiliar. So not soldiers of House Pavus. Before he could study them further, however, a footman pulled open the carriage door and assisted someone from within to the ground. The man-a Magister from the marks on his robe and his face hidden in the depths of the hood-waved the servant back and walked slowly towards Dorian and his two Advisors, then came to a halt a few feet away.

Slowly the man reached up and pushed his hood back, and Dorian felt his shoulders tighten. His father looked... older. More worn. The details caught Dorian's attention: dark hair previously only peppered with age was now all shades of grey, even sporting one or two solid streaks of white, and his face showed deeper lines than when they'd met in Redcliffe. Dorian blinked, and for a moment, he saw only the vital man Halward had been in Dorian's youth, in the days when Dorian had ached for even a proud nod from the man he'd respected above all others. With a quick mental shake of his head, Dorian dismissed the image and instead inclined his head towards his father in greeting.

"Magister." Dorian delivered the word in a neutral tone, hoping to conceal both the fear and the upset which filled him. His inner emotions roiled in a complicated mélange, concern for his father's health battling with the long-burning anger he still felt over Halward's plan to change him. "Welcome to Skyhold."

Halward closed his eyes and bowed his head. After a moment, he cleared his throat and raised it once more. "Inquisitor. I am honored to be here."

"Quarters have been readied for you and your companions," Dorian continued, albeit stiffly. "You shall not find the hospitality of the Inquisition wanting."

"The representatives of the Imperium thank the Inquisition for their hospitality," his father said, continuing the ritual by rote, "and we thank them for their time."

"And we thank the representatives of the Imperium for their presence," Dorian said, completing the exchange with a bow that was, perhaps, a bit more shallow than it should have been.

Halward's returning bow proved to be a bit less petty, giving Dorian all the due of a Magister, which was a subtle shading between giving Dorian more than his due as Altus of the Imperium but less than his due as leader of the Inquisition. On the other hand, it was also the bow of equal to equal, and thus an interesting choice for a father to make to his son. Perhaps he means to behave while he's here. That thought proved premature in the next breath, however, as Halward met Dorian's eyes with a slight frown. "And does the son not have a greeting for the father?"

Even as Josephine opened her mouth to respond with her usual tact and diplomacy, Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and stuck out his chin. "The Inquisitor has done his duty here," he said crisply. "The son owes the father nothing. I thought that quite clear when last they met."

"Dorian-" Halward began, then fell silent as Dorian made a sharp gesture.

"Don't, Father." Dorian heard the harshness in his voice immediately, realizing belatedly that it might be too much even before his father's face hardened.

"And here I thought you had perhaps grown with your new responsibilities," Halward noted in a tone just short of a sneer. Dorian knew it was a technique, designed to make him lash out, knew it was a facade his father used when he didn't want to show his emotions in front of others. After all, Dorian had learned his own self-defense mechanisms from the ones he'd deemed masters.

How many times had he heard the same tricks used in the bickering between his parents as they'd skirted every minimal barrier of outright fighting while eating as a family? Or during the few times they'd taken enough of a personal interest in his progress to actually spend some time with him instead of simply demanding perfection through the proxies of governesses and tutors? How often had he been forced to withstand those tongues turned on him when he didn't manage to live up to their impossible standards, or to endure the moments when he had done all he could only to be met with a shake of the head and a scathing comment?

It was no wonder he had so few friends.

Pressing his lips together, Dorian lifted his chin in defiance. "I do have many responsibilities, Magister. And I really should attend to them, if you'll excuse me."

"Oh, I'm sure you do," Halward said acidly. "Even after I've come all this way to bring aid from the Imperium, there are still things more important?"

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Pardon? The Imperium is officially neutral on the matter of the Inquisition. Even your letter stated as such."

Halward looked at him as if he were a child. "The letter was a ruse, of course," he said disdainfully. "The last thing we want is for the Venatori to learn that elements of the Magisterium might actually support the Inquisition."

"Why?" Dorian demanded. "The Venatori represent every sad sack cliche about the Imperium that the South uses against us. Why worry about going counter to them at all?"

"I think this discussion should be taken-" Josephine tried to interject, but Halward had already moved closer to Dorian.

"You're being as stubborn as always when you're losing an argument," Halward said with narrowed eyes.

"And you are being as stubborn as always when your argument doesn't even have a place to rest its ass," Dorian shot back, not even caring at this point that they had made themselves into somewhat of a spectacle.

As Halward opened his mouth to respond, a woman's voice cut through the air. "Well, then, I think that's enough entertainment for the troops. Perhaps we could all go inside?"

Dorian blinked and looked past his father to where a blond woman had descended from the carriage to stand and glare at the two of them with folded arms. "Mae?" he gasped.

"Yes, darling, it's me." Maevaris sauntered over to join them, an amused expression on her face. "I see the men of House Pavus are as deliciously themselves as ever. Still, could we perhaps move along? I'm getting a bit cold out here. The South is so dreadfully... Hmm."

"Rustic?" Dorian suggested, then pulled Mae into a hug with a laugh. She was truly someone he had missed from the Imperium. "It is, isn't it? Delightfully so, in fact."

She gave him a quick squeeze, then pulled back and swatted at his arm. "Appearances, Inquisitor. We must maintain our appearances, and it's hard to do that with wrinkles in my dress. I had hoped that Halward would be a sufficient representative until we got indoors, but apparently I can't trust either of you to behave." Halward coughed and looked abashed, and Dorian felt a sheepish expression creep across his face of its own will. With a laugh, Mae patted Dorian on the cheek. "It's good to see you, my dear, and I do want to speak with you, but... after a bath. You do have baths, don't you?"

"Oh, yes," Dorian assured her. "Nice hot ones, I would imagine. I'm certain our dear Lady Ambassador has made civilized arrangements for you."

"Of course she did," Maevaris said with a slow wink. "Though since I am out in this barbaric cold, perhaps some introductions are in order."

Feeling quite like he was a teenager again-but then, Mae sometimes had that effect on people-Dorian took her hand and turned to Josephine. "My dear Josephine, may I present Magister Maevaris Tilani? Don't believe that smile of hers, my dear-she's a Magister, and that means she can be positively lethal."

Maevaris swatted his arm again, then smiled at Josephine. "A pleasure to meet you. I've read your missives to myself and others, and marveled at your ability to treat some of them as if they have a modicum of intelligence. Most impressive."

Josephine smiled as she settled into a deep curtsy. "Magister Tilani."

"And this is the Lady Josephine Montilyet, the inimitable and redoubtable Ambassador for the Inquisition," Dorian continued expansively.

"Well, working with you, she certainly has her work cut out for her." Maevaris ignored Dorian's mock-grasp of outrage and gave Josephine a wink. "Though perhaps we could finish the pleasantries later. Preferably tomorrow, given the hour."

"Of course, my lady Magister," Josephine said. "I have prepared your suites per the details in your delegation's letter, and suitable accommodations await all of you."

"Including baths?" Maevaris asked hopefully.

Josephine allowed herself a small chuckle. "Definitely including baths, my lady. I believe quite firmly in civilization myself."

"You are a darling," Maevaris breathed with a happy smile, then turned back to the carriages. "I'll see you later, Inquisitor Dorian. Halward, with me."

Halward sighed, though he didn't immediately follow. Instead, he looked at Dorian. "There are matters we need to discuss," he said quietly. "At your leisure."

Dorian looked sharply at him. That tone was highly unusual, proffering a rather wan apology through nuance and stance more than anything, but an attempt nevertheless. Something had changed since last he saw his father. His eyes studied Halward more closely for a moment, then widened as he saw the edge of a scar peeking over the top of the man's collar. Touching his own neck briefly, Dorian met Halward's gaze with a question in his eyes, and his father sighed and nodded.

"Until then, Inquisitor." After giving Dorian a bow that was closer to one owed the Archon than a Magister, much less an Altus, he turned and headed back to the wagon with slow and uneven steps.

A frown came to his face as Dorian watched him go. Oh, he was still angry, but a Magister of the Imperium didn't suddenly sprout a scar on his neck for no reason. And given Imperium practice, if something happened there which concerned House Pavus, it would, eventually, find him. As a refugee Altus suddenly sprung to newfound power at the head of the Inquisition, Dorian knew that he was more prominent than he would have been had he simply been the Inquisitor's friend-and in the Imperium, particularly in the Magisterium, notoriety meant danger.

As the troops took their marching positions in front of the carriage again, he turned to Josephine and Cullen. "I leave them in your capable hands, both of you," he told them, not daring to hold Cullen's sympathetic gaze for too long. "Following typical Imperium convention, they will 'freshen up'-which means they'll plot and bicker and decide how to present a united front-and then request a private audience. Thankfully, Mae sounds like she will postpone the unpleasantries until tomorrow morning, but I expect they will request to be the first business of the day."

Josephine's pen danced across her ledger as she took notes. "I shall see to it, Inquisitor. Do you have any special instructions for me in the meantime?"

Well, that's about the most diplomatic way to ask if I expect any problems to arise, Dorian thought wryly. "I anticipate a few more surprises from them," Dorian cautioned her. "Nothing dangerous, per se, but they wouldn't be Magisters if they weren't always looking for an advantage. Make sure there are always a few Templars visible from the windows of their suites, and check in with Charter to ensure none of their servants slip down to the kitchens."

"And I'll task Jim to keep an eye on their soldiers under the guise of guide," Cullen interjected.

"Krem's here, isn't he?" Dorian asked in a low voice. "Get him to work with Jim. It'd be good if we had someone who can understand our gibberish listening in on the soldiers when they're at their most relaxed. They won't be as guarded as the nobles."

"Noted. I'll take care of it," Cullen assured him. "If Bull hasn't already."

Dorian smiled fondly. "He is suspicious of those blasted Vints, true. Thank you." Straightening, he nodded to each of them-though perhaps his gaze did linger a bit longer on Cullen-before he moved past them and into Skyhold, signaling the delegation that it was time to officially enter the Inquisition's hospitality.

Habit took him forward and up the stairs, his brittle smile as fixed in place as his calm demeanor while he made his way to his quarters. Idly he listened to snatches of gossip as he walked, unsurprised to hear that most of it concerned the new arrivals and speculation about how it related to himself and the Inquisition. As he slowed to catch as many of the whispers as he could, however, a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Quickly he angled to his right, obeying Varric's summons with a bright smile.

"Ah, I see you have settled into a front row seat for the entertainment, despite the hour," Dorian greeted him cheerfully.

Varric nodded. "Yeah, you know me. I'm not happy unless I'm near a fire. Especially when there's snow on the ground outside." Varric gave a little shudder.

"I wholeheartedly agree," Dorian noted. "I wonder if I should ask Solas if he has any other fortresses tucked up his sleeve, but down in the plains somewhere"

"That might be asking a little too much from Chuckles," Varric said with a grin. "Besides, as long I have this fire and you have that huge bed of yours, I think we'll be all right. It's only until we take down Corypheus. Well..." A worried expression came to his face. " Probably only until we take down Corypheus."

"I certainly don't intend to play in the snow any longer than I have to," Dorian told him. "Austere stone is not really my preferred look for a domicile, attempts at domesticity aside."

"I couldn't agree with you more," Varric said fervently. "There's a reason I've never 'gone to ground' or whatever dwarves call it. I much prefer smoky dens and bad ale in a place where the windows open to the sky. I just prefer it with less snow."

"At least the fire is always burning," Dorian said with forced cheerfulness, then continued in a lower voice, "though I daresay you didn't summon me over here to discuss the weather."

"That would be a fair assumption," Varric said, his eyes darting around quickly. "Since Nightingale hasn't been around since we got back, I thought I should pass along a few things I've heard from some of my contacts."

Dorian's gaze sharpened, and he moved to stand next to Varric, both of them miming the action of warming their hands at the fire to avoid their lips being seen by those still gathered in the hall. "Very well. What do I need to know?"

"Well, let's get the general rumors out of the way first," Varric said with a chuckle, keeping his shoulders and face relaxed to mimic Dorian's nonchalance. "First of all, general consensus in Skyhold seems to be that they don't consider you a Vint anymore. That's good for morale, because it means that these new Vints are the interlopers, and not your bosses. I know that was one thing Nightingale and Charter were keeping an ear on. Bull agrees with me on this, too, and if anyone would pay attention to rumors about Vints, it's him."

"Good," Dorian breathed. For all that he still dearly loved his homeland, he wasn't sure that he could call it home anymore, even for nostalgia's sake. "What else?"

"Some rumors about a certain Inquisitor and a certain Commander canoodling on the ramparts is already making the rounds," Varric said with a grin. "Something about an interrupted kiss. Somebody should have remembered that rumors fly faster than sparrows around here."

"Veshante kaffas," Dorian muttered under his breath. "That was only half a candle ago!"

"Plenty of time for a bird to circle the Keep, much less a nice, juicy rumor like that," Varric pointed out. "Just thought you'd want to know. Maybe next time you should arrange to kiss him inside instead of up on the ramparts, even at night. Besides, elves can see in the dark."

Dorian's eyebrows rose. "They can?"

"Yeah. You didn't know that, I take it?" Varric chuckled. "Might want to keep that in mind in case the urge to shove Curly into a convenient poorly lit corner overtakes you."

"Thank you, Varric," Dorian snipped. "That's more than enough on the subject. Is there anything else?"

"Word is that our resident Warden hero has been acting strange ever since we got back from Adamant," Varric said, becoming serious again. "He's always haunted the stable like a half-Faded ghost, but he's practically as much a recluse as the kid these days. You might want to keep an eye on him. He's not talking to anyone, and Tiny says he hasn't been in for a drink since Adamant."

Dorian frowned. "Hmm. We're not the best of friends, Blackwall and I, but I've never wished him anything worse than a shower, a shave, and a decent fashion sense. I'll speak with him as soon as I can." As soon as I can figure out when that is, he added with a mental sigh. "Anything else?"

"Not right now, no. And I'm only really telling you all this because you need the distraction," Varric told him bluntly. "You're looking a bit thunder-faced. Might want to rein that in a little."

"I'll bear that in mind," Dorian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"No charge, Sparkler. You owe me enough as it is." As Dorian turned, Varric added, "Just remember: kiss him inside next time, preferably away from a window or a balcony."

"Thank you, Varric," Dorian grated as he made his way to his chambers. The fixed smile returned to his face as he realized just how many eyes were on him, scrutinizing his every move. Still, he wasn't an Altus of the Imperium for nothing, and being Inquisitor had not diminished his skills at handling public attention in the least. Squaring his shoulders, he lifted an eyebrow imperiously and continued on his way, nodding regally at the worst offenders and giving subtle winks to those whose lips twitched in amusement beneath their masks.

Once he reached the safety of his quarters, however, and with the door closed firmly behind him, he leaned his head against it and took a long, deep breath as he forced the tension away. He thought he'd been prepared to meet his father, but once the reality hit, he hadn't been nearly as ready as he'd hoped. "Sweet Maker, but he was right," Dorian muttered. "We are too much alike, stubborn brontos that we are."

It took a deliberate thought to shove himself away from the door, but once he set into motion, it proved a simple matter to keep going all the way to his sideboard and its enchanting collections of carafes filled to the brim with high quality and above all else potent libations. Before he knew it, he had a glass full of fine Antivan brandy in his hand, and the will to consume it. For a bare moment he contemplated it, then knocked it back with one long swallow. That led to a second glass, and then a third, but instead of quenching the simmering anger within, each drink only seemed to make it burn hotter.

"Responsibility," Dorian snarled as he poured the last of the carafe into his glass and raised it to stare at the enticing amber colored liquid. "He wouldn't know responsibility if it bit him on his dick."

"I think most people would at least know they'd been bit on the dick, though," a deep voice rumbled behind him.

Dorian jumped a few inches, spilling quite a bit of brandy on himself, and turned to stare blearily up at a familiar face. "How on Thedas do you manage to sneak up on me like that?" he complained waspishly. "You're the size of a gurn, with the odor and hide to match."

"Carpet, boss," Bull said with a grin. "You said that before, remember?"

With a sniff, Dorian looked down at the near empty glass in his hand. "This is your fault," he accused, presenting the offending item to the ex-Qunari.

Crossing his arms over his chest, Bull leveled a direct stare, made more unnerving by the fact it was delivered by only one eye. "And just how many did you have before that?" he asked bluntly.

"One or two," Dorian said with a careless shrug.

"Uh huh." Bull's eye flicked down to where the empty carafe sat on the side table, then looked back up at Dorian. "Those are refilled every day," he pointed out. "So I'd say a couple more than one or two."

Dorian made a dismissive gesture. "Details, details."

"Maybe. Or maybe we could talk about this dick whose dick needs biting, or whatever you were mumbling about when I got here," Bull said, arms still crossed over his chest. "Seems like you're not the only Vint here anymore."

"Oh, that." Dorian sniffed and contemplated his empty glass for a moment. "Yes, my father has decided to grace us with his presence. I suppose it was inevitable that once I became something more than a vagrant wastrel squandering my life by freezing in some remote southern mountain, he would suddenly take an interest." With a shake of his head, he tossed the glass onto the side table and turned to face Bull. "I suppose it doesn't matter why he's here, does it? He's here. And I don't know what to do."

Bull grunted as he tilted his head. "Gotta admit, this is something I just don't get. Never had a father myself. I assume I got squirted out of a cock at some point, but I don't know whose. The people who raised me took good care of me. I mean," he gestured down his body, "that's pretty obvious. You don't get results like this unless you know what you're doing when it comes to raising kids, right?"

"Whatever you say, Bull," Dorian said, though a reluctant smile did come to his lips.

"The point is that he's just a man, no matter what else he is. And maybe you'd have a clearer head about this whole thing if you stopped thinking about him as your father and just started thinking about him as a Vint."

Dorian's eyebrow rose. "You're telling me to reduce him? You, the man who always reminds me to consider everything?"

"Not reduce. Refocus," Bull clarified. "He's a Vint, probably sent by the Imperium because they figure it will give them an advantage while taking yours away. So instead of trying to win past arguments with him, pretend you don't owe him anything and don't have to win anything against him personally, and figure out how to tell the Imperium to get its nose out of Inquisition business."

"Mmm." Dorian's lips twitched. "You mean like the Qunari did?"

"Hey," Bull objected, hands moving to settle on his hips. "I told Mailani all about that, take it or leave it, and she took it. And I think she figured right. The Qunari aren't in our business anymore, remember?"

That made Dorian snort in disbelief. "Do you really believe that?"

"Well... no," Bull admitted. "But they're not getting anything from me anymore, so any vector they send in won't be able to get nearly as much information. I'm pretty good at what I do, remember?"

Dorian chuckled. "All right, Bull, you've made your point. I'm overreacting."

"And not thinking strategically," Bull said. "They came to you, outside normal diplomatic channels, because they need something. Maybe they're just taking advantage, but you have the high ground, so remember that."

"I do hope you don't mean literally," Dorian said with a sigh. "That's a dreadfully painful pun if so."

"Hey, never underestimate the power of a good pun told badly," Bull said with a grin, then wrapped his arm around Dorian's shoulder. "Now. It's past dinner time and you don't have to see any of the big, bad Vints until tomorrow. Why don't you wipe the brandy off, change into something comfortable, and find your focus again? Take advantage of their arrival time."

Dorian exhaled slowly. "Not even Father would come to see me before all things official have been navigated through," he confessed. "If I weren't the Inquisitor, he would, but since I am... Protocol demands certain steps in a certain order." He sagged into Bull as his tension slowly ebbed away. "Thank the Maker."

"I don't care who you thank," Bull said. "Just don't try to drink the rest of your side board by yourself, all right?"

"And here I thought you didn't know what a mother does," Dorian said with a weary chuckle.

"Hey, you try to run a group like the Chargers without feeling like a put upon Tamassran, especially on the day of a drinking contest," Bull said with a grunt.

Eyes widening, Dorian said, "I'd really prefer not to, actually. That sounds like a particularly forsaken part of the Void."

"Thankfully it only took once for Cabot to learn that lesson," Bull replied with a grin. "We did help him put everything back together and buy replacements for the things that couldn't be salvaged. Fun, though."

"You really are a beast," Dorian said, rolling his eyes despite the smile on his face.

"Maybe, but I got you to relax a little." Giving Dorian a little squeeze, he stepped back and looked Dorian up and down for a moment. "Now keep on doing it. Bath, soft robe, scented candles, whatever you need to do to prepare for tomorrow. And just remember: you have the high ground."

"I'll keep that in mind." The little smile persisted as he looked up. "Good night, Bull."

"Night, boss." After giving him the lazy kind of salute Bull reserved for people he actually liked, Bull headed to the door and left Dorian to his own devices once more.

Alone again, Dorian let his eyes flutter shut as he let the events of the day wash over him. Well, to be fair, it was really only the last couple of hours which had turned into quite the exciting nuggalope ride. The high had been so very thrilling with Cullen, and then the low had dropped so very far with his father.

And poor Jim's interruption between the two? Well, that particular might have been barely bore pondering. At least, not without another carafe of brandy.

With a sigh, Dorian slowly undressed and forced his mind onto more mundane matters than lost opportunities and lurking Magisters. His clothes did smell of brandy, after all, and a steaming bath would do a world of good to improve his mood. He took his time, heating up the water to just the right temperature and giving himself a nice long soak in the darkness of the little storage closet behind his bed where he'd put the tub. He hummed a few bars of music, enjoying the echo, and finally was able to push the immediacy of his father's idiocy from his mind for a while.

Once he was out of the bath and in more comfortable apparel suitable for relaxation, however, he realized he was still feeling a trifle melancholy. While he was pondering the matter, his eyes lit upon the mandolin tucked into the corner between his desk and his bookshelf, and he smiled wistfully. "Ah, yes. Naturally." Retrieving the mandolin with a special reverence, he moved to the couch and sat down, cradling the mandolin in his lap. After tuning the instrument, he turned it over and traced the name engraved upon the back. "Felix," he murmured. "I missed Mae, but I miss you more." Restoring the instrument to its proper position, he played through a tune taught to him by Felix, remembering a warm afternoon with good cheese, good wine, and even better companionship.

When he heard a knock on the door, he at first felt disinclined to answer it, his fingers still straying across the strings with a poetic poignancy which echoed deep within. When the next knock rang in the room, however, he suddenly paused and listened. As the knock continued, his eyes widened. Surely it couldn't be-

Pushing himself to his feet, he left the mandolin on the couch as he ran in a mad dash to the door, heart pounding as he flung it open to see…

Nothing.

His heart fell. He'd been so very sure…

Suddenly someone popped into the doorway and pushed himself inside, closing the door behind him quickly. "Quiet, Dorian! I can't be seen."

Dorian's eyes widened. "Felix? But-"

"No time to explain! Quick, get away from the door," he hissed as he took Dorian's hand and tugged at him.

Confused, Dorian simply followed. A quick magical scan revealed no glamours, and no obvious spells in place. Yet Felix seemed to be in the prime of health-no sign of the sickness of the taint lingered in him. As he opened his mouth to ask a question- any question-Felix abruptly turned and wrapped Dorian into a tight embrace. Dorian found himself returning the gesture and fighting the threat of tears at the same time. "Felix," he breathed. "I was just thinking about you."

"Oh, Dorian," Felix said, then abruptly pulled back and gave Dorian an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, it's just… I barely know where to begin. When I didn't see you again in Redcliffe, I admit I feared the worst."

"I could say the same of you," Dorian pointed out. "What happened?"

"You mean after the Inquisition moved its focus to the Templars instead of us?" Felix asked, tugging the hood of his robe back. "Disaster. The Venatori declared Father a traitor for failing to capture the Inquisitor, and decided that he would be better served as an offering to Corypheus rather than an ally. We barely escaped Redcliffe with our lives and a few retainers-all the others went with Calpernia."

"Alexius," Dorian murmured, again feeling that mixture of regret and sadness. "Is he alive?" It was a faint hope, given that Felix had survived...

And one that was quickly dashed as Felix shook his head. "No. No, he died in Ferelden. A horde of darkspawn caught us in the Frostbacks. Killed almost everyone. Father gave his life just so that I and one or two others could escape."

Dorian reached out and put his hand on Felix' shoulder. "I am sorry," he said softly. "Alexius was a good friend, before…" His voice trailed away and he shook his head. "I suppose that doesn't matter anymore, does it?" Setting his hand on the opposite shoulder, Dorian spent a few moments studying Felix in the face as a little frown settled on his own. "I… forgive me, old friend, but I have to wonder: how did you survive?" He meant more than the Venatori alone, of course, but found the rest difficult to voice.

"We found friends in the Frostbacks," Felix explained. "Some Grey Wardens on their way out of Ferelden who decided to investigate the darkspawn presence."

The information made Dorian more than a bit wary, considering what the Grey Wardens had gotten up to since he'd last been with Felix. "Oh? What were they doing up there?"

"They said something about going to Weisshaupt," Felix explained. "A man named Howe-Nathaniel Howe-was leading them, said that they were going to petition for a change of leadership in Ferelden because they couldn't trust the man already in place."

"That… seems an awfully odd thing to tell a stranger," Dorian ventured.

"Oh, that was after-" He paused, then shook his head. "Let's sit down. This may take a while to explain."

"Of course," Dorian agreed. "There's a couch up there we could use, and I think I could use a glass of wine, in all honesty."

"Still the same old Dorian, hmm?" Felix asked with a laugh as he headed up the last of the stairs. "I remember you and Father spending entire nights in the study, talking about time theory this and Fade theory that and Void theory all the way over there until the sun made Mother come down and yell at you to go to bed."

Dorian chuckled as he headed to the sideboard. "Thankfully the wine here is passable, if you'd like to try it."

"I wouldn't mind a glass," Felix admitted, then fell silent. There was a rustling behind Dorian before Felix added, "Oh. My mandolin. You got it out of Redcliffe."

Dorian smiled as he turned around, a glass in each hand. "Yes. The Inquisition's-" He paused, not really wanting to talk about the Spymaster when so many questions yet remained to be answered. "An agent of the Inquisition went through Redcliffe after the Venatori left, to see what could be learned. That was found and given to me. It meant a great deal, even though I thought it meant you were…" He paused, then shook his head. Walking forward, he held out the glass to Felix. "You always said you'd leave it behind over your dead body, after all."

"We had practically no warning," Felix said softly as he ran a finger over one of the strings. "The Venatori simply appeared in the night. I know it wasn't time magic, at least. Only Father ever truly understood that. Well, and you," he added, smiling at Dorian. With a sigh, Felix settled back into the couch and set the mandolin aside so that he could take the offered glass. "Now I think I'd better tell you what I can."

Expression somber, Dorian sat down in the couch and faced Felix. "Tell me everything."

"We had to flee Redcliffe in the dead of night, for one thing," Felix began, then continued with a tale that spanned a struggle through the wilderness, an exhaustive hike in the Frostbacks, and a frantic last stand against darkspawn somewhere in the trackless remotes of the deep mountains. "I thought we were done for. I didn't want to leave Father, but he… he said he had no point to live without me anyway." Felix swallowed harshly and looked down at his drink, then dashed the remnant back in one gulp. "So he sent me and Theron ahead. You remember Theron?"

"Oh, certainly. An excellent scribe with a weird fetish for swordplay," Dorian said with a chuckle. "Or perhaps a consummate warrior with a strange tendency for scholarly pursuits. A good man."

"He was," Felix said softly, then grimaced and stood, going to refill his own glass this time. "Father managed to hold off most of the darkspawn, but then we ran into some bears. Maker, the bears in Ferelden are worse than anything we have back home."

"Without a doubt," Dorian said fervently. "How did you escape?"

"Theron didn't. I climbed a tree and urged him to join me, but the bears…" Felix shook his head. "Then they started to climb the tree, and suddenly there were arrows flying and a group of warriors dressed in blue and silver appeared. Grey Wardens, they said, as I told you. Their leader was a man by the name of Nathaniel Howe, and there was a rather interesting dwarf with him. I never caught her name, but she had a tattoo I've never seen before, not even in Orzammar. They helped me down from the tree, and as we were talking, I fainted. When I awoke, they told me that I would be dead soon from the Blight, and that they could help."

Dorian blinked. "Just like that?"

"Apparently. I didn't question it, honestly. I was ready to just give up and let the bears eat me. I was alone, Blighted, an orphan, and… tired. So very tired, Dorian." He smiled wanly at his friend. "I always said that death wasn't the worst thing that could happen to me, didn't I?"

Avoiding that memory uneasily, Dorian asked, "So what did they do?"

"They made me a Warden," Felix said with a little laugh. "Me. A rather insignificant Altus, son of a Magister who loved his wife outside of Imperium protocol, and a fugitive from the Venatori, was suddenly a Grey Warden. But they were right. It fixed me right up. And that's when they told me a lot of things." For a few moments he fell silent, gaze distant as he drank from his wineglass. "I can't tell you everything," Felix said finally. "Some of what I learned are secrets of the Wardens alone."

"Understood," Dorian said with a chuckle. "We have a Warden here in Skyhold, in fact. He doesn't like to talk about certain subjects, either. Alas for my ever-hungry curiosity."

Felix smiled at that. "I'm grateful you haven't changed that much. At any rate, they wanted me to go to Weisshaupt with them, but I told them I had to go and take care of Father's estate. They consulted with each other again, and agreed. Why, I don't know. The dwarf said something about maybe it was better to keep me separate in case they were found."

Dorian's eyebrows shot up. "By whom?"

With a shrug, Felix replied, "I wish I knew. After that, they got a lot more close mouthed around me. I stayed with them at least until we got out of the Frostbacks, and then they pointed me to a caravan going to the Imperium and disappeared. It was odd from start to finish."

"That does sound… unbelievable," Dorian ventured. "I mean, a Warden is a Warden, isn't he?"

"You'd have to ask your Warden here," Felix said with a chuckle. "They just said to report to the nearest Grey Warden chapterhouse when I was done settling the estate, that the Grey Wardens there would recognize me as a Warden as soon as they saw me. But I didn't even get as far as the Alexius estates. When the caravan reached Minrathous, I saw several carriages heading towards the docks, and noticed that one of them bore the Pavus crest."

Dorian frowned. "I could see how that would make you curious. The estates of House Pavus are mainly in Qarinus, after all."

"Exactly. So I followed them as best as I could. Which, given traffic near the docks in Minrathous, turned out to be fairly easy." Felix paused to sip from his glass, brows pinched together. "I'd heard the rumors about what happened to Inquisitor Lavellan by then, but I didn't know what had happened to you. Your name hadn't been linked to her yet."

"Ah, true," Dorian said. "And you wouldn't have even known that I joined the Inquisition formally, much less..." He waved his left hand in the air, leaving a trail of green light as he did so. "As far as you knew, I could could have been anywhere."

"Or dead," Felix whispered. "If the Venatori had caught you as well."

"Well, thankfully, they did not, and I managed to push through to the Inquisition in time to tell them that Corypheus had brought an army of mages against them." Giving a soft sigh, Dorian looked down at his own wine, again wondering if perhaps things might have gone differently if Mailani had returned to him in Redcliffe rather than going to Therinfal Redoubt. In the end, he knew, it didn't truly matter.

This is where we are now.

Glancing up from his glass, he said, "So you saw a House Pavus carriage and followed. To what purpose, exactly? You know I had no wish to return home."

Felix looked down at his hands. "Given that it was going to the docks, I suppose... I suppose I feared it was going to retrieve you," he said softly. "That you'd returned to the Imperium, or rather, been returned. And if it were the the case..."

Dorian's face softened, and he reached over to take Felix' hand. "You were worried about me."

"Of course I was," Felix said, glancing up. "I know we didn't have nearly as much time to catch up as we'd have liked once you found me at Redcliffe, but you told me enough. I couldn't trust your father after that, and if I saw you going to him, I would not have remained silent."

"But that wasn't what you saw, I take it?" Dorian tilted his head. "Though I am touched by your concern, naturally."

Felix laughed and nudged Dorian's arm. "Yes, I do care about you. You're my friend, Dorian." His eyes darted up to Dorian's face, searching it for a few moments. "I had no idea as to your fate. The Venatori came so quickly, and I knew you were in the vicinity of Redcliffe. I-I thought…" His voice trailed away as he looked down at his wine. "When I saw the carriage, I was afraid your father was there to ambush you, or something. That's why I followed."

"A true friend indeed, to be willing to risk the wrath of Magister Pavus," Dorian mused.

"I can be clever at times. Sneaky, at least, when I need to be. I did get your message to the Herald, remember?"

A sad little smile came to Dorian's face as he recalled Mailani's rendition of the tale. "You did, yes. I… never did get a chance to thank you for that, did I? I had to go lurk in the hills around Redcliffe after that, hoping beyond hope the Herald would return. And when I saw the Venatori arrive instead…" He closed his eyes. "I knew I had to leave, to warn the Inquisition about what was about to drop on their doorstep without so much as a proper introduction. Even though it meant leaving you behind to face the wrath of the Elder One."

A hand took his, and Dorian opened his eyes to see Felix smiling at him. "I know, Dorian. And you made the best choice. Besides, I'm here now, right?"

"That you are, my friend." Dorian smiled. "Against all expectation and logic and reason, you're here." A sense of relief welled up inside Dorian, and suddenly he cleared his throat and stood. "Ah, and your glass is nearly empty as well. Here, let me correct that dire problem." As he took Felix' glass and moved to the sideboard, he knew that Felix would see right through the charade, but he also knew that Felix knew him well enough to give him a few moments with his emotions.

As if in answer to the thought, Dorian heard the mandolin come to life behind him. A smile touched his lips despite the burning in his eyes, and he let himself take his time as Felix picked through the melody with deliberate tenderness. "That was your father's favorite song, wasn't it?" he said in a deliberately light tone.

"My mother's favorite, which meant it was my father's favorite," Felix said with a chuckle. "It's why I brought the mandolin south with us in the first place. It seemed to soothe him when I played it. He would think less of his obsession with curing me, and more about the good times."

Dorian fell silent as Felix continued to play, letting the notes wash over him and ease a few tears down his cheek as he considered Felix' words. The deep, unabashed love Alexius had felt for his wife and son, unusual as it was in the Imperium, had been one aspect of his character which Dorian had admired the most. He'd seen more than a few of those good times while studying with Alexius, given that he'd been welcomed almost as a second son to the family, and the loss of Alexius-first to grief, then to obsession-had cut deep. But he could still remember the good times, and he knew he always would.

Alexius, unfortunately, had been unable to do the same. Or perhaps some pain simply could never be forgotten.

For a moment, Dorian's thoughts turned inward, pondering if he could sustain such sorrow as Alexius had suffered and not break. Wiping his face dry with a small hand towel, Dorian retrieved the now full wine glasses and turned to face Felix with a sympathetic expression ready on his face. Whatever pain he personally felt, he still knew it paled in comparison to how the same losses had affected Felix, and it showed in the way the notes lingered in the air.

Abruptly Felix spoke. "When I was running away from Father, at the end, I wondered over and over again why I kept running. What kept me going. Mother was long gone, and now Father was dead, and I was still sick with the blight. And…" His gaze rose, seeking out Dorian's own. "And I thought of you. Of how you came all the way from the Imperium to the south, alone and without aid, not because of hate, but because of love. You loved Father, and didn't want him to lose himself entirely to the darkness to which he'd succumbed in his time of grief. Even after you fought with him, even then, you loved him. So I kept going. I found that tree. I lived long enough for help to arrive. And now… here I am." The notes faded, and Felix set the mandolin aside. "Let me help you, Dorian. I may not be my Father, but what I have, what I am, surely it can be of some use to the Inquisition."

Dorian swallowed against a suddenly dry mouth, feeling a trifle overwhelmed by the sudden surge of emotion washing over him. This time he couldn't suppress the stinging in his eyes enough to keep his eyes from brimming, nor the smile which sprang to his lips. "You always were the best of us," he said quietly.

Rising to his feet, Felix crossed to where Dorian stood. "Not from where I sit," he said, taking one of the glasses from Dorian. "I heard a lot of stories about the new Inquisitor on my way back south, you know."

"Ah, yes. You never did finish telling me just how you came to join the delegation," Dorian mused.

"True." Felix chuckled, looking down at his glass for a moment. "It's quite a tale, honestly. But there's something more important I want to do first." Lifting his glass, he tilted his head and smiled. "To friendship."

Dorian straightened, lifting his glass to tap against the one Felix held with a musical ching. "To friendship," he murmured, then drank a wine that seemed all the sweeter for the toast.

Once the glasses were drained, however, Felix took them and moved to the sideboard to refill them. "Do you want me to start with before or after I snuck onto the ship your father boarded?"

Laughing easily, Dorian settled onto the couch as he waited for Felix to finish. "Sounds like trouble."

Felix half-turned to flash Dorian a grin. "I like trouble." Turning back, he poured the last of a bottle into Dorian's glass, then took both glasses in one hand and a full bottle in another before returning to the couch to sit next to Dorian. "I'll start with before, then. The docks at Minrathous are fairly exciting in and of themselves."

As Felix regaled him with the tale of his journey south, Dorian smiled and sipped his wine. For a few hours, he let the world fade away. He didn't think about tomorrow with its tiresome politics and the reunion he desperately wished to avoid, or worry about how his decisions and reactions would affect the fate of Thedas. Instead, he could simply enjoy himself for an evening of good wine and better friendship, whiling away a few hours in the presence of an old friend.

Just like old times.