The next morning dawned bright and clear, which Dorian took as a personal insult once it struck his face and dragged him from a blissful dream with a delightfully mussed Commander of the Inquisition forces. His mood only soured further when a knock at the door started him from a half-daze in the bath, and he cursed softly as he realized what time it must be. Dragging himself from the tub, he barely had time to pull a robe around himself to answer the door before he heard footsteps, and realized that he hadn't barred the door after shooing Felix out the night before. "I'm awake! I'm awake. How late am I?" he asked as he moved quickly to the wardrobe and started looking through it for the outfit he'd been planning to wear to the negotiations.

"Not late at all, but Josephine was starting to feel antsy," a familiar voice said with a tinge of amusement. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

Being caught wet and covered only by a bathrobe proved not to be the most comfortable sensation when he heard the voice of the man who had featured so prominently in his dreams the night before. Using the action of retrieving his outfit as a means to cover his momentary discomfiture, he gave Cullen a bright smile. "Commander. I'm not sure who I was expecting, but it wasn't you, I'll admit."

"Why not?" Cullen asked with a raised eyebrow. "Though it does look like you're recovering from a late night. Should I tell Josephine to reschedule the meeting?"

"Oh, Maker, no," Dorian said hastily. "Rescheduling a meeting with a Magister is like presenting your ankle to a serpent. It's an invitation for biting. I'll be ready in time, I promise."

"Are you sure?" At Dorian's nod, Cullen settled back and crossed his arms across his chest as he surveyed Dorian with a thoughtful expression. Dorian returned the attention, and was relieved to see the gleam of Dagna's mail shirt peeking out of Cullen's collar, though he didn't draw attention to it for the moment. "Bull said that you were hitting the brandy hard last night."

"Naturally he did," Dorian said with a little sigh as he moved to the back room and hung the outfit on the valet. "What else did he tell you?"

Cullen followed after him. "Nothing I didn't already suspect. That you're not looking forward to dealing with your father, for instance."

As he smoothed his hands over the cloth and worked out the wrinkles with a little magic, Dorian glanced over at Cullen long enough to see the look on his face. "I wasn't drunk, Commander. Or at least, I didn't try to drink my sorrows away."

"Are you sure?" Cullen asked, glancing back into the room. "That's an awful lot of wine bottles for someone not trying to avoid something."

Dorian mulled over that for a moment, unsure whether or not he should reveal Felix's secret, then finally decided that if he could tell anyone, it was Cullen. "I got a surprise visitor last night after Bull left."

Looking surprised, Cullen asked, "Who? Not your father, surely."

"No, though I half-expected him to show up despite all protocol dictating to the contrary," Dorian admitted. "No, someone… someone entirely unexpected arrived at my door." He stepped back to study the outfit for a moment, nodding when he found no wrinkles, and turned to Cullen. "Felix."

"Felix?" Cullen blinked in surprise. "The son of Magister Alexius? I thought he was dead."

"Apparently they had just enough warning to escape Calpernia's agents in Redcliffe and cross most of Ferelden before they were caught in the Frostbacks by another menace," Dorian explained. "Alexius-" For a moment he paused as the pain bit deep, then continued. "Alexius bought him time with his own death."

"But I thought he had the taint," Cullen said. "Felix, I mean."

"Had, yes. He told me that he ran into some Grey Wardens, and they fixed him. By making him a Grey Warden." Dorian sighed and rubbed his face with his hands for a moment. "Quite an astonishing little revelation, that. It is logical, of course, that a Grey Warden would be immune to the taint to be able to fight the darkspawn effectively, but for them to be able to be able to cure someone already inflicted..." His eyes turned to the wine bottles. "Imagine how different matters might have been if Alexius had known that from the start. He might never have been involved with the Elder One. He might still be alive."

"And you never would have come South, and Amell might have gotten his hands on the Anchor," Cullen pointed out, settling his hand on Dorian's shoulder. "A lot of things might have happened. It's best to concentrate on the things as they are now."

Dorian's brow furrowed as he stared at Cullen for a moment, wondering what path his life would taken if he hadn't come South. Would he still be with Alexius, tinkering with the manipulation of time through magic? Would his father have become more subtle in his attempts to make Dorian toe the line and become his proper heir? Would he still have been him? And that's when it hit him: if he hadn't gone south, he never would have met Cullen.

And that prospect didn't appeal in the slightest.

Realizing that he was staring at Cullen, Dorian cleared his throat and forced himself to look away, pretending to perform a close inspection on his chosen outfit. "Ah, yes, well... It also strikes me as extraordinarily convenient. In this specific instance, I mean, considering our recent encounters with various Grey Wardens."

Cullen frowned and pulled his hand away from Dorian. "You mean Amell." In the corner of his eye, Dorian saw his eyes narrow slightly. "You don't trust it?"

"I'm… not sure." It hurt to say the words, more than he'd expected, but he couldn't deny the suspicion, minute as it may be. "Naturally I must admit to an inherent bias on the mater. After all, it's Felix. He was my best friend-my only friend, really-for so long, it's hard to doubt that." Moving to his nightstand, he touched his finger to the water in the basin and warmed it up without a second thought. "But the Grey Wardens, well… There's the spectre of both Adamant and Amell. And, of course, what Amell did to Hawke."

"I'm glad I don't have to point that out. I know only all too well how skilled Amell is at taking advantage of the situation." As Dorian winced, Cullen said, "Maybe we could have Vivienne or Solas take a look at him, try to find out if he's under anyone's influence. Or I could talk to him as well. I am Templar trained after all. Between a Templar and a mage, we should be able to spot any signs of tampering."

A frown came to Dorian's face as he mulled over the suggestions. "He wants his presence here to remain a secret as much as possible. He snuck aboard the ship and is pretending to be one of several soporati brought along because of their scholarly knowledge of the South. He studied in Val Royeaux, after all."

A smile touched Cullen's face. "Yet you told me."

"I'm not about to start keeping secrets from my Commander," Dorian said with mock gravity. Except perhaps for some of the details from last night's dream, anyway. "That doesn't seem to be a strategically sound idea."

"And you'd be right," Cullen said firmly. "Still, my recommendation stands, and surely Vivienne can be trusted to be discrete in this as in other matters."

"Hmm, true." After a few more seconds of inner turmoil, Dorian finally nodded. "Do it. She might even recognize him, honestly. She was there that day in Redcliffe when-" Dorian's eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, no. So was Bull."

"Then I'd better attend to the matter right away," Cullen said with a chuckle. "Bull will notice. It's what he does."

Dorian groaned and nodded. "You can attend to that while I'm in the negotiations. Take the mandolin with you. That way he will know you do so with my blessing." It still felt a bit like betrayal of trust, but he hoped Felix would understand. After all, Dorian wasn't just an Altus of the Imperium anymore. "Thank you, Commander."

"Well, if nothing else, Felix is another piece of the overall puzzle-especially if he is telling the truth and there are some Wardens not under the influence of either Corypheus or Amell out there." Cullen's face grew thoughtful. "And if he was as close with his father as you've said, he may be able to give us more information about the Venatori."

Dorian nodded as he lathered up his shaving soap. "That's what he suggested. We talked quite a long time last night, and he seemed perfectly willing to be answer any questions about the Venatori, though the conversation didn't linger on them. All in all," he added as he moved his blade over lather-covered stubble, "it was nice to speak with him."

Cullen glanced at the sideboard with a maddening little half-smirk on his face. "And drink with him."

"Yes, well, it was a lovely night," Dorian said, blithely trying to ignore the smirk, and his own desire do unspecified but decisively encouraging to it. Instead he concentrated simply on easing the blade ovre his face and finishing the task of restoring perfection to himself once more.

"And explains why you were dead to the world when I first knocked," Cullen noted wryly. "I'll go tell Josephine you'll be down soon, shall I?"

As Dorian patted his face dry, he turned towards Cullen to answer the man directly, and hesitated. Perhaps it was the curl of Cullen's lips, or the slope of his shoulders, or the tilt of his head, but something of his manner reminded Dorian all too vividly of that moment on the ramparts when the air between them had veritably hummed with desire. For a moment, the urge to step forward and yank Cullen back to that interrupted moment swept over Dorian, and he shifted his weight forward, imperceptibly closing the distance between them.

In response, Cullen's lips parted ever so slightly as he took a half-step closer to Dorian, a certain gleam coming to his eye as he asked in a deep voice, "Is there something you need, Inquisitor?"

The word You formed itself in Dorian's mouth, but before it escaped his lips, the door to his quarters opened and Josephine's cheerful voice called, "Inquisitor?"

A brief look of irritation crossed Cullen's face, but he quickly got it under control and stepped back as Dorian muttered "Kaffas" and straightened quickly. Turning back to the mirror, Dorian quickly finished his ablutions as if they'd never been interrupted. "Thank you for making sure I was awake," he told Cullen as Josephine appeared at the top of the stairs. "I wouldn't want my father to have a poor opinion of me due to tardiness, not when there are so many other thrilling reasons from which he may choose."

"That would never do." Cullen chuckled, then clasped his forearm over his chest in a salute before heading back down the stairs, nodding cordially to Josephine as he passed her.

"My dear Lady Ambassador," Cullen said warmly. "As you can see, I was just finishing my morning ablutions. I had just finished giving the Commander some matters to attend to during the negotiations."

She raised an eyebrow. "Anything I should know about?"

"Not quite yet," he mused. "Let's see what the Commander reports back about it. We will be discussing it in our next war table session regardless. I'm not intentionally hiding things from you, mind," he added. "I just don't have enough time to fill you in before the meeting. I take it you're on the verge of anxiety at my imminent tardiness?"

Her smile remained bright, but the way her head tilted a fraction of an inch showed he had hit the mark. "I would not wish to make a poor impression on our guests, Inquisitor."

"Nor will we. Go on, welcome them and offer them wine, and I'll be down before they can formulate a polite way to ask after me." He gave Josephine a deliberate wink. "I promise."

"Very well, Inquisitor." Inclining her head graciously, Josephine proceeded back down the stairs. "I will see you soon."

Dorian shifted his gaze to stare into the mirror, firmly reminding himself that his father- Halward -was nothing but another Magister, and that for the entirety of the Negotiations, there would never be a father and son involvement. There would be Inquisitor Pavus, and Magister Pavus, the name nothing more than an odd coincidence.

And, he preemptively scolded himself, you will stick to that. Understand?

With a final scowl at himself in the mirror, Dorian rushed towards the outfit awaiting him and hurriedly pulled it on, bits of magic helping him along here and there. He couldn't break his promise to Josephine, after all.

He owed her that much, and meeting with the representatives of the Imperium proceeded far more smoothly than Dorian had any right to expect. A great deal of that smoothness came from Maevaris, of course. Though she was only one of three Magisters present, she by far and away held the most weight in the Magisterium of the three, and that gave her de facto speaking rights over the others. It didn't take long to get the heart of the matter once the many, many required pleasantries had been exchanged, and Mae didn't exactly beat around the bush, either.

"So, then," Dorian said, pouring himself another glass of the wine Josephine had arranged. "What does the Imperium wish from the Inquisition which can't be made fully public?"

"We need the Inquisition to defeat the Venatori," Mae said immediately.

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Convenient since that is one of our goals, but why approach us now and not earlier?"

"Oh, Dorian," Mae said with a sigh, "you've seen the Magisterium in session. They couldn't agree on how to conjure water if the Presidium was on fire."

Halward and the other Magister glared at her, but Dorian had to laugh. "True. They might decide to cast fire just to prove they're more powerful than it, anyway." Ignoring the glares that were now turned on him and the strangling noises coming from Josephine's direction, he blithely continued, "Very well. You want the Venatori gone, as do we. But that is not a light undertaking, and you wouldn't be here if you completely trusted us to do it without you, would you?"

Mae hesitated, then grew more serious as she leaned in. "We aren't entirely blind as to what's happening in the South," she said quietly. "The war between the Templars and the mages is serious enough for a country whose ruling class consists entirely of mages, but the rumors are spreading that Corypheus is the man who brought the Blight to Thedas."

"One of them, at any rate," Dorian said, reflecting her change of mood. "From what my predecessor said of his ravings, he spoke of going to the Golden City and finding it already black. From what the Wardens and others have told me, he truly is one of the original darkspawn, captured and held by the Wardens to study for Ages before he escaped."

"I've instructed some of my scholars to track down all information they can on the Magisters Sidereal, but what they found before we left the Imperium was slim indeed. One of the leading modern scholars on that time period, Magister Erasthenes, has also gone missing, with a timing too suspicious to be a coincidence." Her lips pursed in thought for a moment. "Regardless, I'm hoping they'll send us more information soon."

"Any information would be welcome," Dorian mused as he swirled his wine a few times. "I had considered reaching out to some former colleagues on my own, but you'll be able to commandeer a better response, I should think."

"Hopefully." With a grimace, Maevaris sipped her wine. "I prefer history to remain in books, thank you. Regardless of what is discovered, though, the rumor itself is a problem for the Imperium. I'm sure you can deduce why."

Dorian stroked his mustache, knowing just how much the gesture would irritate his father. "Oh, I can garner a guess. Corypheus threatens the balance between the North and the South. I take it that's why your delegation is here at all? A select few Magisters willing to put their reputation on the line to ensure that the problem is dealt with before a new Divine decides to consolidate power by dealing with the land from whence Corypheus came? An attempt to give the impression in the South that Corypheus is a rogue agent, despite the support he has garnered within the Imperium?"

"You know it is more than that, Dorian," Halward said gruffly. "Tensions have always existed between the Imperium and the other nations of Thedas. Corypheus is a concern, yes, but not even a newly installed Divine would legitimately believe him to be allied with the whole of the Imperium."

Tilting his head, Dorian mulled over that until the other reason made itself clear. "Ah, I see. If the Inquisition fails with me at the helm, then the blame wouldn't belong only to an ancient Magister from legend. It would also suddenly become a plot on the part of the Imperium to gain power in the South- especially because of how I came to the role of Inquisitor." He grimaced, not liking the implication at all, but he was politically savvy enough to realize that it was something which could be exploited by those devious enough to do so. "You're right-the Imperium does require an official presence here, even if it is an understated one. You truly do need the Inquisition to take Corypheus down. Anything less will suggest a connection of complicity."

With a nod, Maevaris leaned back in her chair and toyed with her own wine, swirling it gently as she spoke. "The Imperium is already stretched for resources because of the war in the Seheron, for all that they put on the facade that they are not impacted by it. An Exalted March against the Imperium would definitely be a blow, one the Imperium may not survive. The South may be weakened by the war between the mages and the Templars, and a bit lost for singular leadership without a Divine, but if Corypheus finds any measure of success, we know where a portion of the blame will be laid, and an Inquisitor from the Imperium simply heightens the tension. Already the boogeyman of the Imperium is being whispered in the halls of the Chantry in the countries nearest to us."

"The blood is bad enough between the North and the South," Halward interjected, a frown coming to his face. "Your abrupt and unexpected ascension to the role of Inquisitor caused ripples which spread across Thedas, in ways no one could completely predict, and circumstances..." His voice suddenly failed, and Halward looked down at his hands for a moment. When Maevaris reached out and touched his hand lightly, he shook his head and cleared his throat. "Circumstances have changed."

"Understood," Dorian noted, though he did wonder at his father's odd hesitation. Still, Dorian had been raised on political maneuvering, so what Halward had said didn't surprise him. "But then the question rises why not stand with the Inquisition openly?"

His father considered him for a moment, a subtle change in his demeanor indicating an equally subtle shift within his mind. Finally he straightened in his chair. "I think you already know the answer to that."

"Ah. The old curmudgeons back home, then," Dorian mused. "The Archon can't refuse outright the stated purpose of the Venatori without looking like he doesn't want the Imperium to return to greatness. But he also can't afford an Exalted March by a pissed off group of Southern nations. Quite the pickle." Leaning back in his chair, he took a languorous drink of his own before adding, "How very convenient that a Vint is in the position to do something about it without having to invoke the name of the Imperium overtly."

"I knew you were more than just a pretty face, Dorian," Mae told him with a slow wink.

"Ah, Mae. You have truly ruined me for all other women," Dorian said extravagantly, chuckling at the dour expression on his father's face. "Alas, I'm only twice the man your Thorold was."

Maevaris snorted laughter into her drink. "Perhaps we shouldn't get into the details of that here," she murmured.

"Hmm, best not to, no. We've scandalized poor Lady Josephine quite enough today, I'm sure, with all this direct talking. Negotiations are supposed to be all about misdirection and maneuvering and shenanigans of all sorts. Not actually talking about the problems. Tsk tsk." He glanced at Josephine with a twinkle in his eye. "My apologies, Lady Montilyet."

"You are quite forgiven, Inquisitor," she said with impeccable poise. "These are extraordinary circumstances we find ourselves in, after all."

"Indeed. So. Covert aid, with a secret agreement signed and worded properly so that if necessary, it can be shown to the appropriate parties later to prevent outrage that the Imperium did nothing, then?" Dorian asked, sniffing his wine. "Does that about cover it?"

Mae nodded. "Halward will be one of your covert helpers, though," she said. "He is your father, and to most that is sufficient reason to explain his presence here."

Dorian's eyes flicked over to his father, only to find the man looking even more tired than he had the previous night. Frowning slightly, he said, "My disagreement with my father isn't precisely a secret amongst the Inquisition."

"Then the appearance of a reconciliation, or the appearance of an attempt at one, might be for the best." Maevaris glanced between the two men. "Perhaps we should leave you alone to discuss the matter. I'll be outside in case lightning starts to fly." Standing smoothly, she took her wine with her as she gestured the third Magister to follow her from the room.

"Inquisitor?" Josephine asked softly, clearly leaving it up to Dorian whether he truly wished to be alone with his father or not.

For a moment Dorian closed his eyes as the memory of the last time he'd had a private moment with his father moved through his mind. He almost asked Josephine to stay, then in the next instant opened his mouth to ask her to call for Cullen. In the end, however, he simply exhaled. "I will speak with him alone. Thank you, Josephine."

"As you wish, Inquisitor," she said as she rose smoothly to her feet. "I shall keep our guests company. Perhaps we could begin discussing the document you mentioned in the negotiations."

"That sounds marvelous, my lady. Thank you," he told her warmly. "Though perhaps you should bring Maevaris and the other fellow back here rather than hovering in the hall like loons. I'll take Father to the war room for our discussion." Standing, he looked at his Father. "If that is agreeable."

Halward nodded and rose to his feet. "You are the Inquisitor."

"Why, Father, surely you aren't ceding authority to me?" Dorian jabbed lightly as he gestured towards the back door of Josephine's office with his wine glass. The negotiations were complete, after all, so Dorian could now return to being the son again. Preferably a bratty one.

With a put-upon sigh, Halward followed after Dorian. "Must you?"

"Oh, I must, Father. Or should I be calling you Magister Pavus, hmm?" The humor and lightness of his tone infuriated his father, he knew. He'd figured that out when he was twelve and beginning to realize how difficult it was to please the man, and thus found what pleasure he could in doing the opposite. "You'll like the war room. It has a big, impressive table you can pound on while you yell at me."

"Dorian," Halward said in a tight, strained tone that Dorian recognized quite easily. Strangely, he added nothing after it. When Dorian looked at him inquiringly, his father only shook his head and pointed to the door. "When we are alone," he said quietly.

Taken aback by the lack of any retort, Dorian frowned and fell quiet as they finished the walk down the broken passageway to the war room. Once they were inside, he closed the door with a touch of magic and then turned to face his father. "Very well, Father," he said. "What did you want to say?"

Halward moved to one of the windows and stared down at Skyhold spread out beneath them for a few moments before he answered, still not looking at Dorian. "Circumstances have changed, Dorian."

"I am quite well aware of that." Dorian's eyes narrowed. "Or are you referring to the new decoration on your neck? What is happening back home?"

With a sigh, Halward slowly turned to face him. "Before, I was the father of a son with a notorious rebellious streak who fled south rather than live up to the responsibilities waiting for him at home." As Dorian bristled, Halward held up his hand. "According to rumor which, as we know, has no subtlety and little truth."

"Fair point," Dorian conceded, discarding his planned interjection. "Admittedly I've become severely reacquainted with the phantoms of rumor since becoming the Inquisitor."

One corner of Halward's mouth rose ever so slightly before it vanished again as he continued. "Then I was the father of a son who was helping an organization led by one of the wild elves against a madman who claimed to be an ancient Tevinter magister who had managed to sway several of the Magisterium to his cause. The rumors ran rampant, unhindered by anything so simple as fact or truth. Speculation that you were helping Alexius, that you'd killed Alexius, that you had cast a curse on him, that you'd turned Corypheus against him. The Magisters fight and debate amongst themselves with a decided frequency already, but this particular fire started by Corypheus is burning hotter than most, to borrow your analogy."

"I can imagine." And for once, Dorian was not sarcastic in that statement. He had cut his baby teeth listening to his parents discuss the political maneuverings of other Houses, after all, and his various mentors and tutors had not neglected that part of his education amidst the many, many recitations of his bloodline. "There are many in the Magisterium who would be enticed by the promise of a return to the glorious days of the Imperium's youth. Control of all known lands, command of all religion, and power over every soul."

Halward bowed his head. "Sometimes I think the lure of power is our curse. It turns allies to enemies, brother against sister, and parents against children." His eyes looked up to meet Dorian's. "As I know all too well."

"Yes, Father," Dorian said coldly, finding himself compelled to add, "And children to puppets, if you'd had your way. Go there, Dorian. Turn this way and think that way. Marry this woman and seek that position." The anger rose in him again as he crossed his hands across his chest. "What does all this have to do with us, Father? Those politics are all in Minrathous, and well away from here."

"Because circumstances have changed," Halward repeated. "You became the Inquisitor, and the Magisterium now views House Pavus through a skewed eye. The Magisters who think the Inquisition is significant now think our estrangement but a ruse to conceal my influence over you. And the ones who are rivals to House Pavus are breathlessly waiting for it to all fall apart and leave us both in disarray so that they can come in and pick apart the pieces for their own gain." His lips pressed together for a moment, then shook his head. "Whether you meant to or not, many within the Magisterium took your ascension here as an overt grab for power by House Pavus."

Dorian blinked in surprise, then frowned as he continued to worry at the thought. "I didn't think about that, considering how far rumors of my dramatic departure from the Imperium spread."

Leveling a reproachful look at Dorian, Halward said, "Many now consider that an excuse for you to remain south while you consolidate your hold on power for our House. I'm sure there were whispers here that you killed your predecessor for the position of Inquisitor, and whispers don't need more than a few loose lips to make their way north if there are those willing to speak them."

"I didn't-" he began hotly.

"I know, Dorian," Halward said. "Murder for power is not something you would even contemplate, much less that of a friend. I taught you well, even if I failed to provide a good example."

Dorian's eyes narrowed, echoing his suspicion. "That's not how you sounded when last we spoke," he noted.

"That's because..." His voice trailed away as he turned to stare out the window again, shoulders slumping. His voice sounded particularly defeated as he repeated in a dull tone, "Circumstances have changed."

For a long moment of slowly dawning horror, Dorian stared at his father as the meaning of all the little hints and unspoken shouts coalesced all at once into a harsh and unwelcome truth. The chill of realization washed over him as he viewed the scar on his father's neck in stunned disbelief. "No," he whispered. "Please, Maker, no."

"I'm sorry, Dorian," Halward said, and for the first time in Dorian's life, he heard true regret in his father's tone, untempered by politics or nuance. "I survived the attempt on my life. Your mother... was not so fortunate."

Dorian found himself leaning on the table as an invasive chill swept through his body. Nothing could have prepared him for this news, so he couldn't even blame his father for trying to avoid the subject for so long. A Magister never showed weakness, not even to his son-or at least, that is what he'd been taught. He wasn't even aware that his father had moved until he felt a hand grip his shoulder, and he took a deep breath to collect himself before looking up at his father. "What happened?" he asked in a harsh tone.

Bowing his head, Halward inhaled sharply before speaking in a voice dulled by grief. "We were in the garden of our summer house in Qarinus. The conversation soured between us, and she turned away from me in a temper. The arrow had magic behind it to counter our defensive wards, and passed through her before finding my neck. She died in my arms." Halward closed his eyes for a moment. "If she hadn't moved as she had, if we hadn't been arguing, she would be alive right now, and I...would be dead. Or perhaps, if we had not been distracted, neither of us would be dead."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Dorian tried not to imagine the moment, tried not to blame his father himself, and failed utterly in both. "Who?"

"The assassin died before he would reveal his employer, but my investigation led to a very distinct possibility," Halward said, face grim. "House Erimond has been quite vocal in its support of Corypheus and their belief in the promises of the return of a glorious Imperium, though Livius himself is rumored to be serving Corypheus here in the south. His brother Darius is just as craven as he, and has been known to use mage killers before. You were now a power in the south, the leader of the movement in direct opposition to the Venatori. I assume they hoped to weaken you by hurting you on a personal level." The words would have seemed detached, almost clinical, if Dorian weren't so familiar with his father and his ways.

They were quite alike, after all, father and son.

So he latched onto the part he could comment on without displaying too much of his own emotion. "Erimond?" Dorian swallowed, remembering all too keenly that Livius now sat in the cells below Skyhold. "For once, the rumors are true. Livius is in the south."

Halward's expression hardened. "Perhaps I could persuade Maevaris to search for him while we're here."

Unwilling to reveal Livius' precise location at this moment, Dorian shifted to another topic quickly. "Why keep her death a secret, then? Appearances?"

"For the most part, yes. House Pavus-"

Dorian made a grunt of frustration. "Oh, yes, of course. We can't have House Pavus looking weak, now, can we? Surely you don't think that will last, do you?"

"It only needed to last long enough for me to tell you the truth," Halward said. "I did not want rumor to tell you what i could not entrust to a messenger, and the trip south had already been arranged by that point."

The way his father's voice cracked as he said that made Dorian suspicious again. "Father, what were you arguing about that night?"

Halward held Dorian's gaze for a moment, then looked away. "She wanted to come south with me. I didn't want her to come." His father paused for a long moment, then sighed softly. "She wanted to see her son."

The answer sparked an intense emotional reaction within Dorian, and he pushed away from the table as he fought to work his way through it. Guilt, regret, anger, and despair, all in varying degrees, snaked through his arms and chest, leaving only cold in their wake. Moving to the window, he stared sightlessly out of it, unable to articulate everything running through his mind and heart.

In the end, a snap of anger flared, and he whirled to face his father. "Get out."

"Dorian-" Halward began.

"Get out!" Dorian repeated in a shout, heaving the door open with a surge of magic before turning back to the window once more. After a moment, he managed to collect himself enough to add in a more controlled tone, "We will talk later."

After a few tense moments, he heard a soft rustle of cloth behind him, followed by the sound of footsteps retreating down the hall.

Dorian swallowed harshly as his shoulders slumped, forcing away the tension and anger which had locked them. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, and the light of the anchor sprang into life, pulsing in a slow, steady beat. He ached for a way to express what he was feeling, except... except he didn't know what he was feeling. The roil of raw emotion in his heart was enough to bring a sheen to his eyes, but proved too powerful to express properly, leaving the storm to brew within.

He knew the marriage of his parents was an allegiance more than a relationship, though he'd seen love in another marriage when he'd studied with Alexius. He knew that his entire existence was predicated upon the assumption that he would grow to become the perfect son, the perfect husband, and the perfect Magister, if not the perfect Archon. He knew that what love his mother felt for him was more than likely somewhat perfunctory, and hadn't been shown in any dramatic fashion while he'd been reared by a small team of nannies and tutors before he'd been shuttled off to complete his education in the Circles.

He knew all of this, deep down where all the pain of his life had set its roots. And yet...

She was still his mother.

For a moment, he struggled to hold on to that sense of calm he'd sworn to maintain while his father was near, to resist the lure of his anger. And in that moment, he suddenly remembered the face of his father, twisted in rage, screaming at him.

"It's all your fault!"

He knew it wasn't actually his father who had said that. He knew it had been a demon, powerless and lashing out to obtain control of a mage in the Fade. He knew that it was irrational to even think of that at all right now, to make any sort of connection between that dream and the news of his mother's death.

And yet… he couldn't help but feel that it was, indeed, all his fault, since the assassin would not have been sent save for his ascent within the Inquisition. Oh, perhaps another assassin might have been sent another time against House Pavus-this was politics in Minrathous, after all. But this time, the arrow unleashed could be traced back to Dorian's own actions: his opposition to Corypheus.

"It's all your fault!"

And, just like that, all the seething, inchoate passion twisting and writhing and roiling within him coalesced into a new, more dangerous impulse: revenge.

Turning on his heel, he strode from the room. He knew precisely where he needed to be.

Dorian stalked through the halls of Skyhold, unaware of the implacable expression on his face or the slow steady pulse of green light in his left hand. Later, he could recall some of the details of that short journey: how he had stormed past Josephine and the Magisters without a second glance, how those in the main hall melted from his path with faint murmurs, how Varric had tried to get his attention with a worried expression on his face. The cool chill of the air outside did nothing to alleviate the fire within, and by the time he reached the door of the jail tucked away out of sight of the main courtyard, every movement was carefully controlled.

He dismissed the jail guard after retrieving the cell keys from her, then continued his path towards one cell in particular, one whose occupant had only recently been installed. The roar of the waterfall which occupied much of the floor of the jail made conversation difficult, so he didn't overhear the conversation between the two men in adjacent cells until he was much closer.

"-a fool, Erimond. Corypheus doesn't care about you," Dorian heard someone say in a scornful tone.

"You seemed willing enough to serve him at one point, Servis," Livius shot back.

"Because he has deep pockets," Servis said with a laugh. "You see, I am not a fool. I like money, and he had plenty of it."

"And it wasn't enough, from what I heard." The scorn in Livius' tone tried to be scathing, but since it was Livius saying it, it proved to be only mildly annoying. "But then, neither were you."

"If someone pays me enough, I'll do whatever they tell me," Servis said indifferently. "They'd just better keep paying me-Oh. Inquisitor."

Dorian ignored the bow of greeting Servis gave him as he stalked past the cell, focusing instead on Livius. The man was just as reprehensible as the moment he'd called down Corypheus' dragon in Adamant, but quite a bit more haggard-a fact which currently gave Dorian immense satisfaction. The shackles on his wrists which bound the Magister's magic also warmed him, though Dorian wasn't particularly proud of that reaction.

"Ah, so you've finally deigned to grace us with your presence," Livius drawled. "So good to see you again, Altus. And here I thought you'd forgotten all about me."

"Livius," Dorian greeted with a brief nod of his head, deliberately dispensing with honorifics. To a Magister, leaving it out was like spitting in his face. "Funny thing, that," Dorian continued with affected cheerfulness. He kept his eyes on the Livius' expression, knowing that the man's reaction would be telling. "You see, I received a message from back home."

And Dorian saw enough. A tightening of the lips, a widening of the eyes, a calculation in his expression as Livius tried to determine what it would mean for his own fate. Dorian watched as Livius slowly licked his lips before replying. "Oh?"

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest and slowly lowered his chin while keeping his eyes locked on Livius, the forced cheerfulness slowly draining away. Peripherally he saw the steady pulsing beat of green light in his hand, marking the time as it passed in deliberate silence.

And the silence worked, its weight pressing on Livius in a manner which only a guilty conscience could feel. The way the man cleared his throat and shuffled back into the cell proved to be the final nail in convincing Dorian that Livius knew. After only a few tense moments, Livius looked away, unable to meet Dorian's gaze but also unwilling to endure the silence any longer. "And how fares House Pavus?"

"Do you want me to say it out loud?" Dorian asked in a soft voice, stepping closer to the cell. "Because that would make it far worse for you."

Livius' bravado returned with a sneer as he abandoned his pretense of ignorance, straightening where he stood. "You think that your threats mean anything to me? I serve a living god, Pavus. What do you serve? The common good?" His voice dripped with disdain. "Dispense your petty justice if you wish. Truth lies in the next world."

"What did you do, Erimond?" Servis chimed in. "It sounds like you were a very naughty boy." He subsided when Dorian glared at him, though the insouciant grin never left his lips.

Turning back to Livius, Dorian's eyes narrowed. "You forget, Livius, I am no longer constrained by the rules and morays of northern sensitivities." As Livius frowned, Dorian gave him a tight smile, then reached out to grasp the bars of the cell, the pulsing green light of his hand casting an eerie glow in the small space. "And I have something which even the Imperium doesn't have. I have Southern Templars, and they have no qualms setting the sunburst on a mage's forehead for all to see."

Eyes widening as the true meaning of the threat dawned on him-as Dorian had intended-Livius snarled, "You wouldn't dare."

"They don't call me the Inquisitor because I paint watercolors and dispense glitter across Thedas with the power of rifts," Dorian shot back, even as he launched himself into abrupt, almost violent motion. The next few seconds passed in a blur as Dorian unlocked the cell and surged inside so that he could wrap his hands around the man's throat and slam him into the wall-all without conscious awareness, as if he were a passenger in his own body. "Tell me why I shouldn't," he growled in a deathly quiet voice.

Livius struggled, twisting his head this way and that as he fought against Dorian's hold. His captivity had left him weak, however, and Dorian's anger proved difficult to fight against. "You have no right. I am a-a Magister of the Imperium."

Dorian felt a flare of anger, white-hot and pure, burst inside him as he grated, "And she was my mother."

"You didn't!" Servis said in mock horror from the next cell, proving that he was listening with no small amount of glee. "Oh, Erimond, you really are a fool."

"Shut-up!" Livius gasped, struggling to speak despite the hands slowly tightening around his neck.

"And that isn't my only option," Dorian grated. "There are so many choices to pluck from the Imperium's sordid history. Remember the fate of Eleni Zinovia, she who spoke of an Archon's downfall? Would you prefer that?"

"Inventive, I like it!" Servis chimed in. "Stuck in a statue for eternity with no hope of escape. I don't think even your living god could save you from that, Erimond."

Livius shook his head, obviously growing more desperate for air with each passing second. His facade of arrogance had crumbled away, leaving only a man face to face with the consequences of his own actions. "Inquisitor," he managed. "Mercy!"

"Mercy?" Dorian snapped, the light of the mark growing brighter with each pulse as he felt his ire increase. "What mercy did you show her?"

Before Livius could respond, Dorian hauled Livius bodily from the cell, dragging him towards the waterfall. With a signal act of strength and determination, he grasped the front of Livius' tunic and lifted him high before turning, setting his own feet on the edge of the stone above the waterfall. If he relaxed his grip to any degree, Livius would plummet to his death-and it would not be a pleasant one, judging by the rocks jutting out from the cliff face over which the waterfall flowed.

"Mercy lies within my open hands, Livius," he growled, pulling the man's face close to his as he bit off every word. The green light of the mark was almost blinding by this point, its pulse steady and unrelenting as it noted each heartbeat which passed. "If you truly believe that truth lies in the next world, then all you need do is accept my offer."

"Inquisitor!"

The shout came from his right, where the door to the jail had burst open, and came from the one person who could penetrate the haze of vengeance which had sunk its claws into him. It still took a moment for Dorian to respond, since he forced himself to take a deep breath before turning his head to look at where Cullen stood, framed by the light streaming down the stairs behind him. For a moment their gazes locked, and even from this distance he saw something in Cullen's eyes that he would never have thought possible.

Fear.

Of him.

The light of the anchor flickered and died, the rage fading as if it had never been.

Dorian inhaled sharply through his nose, then turned to look at Livius. The mage had gone completely still, face pale and eyes more than a little wild as they stared fixedly at Dorian. Without a word, Dorian stepped back from the precipice, then turned and threw Livius bodily towards his cell. "Back in your cell before I reconsider calling for the Templars."

"Yes, Inquisitor." Without another word, Livius retreated into his cell, pulling the door closed behind him before locking it and throwing the keys out of his own reach.

As Dorian moved to retrieve the keys, he passed close to Servis' cell. "You play a dangerous game, Inquisitor," Servis said softly, all hints of his earlier levity gone.

"I don't play games, Crassius Servis," Dorian told him. "You would do well to remember that, when it is your time to stand before me." Dismissing the man, Dorian turned to Livius. "You will have your day for justice, and you will stand trial for conspiracy in the murder of Lady Aquinea Thalrassian, but it will be done in the light of day and before witnesses."

Livius refused to look at Dorian, but the way his fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white indicated he'd seen or heard something which left him shaken. "Yes, Inquisitor."

Only then did Dorian pivot on his heel and walk towards the entrance.

And towards Cullen.

As he approached, he searched Cullen's demeanor for any hint of what the man was thinking, but it was clear that Cullen had withdrawn into his role as Commander of the Inquisition, made evident when Cullen issued a field-perfect salute. "Inquisitor," Cullen said in a neutral tone. "The guard informed me you requested my presence."

Which was a polite fiction, a fact they both knew perfectly well. The tightness around Cullen's eyes proved that most eloquently. "Thank you, Commander," Dorian said with a nod. "I appreciate your timely arrival." He held out the key ring to Cullen. "Return these to the guard, then report to my quarters."

For a moment, the Commander became a friend and studied Dorian's face closely. Then he snapped back to attention and took the keys from Dorian. "Yes, Inquisitor."

"Dismissed." With a nod, Dorian moved past him, somehow not pausing long enough to beg for forgiveness or shove Cullen into the wall for some other purpose entirely. Instead he kept his gaze facing forward resolutely, moving up the stairs with a dogged determination to pretend everything was normal.

Even if matters remained far from that.