Dorian resisted the urge to check the set of his sash one last time as he took a deep breath. His brow wrinkled, then firmed as he kept his gaze fixed on the door of the carriage, waiting for it to open as his mind worked its way through several rather tricky equations in a bid to remain calm.

"I know that look," Maevaris murmured. "You're thinking in polynomials, aren't you?"

He shot her an irritated glance. "You're not supposed to remember that."

"You were drunk, Dorian, and I wasn't," she teased him. "It's a clever little tactic, I'll give you that. 'Numbers and nerves can't survive in the same space or the same mind.'" She paused and tilted her head. "Is it working?"

Dorian kept his gaze on the door. "As long as the door is closed and the world is out there, yes. The true test comes when where I am becomes out there. I only have one night to convince the world that the big, bad Tevinter mage is actually a rather nice fellow they'd prefer not to send assassins after and whatnot."

Maevaris looked surprised, even under her mask. "I thought southerners didn't have assassins at parties."

"What is this?" Josephine asked, eyes widening.

"It's a Tevinter peculiarity, Lady Josephine," Dorian told her. "Parties are seen as a lovely place for wining and dining with a side of murder. If there's not at least one attempted assassination, then the party is deemed a failure. All weapons are on the table: magic, poison, words… whatever it takes to defeat a rival. Why, Magister Tilani here once ended a dynasty with three words, if I recall."

Maevaris laughed. "Three words and a well-placed archer, Dorian," she scolded him. "Don't exaggerate. Oh, and a great deal of well-placed money. Let's not forget that part."

"The point still stands, my dear," Dorian said with a slow wink, glad that the Inquisition had decided to keep the masks off for the ball, even if the Tevinter guests had to use them in their guise as Orlesians. "That is an Imperium oddity, not a southern one. They might wish me dead, but it's considered rather bad form to have the assassins actually do the deed at the party itself. The House of Repose does have standards."

Josephine nodded, then reached out and made a minute adjustment to Dorian's sash. "The door is about to open," she informed him.

"How do you-" Dorian began, just as the door opened and the stairs were folded down. Outside, the four honor guards already stood, waiting to lead the Inquisitor through the gates of the Winter Palace with the all the pomp and circumstance Josephine had deemed necessary. "Well, then," he murmured. "Into the fray."

The smile became a fixed feature on his face as he descended from the carriage, where he was whisked away to meet the man who had guaranteed their entry to the ball. Gaspard was, by Tevinter standards, brusque and straightforward with little grace in presenting his agenda and aims. It seemed that he would have welcomed anyone that would give him the throne he so desired, and given what Dorian had seen in his gallivanting through the Exalted Plains, he could see why even Gaspard was seeking negotiations rather than combat to end the civil war-with him as Emperor, of course. For the moment, at least based on their first interaction, Dorian mentally marked the man as too obvious to be subtle, though as one of the three prime candidates to be working for Corypheus, it was possible that his subtlety extended to inviting the Inquisition simply to ensure a victory over them.

Once he'd taken as thorough a measure as he could of the man, Dorian began his secondary task: playing the Game. There was no way he could effectively have an impact this night if he did not do so, and do so well. It didn't take long to work his way through the courtyard, probing for information and being his utterly charming self in the face of people who had all sorts of reasons to mistrust his very being, much less his presence. Every frown was noted, every smile a victory, and he even managed to relax one noble enough that he was casually invited to a very private party after the ball was over, which Dorian declined with a bow and an almost sinfully intimate kiss to the palm.

Once he'd gleaned all he could from those beyond the palace itself, he braced himself and moved within. It was a dance he was familiar with, at least: the dance of power amongst the powerful, a play which meant life or death for all involved which everyone politely pretended not to notice. In a truly honest moment, as he walked at Gaspard's side, the Altus part of him reveled in the gasps of surprise as he was introduced to the assemblage. The pleasantries with Celene were poetic and stilted on both sides, as expected, and he filed her words and stance away for later perusal, just as he did for the reaction of Gaspard's sister, Florianne.

Then, of course, came the time to unleash his charm on the court proper.

His first stop, of course, was to chat with Josephine, just as his mother had taught him. Always start with an ally, preferably a friend, she'd told him over and over again. It's predictable, setting you into a pattern you can break when it is advantageous to you, and it puts you in a good mood for when you need it later.

His smile remained in place as he moved to Josephine's side, giving first her and then the woman standing next to her a florid, overly Orlesian bow. "My dear Lady Josephine, I don't believe I've had the honor of meeting this beauteous creature."

The young lady giggled and hid her mouth behind her fan. "Oh, I like him, Josephine."

"Of course you do," Josephine said with a sigh. "Inquisitor, please allow me to present to you my younger sister, Yvette Gabriella Montilyet. Yvette, this is Inquisitor Pavus."

"I am most assuredly and utterly charmed, my younger lady Montilyet," Dorian said with a twinkle in his eye as he bowed over her outstretched hand. "I see quite clearly that beauty runs in the family."

"Can we keep him?" Yvette asked with bright eyes. "He's ever so much more handsome than that fellow you keep trying to foist off on me back home."

"That is not something I wish to discuss with you right now," Josephine hissed, then cleared her throat. "Inquisitor-"

Unable to restrain herself any longer, Yvette interrupted Josephine to say, "I've heard so much about you! But not as much as I want. Josephine writes, but she never tells me anything."

"Yvette-" Josephine began, but Yvette clearly had the reins in her hands.

"Is it true that the rebel Templars in Therinfal Redoubt bathed in red lyrium during their orgies before you saved the good ones?" she asked breathlessly.

It was all Dorian could do not to laugh as Josephine, clearly aghast, asked, "Where did you hear such nonsense?"

"Everyone in Antiva says so!" Yvette declared. "Is it true?"

"But of course it is. Every last bit of it," Dorian said, as if it were obvious. Ignoring Josephine's clear glare of you're not helping, he added, "Especially the parts where everyone was nude."

Yvette clapped her hands together in delight. "I knew it! And is it true that-"

"Ah, thank you, Inquisitor, for coming to speak with us," Josephine said hastily. "But you have quite a lot to do before the peace talks start, do you not?"

"Alas, you are correct, my dear lady Ambassador," Dorian said with mock regret. "And I would have so loved to hear some stories of when Josephine was a little girl."

"Oh, I could-" Yvette began.

"Not a word," Josephine warned her.

Yvette's face fell, but then she brightened. Rushing the words out before Josephine could stop her, she blurted, "She still plays with her doll collection when no one is looking!"

"Yvette!" Josephine grated. "That's...absurd! Absolutely preposterous! And I told you to say nothing!"

"That wasn't about your childhood," Yvette protested.

"In her defense, Lady Ambassador, she has you there," Dorian pointed out. "Since I assume it is something you do in the present."

Josephine looked up the ceiling, no doubt silently invoking the Maker and Andraste both, and possibly Mailani as well, as Yvette giggled behind her fan.

When she turned her subsequent glare on Dorian, he decided it was time to get back to work. "I'll see you later." He made some more bows, especially to Yvette, before stepping away and immersing himself once more into the Game.

He did his best to do his mother proud, taking in more information about the people with whom he spoke than he gave away as he wandered around the ballroom hoping to get a hint about the plan Corypheus had put under way. The gossip was flowing freely by this point, and he heard snatches of whispers here and there that he dutifully memorized for recitation to Leliana later. At one point he got cornered by a woman with a skirt wide enough to sweep everyone to the side, and politely listened to her extol her several dead husbands. As each death grew more and more lurid and ridiculous, he decided he quite liked her.

"A violent tailoring accident?" he asked at one point, a smirk on his face. "That sounds dreadful."

"Oh, my poor Etienne," she sighed as she patted her heart with one hand. "Such a good man. Such a pity about that outfit. And it was for Satlinalia, too."

"Oh, then it was extra tragic," Dorian commiserated, knowing all too well what had likely really happened. "Hopefully the needles and thread were brought to justice."

"They were indeed, my lord Inquisitor," the lady assured him. "I forced my nephew to wear them-the next year. So out of season! The clothing was laughed out of court. No admiration for that dastardly collection of fabric and stitches."

"And your nephew?" Dorian asked, curious what the answer would be.

She waved a hand in dismissal. "He recovered, eventually. The outfit was burned, however. A fitting punishment on behalf of my poor, poor Etienne."

"Most fitting, my lady," Dorian said with a chuckle. The chuckle faded, however, as his eyes strayed to the side and caught a glimpse of a handsome figure. It wasn't until the woman turned to follow his gaze that he realized he was staring, and he quickly cleared his throat. "Ah, my apologies, my lady."

"Who would not allow their head to be turned by such a vision of perfection?" she asked, snapping her fan open and cooling herself off dramatically. "Oh, but he does remind me of my poor Maximilian."

Dorian quickly counted back in his head. "Ah, the fourth one, yes?"

The fan snapped closed and tapped thoughtfully against her mask for a moment. "You remembered. I am impressed, Inquisitor. Most do not truly listen to the prattling of an old lady." She held out her hand for him to bend over. "We were not introduced, my Lord Inquisitor. I am the Lady Mantillon."

Now that was a name he'd had drilled into his head not only by Leliana, but also Vivienne in their preparatory sessions before the ball. She was quite high on the list of people he shouldn't upset or alienate, and also high on the list of people to flatter and cajole. Taking her hand, he bent over it and laid a delicate kiss on her gloved knuckles. "The honor is all mine, my lady," he told her warmly.

"Or it would be, if that fetching man weren't over there," she told him with a twinkle in her eyes. "Oh, do go talk to him. I want to see his face light up when you seek him out."

Dorian managed to keep his reaction to that little statement down to a single raised eyebrow. "A...singular requirement, my lady."

"Hmph. At my age, I have to find my fun in fairly exotic ways, Inquisitor." She patted his cheek, then waved him away. "Go on. Your evening is just beginning, I daresay."

Knowing that those words might be the truest of the night, Dorian kept to his word and headed next to join Cullen where he stood. He had to admit that the way Cullen's face brightened once he noticed Dorian was, in a word, adorable, though the way his eyes warmed as they followed the lines of Dorian's body was something rather different than adorable. "Commander," he said cheerfully. "I see you have acquired a coterie of admirers."

Cullen's expression grew sour as he glanced at the women and men standing nearby. "I can't imagine why. They won't leave me alone."

Dorian chuckled, since the reason why was clear to him-especially from the rear view. "I do hope they don't detract from your enjoyment of the party."

"At this point, the headache I'm developing is preferable to their company," Cullen noted with a sour grimace. "Orlesian social events are not my area of expertise."

"That's all right, Commander," Dorian assured him. "Not everyone can be perfect like me."

A smirk tugged at Cullen's lips. "I shall bear that in mind."

Still, Dorian knew he dared not linger. He hadn't spoken for very long to the others of the Inquisition, and he didn't want to make his affection for Cullen too obvious by staying here-especially with a particularly nosy lady's gaze upon them. "Alas, I should attend to said socializing," Dorian said with a dramatic sigh. "Do keep an eye out for anything unusual. Your eyes may not be keen when it comes to the Game, but I trust them to notice other things."

Cullen hesitated, looking around for a moment before leaning in to observe in a low voice, "Like there not being enough Imperial Guards? If this were my command, I'd fire the man who arranged the assignments and promote his subordinate. It's disgraceful."

Dorian blinked, then nodded. "Yes. Exactly that, Commander. I'll check in later."

Turning over that particular observation in his mind as he moved away from Cullen, Dorian forced the smile back on his face as he strolled down the length of the ballroom-where he was promptly cornered by three women who looked alike and sounded very slightly different.

After an impromptu negotiation with Celene's spokeswomen, Dorian steered past them and looked out over the balcony for a moment. His teeth tingled ever so slightly, and he frowned since he knew what that meant. Magic. His first instinct was to go investigate it himself, but as he turned, he already saw his father tilting his head from where he spoke with a circle of Orlesian nobles. Their eyes met, and his father nodded, then made his excuses and began to circle the immediate area.

Hoping that his trust in his father was well placed, Dorian headed towards the door leading inside, then paused as he realized there was something unusual about the woman standing next to it. It took a moment for him to realize that it was the first elf he'd seen all evening wearing a mask, a uniqueness which warranted investigation. Turning smoothly to her, he bowed. "My lady, I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

"My lord Inquisitor," the woman said, tilting her head slightly. "Most here are very assiduous in not acknowledging my presence."

"And yet here I stand, bereft of knowledge of your name," Dorian pointed out.

A faint smile touched her lips. "I am Ambassador Briala, my lord Inquisitor. I speak for the elves in these peace talks."

His eyes widened. "I am glad to hear they have a voice, my lady, particularly one who hopefully can speak to their plight."

Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly under her mask. "I admit, I did not expect to hear such a sentiment from a man in your position."

"And with my country of origin?" he guessed. "While generally that would be true, my predecessor, Inquisitor Lavellan, guided me towards a far more informed perspective when it comes to elves and their treatment. I am not perfect, by any means, but I very much wish to do right by her. The Imperium could certainly use some change in their view of elves, though from what I've heard as I've wandered the halls, Orlais is overdue as well."

"Some would call those dangerous words, my lord Inquisitor," she murmured. "Her Majesty, for one."

"Why is that?" Dorian asked. "She seems a reasonable person."

"Ah, but reason is cautious. Reason looks for compromise. Reason doesn't choose radical change." A note of bitterness entered her tone as she added, "However sorely it may be needed."

Dorian stroked his chin for a moment. "I prefer to look at it from the perspective that reason had better figure out a way to change before a more radical solution pokes something sharp into your gut."

She considered him for a moment. "I suppose only time will tell whether you believe in those bold words, Inquisitor."

"Time is the only thing which tells everything," Dorian said with a chuckle. When she saw her eyes shift their focus, Dorian turned to see Halward make a subtle gesture with his hand as he adjusted the fold of a sleeve. Turning back to Briala, he gave her a bow. "Alas, I must continue my inquisiting. I have quite the inquisitive nature, after all."

"Another time, then, Inquisitor," Briala murmured.

With a bright smile back on his face, Dorian turned and headed back into the ballroom. Knowing that it would be unwise to proceed directly to the pre-selected meeting place with his father, based on the eyes on him, he instead moved to the balcony on the opposite side of the room, where a single Chevalier guarding the doorway stepped aside with a crisp salute as he passed by. There, as he'd suspected, he found the man he'd been looking for, the third piece of the puzzle of the peace talks which were supposed to take place-or so everyone kept saying.

As he walked up to Gaspard, the man turned around and welcomed him with a warm smile. "My friend! Come, come. It is always good to see you. Have a drink!" He gestured to a nearby table where he had clearly already had a thumb or two of a dark liquid. "Navigating the intrigues all right? Nobody's poisoned you yet, have they?"

As the words came on the heels of an offer for a drink, Dorian quickly took his estimation of Gaspard from too obvious to be subtle and switched it to so obvious he is subtle. His answer, however, was a smile. "Why, I haven't even begun to work up a thirst-at least, not one for wine or brandy."

"Oh?" Gaspard chuckled. "Ah, I see. You thirst for knowledge."

"Ever and always, your Grace," Dorian replied with a laugh. "Perhaps we could start with you. I'm afraid I know very little about your background." Which was a lie, of course. Leliana and Vivienne had seen to that. But his mother had always drilled home that you can never learn everything about someone without asking them personally.

"All of Orlais knows my story," Gaspard demurred, then paused. "But then you, my friend, are far too sensible to be Orlesian."

"Too sensible to be Orlesian, but not enough to not be a Vint," Dorian pointed out. "I'm not sure where that leaves me. Certainly not within the realm of common sense, hmm?"

Gaspard laughed at that. "And we both are certainly not common people. Still, as for my story, the heart of it is simple: I am the rightful heir to the throne of Orlais." Dorian noted the conviction in the statement, along with the bitterness which rode alongside it. As he made sympathetic noises and nodded at various places, Gaspard expounded on his claim to the crown, including how it had been snatched from his fingers.

"I can see why you dislike politics so. But then, what sane person doesn't?" Dorian mused.

"Except it will take politics to restore the crown to its true owner," Gaspard noted with distaste.

Dorian deliberately looked at the table with the carafe of alcohol on it. "And I take it that requires a bit of liquid assistance?"

"From brandy comes bravery, or so we say in Orlais," Gaspard noted. "We must navigate a nest of vipers, my friend. Maker willing, there will be enough port."

"Maker willing, there will always be enough port," Dorian said with a light laugh. "It was a delight to speak with you, my friend, but I'm afraid I must return to the nest. Pray to the Maker I escape intact."

"I will pray for us both, then, my friend," Gaspard said, and they gave each other a polite bow before Dorian moved back to the ballroom, nodding absently to the Chevalier who again gave him a sharp salute. He did pause for a moment just inside the ballroom as that odd tingling returned to his teeth, but a moment's consideration told him it would be better to consult with his father on the matter first. Mentally marking the spot of the teeth-tingle in his mental map of the Winter Palace, Dorian let himself move towards the rendezvous with his father in a heightened state of awareness.

Thankfully it didn't take him too long to navigate the ballroom since it was his second jaunt. As he started to head to the place Leliana had previously suggested for relatively private rendezvous, however, the woman herself stepped out from a small group of courtiers and caught his attention. With a little sigh and a hope that his father would forgive his tardiness, Dorian fell into step besides Leliana. "What is it?" he asked in a low voice.

Leliana frowned for a moment before she came to a halt next to a large plant, one which would mostly hide their conversation from others. "There is someone I wish to caution you about, Inquisitor, an associate of the Royal Court."

Dorian raised an eyebrow, wondering why she had waited this long to discuss the matter with him. "Who?"

"Traditionally, a mage serves at the leisure of the Ruler of Orlais, acting as a personal advisor on all matters mystical and magical."

"Ah, yes. Didn't Vivienne hold that position?" Dorian asked, searching his memory. "I could have sworn she mentioned something about serving Celene directly."

Leliana nodded. "Yes. In fact, this person is her successor to that title, though this one is no Circle mage."

"An apostate?" Dorian asked, eyebrow rising. "That's a trifle unusual, isn't it?"

"Even the Divine rarely tells the ruler of Orlais what to do to their face," Leliana explained. "The Game would deem it impossibly rude."

"Naturally," Dorian said with a roll of his eyes. "So the current holder of the position concerns you? Why is that?"

"Amell."

Cullen frowned as he straightened in his chair. "Amell? He's not Celene's-" He stopped himself even as he started, shaking his head. "No, of course not, we would have known that even before we arranged to go to the ball if that were true. I take it this apostate has a past history with Amell?"

A sad smile came to Leliana's face. "A similar one to my own, yes."

"Ah. You mean during the Blight," Dorian guessed. "One of the ones you traveled with, I take it?"

Leliana nodded slowly. "Alistair told me that she left Ferelden the day Amell killed the Archdemon and hasn't been seen since. Which makes her insertion into the private circle of the Empress of Orlais suspect."

"You mean Celene just hired her on?" Cullen said, an alarm bell ringing in his head.

"Well…no," Leliana confessed. "She entered the employ of Celene a few years ago, but since we don't know of Amell's whereabouts or plans…"

"Understood," Dorian said, expression thoughtful. "What is the name of this mage?"

Leliana's lips pressed together for a bare moment before she answered, though her face remained inscrutable as far as Dorian could read it. "She is called Morrigan. A formidable mage, and not a woman to be trifled with. I do not like to think of her as subject to Amell's will, but we cannot discount the possibility out of hand."

"Sad, but true." Dorian sighed heavily. "It is a terrible time when even former comrades must be viewed with suspicion."

Leliana laughed softly. "We were never close, save for the abuse we suffered under Amell. I truly hope she found her own happiness, free of his influence."

"So can we all hope," Dorian said with a sage nod. "I will keep a keen eye for the woman, you can rest assured. As it is, Father may have found something."

"Oh?" Leliana's gaze sharpened. "Keep me informed."

"But of course. It wouldn't do me much good to keep anything from my own Spymaster, would it?" He flashed her a charming smile, then bowed. "Good eve, my lady, until next we meet."

From there, it was only a matter of a minute or two before he reached where Halward waited for him, standing in front of a line of statues at the bottom of the stairs. Leliana had called in the Hall of Heroes, and Dorian had to admit the statues were at least well crafted.

As he fell into place beside Halward and pretended to study the gleaming Heroes, he murmured, "What have you found?"

Reaching up to tug his mask off, Halward studied it with a frown for a moment. "I wish this were not a requirement," he muttered.

"I will say it is odd to see you in southern garb," Dorian admitted. "I'd almost forgotten what you look like in trousers."

Halward wrinkled his nose. "They know who we are," he grunted. "There are enough bards here to power Minrathous on the force of their gossip alone."

Dorian's lips twitched. "I had noticed."

"I think Maevaris just wanted an excuse to wear an Orlesian gown," Halward added.

"And possibly to make you both less other and less objectionable," Dorian noted. "We knew the chance we were taking by bringing you at all. By local standards, you're apostates."

"As are you," Halward pointed out.

"Ah, but I'm the Chosen of the Herald of Andraste," Dorian reminded him. "Which ranks right up there on the list of all-time terrible titles, I might add. I should talk to someone about getting that changed someday. I'd hate to be the bane of future schoolchildren everywhere. It's bad enough that I was forced to learn my family tree twenty generations back."

A slight smile touched Halward's lips. "Twenty-five," he corrected.

"I cheated," Dorian told him. "I stopped at twenty."

"Such a disappointing son," Halward said.

Dorian paused, then looked at Halward. "Was that a joke, Father?"

"I believe it was. I hope it was." Halward sighed and rubbed his face over his hand. "At any rate, I stopped to speak with Maevaris briefly to see if she'd noticed anything as well, but..." His voice trailed away as he glanced back towards the ballroom.

"Yes, perhaps letting her pick Bull for her escort was a miscalculation," Dorian admitted. "They're quite taken with each other, or at least seem to be. If I know both of them, it's a facade in front of a scheme enshrouding an enigma, so it's hard to tell how much is an act to elicit information and how much is genuine."

"For her, it could be both," Halward reminded him. "She's clever. I could wish my own child to be so clever."

"Oh, that hurt," Dorian said, pressing a hand to his chest. This was, in his estimation, the oddest conversation he'd ever had with his father, but he couldn't help but admit that he preferred it to their usual fights and sniping. "Since you've decided to be so hateful, perhaps you should just tell me what you wanted to discuss."

Halward nodded, then pretended to study the statues again. "I managed to track down the source of that magic we both felt earlier," he said quietly. "A Chevalier and a nobleman were talking quietly in a corner, but the air around them was humming. As I observed them from afar, I noticed oddities. Twitching hands, abrupt nods, interrupted sentences-as if they were fighting against their own minds. Most southerners wouldn't recognize it-"

"Or merely think it a batch of itching powder put into a rival's outfit to embarrass them," Dorian pointed out.

"Only you ever did that, Dorian," Halward said with a sigh.

"Well, maybe. But Livius deserved it," Dorian said with a sniff, then winced as he saw the flash of pain in his father's eyes. That name, apparently, still remained a memory too close to his mother's death. Not that Dorian didn't also feel the pain, but apparently holding a man over a waterfall did a great deal to turning the pain into a sort of humming, livable rage. "Go on, Father," he said quietly. "What else?"

Pushing his momentary weakness away with an inhaled breath, Halward continued, "I wouldn't be a Magister if I hadn't seen such behavior before, even if the only time I contemplated using its source is the decision I have come to regret the most."

It took only a moment for Dorian to parse through that, and his face hardened. "Blood magic."

His father nodded. "That is my fear. Be cautious. Corypheus would be a master at blood magic, after all. Our own records state that he and the other High Priests were responsible for the deaths of thousands through their rituals of blood magic in their quest to get to the Golden City. Controlling a few people to ensure he succeeds tonight would be but a fraction of that."

"Perhaps if we find those two men, we could at least narrow down the list of who might be coordinating with him," Dorian said thoughtfully, though he was well aware that Corypheus was not the only blood mage they faced.

Halward frowned in thought. "They separated when a servant brought them some drinks, so they would need to be tracked down first."

"There was a Chevalier near my last teeth tingling moment. He was standing guard outside Gaspard's balcony," Dorian noted. "Perhaps you could start there."

His father raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"I'm rather well known here," Dorian pointed out. "As an unknown, you might have better luck learning something useful."

Halward didn't reply immediately, instead giving Dorian a sidelong glance. "If you trust me with such a task."

Dorian ducked his head, mind swimming as he tried to think of how to respond to that. "You taught me many things, Father," he said. "A few too many things."

"I taught you that I am capable of betrayal. I do not expect your trust." After a moment's hesitation, he added, "I do not feel worthy of it."

"Nor should you," Dorian replied in a flat tone. Their conversation that morning had been a step forward for Halward, but on a path which seemed to stretch endlessly in front of him. Besides, Dorian remained uncertain if any amount of humility and remorse could balance the scales in that matter. "You've a lot to answer for, Father."

Halward gave a heavy sigh. "There is only one thing I regret more than seeking that path to change you."

Dorian's face drew into a tight mask as he turned to face his father. "Oh? And what was that? Having to sacrifice mother's life before you found a semblance of humility?" It was petty and he knew it, but he couldn't stop the words once they started.

Part of him regretted it almost instantly when Halward pivoted towards him, face tight in a mixture of anger and grief-but only part of him. "Dorian-"

Interrupting his father with a curt gesture, Dorian shook his head and glanced up the stairs. "Never mind, Father. We can have that discussion-"

Suddenly his father's arm shot out, letting loose a bolt of magic which knocked Dorian into the large statue behind them. Even as Dorian fell back, too astonished to resist, a burst of the most desperately wrong-feeling magic he could imagine sliced through the air where he'd been standing in a flash of green light and slammed into his father. It took Dorian a moment to realize that the glow had a shape, and that shape was an arrow, even as Halward cried out in pain and fell to the ground. Dorian turned to confront the attacker, only to see a figure disappear through an open door.

Fear and an odd feeling of not again swept through him as he turned and raced towards his father. Blood. Why is there so much blood? Time slowed as the crimson stain on the marble below Halward's body grew, and Dorian fought against a rising sense of panic. His mind flipped back and forth between chasing down the perpetrator and making sure he wouldn't lose his sole remaining parent, unable to choose a path and knowing that every second which passed made either decision that much harder to pursue.

When a hand landed on his shoulder, he jumped and whirled to face them. "Mae?" he gasped as recognition sparked. "There was a-"

"Yes, we saw," Mae said, squeezing his shoulder. "Take Bull and go after him. I'll take care of Halward."

"Every second counts, boss," Bull insisted urgently from where he held the door open to what appeared to be the servant's quarters. "We'll have to hoof it as it is."

It was an snap decision both necessary and agonizing, but in the end, Dorian nodded and gestured for Bull to follow as he burst into a run. "With me," he snapped.

The next few moments were a mad dash of trying to catch up with the archer but only managing to catch occasional glimpses of him. It was frenetic and heart-racing, but they could see the distance growing smaller with each turn of every corner, until eventually the distance had became only a matter of a few yards just as they reached a small fence with no apparent gate through which to pass.

As the figure bounded up and over the fence, Bull cried, "There! I can throw you, boss."

"You want to toss me over the fence now?" Dorian asked incredulously.

"Just to hold him with magic," Bull said as he picked Dorian up bodily. "I'll be right behind you."

Something didn't set right with that, and Dorian shook his head. "Bull, wait! Put me down, you oaf and stop Bullhandling me!" When Bull didn't stop immediately, Dorian touched Bull with a little zap, enough to make the ex-Qunari curse and drop Dorian. "Think for a moment! This is exactly what the assassin wants. That's why he's slowly been letting us catch up to him," Dorian insisted, the nagging thought at the back of his mind suddenly blooming into certainty. "To get me alone and put me in a vulnerable position. Send me over that fence, and I guarantee an ambush is waiting for me on the other side. Think, man, you're smarter than this."

Bull snorted, then shook his head violently. "Well, shit. You're right."

"And this is why I never trust a Reaver with tactics," Dorian said in a shaky voice. "Don't worry. They counted on my own anger to keep me going, too. Let's go find the others and pursue this matter a bit more logically, hmm?"

"Yeah, yeah, rub it in, boss," Bull groused as they turned around. He frowned immediately, though. "Although you might have to convince these guys to let us go get some of the things we left behind."

"Well, shit," Dorian muttered, summoning barriers into place around both of them as the group of Venatori which had suddenly appeared behind them slowly approached. "Though I suppose it's further confirmation that Corypheus is involved here. Think we could charge through again?"

"If I was armed, maybe," Bull said dubiously. "Too bad you can't just open a rift on their asses."

The comment made Dorian's eyes narrow slightly as he remembered the little trick he'd pulled on Erimond in the Western Approach. "That wouldn't be my first choice, no, but… Hmm." Raising his left hand, he called the energy of the anchor to his whim with enough of a sound and light show that the enemies slowed to a stop, hunkering down in caution. "Perfect. Now, if I'm right…"

He released the pent up energy loose at them all at once, feeding into it not just the energy of the anchor itself, but also a fair amount of his necromantic magic wound with a twist of the spells he'd learned from watching Solas work. The result was a widespread network of green energy which lashed out, seized each of their foes with ruthless precision, and shook them violently in the air before slamming them down hard.

"Damn," Bull said admiringly. "Remind me not to piss you off."

"It was rather satisfying," Dorian noted, tilting his head, "but I'm not sure when I'll be able to do it again any time soon." Indeed, his brow had broken out in a sweat, and he was already reaching for a lyrium potion. "And we can't assume they were alone. We'd best get moving."

"Right, boss." With a nod, Bull led the way back towards the main part of the Palace. "I hope we can find the guy who tried to shoot you."

"Me, too, Bull," Dorian said quietly. And, deep down, he hoped that he still had at least one parent still alive by the end of the evening. Even if that parent was an insufferable bore.

They traced their way back to the Hall of Heroes without another encounter. There they found the Hall empty except for an Inquisition agent posing as a servant as she cleaned up a pool of blood. Moving to the doorway, Dorian quickly saw that things looked absolutely normal, as if nothing were amiss. "Do I have any stains on my outfit?" he asked sotto voce to Bull.

"You're good. Might want to fix your hair, though," Bull supplied. "Looks like whatever Mae did, she did it with a minimum of fuss. Or maybe Orlesians are just that used to assassination attempts at parties."

"Back home we simply call it politics, so possibly," Dorian mused. "Go gather the others quietly and bring them back here, and let Cullen and Leliana know what happened if you can. I'm going to go look for Magister Tilani's assistant. He'll know where she is." And, hopefully, the status of my father.

"Got it, boss," Bull murmured, then moved through the room with surprising ease considering his bulk.

Using a bit of magic to tweak his disheveled locks back into place, Dorian fixed a cheerful smile on his face and stepped forward, hoping to find Felix in fairly short order. As he headed into the Vestibule, however, a bell sounded, and Dorian abruptly recalled its significance. As Vivienne had explained to him, the bell summoned everyone back to the ballroom and, more importantly, back to the sight of the monarch. Apparently some Emperor had decided that too many people out of sight for too long meant too much plotting in corners. Don't be too eager, my dear, she'd warned him, but don't be too late, either. Dorian winced as he realized he had to make an appearance or risk losing some of that favor he'd scraped together so painstakingly before, but he had no way of knowing if he were late or early. With a little internal sigh, he threaded his ways to the doors, trying to ignore the twitch between his shoulder blades with every step.

As he reached for the door to the ballroom, however, a voice with a dark velvet undertone caught his attention. "Well, well. What have we here?"

Turning slowly, he considered the woman who had spoken, squinting in consideration as she descended the stairs and continued to speak. "The new leader of the new Inquisition, following in the footsteps of the fallen Herald to keep the faith. What could bring such a unique creature as yourself to the Imperial Court, I wonder? Do even you know?"

He gave her a little chuckle paired with a bow. "As with all proper court intrigue, I do not. Otherwise it wouldn't be very intriguing, would it?"

A half-smile came to her lips. "Such intrigue obscures much, but not all. I am Morrigan," she told him, bowing ever so slightly before sweeping into motion and inviting him to join her with a gesture. "Some call me advisor to Empress Celene on matters of the arcane. You…" she gave him a sidelong glance, "have been very busy this evening, hunting prey which struck with dubious accuracy."

Morrigan. Remembering Leliana's warning, Dorian observed the woman carefully through slightly narrowed eyes. "What do you know of this prey?"

"Of yours I am less certain," she admitted. "I have been more involved in my own hunt, you see. Recently I found, and killed, an unwelcome guest within these very halls. An agent of Tevinter."

Venatori. Dorian was certain of it, though he made no mention of it. "Most odd."

"Is it? And yet you don't seem surprised," Morrigan noted. "So I offer you this, Inquisitor: a key found on the Tevinter's body. Where it leads, I cannot say. Yet if Celene is in danger, I cannot leave her side long enough to search. You can. And, I suspect, you will."

Dorian inclined his head in acknowledgment, though again he did not speak of it directly. "So who watches Celene now?" he asked. "At least one man with a bow is on the loose."

"I must return to her anon, but she is safe enough...for the moment. 'Twould be a great fool who would strike at her in public, in front of all her court and the Imperial Guard."

"'Twould indeed, my lady, though I daresay that your interest in protecting her is as much personal as it is duty," Dorian murmured. Unless Amell wishes to keep Celene safe. Still, she did not exhibit any signs of being controlled, even subtle ones. And, odd as it was, her very manner of speaking supported the evidence that she didn't seem to be influenced. Controlled people were rarely so articulate.

"Should it not be?" Morrigan tilted her head as she gave a short laugh. "If anything were to happen to Celene, eyes would turn first to her 'occult advisor.' Even if they knew otherwise. There are sharks in the water, and I will not fall prey to them. Not now, not ever."

The steely glint in her eye made Dorian believe not only that she would not fall prey, but also that she would do fairly well in the bustle of the Magisterium. "Well, if I find the time to try a door or two, I will keep you in mind, my Lady."

"Proceed with caution, Inquisitor," she warned him as she led him to the door of the ballroom. "Enemies abound, and not all of them aligned with Tevinter."

Hmm. Subtlety to distract me from considering her as such, or a subtle warning in and of itself? Keeping the thoughts from his face, he simply gave her a subtle wink and a smile. "Then I will be cautious, my lady."

When they reached the door, she reached out and touched it a moment before looking at him with a decided smirk on her face. "What comes next will be most exciting."

And with that, she pushed the door to the ballroom open for him, then walked away, leaving him alone once more.

So that was Morrigan. It was easy to see why Leliana had spoken of her as she had, and Dorian was glad to have met her. Whether or not she was somehow aligned with Amell had yet to fully determined, but for the moment he cautiously decided she was likely not controlled.

Of course, one did not have to be controlled by magic to be an agent.

With a mental sigh, Dorian carefully secured the key in an inner pocket before turning and sweeping into the ballroom as was expected of him. Thankfully, he caught sight of a familiar outfit near one of the doors and quickly worked his way towards his old friend with a slow but steady determination. Soon enough, he found himself at Felix' side and gestured for the man to follow. As they walked slowly back to the Hall of Heroes, he asked quietly, "Well?" That was all he asked, hoping he needn't elaborate for the sake of prying ears.

"He's been taken to a secure area," Felix assured him. "Magister Tilani says that you can speak with him later."

Which was her way of letting him know that Halward was expected to survive. A tension inside Dorian eased enough that he felt his shoulders drop, and his smile turned from a frozen rictus to something a trifle warmer. "That is excellent to hear," he said. "Anything else?"

"One of Leliana's agents said to give this to you when I saw you," Felix said, slipping a piece of paper into Dorian's hand. "I didn't ask for details, but they said they couldn't find anyone else to give it to."

Dorian frowned. It was very odd, to say the least, that an agent would give such a message to someone not of the Inquisition, but for the moment he simply nodded. "Very well. Return to Magister Tilani and let her know that I'll take care of the rest."

"Be careful, Dorian," Felix cautioned him. "I mean, Inquisitor. This feels a bit too much like a party at home, if you catch my drift."

"I do, and I agree," Dorian said quietly. "Stay safe yourself, my friend." When Felix nodded and then disappeared into the crowd, Dorian casually made his way down the stairs towards the statues and to where he saw some familiar shapes in the shadows. "Is everyone here?"

"Everyone I could find, yeah," Bull said with a nod.

"Including someone who was perfectly happy tucked away in his little corner," Varric muttered.

"Well, I for one am glad to be doing something more useful than enduring the inane chatter of the party and repeatedly insisting I do not wish to dance," Cassandra declared. "Surely it is past time to find and stop Corypheus' agent."

Dorian smiled faintly, quickly surveying the group. It seemed, in fact, that Bull had indeed gathered everyone save for his Advisors and Cullen's troops. Even Blackwall was here, tugging at the neck of his finery with a grimace of discomfort. Oddly, Solas seemed as fully at ease in his finery as Vivienne did, despite his normal mode of dress-a fact which gave Dorian a bit more hope that perhaps the elven mage could be brought around to the concept of good fashion.

Well, hopefully Leliana and Josephine will be able to endure the subtle questioning about our activities. "Excellent, thank you, Bull." Dorian raised the paper Felix had pressed into his hand and unfolded it. A frown came to his face as he looked at the lines and curves on the paper for a moment with incomprehension. "What is this?" he asked irritably.

"Give it here," Bull said, taking the paper from him. "Oh, yeah. It's a map of the gardens, see? With an X to mark the spot." He pointed at the paper. "Where did you get this?"

"Ah, one of Leliana's agents." Best not to mention Felix at the moment, I think.

"Might be the assassin, then, or information about him." Bull squinted at the map a bit more closely. "Those are her agent's hatch marks on the corner though, so it seems genuine. I mean, I'd've sent it back to Qunandar back when I was doing shit like that."

Dorian smiled. "Thank you for your honesty, Bull," he said with a chuckle. "Very well, that's where we'll go, then. I think it's time we changed into something a bit more practical for hunting, hmm? I certainly don't want to go without arms and armor this time around."

"Fucking finally!" Sera said in an exasperated tone. "I can't wait to get away from these dodgy noble twats."

"You are a treasure, dear-heart, and also more than correct," Dorian noted with a laugh. "Let's go."

Unfortunately the first sight which greeted them through the door proved to be a sobering one. Cassandra stiffened as she laid eyes on the crumpled, still body of the elf servant lying in a pool of blood, and said in a quiet, lethal voice, "Someone will be held accountable for this."

"Some big lord wants to wear a fancy crown, but it's the little people who pay the price," Sera said, the skin around her eyes tightening. "It's always them that suffer."

"I very much intend to make the one responsible for this pay the price," Dorian said grimly. "Bull, were these here before? I don't recall them."

"Not that I saw," Bull growled. "But we were a little busy at the time."

Dorian gave a heavy sigh. "True. Still, the timing doesn't matter, does it? The act merits a return in kind, once we find the perpetrator." Shaking his head, he forced himself to move forward. "Well, then. Our equipment should be in the next room. Let's go."

Sera looked at him a moment, her lips pressed together in anger, but finally nodded.

Matters did not improve from there. Every room they searched had a dead servant sprawled on the floor or flung onto a bed, and Dorian's mood grew bleaker with each discovery. "And here I thought Orlais considered itself more civilized than the Imperium when it came to the elves. From where I stand, this is the same play, different players."

"The tragedy is as much in the actors as in the audience," Solas murmured. "The curtain stands drawn, and yet both sides remain blind to the other. Little can be done when such ignorance is the assumed truth."

"Well, I intend to ensure that the actors do not escape their obligation to the audience in this case," Dorian said. "Bull, where do we need to go?"

"That way, boss," Bull said, pointing towards a door that led outside. "We need to cut through the gardens."

Dorian nodded as he surged forward, his anger at the senseless deaths of the servants fueling a bit of his motion as he took a dramatic leap from the top of the wall down into the gardens proper.

Only to find another body, this time sprawled at the foot of an exquisite fountain.

"Oh, Maferath's left nipple, this is getting ridiculous," Dorian swore.

Sera laughed merrily. "Who's left nip-"

Cassandra desperately interrupted her. "This man is no servant."

"Hmm, true," Dorian mused, moving to examine the body more closely. "I wonder who it is, then."

"This man was a Council of Heralds Emissary," Vivienne supplied. "Curious to find him here."

Taking a step forward, Cassandra reached out and lightly touched the hilt of the dagger sticking out from the man's torso. "The crest of the de Chalons family. Duke Gaspard will answer for this."

Dorian sighed, though he did notice that Cassandra seemed to have forgotten there were two members of the de Chalons family in attendance at the ball. "Wonderful. I suppose we should go back so that I may speak with-"

He was interrupted by the sound of a loud shriek to their left, and without thought he stood and sent a blast of energy towards the figure pursuing a frightened servant girl. The...person, dressed in ridiculous motley garb, dodged the blast with a spin that tore its dagger through the girl's back. Bull roared and charged forward, but it was too late. The harlequin had already thrown a smoke bomb, using the cover to leap to a nearby ledge above them.

Before they could even think to pursue the murderer, a group of Venatori emerged from the smoke and charged towards them, weapons raised.

"Attack!" Bull warned, then roared and dove into the pack of enemies, maul swinging.

They immediately fell into battle formation, months of working with each other feeding into their every move. Bull roared and demanded the enemies' attention, Cassandra and Blackwall charged the distracted enemies, Varric and Sera joined forces picking them down from afar, and the three mages effortlessly combined their varying talents to make short work of their foes. Once the last one fell, Dorian frowned and took a quick assessment of the situation. "That was a bit more than I was expecting," he noted. "But not more than they were expecting. The body was bait. They were watching this place." With a sigh, Dorian glanced up at the ledge above, then up the garden pathway down which the Venatori had run. "The death of the Emissary will have to wait. Let's see what we find on the way to that X."

"Which seems even more likely now to be an ambush," Varric pointed out.

"Why thank you, my eternally optimistic friend," Dorian said with a laugh. "Still. I could not hope for better companions. On the other hand, it's so important that someone marked it with an X on a map. We couldn't possibly ignore that, could we? Bull, do we have to go that way to reach it?" Dorian pointed to the pathway he hoped was the right one.

"Got it in one, boss," Bull grunted.

"Great, let's start with cliches straight out of a bad adventure novel," Varric groaned as he slung Bianca across his back again.

"You mean one of yours?" Dorian lashed back with a grin.

"That hurt, Sparkler," Varric protested, pressing a hand to his chest. "That hurt right here."

"Can we please concentrate on the mission?" Cassandra asked in a pained tone.

"It would seem our enemy agrees with you, Seeker Cassandra," Solas noted, hefting his staff. "Already more lie in wait."

"This is going to be a riveting evening, I can tell," Varric said with a sigh. "You bring me to all the fun places, Sparkler."

The fighting and exploration alternated in hand, as the path to the spot marked on the map wound not only through the gardens, but the apartments which abutted the gardens. Not that the journey itself was useless-indeed, they found several little important tidbits along the way. Most interesting of all, however, was the little room tucked away next to one of the apartments which opened with a little coaxing to reveal several treasures-rather expensive ones-waiting within.

"I wonder which fancy pants toff this place belongs to," Sera mused as she moved to a large bureau and began rummaging through it.

"I believe these items belong to the Empress herself," Vivienne noted, sighing a little as Sera cackled and started to fill her pockets with coin. "Do leave some of it here, darling."

"Why? She took it from the little people first," Sera said with a shrug. "I'm just giving it back, that's all."

Dorian shook his head and glanced around the room on the lookout for documents or paper, since that seemed to be what he might need the most.

"Hey, boss," Bull called to Dorian. "Come look at this."

Dorian moved to where Bull had opened a small and obviously not secure enough safe. "What is it?"

"This locket here. Anything strike you as odd about it?" Bull asked.

He studied it for a moment, then frowned. "It's elven by design, for one. That's an odd thing for the Empress of Orlais to have."

"In her personal safe room in her own palace? Yeah, Real odd." He nudged Dorian. "Kinda like something someone keeps to remember someone by, don't ya think?"

Dorian's brow furrowed for a moment until a few tantalizing tidbits he'd overheard over the course of the evening suddenly clicked into place, and then he blinked. "Fascinating. I wouldn't have thought Celene to be so sentimental." Taking the locket in his hand, he held it up to the light, then nodded and put it in his hidden pocket. "It seems I need to talk to Her Majesty as well. This is turning out to be quite the talkative evening. You have your uses, Bull."

Bull grinned broadly. "No charge. But we'd better get moving. The night won't last forever."

"Thank the Maker," Dorian muttered under his breath as he led them out of the apartments and back to the gardens. "Are we close to that mark yet?"

"Yeah, boss. Practically on top of it. I'm not sure what we'll find there, though, after all this dawdling we've done," Bull grunted.

"Dawdling?" Dorian asked, amused by the choice of words. "That's one way to put it."

"It could still be the mark of an ambush, as Varric said." Cassandra's mouth twisted, as if simply agreeing with Varric were the worst thing imaginable, and the expression made Varric chuckle.

"You're just grumpy because it took over a minute to introduce you at the ball," Varric told her with a wide grin.

Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "That is not true, dwarf, even if your previous observation is likely correct. We should proceed with caution, Inquisitor."

"I agree, Cassandra. And we shall." Dorian's eyes narrowed as he surveyed the area in front of them. "All right, everyone. Field positions. For all we know X marks the spot of a rift ahead."

"Dammit, boss," Bull muttered. "Don't jinx it. The night's pissy enough already without any demons getting involved."

"Sorry, Bull," Dorian said sardonically. He took a moment to reset everyone's magical protections before giving the forward signal with his staff.

Which, naturally, was the moment that the enemy burst from the bushes around them as the first volley of arrows fell from above. Their assailants moved with swift purpose, a mixture of Venatori warriors and armed Orlesians who frankly could have been working for anyone. The combination, however, showed beyond words or any other evidence the nature of the alliance that the Inquisition was here to find, and Dorian called out, "Keep one for questioning!" even as the battle began.

Sera and Varric quickly fell back to deal with the attackers above while the rest of them launched an assault on those below. Vivienne and Solas launched into the fray with all manner of offensive spells alongside the trio of warriors, so Dorian moved to a position which allowed him to put his back to the wall as he directed his own magic towards protection and wards. The number of enemies swarming over them demanded the whole of their attention, leaving no chance to focus anywhere but the battle itself.

Thus Dorian only had a moment of warning, a flicker of movement seen in the corner of one eye, before a figure emerged from the shadows and clapped a hand over Dorian's mouth. With a surge of strength, his unexpected attacker hauled Dorian back and through the door leading to an enclosed garden in a burst of black, inky shadow. Just as Dorian realized where they were, his captor kicked the door closed so hard that the bar fell into place, cutting off those outside before they realized that Dorian had been separated from them.

Struggling proved useless, and Dorian found himself jerked bodily around until he was shoved back into the nearest wall so hard that the breath whooshed out of his lungs. As the world swam around him and Dorian struggled for air, his assailant collected his wrists in one hand and slammed them to the wall above Dorian's head. In the next moment, Dorian felt the cool touch of metal against one cheek, and he froze as an odd, eerie lethargy swept over his body, holding him in place with all the power of a paralysis spell.

"No magic for you," the man grated, a growl that barely sounded human. Dorian stared at him, bereft of magic and mobility both, and felt true fear for the first time since the ball had started. The man's mask rendered his assailant into a nameless, faceless monster with eyes hidden in the depths of the shadows, leaving Dorian wondering just who this man served. As the dagger tapped his cheek, Dorian realized that the metal felt the same as the arrow which had earlier missed him and found its mark in his father.

The assassin had returned, it seemed. Corypheus had been more subtle than he'd anticipated.

Mouth suddenly dry, Dorian swallowed harshly. Whatever spell had been worked into that metal, it had an even stronger effect than magebane simply by proximity. He dared not think of what would happen if it actually pierced his skin. As it was, no matter how hard to reached for his magic, it was like trying to grab sand-it kept slipping through his fingers. His breath shifted into short pants despite his efforts to hide his fear, squeezing his eyes shut as the dagger slowly traced the line down his neck, along his shoulder, and then up his arm. When he felt it settle in the center of his left forearm, his eyes suddenly opened wide. "No," he whispered.

"He only needs the mark," the man growled in that savage tone, even as he shifted the dagger to hold it ready. "He doesn't need you."

Heart racing, Dorian tried to struggle, to fight back, but the effort proved futile. There was nothing he could do but brace himself as best as he could and hope help would arrive in time.

He felt the tension in his assailant's body, felt the grip of the hand restraining his wrists grow tighter and tighter with each passing second as the dagger trembled against his skin. Yet, despite the man's stated intent, nothing actually happened . The shaking in the man's body grew more pronounced with each passing moment, until Dorian felt it throughout his whole being. Finally the man groaned and jerked the dagger away, releasing Dorian as he staggered back a step. In the next moment, he leaned over to gasp for breath as if he'd just run across the whole of the Hinterlands with a pack of Great Bears on his tail. "I-I can't. Not again," he gasped in a far more normal tone, then glanced up at Dorian. "I can't hurt you."

That voice. Dorian paused in the midst of unleashing a magical retort, eyes wide. That's impossible.

In his moment of hesitation, the man reached up and tore the mask from his face. The hair beneath glowed a shocking pale blond even in the dim light, and his cheeks and chin bore no sign of facial hair, but the instant their eyes met, Dorian knew who it was. The eyes could not lie.

"Hawke," he breathed.

Without another word, Hawke surged forward, pinning Dorian again to the wall. His dagger clattered to the ground as he cupped Dorian's face, claiming a kiss from Dorian which also stole the air from his lungs. Then he pulled back, staring into Dorian's eyes with a sorrow on his face that Dorian knew would haunt his dreams. "I-I can't explain. There's no time. Zevran will be here soon."

Quickly stifling the urge to barrage the man with questions, Dorian nodded. "Surely we can get you away from-"

"No," Hawke said firmly. "They still have Alistair. I won't leave him alone in their clutches, and it's my fault they have him at all. I can't break my promise to him, Dorian. I've broken too many promises already." His thumbs caressed Dorian's cheeks as he stole another searing kiss, then pressed their foreheads together. "Promise me you won't forget me."

Dorian sagged a bit. "Hawke, I-"

"Promise," Hawke whispered. "I don't know how long I'll be me. The spell always comes back."

It sounded so...final. Dorian heard the resignation in Hawke's voice, but also a determination that he knew could shake the world. Even as he opened his mouth to answer, however, something about what Hawke said broke through with extra emphasis: I can't break my promise to him.

And suddenly the realization hit him: this was the man of his dreams.

"Wait a moment," Dorian pleaded, twining his fingers in hair which should never have been blond. He tuned out Hawke's warning about Zevran to focus his attention solely on the spell, confirming that it was, indeed, the spell he'd cracked before. He saw the damage Hawke had done to it, widening that crack bit by bit with the sheer power of his will, but also saw that it wasn't enough. Of course, when Dorian had created the weakness for Hawke to exploit, he'd been heavily restricted in the amount of power at his disposal.

That was no longer true.

And, more importantly, he would not let Amell twist this man into what he wanted. The very thought of it made Dorian's blood boil.

The power rose with a burst of green light, surging through Hawke with enough strength to make the man gasp. Dorian's aim wasn't simply to destroy it, however-that would invite Amell's scrutiny, which Hawke could not afford. Exposure to magical duels in the Imperium and long nights of theoretical discussion with Alexius gave Dorian enough knowledge to leave the shell intact, visibly whole, but change the warp and woof of the weaving within the enchantment sufficiently that Hawke would remain himself. Manipulation of blood magic was a challenge, but not an impossibility.

Only when it was done did he realize just how much magic had been necessary to change the spell rather than simply abolish it, and he again marveled and cursed Amell's power and skill. The effort left him weak, and he abruptly realized that if he had misplaced his trust in Hawke, he had just guaranteed his own demise. As he started to crumple to the ground, Hawke caught him in his arms and pulled him close, holding him there as he stared into Dorian's face. "What did you do?" he whispered.

"I gave you you," Dorian murmured. "With a bit of making sure Amell won't notice."

Hawke's eyes widened. "But-"

"Ah ah, no time for questions, remember?" Dorian asked, then feebly reached up to grip the man's Orlesian tunic, realizing only in that moment that this was the 'Orlesian noble' his father had suspected of being an agent for Corypheus. "You'll have to pretend, to be careful."

"I can do that," Hawke said. "Long enough to free Alistair, at any rate."

Dorian shook his head slightly. "Promise me you'll free yourself."

Hawke smiled slightly. "I'm not that important." When Dorian opened his mouth to object, he pressed a finger to Dorian's lips. "Inquisitor, I-thank you. I will do what must be done with this gift."

Dorian smiled. "I know, Champion."

A sad smile came to Hawke's face. "I don't go by that title much anymore." He pressed close for another lingering kiss, savoring Dorian's lips as if he were a starving man. When their lips parted, he gently laid Dorian on the ground and stroked his cheek.

It was only when Hawke pressed the glowing dagger to Dorian's throat that Dorian's smile faltered. "I'm sorry, Dorian," Hawke whispered. "But he cannot know the truth."

As the lethargy and magical block once more swept over him again, Dorian saw Hawke twirl the dagger high, then slam it down and to the side before Dorian could even react. He felt the metal and its spell pressing along his side, but felt no pain. "What-?" he gasped, confused.

Abruptly a door opened on the side of the room opposite to the gate through which they'd entered, and he heard a voice he now knew from their shared dreams. "What is taking you so long?" Zevran hissed.

"He put up more of a fight than I thought he could manage," Hawke sneered, then settled his hands around Dorian's neck, going through the motions of choking Dorian.

Zevran cursed softly in Antivan. "If you'd done your job properly the first time… Never mind. Did you get the hand?"

Dorian closed his eyes as the world started to swim around him, making the appropriate choking noises as Hawke's fingers pulsed around his neck without really tightening to the point of true suffocation, hoping that Hawke simply acted for Zevran's benefit. It was either trust him, or die.

Hawke laughed. "I was just about to. After I had a little fun."

"There's no time for that," Zevran snapped. "Their Spymaster whore and that Commander are on my tail. Just kill him and be done with it. We have to leave now."

Cullen? Dorian felt hope bloom inside.

Hawke chuckled, the sound dark and sinister. "Whatever you say." Removing his hands from Dorian's neck, he leaned down to take what would look like a demanding kiss to anyone else, but which gave Hawke the opportunity to whisper "I'm sorry" against Dorian's lips.

Before Dorian could even process the apology, agony bloomed in his side. Jerking his head to look along his body, he saw Hawke's white-knuckled grip on a dagger rising from Dorian's torso, then looked up in confusion at Hawke. As he struggled to breathe, each gasp a searing torment, he stared as Hawke released the dagger, leaving it in place, and calmly placed his fingers on Dorian's neck as if checking for a pulse.

As if through a blanket, Dorian heard Zevran grunt in satisfaction. "Meet us at the rendezvous point after you're sure he's dead. I'll go try to lead his friends away from here and buy you some more time. Don't forget to bring the hand." As the world started to dim, Zevran's footsteps faded into the distance.

Hawke abruptly reached out to cradle Dorian's head, then leaned down so that their eyes met. "I've done what I can," Hawke said in a hoarse voice. "And more than I can ever forgive. The rest is up to you."

Dorian tried to make some sort of sense from that, but in the end the world was fading too quickly in a way which bespoke to him of alchemical aid. He kept his gaze locked with Hawke's even as the lights dimmed, finding nothing but regret and pain, and tried to forgive him.

Finally even Hawke disappeared, leaving him floating alone in the dark void.