The sound of the horn announcing his return to Skyhold made Dorian straighten in his saddle with a start. "Blast, I always forget about that deuced noise," he muttered under his breath. For some reason it seemed even more annoying at that moment, but that may have been the ridiculous hour more than anything. He and his small band of stalwarts had spent the night before in the camp nestled in the foothills below Skyhold, but that still meant at least an hour or two in the saddle before reaching Skyhold proper after awakening. "What fool insisted on returning to Skyhold so early?"

"That would be you, boss," Bull said with a deadpan expression. "The same fool who insisted on riding to Val Royeaux on a hunch that Blackwall was going to get himself in trouble. I mean, you were right, just not in the way you thought you'd be."

Dorian shot him a dark look. "Hush, you beast," he snarled. "I'd rather believe it was the messenger that ran through the camp far too early for the sake of my delicate nerves. I couldn't go to sleep after that."

"Considering the messenger ran through only a few minutes before we were supposed to wake up, I don't think that was as much of an imposition as you're implying, Sparkler," Varric pointed out.

Electing to ignore the dwarf's remark, Dorian squinted ahead of them as Skyhold emerged from the mist of the early morning. If he tried, he could make out the sun's position to the east, but the mists had shrouded their mornings almost every day since leaving Val Royeaux. "How in Thedas name did they know we were coming?" he asked irritably as the horn sounded once more. "They can't possibly see us through this wretched fog, can they?"

"The messenger may have told them of our imminent arrival," Cassandra suggested from the rear of the group. "Or it is simply the changing of the patrols. Sometimes they use the horn as a signal when the sun is obscured." She'd been subdued ever since they'd left the Orlesian capital, for which Dorian couldn't blame her. She and Blackwa-Thom had been shield comrades for months now. One did not simply wave that aside, but the revelations of his deeds and the lies to cover them had hit her hard. Even the detour to take down a rather impressive looking dragon in the Exalted Plains on the way back had only lifted her spirits temporarily.

Dorian absently patted a spot on his side of a now-healed burn at the thought of that partciular battle, wondering how long it would be until they found the next dragon. Of course, he was perfectly willing to hope the day would never come, despite Bull's enthusiasm during each draconian encounter. Still, Cassandra's practical suggestion made him perk up a bit. "Ah. That makes rather more sense. Perhaps that means I can make a quiet entrance for once, hmm?"

Bull laughed. "Maybe, but why would you want to—"

When the man stopped talking, Dorian gave him a quizzical glance, then followed the man's keen-eyed gaze to the ramparts. Above, a head of ragged blond hair could be seen for a moment before Sera ducked out of sight. Dorian gave a sigh. "Ah. Yes, she would be wanting to know who came back with me, wouldn't she?"

"Want me to go talk to her, boss?" Bull asked in a low tone.

"No, I'll do it," Dorian said with a sigh. "I owe her that. Besides, hopefully we'll be able to get Blackwall—ah, Thom—back to Skyhold in one piece without too much trouble. Still, I know she was hoping he'd come back with us."

"Yeah, well, the guards were pretty adamant about keeping him in prison," Bull reminded Dorian.

"Yes. I might need to have Josephine call in a few favors," Dorian said sourly as he drew his horse to a halt and dismounted. "Hopefully it won't cost us too dearly in terms of reputation."

"Or have Red call in a few agents." Bull gave a little shrug. "Either would work, but at least she'd keep it on the down-low."

Dorian laughed. "Your preferred method as a spy, I take it?"

"Always, Vint," Bull shot back with a grin, then nudged Dorian. "Better go find Sera."

"I will. Take the horses back to Dennet, would you?" Turning to the others, he continued, "Cassandra, would you please let Josephine know I'd appreciate a meeting with her in an hour or so?"

"As you wish, Inquisitor." As Cassandra walked up the stairs and Bull grabbed the reins of the horses, Dorian looked down at Varric and gestured the dwarf close. "Go find Warden Loghain or Alistair and tell them I need to speak with them after lunch," he said in a low voice. "I'd like the opinion of a Grey Warden when it comes to deciding the fate of a pretender."

"Clever, Sparkler," Varric said with a grunt. "Where do you want to meet them?"

Dorian pursed his lips in thought. "In the Chapel, when the fountain is fully in sunlight."

"Got it. I'll let whoever I find first know." He rolled his eyes. "If Alistair is still dragging Leliana off to privacy every time he sees her, it will probably be Loghain."

"That's fine," Dorian said with a chuckle. "I wouldn't want to deprive Alistair, after all."

"Or the Spymaster," Varric said. "The maids like to gossip, and those two are a hot topic right now, or at least they were before we left. Apparently Alistair has a very clever tongue when it comes to—"

"That's enough," Dorian said hastily. "That's more than enough, thank you. There are quite a few things about that entire situation that I do not need to know."

Varric smirked as he adjusted Bianca. "And here I thought you liked reading my books."

"That's Cassandra," Dorian huffed, trying very hard to ignore the fact that he'd readily devoured Varric's books in the library back in the days when Mailani had still been Inquisitor. "Look, just go find a Grey Warden, all right? I need to talk to Sera." And with that, he fled from Varric's knowing smile.

An hour later saw Dorian ensconced in a chair in front of the fire in Josephine's office, nursing a glass of water chilled with snow as Josephine set a thick bundle of letters on the table between them. "Your escapades at the Winter Palace attracted a great deal of attention from the Orlesian elite, Inquisitor," Josephine told him in crisp tones. "Now we have to figure out precisely how to use that to the Inquisition's advantage."

Dorian sighed as he evaluated the sheer amount of work represented in that pile of paper. "I suppose I did bring this on myself," he muttered. "I should have done this after I got back from the fight with Amell. Instead I barely had time to put a dent in my bed before gallivanting off after Blackwall." Not that Cullen and I didn't make a decent try at it, of course… "So, where shall we begin?"

Josephine gave him a brilliant smile and picked up the top letter from the pile to present to him. "With the Lady Mantillon. You made quite the impression on her, if you recall."

"Oh, sweet Maker. She doesn't ask me to—" His voice trailed away as he read the letter, and he sighed heavily. "Well, of course she did."

"I presume you will decline the offer to be her tenth husband, but I've already drawn up a few alternatives which could give us a valuable alliance to one so highly placed in the Orlesian Court," Josephine said, then pressed her quill to her ledger as she read them off one by one.

The morning and early afternoon passed in stretches of tedium interrupted by genuinely interesting tangles of diplomacy through which they navigated with meticulous care. He even made a mental note of which nobles might prove to be the most amenable if they needed to call in those favors to free Blackwa—Thom. By the time they reached the bottom of the pile of correspondence, the quick breakfast he'd eaten upon waking in the camp had long disappeared, and Dorian realized that his stomach had entered intimate relations with his backbone. SItting back in his chair with a sigh, Dorian rubbed his midsection. "I could eat a bronto. Remind me never to interfere in Orlesian politics again. Are we certain we had to stop Corypheus' plan there?"

"Ah…yes, Inquisitor," Josephine said, lips twitching.

"Then I daresay this is only the first wave of letters we'll receive, in that case." He sighed. "Alas."

"There is…one more letter of note, Inquisitor," Josephine ventured.

When Josephine tugged it from her ledger and presented it to him, Dorian immediately understood why she'd waited. "The Imperial Seal, hmm? What does Celene have to say?" Taking the letter with some care, his eyes quickly scanned the relatively short missive with a frown. "She wants to send Florianne here for judgement?" he asked, surprised. "She was so eager to dispense justice to Gaspard, I assumed the same fate would await Florianne at Celene's hands."

"As a servant of Corypheus, Celene decided to place her cousin's fate into the hands of the Inquisition," Josephine told him. "There may be more to it than that, however."

Dorian raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Briala sent a more subtle note through other channels," Josephine said, "suggesting that we should use a traitor to trace a conspiracy."

"Ah, I see." Steepling his fingers, Dorian pondered that for a moment. "I had a rather more amusing fate for her in mind, but Briala's idea does have some merit. In a nation where the Game is almost as deadly as the one I grew up with, it's absurd to think there are not other Orlesians out there tempted by the promises of Corypheus."

Inclining her head in agreement, Josephine said, "Which is why the matter of her fate requires careful consideration."

"It does." Dorian tapped his fingers together for another moment, then said, "Have a harlequin outfit made for her. I'll show her the stick first, then offer the carrot."

"A…harlequin outfit, Inquisitor?" Josephine asked, trying and failing to hide her surprise at the suggestion.

"Nobles hate to be the jest of the nation," Dorian noted. "It's practically a fate worse than death. If we threaten her with the possibility of japing about as a fool in front of the Inquisition for the remainder of her life and then offer her an alternative, we might come out of this with a clever agent on our hands. Servis has more than proven his worth, after all."

"It is risky, but it may work," Josephine said slowly. "I'll have a word with the quartermaster, then."

"Make it as ugly as possible," Dorian suggested. "In fact, have Morris design it, and encourage him to use plaideweave, too. I still remember the monstrosities he wanted us to wear to the Winter Palace. I'm sure he can inadvertently come up with something equally terrible as a threat to our dear Lady Florianne."

Josephine did her best not to laugh, managing to contain her reaction to a single chortle. "Ah, yes, Inquisitor. I shall bear that in mind."

With a chuckle of his own, Dorian pushed himself to his feet. "Now then, I think we are both famished. Any further pressing business?" When Josephine shook her head, Dorian said, "In that case, I bid you farewell until our next meeting." After a courtly bow, Dorian swept from the room, hoping that a good solid meal would rescue his backbone from the hunger demon in his stomach.

An hour later saw the demon vanquished and Dorian on his way to the garden to meet with whichever Warden Varric had managed to locate. He was unsurprised to see the black hair of Loghain gleaming in the bright sunlight of the noonday sun. What did surprise him was the man's conversational partner. Dorian's steps automatically slowed as he saw Loghain standing at Morrigan's side as they both overlooked the garden. Not wishing to disturb them, Dorian came to a halt and waited patiently.

Loghain's expression remained neutral as he surveyed the garden. "I did not expect to meet you here."

"Nor I you," Morrigan said, seeming content with the brief answer.

"You are doing well, I trust," Loghain murmured in a way that made Dorian feel despair. Surely the man could do small talk better than that?

"I am quite able to attend to my own affairs, Warden Loghain," Morrigan said.

Loghain glanced at her, gaze oddly hooded, then turned towards the garden again. For the first time Dorian saw that they both appeared to be looking at a young boy sitting on a bench, absorbed in the book on his lap. "That is the child?" Loghain asked in a somber voice.

"He knows nothing," Morrigan said, and Dorian frowned, wondering at the seeming non sequitur even as Morrigan added, "Of you, or any of it."

Suddenly aware he was hearing a conversation he had no right to witness, Dorian quickly looked about for a quick exit, even as Loghain asked, "And when will you tell him?"

"He is an innocent," Morrigan said, in a tone which clearly meant, Never.

A sad smile came to Loghain's face. "As we all were, once."

Morrigan's tone softened, albeit not by much. "He is happy, and he's never questioned the matter," she told Loghain quietly. "I want what is best for him."

"As do I." Loghain inhaled deeply, then let out his breath in a sigh. "I am glad to have seen him," he told Morrigan. "You have my thanks. Should you ever have need…"

"I will keep that in mind," Morrigan said stiffly, then strode towards her son without another word. As she sat down on the bench next to him, Loghain half-turned towards Dorian, staring straight at him even as Dorian froze in the act of inching slowly away.

"I would appreciate it if you would keep that conversation to yourself, Inquisitor," Loghain said, the amusement on his face making it clear he was aware of Dorian's not-so-subtle escape attempt. "There are some things better left out of widespread knowledge."

Straightening in place, Dorian nodded quickly. "What conversation, Warden? I heard nothing save the birds and the bees. They're quite loud here, you know."

A faint smile curved Loghain's lips for a moment, then fled as he turned to look at Morrigan and her son one last time. Then he grunted and pivoted on his heel, heading towards the Chapel. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Ah, yes." Dorian hastened his steps so that he could fall into place next to Loghain, matching the man stride for stride. "You are aware that Warden Blackwall served with the Inquisition?"

"I was, yes, though for some reason the man made himself scarce once Alistair and I arrived," Loghain said in a voice far too bland to be innocent. "I take it you found him."

"I did." Dorian's eyes narrowed, holding his question until they'd passed into the Chapel and away from the possible listeners on the benches lining the garden. "I take it you hold opinions on the man."

"He's an excellent fighter based on what I saw at Adamant," Loghain said, expression as neutral as his voice. "Do you need a more professional opinion?"

After a long moment of scrutiny, Dorian let himself chuckle softly. "Remind me never to play Wicked Grace with you when money's on the line, Warden. You knew, didn't you? That Blackwall was no Grey Warden."

"There was a Warden Blackwall, a highly respected man from all reports," Loghain said, keeping his volume low. "But the man who used that name at Adamant? No. He was no Warden."

Crossing his arms over his chest, Dorian said, "I wondered if that were the case. I take it that this is a common Warden ability? To know other Wardens when you meet them?"

"To an extent, yes. We can all sense darkspawn to varying degrees, and that extends to being able to sense Grey Wardens. It's not as clear or as obvious, but standing as close as you and I, or as close as Alistair and I were to Blackwall during the battle at Adamant, then yes. We knew. Alistair told me of his suspicions, and I confirmed it."

"You didn't tell me," Dorian observed. "Why is that?"

"For one, we were a little busy at the time trying to prevent an army of demons from coming into the world," Loghain reminded him. "And after that was taken resolved, I decided it was best not to pursue the matter. The Wardens don't have the best reputation in Orlais at the moment."

Dorian sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "Yes, well, my predecessor tried to use Blackwall's status as a Warden to invoke the Grey Warden treaties as leverage for acquiring support. Blackwall being a fake Warden could prove somewhat of an embarrassment."

Loghain snorted. "That may have been foolish, but it's not a lie to claim you count the Grey Wardens among your allies. I'm here. Alistair is here. You have the remnants of the Orlesian chapter working on the Inquisition's behalf. I don't know enough about the Game in Orlais to tell you there's no concern, but I will say you should feel free to invoke my name if any questions arise." His smile turned a shade bitter. "After all, my entry into the ranks of the Grey Wardens is a matter of song. Amell saw to that to ensure no one could use my name against him or my daughter."

Knowing that the ballad of which Loghain spoke was more an excoriation of Loghain's character than anything else, Dorian winced. "Thank you, Warden Loghain. However, I also wished to consult with you on the matter of his fate."

Loghain crossed his arms as he met Dorian's gaze. "You want my opinion?"

"I dislike the idea of leaving a member of the Inquisition to hang at the hands of the Orlesians," Dorian admitted. "It's not a good look, for one, but also, the man has tried to redeem himself, and the Inquisition has become a home for several people looking for a second chance, myself included. It seems a bit hypocritical to simply abandon him." When Loghain's expression remained impassive, Dorian said, "However, I do want your advice on what to do once he's returned. He can't go back to being Warden Blackwall, after all, but we can't ignore the fact he wore a Grey Warden's title for months here."

"I will ponder the matter, Inquisitor," Loghain said. "I'd prefer to speak with the man myself before making any recommendation."

"Of course," Dorian said. "I understand completely, Warden Loghain. I'll arrange a meeting between the two of you upon his return to Skyhold."

A faint smile came to Loghain's face. "You're that confident that the Inquisition will be able to get him out of Val Royeaux?"

"Absolutely," Dorian said immediately. "Isn't a commander supposed to trust his troops?"

Loghain's gaze grew distant for a moment as his brows drew together. "As much as they're supposed to trust their commander. Pray you never betray their trust, Inquisitor." His eyes suddenly focused on Dorian, a subtle pain buried deep within them. "It is not a mistake easily remedied."

"I'll keep that in mind," Dorian said softly.

"You do that." Loghain suddenly straightened, his expression turning neutral once more. "Is that all you needed me for, Inquisitor? I was going to meet with Leliana to review some coded messages that are likely from Nathaniel."

"That is all, Warden. Thank you." As Loghain left the Chapel, Dorian took a deep breath, trying to chase away the odd tension of the conversation. Deciding that he'd done as much to plan for Blackwa-Thom's fate as he could manage, he strode back into the garden, pausing only a moment to take a deep breath of the delicately scented air before he turned his gaze towards his next destination. He'd managed to avoid it during his last, abbreviated stay at Skyhold before haring off to Val Royeaux, but he knew that he could no longer ignore the matter. With a heavy sigh, Dorian set his feet on a circuitous path that eventually led him to the place where he knew, deep down, he needed to go, despite an ardent desire to avoid it entirely: the suites of the guests from the Tevinter Imperium.

For a long moment, Dorian paused in front of the door leading to his father's guest quarters, raising his hand once or twice to knock before letting it fall without touching the door. Eventually, with a shake of his head, he headed to the suite next to it and knocked briskly. Hopefully, Maevaris was available to talk.

Perhaps, even, to give him some answers.

Dorian gingerly opened up the box on the table in Mae's room, scowling at the glowing dagger within. Just looking at it filled him with a sense of discomfort and made his left hand itch. Absently scratching his flickering palm, he glanced at Mae and asked, "So we still don't know how to reverse the effects?"

"Not yet, no." With a little sigh of frustration, she settled back in her chair. "I'm sorry. It uses a different method than what the Southern Templars use to quell magical ability. From what I've gleaned in my conversations with Ser Barris, they sever the mage's link to the Fade completely, which renders them unable to use magic. This spell doesn't do that, it just…renders them incapable of rousing their will."

Dorian's frown deepened. "Blood magic."

"That would be my conclusion, yes. Especially given what you've told me about Amell," she mused as she swirled wine absently in her glass. "Unfortunately, Amell made the spell both ambient and persistent. Based on my analysis, the dagger was immersed in blood as part of the enchantment process. That not only enhances the power of the spell immensely, but also makes it incredibly difficult to scan since that requires magic."

"Which the spell would then suppress. Wonderful." Dorian grumped as he shut the box, then moved to sit in the chair next to Mae. "I don't suppose you have any more wine?"

She laughed and gave him her own glass. "As if you have to ask," she teased him.

"With you? No, I suppose not," he said with a faint smile, though his mirth quickly faded. "Has Father shown any signs of improvement while I've been gone?"

Mae shook her head. "No. He's as intelligent as ever, but simply lacks interest in anything magical. Every once in a while, he'll stop and close his eyes, and I wonder if maybe he's found a chink in the spell, but…" She shook her head. "He's still…the way he was when we left the Winter Palace."

Dorian regarded the wine in the glass for a few moments, then drained half of it in one swallow. "In all my anger against him, I never would have wished this upon him," he murmured. "And I was angry."

"I know." Mae smiled sadly. "I only wish your father could have been as accepting of you as mine was of me."

"Your father was a saint. Too much of one to successfully survive Imperium politics, as it turned out," Dorian mused.

"Thankfully, I'm anything but," Mae said with dark humor. "As several members of the Magisterium have learned by now-or would have learned, if they still lived."

That made Dorian smile. "Put your claws away, Mae," he told her with a wink.

"Yes, ser," she replied mockingly, then stood and walked to the sideboard to fetch the carafe of wine and another glass for herself. As she sat down again, she said, "Speaking of unpleasant subjects…"

"Were we?"

"We were." Setting her glass down, she poured wine into her glass before continuing. "While you were in Val Royeaux, Felix tried to open that door in the garden you asked me to ward."

Dorian cursed softly. "Damn. I admit I was hoping he was just curious that one time."

"Are you sure Amell has access to an eluvian of his own?"

"As sure as I can be of anything," Dorian mused, though he hadn't actually discussed his visions through Hawke's eyes with Mae yet. "It's the only logical way to explain how he moves around so quickly, based on what we've been able to piece together from his known whereabouts. Besides, based on Alistair's description of how Amell pulled him and Hawke out of the Fade and the large mirror in Amell's lair, I don't have any other explanation than an eluvian."

Mae nodded thoughtfully. "True. Still, I wonder which ones he's connecting to. Could he come through ours?"

"Morrigan seems to think she's stopped him from being able to," Dorian said. "And since she and her son are still here, I would assume she's telling the truth."

Mae raised an eyebrow at that. "I take it there's a history there?"

"You might say that," Dorian murmured. "She traveled with him during the Blight."

"Ah." Mae wrinkled her nose. "That would explain it. For all that the Queen of Ferelden hired some damn good bards to write about how heroic he was, I've heard enough while here to know the truth." A line of worry settled between her brows as she asked, "What are we going to do about Felix? If Amell's meddled with him as we fear…"

Heart heavy, Dorian bowed his head. "We watch him. I don't want to tip our hand, because I'm fairly certain that if Amell knows we suspect a link between him and Felix, he'll send in another, unknown agent. As long as Leliana can keep tabs on Felix and you use magical surveillance to fill in any gaps, we should be safe. Or as safe as we can be in a world with Amell in it." A wave of melancholy washed over him suddenly, and he drained his glass. "I just wish it were anyone but Felix."

"I know," Mae said sympathetically. "No one ever likes to suspect a friend."

"It's more than that, as well. I told you of how Amell escaped from us at the Shrine," Dorian reminded her. "It means that at one point or another, Amell had both father and son in his grasp. Is Felix aware of what he's doing and trying to save his father?"

"That would certainly match up to Amell's way of doing things," Mae mused. "It's practically Tevinter of him."

Dorian chuckled, but it was more macabre than anything. "Given recent revelations, that honestly is not so unexpected."

Mae quieted, staring into her wine for a long moment. "Do you really think it possible?" she murmured, finally looking up at him. "That we're facing not just one of the Magisters Sidereal, but two?"

"It's fairly difficult to think of what else we can conclude after everything we've learned," Dorian said soberly. Far too soberly, at that. Leaning forward, he poured himself some more wine. "I've tried to interpret what we know in other ways, but I only circle around and arrive at the notion that he went with Corypheus to the Fade a millennia ago. That narrows it down rather significantly, don't you think?"

"It does. The implications are rather unpleasant, though." She turned to look out the window of her suite for a moment. "And uncomfortable for the Imperium. We were sent here to help you because some within the Magisterium decided that we couldn't simply let it look like we stepped aside and let one of our ancient evils try to take over the world. And now, there are two of those evils."

"Ah, but the world thus far is only aware of one," Dorian reminded her. "A good thing for the Imperium, at least, or everyone would be looking for Magisters Sidereal in their cupboards and under their beds. Who knows? Maybe that's where we'll find more of them."

Mae snorted. "You're in an odd mood. Is it because you had to go to Val Royeaux?"

Wrinkling his nose, Dorian said, "Don't remind me. I had so very many invitations to so many parties, and instead I went only to watch one of my companions admit to a dreadful crime. At least, dreadful by Southern standards. It's so easy to remember that they've never seen a typical mage duel on the streets of Minrathous."

"Best not to talk too much about that," she agreed. "I take it you intend to bring him back into the fold?"

"Oh, certainly. Blackwall—pardon me, Thom—may be a bit rough around the edges, but he's our rough around the edges barbarian warrior." Dorian smiled faintly. "Besides, I think I'm going to put him in Loghain's purview. If anyone can help a man understand that you can indeed have a second chance, it's him. Once this is over, I daresay Thom will make as good a Grey Warden as the man he pretended to be."

"And in the meantime, you still have your warrior when you need him," Mae observed.

"Indubitably. Whatever I might think of his fashion sense and hygiene, the man is a rock in a hard fight." The mild insults held little weight, however. He and Thom had had quite the heart-to-heart discussion in that jail in Val Royeaux, and though they might not be the closest of friends, Dorian liked to think they had a much better measure of each other now.

As he lifted his glass to his lips for another drink, however, Mae spoke again. "I noticed that your boyfriend didn't return with you."

The poor table really didn't deserve to have wine sprayed all over it, but Dorian couldn't help it, or the glare he sent to Mae as she laughed at his reaction. "My what?"

"Oh, Dorian," she said with a shake of her head. "Do you really think no one knows?"

"Well…" Dorian's voice faltered. "No, I just—You aren't—" He sniffed, then rose to his feet to hunt for a towel. "It's hardly good form to tease a man about it, that's all."

"Tish tosh," she replied. "But you still haven't answered the question. Where is the handsome lad?"

"Oh, he's a lad now," Dorian said sarcastically. Picking up the washcloth intended to be used for cleaning the carafes after pouring, he took it to the table and wiped the wine away. "What happened to 'Commander of the Inquisition forces' or something equally accurate?"

Mae grinned as she swirled her wine in her glass. "Unless you want me to start describing him by the curvature and perfection of his ass, then—"

"Yes, yes, yes," Dorian interrupted hastily, then cleared his throat. "Ah, that is, he had to go on some sort of tour of the Keeps. Inspection of the fortifications or some such." In truth, it was a cover for Leliana to send some trusted agents with Cullen to sweep the various Inquisition forts for Amell's agents, but an inspection seemed to be more official and hopefully wouldn't alert Amell as to their true intent. "At any rate, yes, he's due back any time now. Minx."

"Good." Mae smiled and waited for Dorian to sit down again, then patted his arm. "You can allow yourself to be happy, you know," she said gently. "You know how much I adored Thorold. I firmly believe that even a Magister can find love."

Dorian stilled for a long moment. The word resonated with him, even if he'd never allowed himself to apply the word to his own life. But…it was a little like Varric's books, wasn't it? To yearn for someone so much that it felt as if there wasn't enough light in the world when they were gone?

Shaking himself slightly, Dorian gave Mae a warm smile. "There's quite a lot I need to fix before I can really hope for happiness. A couple of ancient Magisters come to mind, for example."

Her hand tightened around his arm. "Don't do what I did, Dorian," she said softly. "Don't be so wrapped up in doing what the world tells you to do that you neglect to enjoy what you have. I often wish I'd allowed myself to spend more time with Thorold, and now, I'll never see him in the waking world again. Promise me."

"I promise," he said quietly, putting his hand on hers and squeezing in return. "As best as I can, I promise."

"Good." She sniffed and pulled back to sit in her chair and stare out the window at the dimming light. "I…I think I want to be alone for a little while, if you don't mind."

"Of course, Mae," Dorian said instantly. He stood and leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek, then quietly left the room.

As he walked away from Mae's suite, Dorian paused next to the door leading to the neighboring suite. There was only so long he could reasonably put it off and still justify it to himself, after all. Finally he took a deep breath and rapped on the door, part of him hoping there would be no answer.

After a moment, the door opened to reveal his father. No emotion showed on the man's face as he saw Dorian standing at his door, not surprise or pleasure or irritation—any of which, by rights, should have been evident. Instead, his father simply blinked slowly. "Dorian."

"Father." After a moment of the awkward exchange hanging between them, Dorian cleared his throat and added, "May I come in?"

"Yes, you may." His father stepped back and out of the way, allowing Dorian to enter.

As Dorian moved inside, his eyes roved over the room, not sure what he was searching for but compelled to look nonetheless. What he saw proved to be none too comforting. Unlike Mae's room, with touches of her personality here or there in a discarded shoe or some carelessly dropped jewelry, his father's room was in absolutely perfect order, with not even a hint a person actually occupied it aside from his father's presence by the door.

At least, until his eyes fell upon the desk. There, he saw an open journal with a quill resting next to it, the first sign of something personal within the room he'd found. Whether or not that was a sign of hope depended on what was within it.

Realizing that he hadn't actually spoken yet, Dorian quickly looked at his father and offered a smile. "You look well."

"I am fully recovered from my injury at the Winter Palace, yes," Halward said as he closed the door. "On occasion the nights get cold, but there are sufficient blankets to keep me warm."

"It does get a bit crisp at night," Dorian agreed with a chuckle. After a few moments of mounting curiosity, he pointed to the desk. "Is this what you've been working on?"

Halward nodded, moving to the desk to retrieve the journal. "It was a suggestion from Magister Tilani. I have been writing observations and other things inside of it, including accounts of how matters stand within the Imperium. It is astonishing how clear my thoughts have become on the matter in recent days."

For a moment Dorian stared at him. Does he not realize what has changed? "May I see it, or is it private? I would be curious to see your thoughts on the Imperium, after all."

"Of course." Holding out the journal, Halward said, "If you have any questions, you have only to ask."

But he's not really volunteering a discussion, Dorian noted as he took the book and flipped it open. His eyes scanned the page, noting in the words a peculiar lack of emotion. I think , and never I feel. Fact after fact filled the page, without any condemnations, approvals, or hopes listed within them.

His heart grew heavier as he moved through the dry recitations, quickly realizing that he likely would not find any indication of what he sought in this journal. As he picked up one last page to turn, he noted that the corner was turned down, unlike the others, and when he flipped it, his eyes widened.

No words filled this page. Instead, elegant lines and delicate curves of ink sketched out the portrait of a woman he instantly recognized as his mother. Though not the work of a professional, he could practically feel his mother's personality leap off the page.

"Did you draw this?" he asked Halward, looking up sharply as he turned the book around to show what he meant.

For a moment, his father hesitated in answering, and reached up to rub at his temple. "I...I must have," he said slowly. "No one else has written on those pages, after all. How odd, I do not...I do not remember doing such a thing."

The hairs on Dorian's neck suddenly stood up, an atavistic reaction to the breath of magic which suddenly filled the air. Quickly he stepped forward, taking Halward's hand to press against the picture. "You do know who this is, don't you?"

"Of course. Aquinea Thalrassion." His fingers curled slightly on the page as he stared at the page.

"Your wife," Dorian said when Halward didn't continue.

"My wife," Halward said softly. "And your mother. That...that is important, yes. I remember I held you the day you were born and I wondered if I would be a better father for you than my own had been for me." He looked up at Dorian. "What a peculiar matter to contemplate."

When Halward's gaze left the image of his mother, the hint of magic dissipated, so Dorian lifted it to force his father's gaze downward once more. "Are you sure you don't remember drawing this?" he asked intently.

His father stared at the picture for a long moment, and abruptly his finger twitched and followed the line of Aquinea's cheek. "She was a strong woman," Halward said, an edge of something- something Dorian couldn't quite put a name to-coloring his tone. "Without her ambition, I would not have risen in the Magisterium as I did. She was a benefit to House Pavus."

"How did you feel about her?" Dorian asked, daring to push a little.

Unfortunately, it proved to be the wrong choice. He saw his father's brow tighten ever so slightly for a bare moment, then suddenly smooth again as the hint of magic vanished with a subtle pop. "Why would I feel anything? We both did our duty as dictated by our Houses." He looked up to meet Dorian's gaze, his own steady and calm. "Nothing more, nothing less."

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Dorian snapped the journal shut. "Has Mae seen this?"

"Magister Tilani has not asked about the journal of late."

"I see." Making a mental note to tell Mae about the portrait and Halward's odd reaction to it, Dorian offered his father a haggard smile and handed the journal back to him. "Well, here you are. Thank you for letting me study it." As his father took it back to the desk, Dorian closed his eyes and tried to find even a hint of that previous magic, hoping against hope that it was simply too faint to notice without effort.

Instead, he found nothing, and the disappointment bit deep.

"I should return to my duties," he told Halward, unable to think of anything else to say. The guilty part of him knew that his father would simply accept it with a nod, which is, of course, precisely what he did.

"Of course, Dorian." He moved to the door and opened it. "I bid you farewell."

No Thank you, or I hope to see you again, Dorian noted with an internal sigh. "Farewell, Father," he murmured, then headed out of the door and into the heat of the afternoon, his feet taking him straight to his quarters.

He desperately needed a drink.

Once he had reached his destination, he headed straight for his sidetable and poured himself some wine. It didn't even occur to him to look around until he lifted the glass to his lips and heard a soft snore from behind him.

Raising an eyebrow, he turned to survey the room, smiling when he saw a familiar, fur-mantled form sprawled on his couch. Based on the way Cullen had slouched on one arm the couch, it seemed that Cullen had sat down to wait for Dorian and succumbed to sleep at some point in the interim. Dorian's gaze flicked to the pile of cloth and metal on the floor next to the couch, noting the film of road dirt which still covered it. Of course, Cullen still wore the new armor Dagna had made for him to contain the red lyrium's growth, but given the way the fine chain mesh clung to his form, there wasn't much left to the imagination save what was covered by his smalls.

And yet, somehow, Dorian's gaze lingered not on the well-defined lines of muscle, but on Cullen's face, scrutinizing and worrying over the weariness etched in his cheeks and under his eyes, and the matting of his hair after hours under a helm. His fingers itched to stroke through that hair and restore a bit of order to it-or, possibly, muss it further as needed. As his gaze dropped to Cullen's lips, Dorian abruptly realized that instead of yearning for a kiss or for those lips to wrap around other parts of his own anatomy, what he truly wished from the man more than anything else was a smile, and to see the corners of his eyes crinkle slightly as those marvelous brown eyes warmed when their gazes met. The stolen kisses in his quarters when they could spare a moment, the brushing of their hands as they passed each other in the courtyard when they could not-those were what he craved the most when they were apart.

All at once, Mae's words returned to him: even a Magister can find love, and a wistful melancholy crept across his mind. Could the same be true for a pariah suddenly launched into prominence through tragedy?

On the other hand, what other possible word fit the fluttering warmth in his heart every time he looked at Cullen?

With a soft chuckle, Dorian set his glass down on the table, then moved to kneel in front of Cullen. Leaning in, he teased Cullen's lips with a soft kiss, letting it linger until he felt Cullen's breathing change.

Cullen's forehead furrowed for a moment, but in the next, one corner of his lips curved. "Mm. Hello." His eyes slowly opened, wrinkles appearing at their corners as his smile widened. "Not a bad way to wake up," he said sleepily.

"If I'd known you were looking for me, I'd have returned here sooner," Dorian told him as he reached up to brush an errant curl out of Cullen's eyes. Before Cullen could push himself up, Dorian moved in closer, claiming Cullen's lips again, this time in a more passionate kiss. When it ended, he murmured, "I missed you."

"And I missed you." As soon as the words left his lips, though, Cullen yawned hugely. "And apparently that last push to get back to Skyhold was a bit much," he groaned as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "Maker. And here I thought I'd be able to surprise you when you got back." He yawned so hard that his jaw cracked, then shook his head. "Pardon."

Dorian settled his hands on Cullen's thighs. "Well, I admit to surprise at finding you slumbering on my couch. I take it you had something else entirely in mind?"

Cullen reached out and cupped Dorian's cheek. "Oh, yes." He leaned down, smiling when Dorian rose to meet him halfway for another kiss. His fingers sank into Dorian's hair as the kiss deepened, and Dorian closed his eyes as he lost himself in the heat of Cullen's intensity. Suddenly the distance between them felt far too great, and he surged upwards, pushing himself up on the couch to straddle Cullen's hips with his knees. His fingers twined into the fur mantle around Cullen's shoulders, releasing a scent held within its strands which smelled partly of leather, partly of metal, and wholly of Cullen.

It felt...marvelous. Perfect. Words Dorian would never have thought to use in the midst of any encounter, but then, Cullen wasn't just any man. Was this part of the everything else Cullen had spoken of that night in the inn? Sensual rather than sexual, intimate rather than than erotic? The more time he spent in these long, slow moments of heated breath and lingering touches, Dorian had to admit he'd acquired a deep appreciation for the slow build towards primal between them.

Regardless, he realized, Mae was right. What he felt for Cullen was definitely something more.

When their lips finally parted, his hands slowly trailed down to Cullen's chest as a tender smile settled without effort on his face. Leaning back, he let his fingers trace hard lines muscle through the fine mesh chain, enjoying the sensuous feel of heated flesh beneath cool metal. As he did so, he felt ample, welcome evidence between his legs that their activities had awoken in Cullen the same reaction as he himself experienced, and he smiled as he rolled his hips slowly. Cullen moaned softly as his head tipped back, presenting an eminently kissable throat. Not one to ignore such a delicious invitation, Dorian leaned in and latched his lips on Cullen's neck, sucking the skin tight against his lips to draw the blood to the surface.

When Cullen's hands moved to the front of Dorian's trousers, however, Dorian batted them away with a wink. "I came to my quarters for a drink," he murmured. "Your absence has left me parched, my Commander."

A hint of color rose in Cullen's cheeks. "Well, you do look like a cat who found a dish of cream."

"I rather feel like that at the moment," Dorian admitted with a laugh, even as his fingers slipped beneath Cullen's smalls and stroked the length he found there. As Cullen groaned and gripped the arm of the couch, Dorian slid off of Cullen's lap to the ground. With one swift motion he tugged Cullen's lower torso forward, using the momentum to tug the smalls off and down to Cullen's knees. As he took Cullen's rigid length in one hand and leaned down, however, Cullen's hands caught the sides of his head and stopped him.

"Wait," Cullen gasped. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Stifling a flash of hurt, Dorian sat back with a confused look on his face. "I think it's a rather marvelous one, myself. Is something the matter?"

"It's just—" Cullen's flushed face darkened further. "It's just…the red lyrium. I don't want you to—to be exposed."

Dorian's eyebrows rose, even as the meaning of Cullen's objection registered fully with him. "I admit, I never thought of that."

"I have. The gossip in the Templar barracks is fairly consistent about it, that you can taste the lyrium when you—" Cullen stopped himself, ears now bright red. "That's why I've always made sure I'm the one to, ah, well—"

"I see." Dorian found himself caught between indignation, amusement, and concern, and eventually just settled for moving onto the couch to sit next to Cullen. "The one to do the drinking, you mean?"

Cullen laughed sheepishly, the red slowly fading from his ears. "That, and…Maker, Dorian, do you have any idea how hard it makes me when you bury your hands in my hair when my head is between your legs? There's something about making you moan that I need."

Now Dorian blinked, feeling the heat rise in him as he contemplated that particular revelation. Licking his lips, he hooked his leg over Cullen's knee and widened the gap between Cullen's thighs. "Then it seems to me that we simply need to explore alternatives," he murmured, once again taking Cullen's length in his hand. When Cullen instinctively reached to do the same to Dorian, Dorian quickly used his other hand to intercept and pull Cullen's arm back and behind his head to keep it busy. "Ah, ah, ah. My turn, my Commander." Leaning in, he drew Cullen's lips into a sensuous kiss, even as he dragged his fingernails down Cullen's length. When their lips parted, Dorian murmured, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes," Cullen gasped instantly, even though Dorian had effectively pinned him into place. Dorian knew, of course, that Cullen could overpower him without too much difficulty. Though Dorian was aware that he was far more athletically inclined than most mages, Cullen was a warrior through and through. If Cullen let Dorian hold him like this, it was because he enjoyed it.

Well, now. Dorian smiled, then snuggled in close and let his hand continue its task. He savored every moan, every shudder, and when he felt the tension build to the point of no return, he again claimed Cullen's lips and rode with him through the inevitable, sweet release without a care for the condition of his couch. It wasn't at all like the hasty, guilt-ridden encounters of his youth, when he wasn't sure what he wanted beyond another man's touch, or the loveless sex he'd indulged in later when his spirit had been broken by years of being told he was fundamentally unfit for his duties because of his preference. This transcended anything which had come before, enhanced by the trembling of the word love hovering at the edge of his awareness.

In short, he never wanted to live without this feeling—or Cullen—again.

As their lips parted, Dorian gave a breathless little chuckle. "I see the appeal," he murmured, at a loss for any other way to express himself. "I do hope we continue to wander down these delightful paths of alternatives, if they are all this riveting."

Cullen slowly brought his arm forward from where it had been pinned, a smile on his face as he looked at Dorian. "Maker, I hope so," he breathed, then pulled Dorian into a soft kiss.

Sweet Andraste. How could something so gentle be so damned erotic? Dorian lost himself in the kiss for a moment, dragging his hand down Cullen's chest as he leaned into it. That, of course, is when reality came swimming back in, and he pulled back his now wet hand from the mess they'd made. "Ah, let me fetch a washcloth," he told Cullen.

"You are the reason for this mess," Cullen said with a cocky grin.

"I?" Dorian protested as he pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the water basin. "I'm still fully dressed, I must point out. You're the one sitting there with only the bare minimum on."

He heard Cullen laugh, and smiled to himself as he wet and soaped the washcloth. Behind him he heard another jaw cracking yawn and smiled, impressed Cullen was still awake after such a devastating climax. The smile faltered slightly when he turned and saw that Cullen had hauled his clothing and armor onto the couch. A small voice inside maliciously suggested that perhaps the man had finally had enough fun with Dorian, but it was, at best, a weak echo of what that same voice might once have been at such a sight. When Dorian saw that Cullen was just going through the pockets as if searching for something, Dorian happily told that small voice to go leap through a hole in the Veil. "Here we are," he said brightly as he approached Cullen. "Did you lose something?

"What? Oh, um. Yes, just…give me a moment." Cullen growled as he dug through his clothing. "Andraste's ass, where did I-It 's just…I, ah, came to see you for something more than…than a few kisses in a few different places."

"Oh?" Dorian gently batted Cullen's hands aside so he could vigorously wipe the mesh clean, then folded the cloth and carried it to his clothes hamper in the small room in the back, snagging the towel next to the bath as he did so before walking back to Cullen. After drying the mesh as best as he could, Dorian tucked the towel aside. "What did you have in mind, exactly?"

Cullen gave him a wink. "I have something for you." Placing a finger on Dorian's lips to forestall any questions, Cullen hauled his clothes back into his lap and started his search again in earnest.

"A present?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow. "When did you have time to go shopping?"

"Well, I did help you in Val Royeaux with the whole Blackwall business," Cullen reminded him. "Even if, in the end, my aid was mostly a bit of—" He stopped to stifle a yawn, then continued, "—covert snuggling."

"Your advice was cogent and timely, never doubt that," Dorian scolded him. "How did the 'inspections' go?"

A grimace came to Cullen's face. "We think we've located at least one suspicious character at each Keep. Leliana's local agents will keep an eye on them, and they're going to try to trace back the message delivery chain. If it involves merchants or their servants, it's going to get complicated very quickly." A look of distaste came to Cullen's face. "Give me a sword and a foe on the battlefield any day. I can't stand all this sneaking around and not dealing with enemies when we know who they are."

Dorian laughed. "The game of spies is a bit murky, yes."

"It's just an opportunity for you to get stabbed in the back when you least expect it," Cullen said sourly. "But then, we are dealing with Amell. He never would go straight forward if he could scuttle sideways first."

"Even as a child?" Dorian asked, surprised.

"Well…I wasn't there when he was a child," Cullen admitted. "I was barely a Templar when he first passed his Harrowing. Anything I heard about him was pure hearsay, most of it bad." His brows drew together for a moment. "When Amell left after dealing with Uldred, I do recall Greagoir saying that he and Irving had failed to protect Amell in his youth, but at the time I was not in the best frame of mind to pursue the matter. I'm not sure I would have cared, anyway."

Taking Cullen's hand in his own, Dorian squeezed it gently. "That was long ago. Best not to dwell on it."

"Perhaps, but I also don't want to make the same mistakes," Cullen grunted. "Especially when it comes to Amell." Shaking himself, he focused his attention on searching through his clothes again. "Ah, ha! Here we are. The real reason I wanted to go to Val Royeaux."

Dorian's brows rose. "Oh? It wasn't because of Blackwall?"

"No. Well, not only for that." Holding his hand closed, he pulled it out of his clothes and looked up at Dorian. Even as Dorian wondered why the secrecy, Cullen cleared his throat. "Ah, Leliana found out about a certain object you had to sell on your way to join the Inquisition. She thought it shouldn't be in the wrong hands, especially since you're the Inquisitor now. So I found the merchant and…" He opened his fingers, and Dorian's eyes widened when he saw what lay in Cullen's palm. "Anyway. I wanted it to be a surprise, so we didn't tell you."

Dorian reached out to the small piece of his history he'd thought lost forever, plucking the amulet of House Pavus from Cullen's hands with a delicate touch. "I…thank you," he murmured. "I don't think it would have occurred to me to track him down. What was his name again?"

"Ponchard. And you should know, he was planning on selling'the Inquisitor's necklace' to the highest bidder soon, after you became so well-connected at the Winter Palace," Cullen told him. "Leliana was more concerned about someone trying to use it to get a favor, but I just thought…well, you do miss the Imperium. I thought it would be a nice memento."

"I miss what the Imperium should be more," Dorian admitted. "I already saw many of its flaws, and Mailani kicked my eyes open wide about several of the rest. But…yes." He wrapped his hand around the amulet and smiled. "I do want this. Thank you." He leaned in and claimed a soft, delectably perfect kiss. "I don't think I can ever repay you."

"It's a gift, Dorian," Cullen assured him. "There is no need to repay a gift."

With a sardonic chuckle, Dorian said, "You are clearly not from the Imperium. All gifts have a string there, without exception."

Cullen grimaced. "Maybe. Perhaps we should stay here, then."

"Well, we do have some things to attend to, yes," Dorian said with a wink, then raised an eyebrow when Cullen reached into the same pocket again. "That's not all?"

"No, not really." Pulling his hand out, Dorian saw a small bottle filled with a dark liquid. "I found this, and it made me think of you. Hard."

Curious at the wording, Dorian took the bottle and opened the stopper. When the familiar scent of his favorite oil came out, his eyes widened. "I use this every morning during my ablutions."

"And you're almost out, right? I think you told me that once. So I wanted to get you more," Cullen said. "And, like I said. It reminded me of you. Hard."

Dorian tilted his head as a smirk came to his lips. "You know, my Commander, I seem to recall telling you that normally when men give me oil, it is for a very specific purpose."

Cullen's lips settled into a smirk, and he reached out to put his hand on Dorian's waist. "Yes. I remember that."

"So I must ask, when you say hard…" Dorian let his voice trail away as Cullen's hand moved again, inhaling sharply as Cullen's hand stroked Dorian's still-firm length through his breeches.

"I mean precisely that," Cullen breathed, then leaned in to claim a fierce kiss.

The next minute or so was a blur of kissing and fondling as they moved from the couch to the bed, shedding Dorian's clothing as they went. Dorian felt the back of his knees hit the mattress a moment before Cullen grabbed his hips and heaved him up onto the bed, then followed soon after. The world dissolved into the heat of wandering hands and lips and tongues, trying to rekindle the same sensual and sexual tension from earlier, this time to be expended on an activity where the use of oil would be absolutely necessary. Eventually Dorian had Cullen precisely where he wanted him: on his stomach with legs spread wide and ass in the air, shaft rock hard after a thorough and deep application of oil by Dorian's fingers.

When Dorian settled himself into position behind Cullen, however, he heard a faint snore emanate from the head of the bed. "Cullen?" he asked, incredulous. Another snore answered him, and Dorian shimmied up the mattress to check on Cullen, verifying that, indeed, the man had fallen into slumber. Apparently letting Cullen rest on his stomach had been a bit too much for the poor man, and he'd finally succumbed to his exhaustion despite the stimulation—or perhaps that had been the final straw for a man already on the brink.

With a soft chuckle, Dorian eased himself off the bed. "Pity." Still, whereas before he would have felt a sharp stab of disappointment, at the moment, Dorian only felt amusement and affection. Or rather, something stronger than affection, now that he was truly being honest with himself. Instead of being upset that he was missing something, Dorian simply assumed that they would use the oil later, whenever that opportunity might arise.

As Dorian rolled Cullen onto his back and tucked him into the bed properly, he silently acknowledged what a monumental shift in thinking that was for him. As Dorian stroked Cullen's cheek, he allowed himself a wistful smile, then leaned down and lightly kissed his lips. "Until next time, amatus," he breathed, for now only daring to give voice to the feeling here, in the quiet of the early evening and away from any ears which might hear.

With a final sigh, Dorian stepped back, an odd tightness in his heart as he looked down at the man in the bed. Next time. It was something he'd never been able to rely on before, a nebulous sort of perfection that usually accompanied thoughts of rainbows and unicorns. Yet here he was, absolutely certain not only that he wanted to be with this man again, but that the feeling was mutual. Temporary problems might interfere, but nothing would truly drive them apart.

Yes. Yes, amatus was precisely the right word for him.

Still, the throbbing between his legs needed some attention, so Dorian quietly took some less precious oil from his nightstand and quietly retreated to the bathroom. With how wound up he was, it wouldn't be that difficult to solve that little problem.

Once that concern had been addressed, Dorian lay on the bed next to Cullen for a while, hoping that being near the man's warmth would lull him to sleep. When that proved futile, he sighed and carefully got out of bed again, then looked around for something to do. Normally he would play his lute or read, but the first would create noise and the second would require light, and he didn't want to risk awakening Cullen.

As he pondered what to do, his gaze fell on the red crystal still lying on his desk, and he frowned. Perhaps if I took that down to the lowest landing? Decision made, he grabbed the crystal and a robe, then headed down the stairs until he was as far from the bed as was possible. Of course, the way Cullen was sleeping, he might not need to be so cautious, but it was better to be safe than sorry when it came to waking the sleeping Templar.

Setting the crystal on the floor, Dorian activated it with a tap, then stepped back. Let's see what you have to tell me, hmm?

The memory from before resumes, the focus of the crystal still on Jorath's face. "What do you have to offer me, hmm?"

"Power, Warden-Commander," the Magister says, though he remains just outside the focus of the crystal. His voice remains thin and reedy, but you can't tell if that is truly his voice, or the result of the crystal's limitations. "I can give you power. The power to live, the power to destroy the Blight, but, and most importantly for you, the power to choose when you die. You need not succumb to the Blight as I did, your mind to wither as your body fails around you. Work with me, and we will make sure it need not happen to anyone ever again."

Amell considers that for a long moment. "And what is the catch?"

"Pardon?" Amell's monster asks, clearly not expecting the question.

"The catch. You're no demon, it is true, but if all you wanted to do was get rid of the Blight, you would have already found several willing allies." Amell pauses to hack another cough once more, then shakes his head. "So. What's the catch? What aren't you telling me about your goal? Something to do with how it's achieved?"

"Is it not enough to know that we both work towards the same goal?" the Magister inquires in a deceptively mild voice. "Compared to what the Wardens demand to slay an Archdemon, my request is minimal at best to end the source of all Blights."

"Maybe not, but the way you're dancing around the answer to my question tells me that you are going to demand something," Amell grates in pained tones. "So. Out with it, or no deal."

Suddenly the tall figure on the edge of sight leans over, bringing his face closer to Amell's, and for the first time you get a good look at the darkspawn Magister. He is tall, the same as Corypheus, you notice—even bent over as he is, he towers over Amell in a fashion which tells you he is taller by a good two feet or more. Physically, there is a remarkable resemblance to Corypheus: long, skeletal arms and fingers; dulled, mottled skin; and, worst of all, streaks of angry red lyrium throughout his face and visible limbs. One of his eyes glows red, but the other eye has slid down one side of his face, as if that side is but wax. "You dare to make demands of me?"

Amell chuckles wetly, then turns and spits a wad of blood on the ground. "You're the one who seems to need the help," he points out.

The figure stands, retreating out of sight of the crystal once more. "I had thought you a man who valued your own life," he sneers. "Perhaps I was wrong. No matter. You are still only a Grey Warden-but I am the Architect."

At those words, a blast of power suddenly strikes Amell, knocking him into the wall behind him with a thundering crash.

With a soft curse, Dorian quickly tapped the crystal to stop the memory, afraid the sudden increase in volume would awaken Cullen. Sweeping up the crystal in his hand, he hurried up the stairs and looked to the bed, grateful to see that the man hadn't stirred.

Carefully depositing the crystal on his desk again, Dorian prowled around the room until he'd recovered his clothing. His hair was a bit of a disaster, but Mae wouldn't mind. It wouldn't take too long to speak with her about the Architect and his father's journal, and it would be best to speak to her of them while they were fresh on his mind. Even better, once that was done, he could return and snuggle in next to Cullen for the rest of the night.

Yes. That sounded perfect.