Chapter 6

Dorian's arrival home occurred uneventfully, as he knew it would. Feeling the steady ebb and flow of emotion through the Lenen'hima'sa over the course of the early evening meant he knew Fitzwilliam's assassin counterpart was out and about once more. It ought to worry him that so much of that emotion was thrill. Well, if he was being honest it did worry him, but it ought to have worried him more. There'd been a moment earlier in the evening where panic stabbed through the bond so piercing and sharp that the tea cup fell from his hand to the floor. He felt an urge to run, to charge toward Fitzwilliam's location as swiftly as his feet would carry him and bring all of his magic to bear against whatever threat his lover faced. But then the panic dissipated quickly, smoothed out by the twining soothing of relief and awe.

He made apologies for his clumsiness, blamed the broken porcelain on a sudden headache, and excused himself shortly after. Which meant he had the entire trip home to focus on the bond. Some of the emotions and impressions he was able to pick out Dorian knew were only due to knowing Fitzwilliam. Amusement and joy. Desire and respect. A hard task not to be jealous, he had to admit. Not jealous of the feelings, however. It was a jealously more of the one allowed the privilege to see Fitzwilliam that way. Happy and unburdened. So rare a sight these days with the rogue wearing so many masks, and their alone time so precious and fleeting.

Dorian urged Fitzwilliam home. It was selfish, he knew, but it had been a very long day and he wanted nothing more than to wrap him in his arms and hear his laugh. He wished, not for the first time, he could talk through the bond. Of course given how long it had taken them to get a handle on it, and the new leap in the bond's abilities it might be best if that never happened. Not being able to disguise any thoughts would have its disadvantages. Dorian pondered for a moment if the new manifestations of the bond might be linked to whatever was happening to his magic. It seemed likely, given the Lenen'hima'sa was certainly one of the most pure expressions of magic he had ever encountered.

He stared into the fire, letting his mind wrap around everything that was happening. If rumors in court could be believed, and he was sure at least a few could be, then his was not the only magic acting up. It did seem it was the most severe case, though that could just be because he knew the truth of his hiccups and only tell of anyone else's. He didn't like that one bit. It was better when the mishaps happened just to him, or even remaining far-off rumors of others. But now, with the stories popping up with increasing frequency? It was becoming clear something much bigger was happening.

A creak and thud in the adjoining room drew him from his thoughts, his head whipping to the side to chase the sound. That would be Fitzwilliam then, crawling in through the bedroom window like a common thief. The temptation to go to him was strong and Dorian found himself rising, walking toward the tug of Fitz's consciousness without a care for allowing him to comport himself and store away the tolls of his trade.

Darkness greeted him. Apparently, Fitzwilliam hadn't bothered to light the lamps in the bed chamber. He could hear shuffling as he exerted his will, the smallest hint of it, to light a lantern. It still flew to life in a burst of flame, but at least this time he didn't shatter the glass and ignite the table. Something of a relief, to not set one's appointments on fire on regular basis.

His eyes swept the room. The room that, for all Dorian had heard him enter, lacked any sign of Fitzwilliam. "Busy night, Amatus?" he asked. There was a grunt from the corner and finally Dorian spotted his lover.

The laughter, full and amused and affectionate, bubbled up at the sight Fitzwilliam made. "What happened to you?" he chuckled.

There before him stood a man in all the trappings of stealth… only they weren't quite as black as they'd been before, crusted as they were in white patches of drying sea water. Fitzwilliam's hair was also a sight but to top it all off, the rogue was hopping on one foot trying to remove a soft leather boot which the water had swollen to his foot. The mighty assassin had returned and he looked like a drowned rat. "Festis bei umo canavarum," Dorian wheezed, words shaking with laughter. "Amatus, you look like… your mark a mermaid, yes? That would explain all," he gestured to Fitzwilliam's state with a roll of his wrist. "...this."

"Ha. Ha," Fitzwilliam grunted, finally pulling the boot free and tumbling into a wall.

Dorian couldn't help it. He doubled over clutching at his stomach, his laughter so robust that it became nothing more than silent wheezing exhales. The glare Fitzwilliam favoured him with did little to help the situation.

He was not surprised to find that leather became particularly hard to peel off when wet and salted. Dorian attempted to breathe as, out of tear-blurred eyes, he watched Fitzwilliam strip free of the rest of his costume. Finally, he could look at his lover without being taken by the amusement, though that had more to do with Fitz's mostly-nakedness than anything.

"So," Dorian drawled slowly as he moved to lounge on the bed. He stretched across it perpendicularly, propping up on his elbows as he kicked up his feet. He settled his head in his hands and looked up at Fitzwilliam. "How did your date go? Tell me everything. Was he handsome?"

The glare Fitzwilliam shot him would have been withering – had he not been half-naked with wet, limp hair hanging down into his eyes. "You know I can't tell you about the assassination details," he grouched.

Dorian rolled his eyes, kicking his feet back and forth in the air behind him as one did in situations such as this. "Who said anything about your boring assassination job? I want to know about the hunk you were admiring."

He watched with some delight as Fitzwilliam's eyes went wide with understanding. "You… felt that. Of course you felt that. I'm an idiot." He vanished behind the screen and returned a moment later in a pair of loose, thin trousers. Dorian's eyes followed him as, worrying a thumbnail with his teeth, Fitzwilliam crossed the room. He sat beside him on the bed, one leg hanging off the side, one folded up on the top of the bed so he was turned toward Dorian. He was quiet for long moments looking all kinds of guilty. Dorian found it deeply amusing. Finally, he opened his mouth. "I, uh, I made a new contact tonight," he stammered awkwardly. "An elf. He kinda pulled me out of a tight spot."

"I'll bet he did." Dorian lifted a suggestive eyebrow.

Fitzwilliam's face went a very satisfying shade of red. "I-it wasn't like that!"

"Of course not, Amatus." Dorian grinned and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to Fitzwilliam's knee. "You're not that kind of man," he chuckled lightly. "You'd tell me." Fitzwilliam nodded silently, unwilling to meet his eyes. "So," Dorian said, reaching out and poking his side, "tell me."

Dorian's brow furrowed when Fitz turned his head and looked out the window, avoiding him. "Amatus?" he asked. A wave of guilt flitted across the bond. "Ah…" Dorian sighed as he moved to sit up on the bed. "I understand."

Fitzwilliam's head dropped, looking at the fine woven blanket, fingers picking idly at a loose royal blue thread. "Can't hide anything from you," Fitz grumbled somberly.

"Apparently not," Dorian agreed, voice low and serious. "I know now." He let that linger, felt the pulsing anxiety from his man, as he reached out, fingers turning that head to look at him with a gentle, insistent, pressure. "You're being stupid again."

Fitzwilliam tore his head from the touch, whipping it almost violently to the side. "You don't know what I…"

"What you what?" Dorian asked, a little heat creeping in. "What you thought? What you felt? Maker, Fitzwilliam, you had an attraction. A flirtation. Who cares?"

"I care," he growled turning back to look at him. "Our life has enough complications. We've come to a good place in our relationship. I don't want to throw a stick into the spokes."

And Dorian was laughing again. Which was the wrong thing to do, if the angry tightness of Fitz's mouth and the sharp heat in the bond were anything to go buy. Dorian reached out, touching his shoulder and managing to force out a broken apology, "I-I'm sorry, I just… Give me a moment. I'm sorry." He forced the laughter down, and what a battle it was. It kept trying to bubble back up in manic giggles but he gave it no purchase. Finally, he had reined himself in enough to speak seriously about the situation. "We've talked about this before," he said softly, reaching out his hand and squeezing Fitz's leg briefly. "And while I agree our life hardly needs any more facets there are some things which are beyond even your ability to plan, dear, sweet Fitzwilliam."

"But what if something happens?" he asked slowly. It sounded very much like something Fitzwilliam didn't want to so much as think about. Saying it aloud must have been trying.

"If something happens," Dorian said slowly, "I expect you to tell me. And then we can deal with any feelings you may or may not have. But those are problems for future Fitz. As you are so fond of telling me – let us not meet trouble halfway." There was a long stretch of silent stillness but finally Fitzwilliam nodded in agreement and the tightly coiled knot of tension between them loosed. "Good." Dorian ginned. "Now, tell me about the handsome elf who got your knickers wet… literally," he smirked, nodding to the pile of wet assassin blacks.

Fitz's cheeks colored slightly. "I, uh, well he was Dalish," he began awkwardly. "He had the Vallaslin on his forehead and down the bridge of his nose. A tree. That makes him pledged to Mythall, I think." Dorian smiled fondly as Fitz's hands fidgeted in his own lap, eyes very intent on them.

"Interesting," Dorian chimed in. "Not many free elves in Tevinter. And a Dalish at that. What's he doing here, I wonder. Not many trees in Minrathous." Fitzwilliam shrugged. "You didn't grill him?" He lifted a brow. "That doesn't sound like you. You must have been quite distracted indeed." Fitz's face flushed further and Dorian could tell he'd hit the nail on the head. "What else?" He leaned forward, crisscrossing his legs and propping his elbows up on them, once more making a rest for his head with his hands.

"His eyes," Fitzwilliam sighed. Dorian suppressed a chuckle at the way it made "The Inquisitor, Herald of Andraste, Sealer of the Breach" sound like a moonstruck adolescent. "They're so… expressive. He hardly ever smiles, and if so only for a flash but his eyes." Dorian made an encouraging noncommittal sound as Fitzwilliam met his gaze. "Oh and the way he fought, Dorian! It was amazing. Like whirlwind. A thousand little cuts. Nothing like the way I fight at all. Well, I mean we both use daggers, so I guess it's similar in that way. A-and I guess we're both rogues. And fond of making a point with clever words. I know that sounds like it's the same but it isn't!" Dorian could not help the grin that took his face as Fitzwilliam's babbling picked up pace.

Fitz must have noticed it because he grinned sheepishly, dropping his head back down to his fidgeting hands. "He was impressive," he said softly.

"Sounds like," Dorian agreed. Fitzwilliam buried his face in his hands, groaning. He was clearly embarrassed and it was charming. The flustered babbling, the flushed cheeks – all utterly endearing and Dorian was a bad man to be enjoying every, single minute of it. "So, an impressive Dalish elf with expressive eyes who is both like you and not at all like you. You have quite the way with description, Amatus. I'm positively hooked. Do go on."

"Augh," he exhaled, "I don't know what else you want me to say, Dorian. I don't know how to do this, this – " he waved his hand helplessly. "I don't know how to gossip about boys!"

Dorian couldn't stop the burst of helpless laughter if he tried. Fitzwilliam's exclamation sending him into silent fits of laughter so deep he shook with the force of them. When he could speak – and the impressive glare Fitzwilliam sent his way certainly aided in curbing his laughter, if not his delight – he reached up to capture one of those waving hands and draw it to his lips. With a quick kiss to the knuckles in apology, Dorian smirked.

"I am certain, beneath all the endearing fluster, there is plenty you have to say on your new elvhen companion." He managed to arrange his features into some semblance of seriousness, even if his lips kept twitching. "It is never too late to learn how to gossip about boys, Fitzwilliam."

Fitzwilliam sighed, somewhat placated by the outpouring of genuine affection. "I don't even know his name, Dorian." He smiled, chuckling lightly to himself. "His code name is Elvhen for elfroot of all things. Just ridiculous. That's not intimidating at all." He squeezed Dorian's hand slightly, still blushing, but grinning now too, slightly more at ease than he was a moment ago. It wasn't much, but something Dorian could capitalize upon.

"Elvhen for elfoot?" Dorian quirked an eyebrow, curiosity piqued further at the mention of the rather ridiculous code name. "Well, it hardly has any sense of drama about it, that's for certain. Perhaps, for the elf, it has some significance? Or his own personal joke?"

Dorian found himself enjoying, not just hearing about Fitzwilliam's new elvhen companion, but also this little insight into his other life – even if it was only through endless teasing for his Amatus' new 'crush.' Through tales of this new addition into Fitzwilliam's assassin counterpart's life, Dorian felt just that little bit more connected to a part of Fitzwilliam that – through necessity – he was kept separate from.

"Ridiculous names aside," Dorian continued, squeezing Fitzwilliam's hand in return. "The elf seems to have made quite the impression. With his...what was it again?" Dorian put on his best doe eyes and sighed dreamily, "Expressive eyes."

A hand came out of nowhere, swift and sure, but lacking real force, and smacked him on the shoulder. "Yes," Fitzwilliam grit out petulantly. "The eyes, and the hair, and how perfectly he moved. Even on the docks he made hardly a sound." He was babbling now, practically gushing. How quaint. "And he bought me dinner, after knocking me into the drink, so that was kind of him."

"Ah, so he is the one responsible for the very fetching state I found you in upon your return home." Dorian smirked, endlessly amused at how quickly Fitzwilliam fell into his enamored gushing. Quite the impression indeed. "I was hoping I'd get some explanation out of you for that curious state of affairs. It's not like you to be so distracted, even with an elf who moves so perfectly, that you'd take an impromptu swim, Fitzwilliam. Was he that captivating?"

"The swim wasn't entirely his fault," he admitted. "He was being attacked from behind. I… defended and ended up in the water." Fitz grimaced suspiciously before continuing. "I did owe him one, but I think the second dip was unnecessary."

"So the elf whom, as previously mentioned, moved oh so perfectly and whose skill you enthusiastically praise turned his back to a threat and required rescue?" Dorian smirked, sensing a bit more to the tale that Fitzwilliam wasn't sharing. "Hardly seems all that competent a rogue then, does he?"

Fitzwilliam groaned. "Okay, fine, he did it to provoke the target and I rushed in all valiant and stupid, are you happy now?"

"Immensely." Dorian grinned at the thought of Fitzwilliam, cutting a gallant silhouette in black, surging in to save the day without thought to why an obviously skilled rogue would turn their back on a threat. Only seeing someone in danger, someone who needed help. His smile turned soft around the edges, even as his amusement stubbornly clung to the curve of his mouth. "You are truly a noble and dashing figure. I am sure the elf appreciated your heroic deeds."

"Well," Fitz said slowly. He lifted his free hand and began inspecting his fingernails. They were, of course, filthy after his night out. "He did proposition me, so I think that counts as appreciation."

Well, now this tale was a might more interesting. Dorian smirked, eyebrow quirked upwards in question. "Did he now? Is this what all the flustered confusion and misplaced guilt is about?"

"It's not like that," Fitz scoffed. "I doubt he's interested in me that way. It was a proposition to work together. I mean really. We haven't even had our first date. What kind of man do you take me for?" He was making a joke, but the half-smile looked entirely pleased by the notion the elf might return his admiration.

"Work together?" So this fellow rogue was also an assassin? Dorian wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that. Especially considering the somewhat sensitive nature of the plans in place behind Fitzwilliam's work. Plans Dorian knew existed but couldn't know the whole of – something that still frustrated him to no end. If only because he was boundlessly curious about Fitzwilliam's new profession. "That seems... awfully convenient. That your elf should suddenly appear with offers of partnership." Even to his own ears he sounded entirely too suspicious. But what was the use of disguising it when Fitz could feel the uncomfortable pricking of it across the bond?

Fitzwilliam grimaced. "I know what it sounds like, Serah," he said carefully. "I-I can't tell you everything but, he put together some sensitive information about me and… about our targets. I need to get close to him, at least until I know how much he knows." Then the face shifted from sincere reassurance to a piqued glower. "And he is not 'my elf'," he huffed.

"Fitzwilliam, you are entirely too perceptive and a remarkable judge of character." Dorian squeezed Fitzwilliam's hand, accepting that sincere reassurance with a small smile. "If you feel secure in accepting the elf's offer, I will manage my own concerns easily enough."

Dorian still found the appearance of the elf entirely too convenient. Felt it somewhat suspicious, how well-timed and well suited he was to meet Fitzwilliam's needs. It was obvious that with some knowledge of Fitzwilliam's plans the elf was clever... dangerous. Still, the constant knot of concern – born from the thought of Fitzwilliam out there alone when before he consistently had a team at his back – eased some. The elf could at least be genuine in the desire to work together, and while Dorian couldn't be there, someone else – someone obviously skilled and knowledgeable in ways Fitzwilliam was not yet – would be there ensuring Fitzwilliam wasn't alone.

"And he is most certainly your elf." Dorian teased, pushing aside his concerns for now, in favor of hunting for that endearing flush. He tugged on Fitzwilliam's hand, drawing him closer with a wicked grin. "Your elf with the captivating eyes and hair. The perfect form."

Fitzwilliam allowed himself to be tugged forward, bending at the waist as he rolled his eyes. "Yes, clearly he hits upon all my weaknesses," he said offhandedly. The pink reappeared flushing from chest to cheeks. "Do I know anyone else with captivating eyes? Maybe ones that seem to shift color? What about the hair? Anyone with gorgeous hair in my esteem at the moment? And perfect form? Well, I do seem to have that image of you after our first time, burned into my mind. Back to me, backlit by the large glass window." He crept closer, so close Dorian could feel the breath on his face. "Even dust shimmering in the sun beams couldn't distract me from your perfectly formed ass."

"That is because you also have impeccable taste." Playing dirty now was he? Trying to distract Dorian from his teasing and endeavoring to have him be flustered and blushing instead? Never let it be said Dorian didn't rise to a challenge – and rise to a good many other things if Fitzwilliam contented himself on speaking the way he was. "With such a keen sense for a man's finer qualities, I do have to wonder at the lack of details of said elf's perfect form. No waxing poetical about his perfectly formed arse? Of course, it is hard to stand up to such impressive competition as my own, I do understand."

Fitzwilliam bit his lip, grinning wickedly. "It did look fantastic in those leather leggings," he admitted. "But I don't have enough data points to compare. Yet."

"Why, Amatus," Dorian demurred, smirk positively wicked and hovering just out of reach from Fitzwilliam's own. "Are you trying to get us both into your bed? For the sake of comparison?"

Fitz barked a short laugh. "Now that's an ambitious and worthwhile pursuit," he agreed. "But for now, I suppose you'll suffice." He drew closer, nearly there, lips brushing against Dorian's own as he spoke, voice low and rough.

"As consolation prizes go, I do certainly exceed expectations." Dorian huffed out a laugh, a delicious shiver skating down his spine at Fitzwilliam's barely there kiss, the low gravel of his tone. Oh but to have the time to indulge…

"If you keep looking at me like that, Fitzwilliam," Dorian chased those lips, stealing a brief kiss, "we will be more than fashionably late for previously planned events."

Fitzwilliam threw himself back onto the bed with a loud groan. His arm fell over his eyes. "Oh Dorian," he whinged. "I've had such a night. Can't we just stay here?"

"Not if you want to keep your grand plan on schedule," Dorian said, standing and stretching his arms over his head. "Also, there is Mater to consider. She promised to introduce you to several members of the Senate."

He didn't need to finish with the threat of her ire. It hung in the air between them, as clearly understood as if he had written in on a chalk slate. Fitzwilliam was already moving, standing to get ready. "Fine," he huffed petulantly. "But I'm wearing what I want." He stomped his foot. It was adorable. Probably not the intended effect.

"Is what you want to wear what I have already laid out for you so you don't have to think about it?" Dorian asked, smiling.

Fitzwilliam glowered at him but sighed after a moment, "Yes."

"Good, step to." Dorian moved to the dressing room, pulling out his ensemble as Fitzwilliam disrobed. Maker, but talk about perfectly formed arses…

"I can feel you ogling me, Dorian," Fitzwilliam drawled. It seemed he was still put-out over being rebuffed earlier.

"Best get used to it, Amatus," he replied as he buttoned an asymmetrical vest. "I'll be admiring you all evening."

"I hate these things," the Inquisitor grumbled, pulling on his own vest.

Dorian smiled a little. "Then you are really going to hate the event at the end of the week. It's a masquerade."

Fitzwilliam wheeled around, vest flapping flaccidly, not yet buttoned. "What?" he asked with alarmed, wide eyes. "A what? With the costumes and the dancing?"

"The very same," Dorian smirked. "Don't worry, I have everything all planned out. All you need do is show up and be your usual charming self."

"Usual vapid, brainless arm-sweet," he growled as he pushed buttons through holes with fierce fingers.

He did feel poorly about how hard that mask in particular was for Fitzwilliam to put on. All his beautiful cleverness locked away behind glassy, dim eyes. He felt like a doll on strings. Not his Fitzwilliam at all. He approached, brushing the rogue's hands away and closing the vest with sure fingers.

"Perhaps we can find another quiet nook," he purred, looking down at Fitzwilliam with hooded eyes. "It went so well last time." He felt Fitz shudder with the words, warmth spreading through the Lenen'hima'sa and radiating to his fingers and toes. Fitzwilliam's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly. "Is that enough to get you to attend, do you think?"

A slow nod and lust-blown pupils were all the response his lover managed. "Good," he purred, dropping his head and claiming Fitzwilliam's lips in a heated kiss that had them breathless and clutching at one another as desperation flooded them both.

A knock echoed in the chamber outside their room and Dorian broke the kiss reluctantly. "Vishante kaffas!" he shouted, whipping his head around to look at the door, hands still unwilling to let go of Fitzwilliam's flushed, hot skin. "What?"

"Are you ready yet?" his mother called. Her voice echoed hollowly betraying her position by the door of the outer chamber. Nowhere near the bedroom then. Thank the Maker for tiny miracles. "I'm not going to be late just because you're snogging the Inquisitor!"

He felt Fitzwilliam start at her words, his head whipping around the room, searching for spies in the drapery, no doubt. "We'll be right there," Dorian called back. He waited for the empty thunk of the heavy door swinging closed before he returned his attention to Fitzwilliam.

"How did she know," he asked, eyes wide and awed.

Dorian laughed. "She didn't. It was a lucky guess." He dropped another kiss on Fitz's pink and swollen lips, tongue snaking out despite himself to taste the sweetness he longed for. Fitzwilliam was so amenable to it, so eager, that pulling away again felt an exercise in self-control fit for his early training as a mage. "Best get your sandals on," he whispered, pressing their foreheads together, unwilling to separate. "It's going to be very hot tonight."

Fitzwilliam backed away with an audible groan and sat on a bench to do just that. "I'll say," he grumbled. His eyes looked Dorian up and down with a languid heat that he could almost feel on his skin. But soon Fitzwilliam was attired and they were leaving the easy comfort of their quarters to socialize with the upper crust.

This whole "redemption" plot of his was doing a number on his love life.

AN: In which I write the most personal Author's Note of my life

The last few months have been pretty disastrous. Relationships ended… badly. I lost my job and through that lost the little boy I had spent so much time with every week of his life from 3 months old to 4 years and change. I didn't handle it well. Financial troubles compounded things and I couldn't deal any longer. Depression and anxiety killed my ability to work on this story. Or anything, really.

I love this series, this universe and these characters, so much and I was terrified to fail them. I would look at the doc for this chapter and feel the panic just flooding me. Crippling me.

I wish I could say it's all been sorted. But many of those stresses are still around. I am still searching for a new, fill-in, job and studying, anxiously, for my certification exam so I can get paid to work in my field. And any number of other things.

A huge thanks goes to the ladies in my writing group who, as they have repeatedly told me, had all the faith I would find my way back to this story. And they are just as excited as you are to see its return.

But no matter what they say if it weren't for Eclectify, my lovely dearest, I don't know if I would have overcome the terror that kept me away for so long. She wrote with me, lent me her wisdom and compassion, and never once made me feel lazy. I think she's been a beautiful addition to the series. So I would like you all to join me in welcoming her promotion from "editor" to "co-author." Though, she's really doing TWO jobs. Amazing woman that she is.

We're moving to an every other week posting schedule, in order to keep that particular stress somewhat tamed. An effort to see the writing as "fun" and not "work," as I am fond of saying.

So, all that said, consider this our official re-opening. I'm so happy to be sharing with you all one more.

~Love!