The return to Skyhold did not offer any respite. If anything, the Inquisitor was busier than he had been since planning the siege of Adamant. Barely given time to recover from traveling before it was another full day locked up in the war room briefed on new alliances, pouring over new treaties, signing letters, and planning their next move. His advisors had not been idle while Aldaron ran about the Winter Palace chasing assassins. Nobles of all sorts had been summarily impressed by the Inquisitor's actions that night, and support was pouring in.

It had the beneficial effect of exhausting Aldaron to the point where he collapsed into bed at the end of the day and slept without dreaming. Not exactly ideal, but Dorian wouldn't complain. He couldn't say he hadn't attempted a similar strategy in the past, but Aldaron had always found politics more exhausting than any form of physical activity.

Work all day and, emotionally exhausted, fall asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. No time for romance when you're busy saving the world. It would be a lie to say that Dorian wasn't a little bit bitter, though he chided himself for it. The Inquisitor's work was important, and there was a heavy feeling of anticipation over Skyhold as everyone waited to learn their next move.

Dorian fully expected this pattern to continue for some time. So when Aldaron showed up at Dorian's nook in the library in the middle of the day only a few days after their return the man was surprised. "Something I can do for you, Inquisitor?" he asked, assuming that the only way Aldaron could have had time to see him was if he had official business.

"I need to talk to you," the elf replied. He certainly looked every bit the Inquisitor right now; voice steady and confident, back straight and proud. Dorian wasn't used to seeing this persona around Skyhold unless Aldaron was playing nice with visiting dignitaries. It was unusual that he would wear it now.

"I am, as you say down South, all ears," Dorian replied. He marked his place in the book he was reading and flipped it closed before turning his full attention to the Inquisitor.

Aldaron's eyes darted around the library, taking stock of the people lingering there today, before meeting Dorian's gaze again. "In private," he amended.

That was when Dorian realized that the elf's hands were shaking. Fisted and pressed against his side in an attempt to hide it, an attempt to appear casual. Something had spooked him. That mask wasn't up for show.

"Are you alright?" Dorian asked.

"Please," Aldaron interrupted. His voice was level but his hands still shook and his eyes were beseeching.

"Of course," Dorian rose from his seat and set down his book. "Lead the way."

Aldaron nodded and turned around, moving with quick, efficient steps down the stairs and out of the library. As they passed through the rotunda he cast a glance toward Solas, wondering if the elven mage knew the cause of Aldaron's unusual behavior, but he was engrossed in his newest mural and didn't pay them any attention. As they left the tower and crossed through the main hall Aldaron walked like a man on a mission. Dorian followed behind feeling rather uncomfortable about this whole situation. A few of the nobles milling about attempted to greet the Inquisitor, and he returned the greetings politely, but curtly. Dismissive.

The Inquisitor was holding himself so tensely that Dorian half expected him to crumble as soon as they were past the outer door to his quarters. But even when they were shut away from prying eyes Aldaron continued onward, silent and determined as he climbed the flights of stairs up to his rooms. Dorian was becoming more worried by the minute. It was a relief when they finally passed through the last door and up the final flight of stairs to the Inquisitor's bedroom.

"Now will you tell me what's got you so worked up?" Dorian asked rather impatiently.

"It's Morrigan," Aldaron said, and began pacing. He hadn't fully let down his guard yet, even though they were in private. That was concerning. Dorian at first thought the witch had said something to upset him, perhaps something disparaging about elves, but the notion was quickly dismissed when Aldaron kept talking. "She has this… artifact in one of the storage rooms. She didn't tell anyone about it except me. An eluvian. It's… it's like a magical door?" That was more a question than a statement. Aldaron had always struggled to understand magic; had trouble wrapping his mind around things he couldn't see or touch.

"I've read about eluvians," Dorian replied, assuring that his lover didn't need to explain it. "The ancient Tevinters used them, but they were supposedly all destroyed. You're saying she has one here? A working one?" Dorian asked.

"Yes," Aldaron said without pausing in his pacing.

"That's amazing," Dorian breathed.

"No it's not!" Aldaron exclaimed. He stopped moving, hands still fisted at his sides and shoulders tense. "You don't know where it leads! I don't want it here!"

The outburst pulled Dorian's thoughts back to the present. Fascinating as this all was, now was not the time to indulge his curiosity, not while Aldaron was in a panic. "Where does it lead? Why does it upset you so much?" he asked.

"It goes to the Fade," Aldaron blurted out, and in that instant Dorian understood perfectly. A gateway to the Fade sitting like old furniture just downstairs from his bedroom. The cause of all his nightmares in the heart of what should have been his safest place in the world. "Or… Not the fade, but somewhere close? I don't know…" he quieted down somewhat, voice trailing off into silence but no less panicked than before.

"You don't know?" Dorian asked, trying to understand.

"I… It didn't look like the Fade, but it felt…" Aldaron shuddered at the memory and wrapped his arms around himself. "It felt the same. It felt wrong."

Dorian remembered the feeling, like his body knew it wasn't supposed to be there. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He wanted to, but he didn't touch Aldaron, uncertain if, in his fear, the elf would allow it. "She took you through it?" he asked, "And you went?"

"I didn't know," Aldaron whimpered, leaning into him, and that was all the invitation Dorian needed. "I didn't know where it went. I thought… I don't know."

Arms around his shoulders, Dorian pulled him into a loose embrace. "She must have explained it somewhat. What did she say?"

Aldaron was still trembling, but he relaxed somewhat in Dorian's arms, rested his head against the man's shoulder. "She called it the Crossroads. Not actually the Fade, but… Somewhere in between? She said all the eluvians lead there. It was… empty. Dead. Nothing but mirrors, and all of them dark."

"But it wasn't the Fade," Dorian concluded. Aldaron shook his head silently. "But it still frightened you."

"It was too close," Aldaron breathed, "It felt the same. I remembered…" He shuddered and his hands fisted in Dorian's shirt, unable to continue the line of thought.

Dorian didn't push him for further explanation. He could imagine what it had reminded him of, Dorian had been there himself, after all. "You're alright, amatus," he said softly. "Nothing bad happened, right? You're safe here."

"It's safe, right?" Aldaron asked quietly. "That thing?"

"I presume so," Dorian replied. "Provided she closed the door after you, as it were. We wouldn't want your people to go falling through it on accident. But if the other side is truly empty then I imagine there's little danger of anything coming through. Do your advisors know about this?"

"Not yet," Aldaron had to admit. "I couldn't…"

Of course, the Inquisitor had barely been holding himself together when he showed up in the library. He'd probably gone straight there. "Well, I'm certain they could post some guards or something, if that would make you feel better. Or I suppose you could make her get rid of it. This is your castle, after all, you can throw out whomever or whatever you like."

"I don't think the Empress would be very happy if I threw out her adviser," Aldaron murmured. Very slowly he released his grip on Dorian's shirt, lifted his head and took a step away from him. It broke Dorian's hold on him and the man reluctantly let his arms fall back to his sides. "I'm alright now, thank you."

"You're sure?" Dorian asked.

Aldaron took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then straightened himself again and offered Dorian a shy smile. "Yes. Sorry for interrupting your reading."

"Not at all," Dorian assured. The book had been fascinating, but it would be there later. Aldaron was more important. "Although now that we're here," Dorian smirked and stepped up to him again, sliding an arm around Aldaron's waist, "We could make the most of it."

Aldaron's cheeks colored adorably. Honestly, how did he still get embarrassed after all this time? "I should be working," he protested, though it lacked conviction.

"Surely you could take a break," Dorian murmured. "You've been locked up in the war room for the past three days. I've hardly seen you." Dorian had missed him, if he was honest with himself. For weeks they hadn't shared a bed, but they had still been able to spend time together.

"I'm sorry," Aldaron replied, and he did look a little guilty about it. "There's been so much to do. And I really do need to tell the others about this."

He was right, of course. Damn him. Dorian sighed in defeat and threw his hands in the air as he stepped away from Aldaron again. "Fine, I give up. Off you go, then. Very important inquisiting to do." He supposed he should get used to this. After all, the Inquisitor was a very important person who had to do very important things. In comparison Dorian was nobody (though he would never admit as much).

"Dorian, I am sorry," Aldaron insisted. He reached out and laid a hand on Dorian's wrist, tentative. "I'm not avoiding you on purpose, I swear."

"Yes, I know," Dorian sighed again. He was being childish. It was hard not to be. "I am being selfish. I apologize."

Aldaron offered him a small smile, "I'll make it up to you. Tonight. We'll have dinner and then I'm all yours. I promise."

"That's a tempting offer, amatus," Dorian replied. Too tempting to turn down. "But is it a promise you're certain you can keep?"

The hesitation before Aldaron spoke again was telling enough. Dorian was already prepared for a disappointment when his lover spoke again. "I will," Aldaron said insistently, much to Dorian's surprise. "I will, Dorian."

He certainly sounded like he meant it, and Dorian didn't doubt that he would try. "Very well, then," he replied, allowing himself for now to believe it was possible. Potentially hours to themselves. It would take a miracle, but Aldaron was surprisingly good at miracles. "I'll see you tonight."

Of course Aldaron missed dinner.

Dorian waited around for as long as he dared before giving up and going to eat in the main hall with the others. It was hardly surprising, really. Aldaron was not very good at telling his advisers 'no' when they demanded his attention. It was, however, painfully disappointing. He wondered how long they would keep him occupied and, shamefully, if Aldaron was even trying to get away. He scolded himself for the latter as he climbed the stairs up to the Inquisitor's tower room later that evening. (Still not their room despite the fact at least half of Dorian's possessions had migrated there over time. Dorian wasn't quite ready for the sort of commitment those words implied.)

The bells had chimed the ninth hour before Dorian heard the door slam open and footsteps race up the stairs. He had since retired to the sofa with a book, determined to be there if Aldaron ever did manage to show up. By the time he looked up the elf was standing there panting like he'd just run up several flights of stairs. He'd probably run all the way from the hall. Dorian wanted to be angry with him. In fact he had been until the moment Aldaron had appeared in front of him panting and distressed.

"I'm sorry," the elf said before Dorian could even open his mouth or close his book. He was still breathless, words coming out between gasps as he caught his breath. "I lost track of time. I didn't mean to. I swear I didn't."

"Sit down before you have a heart attack," Dorian scolded lightly.

Aldaron did so, his breathing beginning to even out. "I'm so sorry," he said again. "Really."

"It's very difficult to be mad at you when you've clearly just run up all the stairs to apologize," Dorian said. "What were you going to do if I wasn't here? Run all the way to my quarters?"

"Probably," Aldaron admitted honestly. His breathing was finally back to normal and he pushed a hand through his windswept hair. "I promised you I'd be here. I feel awful."

"I forgive you," Dorian sighed. "I imagine you were doing something of vital importance. And as much as it pains me to admit: probably more important than me."

"You're still very important, Dorian," Aldaron assured him. "I would much rather be here with you than going over treaties."

"I'm happy to know I rank above paperwork in terms of enjoyable pastimes," Dorian teased.

Aldaron groaned, "You know what I mean."

Dorian did, but he couldn't help teasing. He had grown up surrounded by politics, he certainly understood when personal feelings had to be put aside in favor of more important things. Saving the world was certainly more important than Dorian's feelings of neglect. It wasn't even neglect. They had certainly been apart for longer than this and still saw each other every night. But a few days of busy work and Dorian was reduced to the likes of a pining maiden from one of Cassandra's novels. It was shameful. "Did you eat, at least?" Dorian asked, an effort to change the subject.

Aldaron stared down at his toes. "No," he admitted quietly.

Dorian heaved a long suffering sigh. "Honestly, how anyone expects you to save the world is beyond me. You can't even take care of yourself."

"That's what I have you for," Aldaron replied, looking up again and cracking a hesitant smile.

"Indeed," Dorian shook his head, "What would you do without me? Starve to death, I imagine. Come, then, let's find you something to eat. Then you can make good on the second half of your promise. You do still intend to make good on that part, yes?"

"Of course," Aldaron replied. He blushed a little but he smiled all the same, "I'm all yours."

"Good," Dorian smirked and stole a kiss from the elf's lips before standing up. "I plan on keeping you to myself for a while. No more Inquisitor work until the sun is up."

Aldaron chuckled as he rose to his feet as well. "No Inquisitor work until the sun is up. I promise," he vowed.

"I'll hold you to that," Dorian replied.

Aldaron woke with a gasp, a shock so severe it had him sitting straight up in bed. The motion dislodged Dorian, who had been rather firmly wrapped around him in his eternal quest to stave off the Ferelden cold, and the mage was none too happy about it. With mumbled curses Dorian rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "If this continues I'm going to have to start wearing armor to bed," he grumbled, voice rough from disuse.

Aldaron's head whipped around and he stared down at the man. He hadn't meant to wake him, or be so rough on him, but he had needed to assure himself immediately that he was awake.

"What's wrong?" Dorian asked when his eyes focused and he finally looked at Aldaron's face. "Another nightmare?"

"No, I…" Aldaron wasn't certain how to describe it. "I was in Haven… It looked like it did before… And Solas was there. We talked and… And suddenly I knew it wasn't real. I knew I was dreaming. So I woke up."

Dorian stared at him a moment, then propped himself up on one elbow to look at him more easily. "That's good, isn't it? Isn't that what you've been trying to do?"

"It is," Aldaron breathed. He could hardly believe it. After all this time, was he starting to make progress? "I did it. He helped, but… I did it, Dorian." Pride welled up in Aldaron's chest, likely misplaced, but there it was none-the-less. "I have to go talk to him," he breathed, and began scrambling to get out of bed.

"What?" Dorian asked in confusion. "It's the middle of the night."

"He'll be awake," Aldaron said confidently. "He'll know I'm coming. He was there."

"Who, Solas? You mean there there? Not just a figment of your imagination?" Dorian asked.

Aldaron nodded as he picked up his clothes off the floor. "It was really him. I know it was." How, Aldaron wasn't certain. Nor was he certain he wanted to know, already the thought that Solas had been in his head was a little unnerving.

"Then he'll understand that you need to sleep," Dorian said forcefully, and reached out to grab Aldaron's arm. The touch was enough to stop Aldaron, shirt in hand, and turn his attention back to Dorian. The man still looked tired, half-asleep, and annoyed about being woken up in the middle of the night. "The sun isn't even up."

'No Inquisitor work until the sun is up.' He'd promised. This wasn't technically Inquisition business, but Dorian probably didn't care. The man had made it perfectly clear how he felt about being constantly pushed aside and Aldaron didn't want to upset him even more or break another promise. "You're right," he said softly, and dropped his shirt back to the floor before sitting down on the bed again. "I'm sorry."

Dorian just huffed and pulled him back down. Aldaron allowed himself to flop back onto the mattress and climb back under the blankets. This was probably more enjoyable than talking to Solas anyway. As soon as he was back in bed Dorian pulled him close once more. "Good job, by the way," the man murmured, and stifled a yawn against Aldaron's hair. "I'm very proud of you. Now go to sleep."

Aldaron smiled and snuggled closer to Dorian, twining their legs together and wrapping his arms around the man's chest. "Thank you," he replied quietly. He let his eyes fall shut and for the first time in a long time wasn't afraid of what he might find on the other side of his eyelids.

Support for the Inquisition was at an all time high, offers for alliance flooding in left and right. Aldaron finally had a handle on the terrors that had been plaguing him for months. Everything was looking up, victory seemed within grasp. So of course that was when everything started falling apart.

First Blackwall disappeared. Left Skyhold without a word to anyone save a stable hand. And tracking him down to Val Royeaux revealed truths about the man that no one had expected. Blackwall was not a Grey Warden at all. He wasn't even Blackwall. Although the Inquisitor spared the man's life in repayment for all the good he had done with the Inquisition, his return to their ranks was provisional at best.

The betrayal shook Aldaron's trust in the man, and indeed in anyone he wasn't especially close with. He began doubting people he had once trusted. His patience for strangers and nobles was at an all time low. Rumors once easily brushed off were suddenly cause for concern. Whispers of corruption. The Inquisitor pulled favors to cover up the crimes of his companions. What else was he hiding? As though the Inquisitor needed anything more to worry about.

And then came the news from Wycome.