With the eluvian a journey that should have taken days was only a few hours. However but by the time the Inquisitor stumbled out of the mirror in Skyhold he looked ready to collapse. His hand had never left Dorian's, and he kept reaching the other one up to his forehead and squeezing his eyes closed in pain and concentration. Morrigan kept casting looks over her shoulder at him, lips pursed and eyes narrow. Perhaps she didn't think she'd be having as much trouble. Dorian returned each of her scathing looks with a glare of his own.

He wasn't at all happy with the course of events. In fact, he was worried out of his mind. Aldaron had enough troubles already without adding this on top of them. He wasn't even certain what this was. The combined knowledge of hundreds – thousands? – of ancient elves all thrust into Aldaron's mind at once? How could anyone handle that sort of sensory overload? Aldaron was not handling it well. He was silent, his eyes fixed on the ground when they were open at all. When they finally stepped back through the eluvian into Skyhold Dorian felt like his hand on Aldaron's arm was the only thing keeping the Inquisitor upright.

Without relinquishing his vice-like grip on Dorian's hand, Aldaron struggled to straighten himself, to raise his head and look at his companions. "Cassandra, send word to the troops," his voice was weak and pained. "Call everyone back to Skyhold."

"Of course," the woman replied, her usually stern face lined with concern. "Are you well, Inquisitor?"

Aldaron nodded weakly. "I just need to rest… there's so much…" he trailed off, eyes squeezing shut again.

It was so unusual for Aldaron to show any weakness in front of other people, and that was what frightened Dorian the most. Aldaron had always been able to pull himself together before, even if only for a few minutes. "Let's get you to bed then," he suggested. "I don't expect we'll hear anything back until the morning anyway." For once Aldaron didn't protest, only nodded again and let Dorian herd him out of the room. There were few people in the garden when they emerged, but they quickly drew attention. The Inquisitor had been gone from Skyhold for weeks, and was meant to be away for several more days at the least, and here he appeared out of a storage room with a handful of his companions, all looking a little worse for the wear. Dorian watched as Aldaron made a valiant attempt at straightening himself. He raised his head and squared his shoulders, took his hand from Dorian's for a moment and then grabbed the man's arm again to keep steady as he walked.

The walk across the gardens and through the hall to the Inquisitor's quarters was short, but seemed to take an age. Aldaron's steps were careful, his back rigid and his hand trembling on Dorian's arm. They drew quite a bit of attention, shocked whispers about wasn't the Inquisitor in the Arbor Wilds? No one announced his return, when did he get here? Is he injured? Despite his best efforts Aldaron didn't look much like the Inquisitor he always held himself up to be in front of these people.

When they finally reached the Inquisitor's quarters Aldaron collapsed onto bed, heedless of his bloodstained clothes, and was asleep almost immediately. "You could at least get out of these filthy clothes first," Dorian complained aloud even though no one could hear him. Aldaron was out cold. If only he slept this well on a regular basis. Resigned, Dorian stripped his lover down to his underclothes, then after a moment of consideration out of those as well. He'd been wearing the exact same thing for a week, it was horrifying.

The Inquisitor's clothes, caked in blood and dirt and sweat, were left in a pile by the door for the maids, though Dorian honestly considered burning them. The mage's own robes joined them soon after, before the man slid into bed as well.

Although he was also exhausted, Dorian found it difficult to sleep. Now that the initial fear was ebbing away his mind wandered. And Dorian discovered he had a lot to think about. Aldaron had done this to himself – whatever 'this' was – willingly. Not knowing how it would affect him. Knowing it might kill him. And why? Because elves.

Because between the options of risking his life and handing over anything elven to a human, he clearly thought the former was better.

And honestly Dorian couldn't blame him.

Dorian wouldn't have touched that Well with a hundred foot pole.

At this point Dorian was not surprised. It was the fourth time he'd watched Aldaron risk his life and been entirely helpless to do anything. And it probably wouldn't be the last. By now he should be getting used to it, but watching Aldaron collapse into the Well of Sorrows hadn't been any less terrifying than watching a mountain fall on Haven and knowing that the elf was still in there somewhere.

Aldaron never did anything by halves, did he? He decided the best course of action and followed. He didn't stand around talking about it, either. No long-winded speeches about how he wanted to help the elves. No, Aldaron saw an opportunity and he took it, damn the consequences. That was a sure-fire way to get himself hurt. Dorian wished he could criticize, but unfortunately it also seemed to be working. Put an elf behind the throne in Orlais; fill his head with all of the knowledge that Tevinter had gone to such effort to destroy.

In comparison, what was Dorian doing? Convincing a handful of southerners that not all Tevinter mages were evil, blood-thirsty magisters bent on world domination? (A difficult task when they were, in fact, fighting an evil, blood-thirsty magister bent on world domination.) For all his talk, Dorian hadn't actually accomplished much of anything, had he?

He was focused on defeating Corypheus, part of his mind argued, Tevinter would still be there in need of fixing when he was done. But Aldaron was focused on the same thing, another part pointed out, and he'd still managed to take the first steps toward improving things for his people. Because there were elves here in need of help. The only Tevinters here were Venatori, who just needed killing. You can't change a country if you're not in it, Dorian. It was with that thought lingering in his mind that the man succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

Aldaron slept for nearly a full day in fits and starts, his usual dreams interrupted by fleeting memories that were not his own. Flashes of light and sound, disjointed words and images as his mind struggled to sort through all the information it suddenly contained. When he woke the headache that had plagued him since drinking from the Well was gone. His thoughts once more felt like his own. And he was alone. His memories of arriving back at Skyhold were fuzzy, but he was certain Dorian had been there when he fell asleep. From the position of the sun, though, it seemed to be shortly after midday. Dorian must have gotten bored waiting for him to get up, Aldaron just wasn't used to waking up alone because he wasn't used to sleeping for so long.

It was his stomach reminding him that he hadn't eaten since the morning he arrived in the Arbor Wilds that finally forced Aldaron to haul himself out of bed. There was a pile of paperwork on his desk, but he ignored it in favor of getting dressed and heading downstairs in search of food. It was past a usual meal time, so the great hall was empty save a small clique of nobles at the far end. It felt unnervingly empty, but with Josephine and all the rest of his advisors away there were no visitors. Anyone of any importance was in the Arbor Wilds and Skyhold was down to a skeleton staff. Aldaron hadn't seen the place this empty since the Inquisition first arrived. No one stopped him or even glanced in his direction as he passed through the hall and down to the kitchens. The cook did not seem surprised to see him, muttering something about hearing he was back but not quite believing it. Long past were the Inquisitor's days of thieving food at odd hours. It had become such a regular occurrence in the months since settling in that the kitchen staff usually had some form of leftovers on hand to pawn off. That was not the case today, but the cook only heaved an exasperated sigh and set to work throwing something together while Aldaron waited patiently on a low stool at the table. When the food was set in front of him he ate in silence, and then thanked her politely before leaving the kitchens again.

He almost went into Josephine's office to ask for something to do before remembering that she wasn't here. For some reason the thought stopped him in his tracks. No one was here. Only those who had been with him in the temple.

They were all still out there; all his friends. Were they safe? Did Cassandra send the message like he asked? Of course, she wouldn't overlook something like that. Had the raven arrived? Had they heard anything back yet? Who did he ask about that if Leliana wasn't here?

Months ago he might have felt glad for the reprieve, for the solitude. Now it just felt lonely. He'd grown used to the bustle of Skyhold, where there was always someone to talk to and something to do. He remembered the pile of paperwork on his desk, but he didn't feel up to reading that much right now. Or ever. The tavern would be empty of anyone he knew or cared about. He could seek out Solas or Morrigan, try and sort out what was going on in his head, but imagined that would only lead to a lecture on his foolishness and inadequacy.

He didn't even realize his steps had led him to the library until he was halfway up the stairs.

Mercifully, the library did not feel as empty and quiet as the hall had. In the rookery above the ravens cawed and flew about as usual, across the room Helisma was bent over her latest specimen, and in the nook that by now all of Skyhold must think of as his Aldaron found Dorian. He was seated in his usual chair, book in hand and reading in the small patch of sunlight that came in through the window, so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed the elf's arrival yet.

Aldaron had the sudden very strong urge to climb into that chair with him. To squeeze into that too-small space and wrap himself around Dorian like a blanket. To pull the man's arms around him and make Dorian read aloud to him like he'd done on so many occasions to help Aldaron fall asleep.

Dorian wouldn't like that, not in public, so Aldaron held himself back and made his last two steps into the alcove pointedly loud enough to be heard. It worked. Dorian looked up from his reading, a brief glance at first, then with his full attention. "You're up," the man observed, book immediately forgotten. He didn't even mark his spot as he set it aside and rose to his feet. "Feeling better, I take it?"

"Yes," Aldaron replied. "Much better."

"That's a relief. What was it like?" Dorian asked curiously. "What did that thing do to you, exactly? You weren't terribly coherent yesterday."

Aldaron wasn't certain he could describe the sensation. The way his head felt too full, how his thoughts did not feel like they were his own. He knew things that he had never learned, that he had no way of knowing. So much new information that his mind struggled to sort through it all. "It was… like hearing people talking, but all at the same time so you can't focus on just one voice. I couldn't think straight."

The look the crossed Dorian's face was somewhere between concerned and intrigued. "Are you still hearing it?"

"No," Aldaron answered at first, then "Yes." Because it was easy to ignore now, but something was still there in the back of his mind. "It's quieter now… Like someone whispering from far away. But I can still hear it if I concentrate."

"Fascinating," Dorian breathed. He stared at Aldaron for a long moment, seeming to be lost in thought before he shook himself out of it. "And horrifying," he added with a frown. "I'm still angry with you, by the way, for doing this to yourself."

"I'm fine now, Dorian," Aldaron tried to assure him. Mostly fine, at least. It didn't seem to have harmed him.

"Yes, just hundreds of ancient elves talking in your head," Dorian scoffed, "Perfectly fine and normal. Nothing at all to be concerned about. It's not as though you collapsed, or could barely walk, or slept for an entire day. You…" he trailed off, the anger bleeding out of him as he grew quiet, "You scared me to death, amatus."

"I know…" Aldaron replied just as quietly. Dorian always hid his fear behind anger or annoyance. He felt terrible for frightening him; that had never been Aldaron's intention. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he murmured. Hesitantly he took a step forward to close the distance between them, half convinced that Dorian would step back to keep the distance between them. He did not.

"Why did you do it?" Dorian asked instead. "If anything had happened to you… The Inquisition would fall apart."

Just the Inquisition? Aldaron couldn't help wondering. He looked up into Dorian's eyes, searching for an answer, but the man looked away too quickly. "I can use this to help people. To help my people," he said earnestly. "Morrigan wouldn't. She would keep it to herself, just like the eluvian. That's no better than seeing it destroyed."

Dorian sighed softly, "That's what I imagined you'd say," he murmured. "Everything that happened at the temple… It's got me thinking. I should go back, shouldn't I? To Tevinter. Once this is done… If we're still alive." Then he did step away from Aldaron again and the elf felt his heart plummet into his stomach. "All my talk of how terribly wrong things are back home, but what do I do about it? Nothing."

"You would just leave?" Aldaron asked in disbelief, "What about…?"

"Us?" Dorian supplied when the word died on Aldaron's tongue. He finally met the elf's gaze again and his expression turned soft. "Trust me, amatus, it would give me no pleasure to leave your side. You make monumental decisions affecting the entire world. How can I not consider some of my own?"

They didn't have to be apart for that. "Why don't I go with you?" Aldaron asked hopefully, perhaps a little desperately.

"Take you away from all this?" Dorian asked, making a sweeping gesture with one arm. "I can't ask that of you."

All this? Skyhold? The Inquisition? All the power and responsibility that Aldaron had never wanted? "You don't have to ask. I'm offering."

"Tempting," Dorian mused, but shook his head. Aldaron felt his heart break a little. "We both know you would end up doing it all yourself. As much as watching my homeland beaten into submission would amuse me, this is something I need to do."

So he would just go. Go to the other side of the world and leave Aldaron here alone. "I need you at my side," he all but begged. "Now more than ever."

"Emotional blackmail is a fine thing to pull out of your arsenal," Dorian sighed.

"I didn't," Aldaron began to protest, but Dorian cut him off with a short laugh.

"I'm joking," the mage said. But Aldaron thought the laugh had not sounded genuine, and the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll think about it. Closely. This is your fault, remember. You inspired me with your marvelous antics. You're shaping the world… for good or ill. How could I aspire to do any less? If it means proving that Tevinter can be better, that there's hope even for my homeland? I would do anything."

Anything. Anything except stay. Anything except let Aldaron go with him. All his talk about never letting Aldaron out of his sight in case he got himself hurt, was it only talk? Was he nothing more than a momentary distraction? A port in a storm? He should have known. Aldaron should have seen this coming right from the moment Dorian refused to make promises about their future together. But he was naïve and stupid.

"I… have to go," Aldaron said, choking back his heartbreak. "I… There should be word back from the Wilds by now." He couldn't look at Dorian as he brushed past the man then fled down the stairs – the exact opposite direction his excuse would have required. Down the stairs and through the hall and out into the bright sun of the courtyard. Only then did he stop and take a deep breath of fresh mountain air.

It took only moments after they had parted for Aldaron to realize he should not have said what he had said. Dorian was right to accuse him of playing the guilt card; that was exactly what he had been doing. As soon as the elf stepped out of the keep and into the courtyard he realized how selfish and unreasonable he was being. He knew Dorian, and he knew that he man cared for him. That much was obvious and Aldaron did not doubt it. What hurt was that Dorian could speak so easily of leaving him, as though it didn't upset him at all. But Dorian always spoke of their relationship that way, didn't he? As though its end was inevitable regardless of their personal feelings. Maybe he was right.

Of course Dorian wanted to go change his homeland for the better, why wouldn't he? And how could Aldaron deny the man he loved the opportunity to do that when it was something the mage cared so passionately about?

Selfish.

It was selfish to ask Dorian to give up the thing that had driven him since the first time they had met – ridding Tevinter of corruption. And for what? For him? Aldaron held no delusions of grandeur. Whatever other people thought of him, he was still just a person. One useless, selfish person with divinely bad luck. His love life was not more important than the entire Tevinter Imperium, and Dorian was probably the only person in Thedas who could change that place for the better.

It had also been selfish to try and invite himself along. As long as he stayed by Aldaron's side Dorian would stand in the Inquisitor's shadow. If the Inquisitor followed his lover to Tevinter everyone there would assume the mage was a puppet on a string. Puppet to an elf. That would not go over well.

He was momentarily angry at Dorian for springing this on him with no warning, but ultimately ashamed of his reaction.

He avoided Dorian for the rest of the day, and that probably did not help, either.

But when the elf slunk back to his quarters late in the evening he was surprised to find Dorian already there. Aldaron had spent the entire day feeling terrible about their conversation, and he had assumed – incorrectly it seemed – that Dorian had been just as upset. So he had expected the man to spend the night in his own room. Though come to think of it, Dorian hadn't spent a night there since Halamshiral.

For his part, Dorian was acting like nothing had happened. Maybe from his perspective nothing had. Maybe Aldaron was making mountains out of molehills. Still, the elf feigned exhaustion and immediately crawled into bed to avoid having to talk about anything. Even though he realized now that it would be best to let Dorian leave if that was what he wanted, the thought was painful. When the mage slid into the bed beside him Aldaron rolled over and pressed himself against Dorian's side, wrapping an arm around his waist and laying his head on the man's shoulder. At least for now Dorian wasn't going anywhere, and that comforted him until he fell asleep.

It had been unfair to spring the idea on him so suddenly. The whole conversation had not gone as planned, and it was probably Dorian's fault. Of course his lover would be upset. And obviously he was still upset. The Inquisitor was exceedingly good at concealing his emotions when he put his mind to it, but he had done a poor job of it that afternoon. He had not meant the conversation to be a declaration of his intention to leave once this was all over; he only wanted to put the idea out there, so if he decided to go back to Tevinter eventually it wouldn't be a surprise.

He did want to go home and try to make a difference. Watching Aldaron change the world despite all of his fears had inspired that in him. But Tevinter was not a good place to be an elf, even one so highly respected as the Inquisitor. Aldaron was needed here, anyway. The Inquisition's work would not end with Corypheus' defeat, and an Inquisition needed an Inquisitor.

The big question was – assuming they both survived – whether he could bring himself to give all this up.

There was so much that Dorian would miss if he left. (Aldaron, mostly, though he had grown rather fond of some of the south's other charms.) Not just the good things. He wouldn't just miss Aldaron's crooked smile, the sound of his voice, the feel of his lips. As he lay there in bed unable to sleep Dorian realized he would miss all those things he found so dreadfully annoying. Like being woken up in the middle of the night by an elbow to the ribs because the Inquisitor fought demons even in his sleep. Or the way Aldaron insisted on trying to hug him whenever the elf was particularly filthy (usually covered in someone else's blood). Even when he had to be coaxed down from the rooftops because Skyhold had become too claustrophobic for someone used to a nomadic life. How strange that that had become the expected routine of his life.

At some point he must have fallen asleep, because Dorian woke with the early morning sunlight filtering in through the stained glass windows and casting the room in yellows and greens. Too early. Dorian fully intended to go straight back to sleep, until he rolled over and saw Aldaron sitting on the edge of the bed, back hunched and head in his hands. Now he had to get up and see what was wrong. He wouldn't be able to get back to sleep unless he did.

"Amatus," Dorian murmured softly so as not to startle the elf too much. He propped himself up on one arm and reached out. Aldaron flinched a little at the first touch to his back, then relaxed as Dorian's hand trailed down his spine. "Nightmare?" he asked. To his surprise Aldaron shook his head. What else could have him upset this early in the morning? Something to do with the Well? "What's wrong?"

"You were right," the elf said quietly, "You should go back to Tevinter."

"You make that sound like a bad thing," Dorian replied, equal parts surprised and confused. That's what Aldaron was sitting up thinking about at the crack of dawn?

"I… I don't want you to go," the elf's voice was barely a whisper.

Dorian frowned in confusion, "You just said-,"

"I do," Aldaron interrupted quickly, and finally turned to look at him. He cheeks were dry but his eyes were red. Had he been crying? Crying over Dorian? "I do want you to go and fix things in Tevinter. I know how much it means to you, but I… I don't want you to leave me here alone."

"You wouldn't be alone," Dorian protested gently. He could see how this was tearing Aldaron up, shocking though it was that anyone could be so distressed to see him leave, and he felt much the same. "All our friends would still be here."

Aldaron shook his head and looked away again. "They're not you," he said quietly.

"There you go, breaking my heart," Dorian sighed. It wasn't any less painful for him to consider leaving his lover behind in order to pursue his dreams. But perhaps he was more used to this sort of heartbreak. It still shocked him sometimes to think that Aldaron wanted to be with him. "I still haven't decided, you know," he pointed out, sitting up fully and joining Aldaron at the side of the bed. "And I wouldn't be leaving any time soon regardless. I intend to see this Corypheus thing through to the end."

"I know," Aldaron said quietly, staring down at his hands in his lap. "Everyone had lives before this. Lives they can go back to when it's all over… But I don't."

Was that was he was afraid of? With the crisis diverted, when the world no longer needed an Inquisition, all their friends would drift apart, go their separate ways as they pursued their own goals. And Aldaron, with no family and no homeland, would be left behind. Even if the Inquisition was disbanded, Aldaron couldn't honestly think that everyone would forget about him, could he? The Inquisitor wouldn't be left high and dry; there would always be a place for him somewhere. Although, maybe not the place he wanted.

Dorian was still convinced, however, that Tevinter would not be good for him. If Aldaron had hated the Orlesian court, then he would hate Tevinter all the more. His status would earn him a bare modicum of politeness from people who would much rather see him in chains. Dorian would not subject him to that.

"Come here," Dorian sighed and pulled the elf into his arms. Aldaron melted easily into his embrace as he always had. He was making it all the harder to even consider leaving. "I never meant to upset you, amatus. I only wanted it to be less of a shock if someday I must return."

Aldaron nodded very slightly. "I know I'm being selfish," he murmured.

"There's nothing wrong with a bit of selfishness now and then," Dorian assured. He was certainly guilty of it more often than not. Actually, now sounded like a good time to be particularly selfish. Pulling back from their embrace slightly Dorian pressed a kiss to Aldaron's lips and gently pressed him back onto the mattress. "I hope you don't have any plans for today," he murmured, peppering open mouthed kisses down Aldaron's neck.

"No," the elf sighed, easily tilting his head back.

"Good," Dorian smirked, "Because I don't plan on letting you leave this bed any time soon."

Very slowly a smile spread across Aldaron's lips. "That sounds fine to me."