Chapter 28: Doom Upon All the World
Max had to hand it to Corypheus for one thing: He chose his timing well for making his attacks. Although the Inquisition inner circle had returned to Skyhold from the Arbor Wilds through Briala's eluvian, they had not managed to send the troops through. A skeleton force was all that remained at the castle. It was largely relying on its natural defenses, and those had been sufficient to give the defenders an advantage against the Seekers. But Corypheus—as Max had always known he could—had taken a shortcut. The castle's elevation did not provide a defense against the dragon—or new rifts. Corypheus had not wasted any time in planning this final attack.
But he did not know that the Inquisition had a dragon of their own now in Morrigan.
Max and his companions reached the mountainous area where the green rift glimmered directly overhead in the night sky. There Corypheus himself stood, magic crackling around him, a look of loathing, contempt, and cunning on his ruined face. His dragon crouched behind him, eyeing them with dead red-lyrium eyes. This was no Archdemon. This had never been an Archdemon. This had once been an intelligent creature, a fearsome and magnificent predator, a member of a species hunted nearly to extinction but marvelously returned. Dragons were dangerous and deadly, but that was natural for them, and it enraged Max to see one corrupted, ruined, and enslaved to this monster, with no hope of recovery or freedom again. Red lyrium hurt all who took it, causing physical agony before death. That was what Corypheus had done to this dragon. At least it will be put out of this misery, he thought. Morrigan, any time that you decide to transform, it would be great...
"You dare face me," Corypheus snarled. "If you so desire death, you shall have it!" He bared his teeth as the dragon made to flame them.
A roar shook the mountainside. Max gazed up as Morrigan, transformed, launched herself at the red lyrium dragon. The two creatures soared high above the mountaintops, fighting.
Corypheus was stunned for a moment before he faced Max with that contempt returned. "A dragon of your own. How clever. It will avail you nothing. You will fall as a warning to those who oppose my divine will!"
He then began fighting, his companions—minus the two Grey Wardens—by his side, as it always should have been and finally, for the past few months, had been. Dorian knew magic unsettlingly similar to some of Corypheus's tricks, but Max supposed that certain spells were probably never censored or forgotten in Tevinter. It was useful, at any rate.
Corypheus had realized that no one bearing the Taint was in the immediate vicinity, but that did not seem to frighten him—which, Max thought in an instant, was probably good evidence that Rainier and Felix were still within the perimeter of possession. All the more reason to deal with you in my own way, Max resolved.
But Corypheus did not know what he intended once the red lyrium dragon was dead, and his arrogance was evident. "You think to best me with your feeble magic!" he sneered. "You are nothing! You are a child! The glorious Imperium knew more magic than your entire ruinous Circle ever taught you!"
I don't doubt that, Max thought as he fired a spell at the magister, but that makes no difference for my plans for you.
"Look out!" Dorian roared suddenly. The party, which had been fighting in magical and mundane synchronicity, had to scatter, all their battle tactics abandoned—for the two dragons were plummeting to earth at rapid speeds. Both seemed to be injured. Max's heart sank.
The red lyrium dragon fell first, landing on its feet like a cat, but still injured. It hissed as Morrigan, in dragon form, followed. To Max's horror, she then turned back into a human woman.
"No!" he exclaimed. "Morrigan!"
"She is still alive," Dorian said. "Someone must reach her before that thing kills her!"
"That dragon isn't fit for shit," Varric said, scrambling over rocks to try to reach the site of the dragons' fall, shooting bolts at the red lyrium one all the while. "Let's finish it off!"
Iron Bull hefted his greatsword. "I see a dragon skull with my name on it!"
Max felt a pang for the dragon; was he the only one who felt sorry for it instead of feeling glee at its impending death? It had killed people at Haven and served Corypheus, but under the influence of red lyrium and the magister's own dark compulsion, it had had no choice. Death was a release in situations like this instead of cause for a party.
In this instance, Max understood Cole's thinking. He gave the spirit boy a quick nod, hoping that his meaning was clear—hoping, at last, that Cole was listening to his thoughts.
Cole glanced up at him, saying nothing for once—but Max knew he understood what to do.
Most of the companions followed Varric and Iron Bull, leaving only Dorian, Solas, Cassandra, and Leliana with Max. They exchanged a quick look. Corypheus was rushing up a staircase, a remnant of some ancient path—and to their horror, he was widening the newly created breach with every step he took.
"We have to stop him!" Max cried out, pointing overhead. "After him!"
A roar erupted as someone in the other group killed the red lyrium dragon. A reddish light orb flew toward Corypheus, undoubtedly the spell, or some sort of anchor, to tether himself to the dragon. At least that was gone now. Maybe I really can strand him in the Fade, Max thought as he rushed after his enemy.
The sky was opening up as Max and his defenders reached Corypheus. The ancient magister stood there, the elven orb in his hand, as the artifact crackled with magic and pulled the Veil apart.
"I will not fall! Even now, I cannot fall!" Corypheus raged as the rift opened wide. "You shall all burn!" He turned to Dorian, sneering. "I will keep you alive for a while, though. Long enough to deal with you harshly! The renewed Imperium shall suffer no traitors!"
Dorian laughed. "Your Imperium is a relic, monster, just like you are!"
Corypheus turned to Max then. "Do you think you will stop me? Nothing can! I have walked the halls of the Golden City! Crossed the ages! Mastered the Taint! You are nothing!"
Green edges around the great rift began to glow. Corypheus lunged for Max, grabbing for his marked hand to use the Anchor.
Pain shot through the mark, but Max would not scream. He would not give this thing the satisfaction—
"No!" Corypheus shouted. "It fights me! You—"
A blast of magic erupted from the mark, searing Max's hand—this was far worse than the moment on the Waking Sea, and he did not even want to know what it looked like—he thought it was distinctly possible he might have lost a finger or two, for he could no longer feel a couple of them—but he knew, through the haze of pain, that he could not give in. Not now.
"You take such pride in being a magister of the Imperium," Max snarled through clenched teeth. "So eager to tell everyone else how beneath you they are. How hypocritical for someone who holds what you do, Corypheus: an artifact of a people you claim to hold in contempt. What are you without your stolen tools? A ghoul. That's all that you are. A Tainted ruin of a human being."
Corypheus snarled as the orb cracked. The rift was now as large as it could ever become. Max gazed upward at it for a moment. The pain in his hand was lessening, which he knew on some level was not good for his own health, but it was certainly convenient for his purposes now. He directed with all his might and willpower to close the breach.
Corypheus realized that he was in deep trouble, and in that moment, his pride faltered. Instead of proclaiming himself a god, he began calling out to others he had once worshiped as such. "Dumat!" he cried. "Ancient ones! If you exist—if you have ever truly existed as gods—aid me!"
As the sky crackled and screamed closed, and green flashes lit up the night, Max regarded Corypheus with disdain. That scene months ago in Haven, as Corypheus denied the Maker and taunted Max with his own doubt, returned to Max. Perhaps this type of justice was cruel, but if anyone deserved it, it was this monster. "Dumat is dead. The throne of your god is empty. Silence has fallen." A grim smile adorned Max's face as the rift slammed shut and Corypheus raged as he recognized his own words, spoken to Max and also into a memory crystal. "But you don't need him, do you? A god doesn't need anything—except, it seems, the artifacts of Elvhenan." His cold smile broadened. "Tell me, Corypheus—since you have become such a connoisseur of elven lore, have you ever heard the legend of Fen'Harel the Dread Wolf?"
Somewhere in the distance, where his companions still scrambled for their footing, he heard a gasp. He did not know if it had come from Dorian or Solas.
"The trickster of the elven pantheon," Max continued relentlessly as he readied his numbing hand for one final burst. He would have one shot at this, he knew. If he failed, he would die. He might die anyway. He probably would, he supposed. But better to die taking this monster down. He had to keep Corypheus's attention focused on something else, anything else, anything but the mark, as he prepared the magic. "Fen'Harel didn't kill the elven gods. Perhaps he couldn't. Can a god be killed? Maybe you have achieved your goal after all. You didn't have the dragon when you survived the battle with Hawke."
The magic was hard to sense through the numbness, but Max knew it was building. He was almost ready—
"Do you know what the Dread Wolf did to the elven gods, Corypheus?" Max continued. "Rather than trying vainly to kill what he knew couldn't die?" The magic on his rift finally flared as Max brought his hand out and thrust it in Corypheus's face, blazing green. "He locked them away in the Fade."
Corypheus gasped in agony as Max ripped the sky open one last time—sending him into it—and slammed the door.
Max realized that his act had started an avalanche, but he could not stop it. He gazed up at the sky as ashes seemed to descend from the new rift-scar and the rumble of boulders sounded in the background, a rushing roar to his ears. He could not feel a thing on his hand. The hand itself seemed to be made of rubber. There was no sensation at all. He couldn't move his fingers. Was that because the nerves were gone, or because the fingers were gone? He tried to see it—to see just how bad this was—but he couldn't make anything out past the green light.
It was flaring and blasting magic wildly, none of it tangible to Max now—mercifully, he supposed, though he knew it meant his nerves in that area were destroyed—and neither could he control it. Vaguely he understood why. If it's not just pain nerves—if all the nerves are severed—then I have no way to control it anymore. It's not linked to my brain now. It's acting independently. But... it's still connected to me. I can't control it, but it's hurting me.
Max felt vaguely philosophical about this. Well, I did know that this was always a possibility. So be it. At least it wasn't in vain.
He didn't want the last thing on earth that he saw to be the scar of the rift, so he tried to make out the shapes of his companions. They were there—the ones who had accompanied him to fight Corypheus had all survived the rockfall, so far, at least—that was good—and I'm so sorry, Dorian, he thought. I'm sorry it had to end this way for us. I didn't want this. Please forgive me. You'll understand, won't you? You know I had to do this.
Someone had broken away from the group and was running faster to reach him. Was that Dorian? Max wasn't sure what he thought about that. It would be nice to say goodbye verbally, to be sure, but wouldn't it also be painful...?
Max then realized, as the figure became clear even to his blurring vision, that it was not Dorian. It was Solas.
And he looked very... Max could not think entirely clearly at the moment. Was this anger? Had Solas heard what he had told Corypheus at the end? Someone had, he recalled vaguely. Someone had gasped.
Solas reached Max, regarding him silently for a moment, his robes flapping in the cold air, his expression unreadable. He crouched and lifted up Max's numb hand, then shook his head.
"It is done."
Yes, Max thought, it is. He faced the elven mage courageously, a faint smile on his face. "It's done, yes. I am done. There's no point in punishing me now."
Solas quirked a brow. "When have you ever known me to punish intelligence and curiosity, no matter where they lead? It seems that you have deduced the truth a bit earlier than I had intended, but you always were very smart." He smiled crookedly. "But you do leave me with no choice. I warned you that this could happen if you used more of that power than you could safely control." He reached out with his magic, trying to seize the mark.
Max protested. "No—it's killing me, I know, but just leave it—"
"If I respected you less, I might leave it to kill you. But I cannot."
He caught the rift mark with his magic. Even though Max had no feeling up to his elbow, he felt in his nerves beyond that point a tugging.
"I am sorry," Solas continued. "None of this was supposed to happen this way. You were not supposed to suffer as you have. This is a feeble way of making amends, but it is all I can do now."
Max gasped out as something left him—the magic, he realized.
And more.
He gaped down at his left arm, which now ended at the elbow.
Then back up to Solas, who was examining the broken orb with regret. "The orb is gone too. It cannot be repaired." He sighed, then turned back to Max. "I know it is not your fault. It is mine. All of this—all of it and more, it is mine." He sighed, pulling the rags of his hood over his head. "I take my leave. Know that I am sorry, but what must be, will be. Live well, while time remains."
Solas disappeared over the mountaintop just as Dorian, Cassandra, and Leliana reached Max.
"Solas—he left—" Cassandra sputtered.
Leliana's gaze was hard, and Dorian's was harder. Max wondered if Leliana had deduced the truth too, or if Dorian had somehow managed to tell her. His amatus spoke up. "I am sure he had his reasons," Dorian said in harsh tones.
Leliana agreed. "We cannot abandon the Inquisitor to pursue him, and I fear it would be a futile endeavor anyway. Our duty now is to the one who saved us all—who saved the world. Returning the favor is the least we can do!"
Dorian's voice was full of anguished emotion. "Maker, look at you!" he exclaimed in horror at the sight of Max. "Your arm!"
"We knew it would happen," Max muttered as Dorian and Cassandra lifted him up. "It has. At least I'm free of that accursed thing now. And I'm alive. I... am alive, right? This isn't the Maker's embrace?" He knew he was fading fast.
Dorian shook his head. "No, it's my embrace, you brave idiot," he said, shouldering Max's upper body over his own with the aid of force magic. "Come on. Let's get back to Skyhold."
Two weeks later.
Max had been in and out of the Fade for some time, but he had not encountered Corypheus or Fen'Harel or any other tormentor. Instead it had been the familiar Fade he had known most of his life. After so much time as Herald and Inquisitor, battling an ancient monster and his ancient weapons, the return to normality was odd.
Max knew that it wouldn't last.
Solas is what I feared he was, he thought when he finally woke up for good. He confirmed it. And he has plans of some sort. And I've lost my weapon... not that it was probably ever a weapon I could use against him.
At twenty-four, Max was not ready to retire. But he knew that he had fought and lived through far more than anyone of that age should have, and he was older in spirit than in body—amputated arm aside.
While he had drifted in and out of sleep and recovered from the immediate shock of his injuries, Josephine and Vivienne had planned a banquet to celebrate the defeat of Corypheus and the Inquisition's victory. Max was not expected to speak at it, but he wanted to. It would be proof that he was recovering well.
Morrigan had also been gravely injured in the fight, but she too had recovered. None of Max's allies had fallen, to his great relief. The only one missing was Solas. He did not yet know who, other than Dorian and presumably Morrigan, was aware of the secret. Leliana, possibly. But he was afraid to ask, afraid that Solas could somehow listen in even though he was not physically present. The dark looks that he exchanged with them as he prepared himself for the banquet were enough for all three of them. They alone held a terrible secret, one whose repercussions they did not yet understand, but which they knew they would have to face someday.
But others were moving too—had been moving while Max recovered—and Leliana gave him the warning and caught him up with recent events before the distinguished guests arrived for the Skyhold banquet.
"Grand Cleric Petrice announced her support for Dales independence as soon as word of Corypheus's defeat reached Kirkwall," Leliana said, though her tone was curiously excited rather than grim.
Max raised an eyebrow at this. "You seem happy."
"This war was inevitable, so it is good for us that it happened this way."
"They are already at war?"
"The two sides have issued their declarations of war, yes," she confirmed. "Briala was reportedly not happy at all that Petrice usurped her schedule in this way. Petrice's statement left Briala with no choice but indeed to declare independence on behalf of the whole region, and for Comte Lemarque—Fairbanks—and Duchess Monette to join the declaration."
Max sighed. He had known that it was coming, and he had set it in motion himself, but he could not say that he was thrilled about this. "Who else is involved? Ferelden, I presume, but what about the Free Marches?"
"VMTO has not gotten involved," Leliana replied.
"But Petrice—"
"She acted alone. VMTO is a defense alliance and it is for the Free Marches. A war between Orlais and the Dales is not their affair, and that is what Viscountess Hawke has declared. She will not get involved unless she is forced into it."
"Doesn't that put a wedge between her and her Grand Cleric?"
"Undoubtedly, but Petrice needed to be taught a lesson, in my opinion. She very likely has been eyeing the armies and weapons of VMTO with envy and greed for some time, imagining herself on the Sunburst Throne with a force like that at her disposal." Leliana laughed.
You sound like you know all too well what she must have been thinking, Max thought cynically. He would not say it—no, he would not dare—
But he did not have to. Leliana smiled wryly at him. "You are thinking that I understand her remarkably well. And you are right. I would be envious and greedy too if my longtime ally had such a menace. But I hope I would not be as foolish as she has been to do this."
"So it has not worked out well for her?"
"The problem she faces is that, while the weapons of VMTO—at least the rockets—are only Kirkwall's, and the mage army is mostly Kirkwall's, the majority of the soldiers come from the whole region. She cannot control that. The treaty says very explicitly that an attack on one Marcher city is considered an attack on all. Nothing about the Dales or any other region. None of the other Marcher states want to fight the Dales' war except possibly Wycome, or rather, Duke Prosper. And he cannot do so without the approval of the Wycome City Council. And by so acting as she has done, Petrice may well have ensured that she will have neither Hawke's forces nor the Sunburst Throne."
As we hoped, in the latter case, Max thought.
"That does not mean that Briala and her supporters stand alone, though—or even alone with Ferelden. They have other noble allies in the region itself. Comte Pierre of Halamshiral has always been mildly sympathetic to elven rights, but it surprised even me that he signed on so quickly."
"And no doubt Celene and Gaspard have retaliated."
"They have issued declarations of war and named all the Dales signers as traitors. Ferelden is sending troops to Halamshiral. It has begun, Max. But Petrice is the one who began it, and"—she smirked—"it has essentially destroyed her bid to be the next Divine. She is now a 'troublemaker who did not even have the decency to wait for the poor crippled Inquisitor to wake up before starting another war.' That is what people are saying about her, including those who support the Dales."
"Well... congratulations, then."
She rose to her feet. "Not quite yet. But... yes, it does seem to be inevitable, especially with our victory. Your victory." She considered for a moment, tasting the word on her lips, her thoughts fixed upon it. "Victory..."
Despite the threat of war that now loomed over the entire region west of the mountains, the banquet was a ripping success. The cooks had outdone themselves, and the drinks were of the finest quality. Every region of Thedas was represented: Antivan, Rivaini, and Tevinter wines, Orlesian champagne and cognac, Fereldan whiskey, Nevarran beer, Marcher gin and brandy, and even Anderfels malt liquor for those who had questionable taste. A wide-ranging assortment of foods from all over Thedas, not exclusive to human civilizations, graced the tables as well. Max smiled to himself at the display and what it represented. The Inquisition truly had changed.
It was almost a shame, what he was going to do tonight—but he knew that it had to be done and it had to be done now. Now, when the Inquisition was at the height of its power, Leliana preparing to win the Divine election, Corypheus vanquished, all of Thedas thankful—now the temptation of power that had nearly sundered the Inquisition months ago would be greatest, especially with the new war raging in the Dales.
When everyone was sated and comfortable, he rose from his seat to give the speech that he had, with Dorian's aid, hastily put together that afternoon.
A mean part of him—a part that he supposed might well be like the trickster figure he had invoked as he taunted Corypheus, if he had believed that Fen'Harel really was a trickster deity—had the thought of blurting out Solas's identity to everyone present. It would surely be impossible for him to stop the secret if hundreds of people knew it, wouldn't it?
But he did not, of course, do that. Solas knew that Max had figured out his identity, and if he had been the one to forcibly silence Morrigan, he could do the same to Max himself. For all Max knew, he might have placed such an enchantment on him as he removed the rift mark.
And my forearm.
Even now, months after he thought he had come to terms with the possibility that he would lose the limb—and that this would be an entirely acceptable sacrifice if it meant he survived bearing the mark—he still had not fully accepted the reality of being a one-handed man.
He had not, of course, had the opportunity to be intimate with Dorian while he was drifting in and out of sleep. He hoped that Dorian wouldn't end their relationship now that Max had lost this part of his body. Dorian, if asked, would undoubtedly assure Max that he wouldn't do such a thing—and it would be natural for someone to feel guilty about doing so—but the unpleasant fact was that it could inhibit physical intimacy in ways that they had not had the chance to work out yet, and it was entirely reasonable for a romantic partner to find that unacceptable. Max hoped that they could soon find an opportunity to devise workarounds.
Returning himself to the present, Max began his speech when he was sure that he had the attention of everyone possible. Some of the guests were already in half-drunk stupors, but he could not do anything about that.
He began with the usual sort of pleasantries, congratulating the organization and the armies, as well as verbally patting the backs of the guests. Their alliances may have had precious little to do with Corypheus's ultimate defeat, but it would hardly do to tell them that. People liked to feel appreciated, he knew.
Then he came to another paragraph in the speech, and a wry smile formed on his handsome face as he read it.
"I also wish to acknowledge the invaluable aid of our ally, Lady Morrigan," he said with a nod to her. She was unquestionably expecting this, and he had promised it. Nobody would be able to claim that Max was not a man of his word. "She wished to make use of an ancient elven site of power. I was against it, but she was convinced that there could be useful knowledge there. She was right: In this site, she learned how to transform herself into a dragon, as my closest companions saw, and in this form was able to defeat Corypheus's red lyrium dragon, which was keeping him alive and able to possess others. Thank you, Morrigan!"
Morrigan seemed mollified at the round of applause that this garnered for her. Suppressing a roll of his eyes, Max continued with the thanks and rounds of polite nothing. Finally his voice began to crack from dryness. Getting a glass of water was a good excuse to gather his thoughts—and his courage—for the next part.
As people applauded, he stepped back to the throne, organizing his turbulent thoughts and accepting a tall goblet of cold water melted from the snow of the Frostbacks. It was refreshingly pure, just what he needed. He knew that he needed to address the situation in the Dales, but this would require courage. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.
"Friends and allies," he said, "I have received word today that Grand Cleric Petrice of Kirkwall has stated support for the Dales to declare independence from Orlais. I am also told that she did so alone, without the written endorsement of VMTO or Viscountess Hawke."
The hall broke into mutters.
Max continued. "Since the Free Marcher organization is a defense alliance, and does not involve itself in other people's wars of choice, their silence is not surprising. But events have accelerated anyway. In response to Petrice's announcement, Marquise Briala has indeed declared independence from the Orlesian Empire. She claims the support of numerous human and newly-made elven nobles in the Dales region, as well as a heretofore secret alliance with Ferelden. Empress Celene and Emperor Gaspard have responded with declarations of war, naturally."
The chatter continued. Nothing Max had said was a surprise, but the guests still eagerly awaited word of what the Inquisition would do in response to this news.
"The Inquisition was founded to defeat the creator of the Breach and stabilize southern Thedas," he continued. "We have achieved the first goal. Corypheus is vanquished, and his forces are defeated and the stragglers scattered. But what of the second goal?" he continued. "We stabilized Orlais in the wake of its civil war. We have stabilized the Orlesian Chantry. But did the late Divine Justinia charter us to attempt to forestall every war and conflict that could ever occur?" He did not wait for an answer; the question was obviously rhetorical. "Of course not. The situation following Corypheus's attack on Haven was unique, and as it turned out, he had been installing agents throughout Thedas, including at the Imperial Court of Orlais, the Grey Wardens, the Seekers, the Templars, and more. We have rooted out those agents. The conflict that we now look upon in the Dales is not a war that Corypheus's forces are responsible for instigating, but rather, one akin to the Fereldan Rebellion of years past, or the Mage-Templar War, and so forth.
"Not every conflict is the result of malevolent conspiracies by chaos agents," Max continued firmly. "Most aren't, in fact. Usually conflicts and wars occur because one or both sides have real grievances with each other and have exhausted all peaceful avenues of redress. So it was with the Mage-Templar War. And, I think, so it is with the Rebellion of the Dales. This is not Corypheus's doing, and because of that, the Inquisition will respect the outcome of this war but will not be taking a side in the conflict."
Dorian's eyes were shining. Leliana seemed to accept the Inquisitor's decision. Vivienne and Josephine looked a little unhappy, and Max knew that they would have wanted to side with Orlais, but they would have to accept this. And he did intend to offer an alternative to anyone in the Inquisition with strong feelings on the matter.
"I realize that there may be many in the Inquisition, at all ranks, who have strongly held beliefs in support of the Dales or Orlais," he said. "I am offering an option to any and all who do. I meant to make this next announcement anyway, but the news of this war has given me an additional motive." He cleared his throat. "With Corypheus's defeat, there is no longer a need for the massive buildup of arms, armies, and spies that the Inquisition currently boasts. It only needs forces enough to deal with the stragglers of the Elder One's army. I am therefore offering those currently serving the Inquisition two choices, and this goes for everyone, from maids in Skyhold to soldiers in our armies to advisors of my own inner circle.
"First, you may stay with the reduced Inquisition as we eliminate all remnants of the Elder One's army.
"Second, you may resign and go about your life as you see fit. You will formally disaffiliate yourself from the Inquisition if you do, but you will be free to join either side in the Rebellion of the Dales if you wish to—or neither, if you just want to return to your homes.
"Whichever choice you make, we thank you immeasurably for your service as we fought one of the great fights of history. You took part in fighting an ancient magister, one of the very ones who stormed the Golden City"—already the Black City even then, according to Corypheus, but I can't declare this to these people here—"and you have earned retirement if that is what you choose. If it is not, we wish you the Maker's grace in your endeavors. Thank you, all."
With this, Max returned to the head table. Dorian gave him a broad smile, and the advisors and companions all looked happy as well.
"Nice speech," Sera said. "You're quite a politician now."
Max laughed. "I'm not sure that's a compliment from you, Sera."
"I'm not sure that would be a compliment from anyone," Dorian added.
"That's what I'm here for. Keeping an eye on you now that you're a big man in the world."
"You're claiming the all-seeing Eye for yourself?" he teased.
"Sounds about right, yeah."
It was all in good fun, he knew, because she winked at him soon after and returned to her food. Leliana then took the opportunity to speak up, keeping her voice low enough that only he could hear.
"I think this will work, given that Petrice is being blamed for this rather than the fact that we elevated Briala in the first place. We have behaved quite well lately, only fighting against Corypheus's forces rather than getting involved in other people's conflicts for the sake of our own power." She lowered her voice even more. "And another thing I am hearing in the whispers is that people believe Celene and Gaspard are likely to lose, between Briala's explicit support from Ferelden and her eventual support from VMTO, if they declare war on it too. So we do not need to support them. We can indeed be neutral, and we should."
Max raised a quiet toast to that. "We were there for Thedas when it needed us. People are making their own decisions now, and they are rational decisions. It's very tempting to try to control the world if we have that power, but we have to let things unfold as they will for this particular conflict."
Dorian raised an eyebrow at him. "And future conflicts that may come our way?"
Max understood exactly what, or rather whom, he was alluding to: Solas. "We shall see," he said.
Dorian leaned over. "Talk later?"
Max gave him a silent nod.
They stood at the top of the Inquisitor's balcony late that night, after the guests had either begun their journeys home or been put up in the castle. The stars glimmered above, the second rift-scar shimmering cloudily between them. Max glanced down at his foreshortened arm. I have a scar to match now.
"If you don't want to talk about it—if it's still too soon—then you need not," Dorian began. "But when you vanquished Corypheus—or after, I should say, and Solas approached you..."
"He took this off," Max said, holding up his half-arm.
Dorian's eyes narrowed. "I see. I assume it wasn't malice on his part."
Max shook his head. "He was... very apologetic. Very sad, in a way. Sorrowful. It didn't hurt to lose the arm. I had already lost the use of the hand. My nerves were severed. Without that connection, I couldn't control the mark anymore; it was doing what it wanted rather than what I wanted it to do." He sighed. "But since it was still on my hand, it was still harming me. So Solas removed it, apologizing all the while. He said he respected me and had never intended any of this to happen."
Dorian took that in. "So he did have some sort of intention for that elven orb. I wonder what it was?"
"I would have asked if I hadn't been... well... dying, and then dropping off into a healing sleep."
"It wasn't your fault!" Dorian exclaimed. "And who is to say that he would have told the truth if you had asked?"
"Whatever he meant to do, he cannot do it now. He said the orb can't be repaired."
"Well, thank the Maker for that. I'm rather with you, amatus. Let ancient terrors lie. We have enough modern ones to worry about."
They fell silent again, staring into the sky, until Max recalled something else. "Oh," he said, "he confirmed our guess."
"Our... lupine guess?" Dorian asked carefully. It was clear to Max that he was hoping that this word would not have been magically censored.
"Yes," he acknowledged. "He said that he hadn't meant for me to deduce it so soon, but that it was the truth." Max stared outward again. "He's out there somewhere, Dorian. And so is Flemeth, now carrying the souls of Mythal and Urthemiel. And since he showed such reverence for her, they're probably on the same side. Whatever that side is, and whatever they want."
"I wonder why he confined the elven gods in the Fade, but not her?"
"I taunted Corypheus with the traditional Dalish description of him as a trickster, but I don't think he was," Max said thoughtfully. "Not unless he was very different in his youth. Sera is the elf in our company who would be a trickster. Not Solas."
"It must have been an instance of legends being partially true and partially false," Dorian agreed. "Who knows? I haven't always agreed with Solas, but he has always had a strong sense of right and wrong. He never tolerated injustices as he defined them. The elven gods must have done something terrible."
"Mythal enslaved the Sentinels at her Temple, and then later—after she possessed Flemeth—stole the bodies of her own daughters through the centuries, according to Morrigan. So whatever the others did must have been truly egregious to have incurred imprisonment. I hope they never escape."
Dorian nodded. "We have seen enough ancient powers wake up. They've done too much harm as it is." He gazed unhappily at Max's disfigured arm. "I am so, so sorry. We knew it might happen, and I'm really just glad that you're alive, but I'm still sorry. I suppose I hoped it wouldn't be necessary."
"So did I," Max whispered. He felt Dorian's arms envelop him, and with that, he opened his heart. He had thought vaguely of these things in his half-asleep state and his lucid dreams, but he hadn't wanted to face them yet. A torrent of conflicting emotions flooded him at once, like a dam breaking. "I know I also should just be glad that I'm alive, that the mark didn't kill me—but I can't leave it at that. I certainly can't say some trite thing like 'this is an acceptable sacrifice for being alive.' I'd rather be alive than dead, but... I can't just flippantly dismiss this. I can't—" He broke off, trying to collect himself, and took a deep breath. Dorian gazed upon him patiently and compassionately, and that gave Max the strength to continue. "It was a part of my body that I don't have anymore. A very useful part, not something like a little toe. I'd miss that too—it would feel wrong for it not to be there—but I can't say I use them. But our hands... our arms..." He shook his head again. "And for so long, even though that thing was killing me, it was a weapon. I feel so vulnerable now without it. Even with my own magic, I feel almost defenseless—"
"Hey." Max glanced up at Dorian, who was staring intensely at him. "You listen to me. You will never be defenseless as long as you are with me. If anyone, the"—he hesitated, unsure if he could say it—"Dread Wolf, Flemeth, or anyone else, tries to harm you, they'll have to get through me first. And you've seen me in action. That won't be easy. You are not defenseless and you wouldn't be even if Solas had taken both your hands and your magic too."
Max's heart raced. "You mean it, then? This doesn't make you want to... let me go?"
"Why in the Void would it?"
"Well... one-handed, it'll be harder for me to do certain things..."
Dorian scoffed. "Do you really think I would break up with you because you have to tug on me with one hand now instead of two? That's what you think is most important to me? Honestly." He shook his head in amazement, then, as Max gaped at him with eyes wide, Dorian leaned forward and kissed him deeply.
As Dorian had spoken his mind, Max had realized rapidly that his fears were groundless—and hearing Dorian lay it out bluntly like that did put it in perspective. But ultimately, the passionate display of emotion reassured him more than any verbal reasoning could.
They remained like that, embracing and kissing increasingly sloppily, as the stars twinkled overhead. At last, though, the cold air of this elevation got to them both, and they had to break apart. Max moved to pull the windows shut as he stepped back into his room with Dorian. He considered for a moment before drawing the curtains as well.
Dorian's eyes gleamed. "I like where this is going."
Max took his hand in his own and laughed, leading Dorian to the sumptuous bed. His heart was soaring. "You see where it's going. A familiar place to us both." They reached the four-poster as Max pulled Dorian down on the mattress. "I'd like to use it for a purpose other than wandering the Fade as my battered body heals from what two ancient beings did to it."
"No thank you," Dorian commented. "The image that put into my head—"
"Oh, you." Max pummeled Dorian with a pillow. "It's clear enough where your mind has already gone."
"Well, yes—because I assume you didn't mean that we would lie side by side reading the Chant of Light and offering prayers of thanks to the Maker. Or did you?"
Max did not dignify that with an answer—at least not a verbal one. Instead he tumbled on his side, pulling Dorian down with him, and rolled the Tevinter mage onto his back. It didn't surprise him in the least to see the tenting in Dorian's trousers. Two weeks, he reminded himself. It's been two weeks. He gazed at the waistline, considering this. It could be done with one hand... but...
He had always been decent with force magic, but over the course of being with the Inquisition, he had refined his skills greatly. Now he could organize a pile of lumber and metal rivets into a functional bridge that would support weight. It would be more precise yet to use force magic for this purpose...
Dorian sucked in his breath as Max, his one hand glowing faint white, untied the laces of his trousers. He gasped as the delicate magic then pulled them down. The touch of fabric on skin was even more exquisite, teasing, and erotic than the faintest touch of finger pads. He gasped again. "You," he managed, "need not worry at all."
Max did not want to break the moment by remarking that, in the future, they would probably have a great deal to worry about. That was not what Dorian meant. In any case, they would take those future fears and threats as they met them. For tonight, Dorian's unstudied, emotional, passionate reassurance was all that Max needed.
End Notes: As you can see, Trespasser is going to be a bit different! That's the final chapter of this story, and the final chapter of any fic in my headcanon series until/unless I like the next game enough to write an installment for it in this AU.