Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Part I: Shock and Awe

“All dead?” Breathless. “All of them?”

“Yes, I... I'm so sorry, Inquisitor,” replied Josephine. “I failed you. I failed them. I should have...”

Halamar didn't hear what Josephine should have done, just the sounds of ringing in his ears and blood throbbing through his body, pounding through his ears and whitened knuckles upon his bronze skin, curled against the war table. He saw the pity in his advisors' eyes. It took all his effort not to cry in front of them. Especially now, he couldn't show them weakness.

After a moment of pensive silence, he snapped back to reality. Sound rushed back into his ears, but he realized no one had been talking for quite some time. His chin shook as he said, “This meeting is adjourned. Don't follow me,” as he about-faced and left the war room.

Once Halamar was out of earshot, Leliana said to the others, “I'll have someone follow him—discreetly.”

Dorian walked through the courtyard, heading for the Skyhold tavern while his amatus was to spend perhaps an hour in the war room. He stopped to make some mental notes about new ways to hate the Inquisition soldiers' uniforms—the inseam was all over the place, as if sewn by teenagers just taught how to sew. Perhaps they actually were, for all he knew, but true or not it would be a fun topic to joke about.

Minutes later, Halamar exited the main castle as Dorian had never seen him—more strained than even their physical excursion into the Fade, when they were both utterly terrified for each other. Something was wrong—this was far too early for the war council to be done. This, this looked like extreme sadness, like he wasn't all there. Dorian watched as Halamar ambled through the courtyard towards the gate, seeming not to notice anyone around him. A few civilians greeted him and he made no response.

Dorian left his self-determined post of determining fashion crimes and followed his love to the gates. Once he caught up with him at the gatehouse bridge, he called out, “Amatus! Are you alright? What's wrong?”

Halamar was startled and jumped at first before slowly turning around to face Dorian. A few stray tears lined his cheeks even as he was trying to dam them back behind his eyes. Dorian stroked his face tentatively and said, “I'm here, amatus. What's happened?”

“Oh, ma vhenan,” his voice cracked, “I can't—it's all my fault—it was a slaughter—”

Dorian knew now. Of course. Halamar had mentioned a war table affair of trying to protect his clan from a Venatori plot. Nothing else would have put Halamar in such a state. “Oh, amatus, I'm so sorry... Did anyone survive?”

He couldn't stop the tears flowing now as he uttered, “No,” weakly and breathlessly, and Dorian took him into his arms, stroking his hair while he cried into his tunic. He held him tightly, instinctively kissing his crown. Normally he would have been more subtle in a public place, but this was a special case, and it wasn't as if Skyhold didn't already talk about them. Still, as people began to stare, Dorian began to worry how this would affect his amatus' perception as the Inquisitor, weeping into the arms of a Tevinter. The gatehouse offered some visual protection, at least.

“Come, love,” he began, “do you want to get out of Skyhold for a while?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I know just the place we can run off to. We'll have all the privacy you need. We'll have to shake off whoever Leliana sends to follow us—”

“I asked them not to.”

“Yes, but you know our spymaster.”

Halamar sighed and nuzzled deeper into his chest. “Don't worry about that, amatus. I'm here and I'll take care of everything.” He kissed his crown once again. More were looking on now and he could feel their gazes while shielding his amatus from them. “There are too many people between here and your quarters. When you're ready, why don't I get our mounts set up for us?”

“Just us?”

“Just us.”

He nodded against his lover's chest. Dorian pulled him in tighter, holding a long kiss to the top of his head. He felt Halamar's body quiver and stroked his hair and back for a while before suggesting, “Why don't we move somewhere more private? The field outside the walls perhaps? As a temporary measure, of course.” Halamar nodded against his chest again, squeezing his waist just for something real to hold on to before lifting his head up to look at Dorian's concerned, loving face. He saw the tears and wiped them off his face before gently kissing him while his better judgment called him crazy. His better judgment? Fuck that right now. Better Judgment often spoke with the voice of his father. Halamar was more important than that.

Halamar nodded at last, and Dorian led him out to a lone, bare tree on the mountaintop past the gates and sat them both down beneath its branches. Sat beside him, he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding his arms against his sides while gently kissing his face and down to his shoulder, under his leather coat, before returning up to his face. He stroked his cheek and Halamar, crying, leaned in to kiss him. Dorian held this as long as his love wanted to while cupping his face in his hands. Several emotional seconds later, Halamar pulled away, briefly looked into his eyes, and burst into tears. “I can't believe it, Dorian! By the Creators, they're all dead! They're all dead...” he cried out, going back to cry on his shoulder. The held each other close, Halamar's fingers curled into the back of Dorian's shirt while Dorian ran his hands gently over his coat.

He kissed his crown and said, “Oh, amatus... I'm so sorry. I won't say it will be alright, because it isn't. I'm here for you, Halamar. Whatever you need. I know you would have been their Keeper had things been different. This must be the worst day of your life.”

“It really is,” he replied through sobs. “And I—it's all my fault. I made a bad call and now they're all gone because of it. I should never have trusted those shemlen to do diplomacy. Loranil said the Dalish have been talking about the Inquisition as a sign of real change for the People, and now this? How can I ever face my people again? I don't deserve to lead anyone. Nothing ever changes.”

Dorian laid them down in the grass and flowers, pulled his love closer, and stroked his messy hair. “It wasn't you who drew weapons on your people. How long were Josephine's staff yelling at them to see reason? You did everything you could.”

“It's my fault for trusting diplomacy. I should have sent Cullen with a small army to defend them. That was my fucking call!”

“My sweet heart, I'm so sorry. I... I confess I don't know what to say, amatus.”

“Just hold me.”

They lay together under that tree until the sun began to set, mostly in silence. Halamar would sometimes stop crying and start crying again later on. Dorian let him rest his head on his arm while the other arm touched and embraced him for strength and comfort. His pillow-arm had gone numb hours ago, but he didn't care. All he cared about was that he had to be the strong one right now, and after all his amatus did for him, it was his turn to be his rock.

“My love,” he whispered, “we're losing daylight. Did you still want to get out of here for a while?”

Halamar paused for a moment, pensive before responding, “Yes. You said you knew a place?”

“A lovely, over-priced, bourgeois inn we can definitely afford now, a hidden gem in the mountains made for rich fucks to escape their miserable lives.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“Alright. Then let's trick Leliana's agent on the wall up there into thinking we're returning to Skyhold while you pack?”

“How do you think we're going to trick one of her spies?”

“People would have mostly cleared out of the hall by now. Let's 'retire' to your quarters, give them a few hours while you pack and then sneak out in the night.”

“It's worth a try, anyway.”

“Either way, we'll be gone by dawn. We'll be back eventually, of course, but you need this and I'm here to help you, amatus.” Dorian caressed and kissed his face before kissing his lips once more.

“This hurts so much, ma vhenan...”

“I know, I know... You're grieving. I'm here to help you get through this and do whatever we can to make this right.”

“How can we make genocide better?”

“We can't, I'm sorry. That was... a poor choice of words.”

“Well, what would you do in my position?”

Dorian helped Halamar to his feet with his non-numb arm, taking his hands and replying, “I would kill them back.”

“That's what any Dalish would do, too.”

“A logical response, quite honestly.”

“But I'm Inquisitor now. I can't just run around killing shemlen for political reasons.”

“Sure you can! We do that all the time! Hm... what about judgment at Skyhold? You've executed men for less.”

Halamar stopped to consider this. “Josephine might be able to.” He paused and took a deep breath, the first for hours. With new determination, he said, “Dorian, I must give justice to my people.”

“I completely understand. Where should we start?”

“Packing for a long trip to Wycome.”

“But first a place with fine wine and room service. You need that too.”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, it sounds lovely, but I don't deserve it, Dorian.”

“Of course you do. You deserve to have all these empires and lords wrapped around your little finger, my Inquisitor. Then you might stand a chance of fixing the problems with aristocracy.”

“Hah! Fenedhis! As if that viper's nest could merely be solved.”

“There you go, cracking your smile I love so much. There's your precious wit.”

That took Halamar by surprise. He wondered, did he have any right to smile and be witty when this was his call in the first place?

Dorian noticed. “Oh, I'm sorry, amatus. I didn't mean to put you on the spot.”

“Thank you, vhenan. It's alright.”

Dorian looked at him sadly, supportively holding him by his arms before planting a kiss on his forehead and saying, “We should get going. And perhaps not talk about this where someone might be listening.” Halamar nodded, and they returned to Skyhold, though not for long, walking to his quarters hand in hand.

When they got to his quarters, the first thing Halamar did was rest against the wall and start sobbing again, burying his face in his hands. Dorian scooped him up into his arms once more, running a hand through his hair before planting more kisses on his scalp. “Shh, amatus, it's alright. I'm 'all ears' as they say. Talk to me if you wish. I'm right here.”

The yellow-haired elf squeezed his love with all his strength as he cried into Dorian's shoulder again. “Oh, Dorian, it's just... the silent walk here. I wasn't even there but I can't get their deaths out of my mind. With every step I saw someone else struck down, heard their voices. My mind won't stop...”

“Oh, love...” he held him close and held a kiss on his forehead. This was something that always helped him with his anxiety, but this was more than just that. He feared the survivor's guilt might kill him. “We need to get you out of here and soon. You are so important to me, Halamar, and I don't want to lose you.” He wiped the new tears from his face, resting his hand on his cheek.

“You aren't going to lose me, vhenan. Not to my grief, anyway.”

“Good. Now, should I take you to the bed and just hold you again? Would you like that?”

He nuzzled into Dorian's chest, still crying but not quite sobbing anymore. “Not right now. Now I need to act.”

“Yes, of course. Go pack, amatus.”

“What about you, don't you need to pack?”

“Oh, I have a bag already pre-packed for emergencies! Maker knows we encounter far too many of those for comfort.”

“I believe I've heard such a thing called a 'go-bag' before.”

“I've heard southerners and dwarves say that, yes.”

“And you just have one?”

“After losing Haven, I couldn't stand the thought of not having one...”

“Oh, Haven... so many dead there, too.”

“Shhh, shhh, amatus, they will have their justice, too.”

“If we can even kill him.”

“Don't think about Corypheus right now. He will die and I will help you kill him. But I see no final battle on the horizon. Just some good, old-fashioned justice and-slash-or revenge, rightfully due.”

Halamar felt his resolve strengthen. “Mythal guide me, my people will have justice. Haven will have justice. These crimes will be avenged.”

“That's the spirit. Do you need any help packing?”

“Just your presence, Dorian. I just need you.”

Dorian smiled at him with a strong sense of sadness behind it before kissing him softly once more. “I'll be here for you, amatus. If you need anything, please just ask.”

Halamar kissed him deeply, and Dorian returned in kind, holding his face between his hands. “Thank you,” he said.

“You are always welcome, my sweet, sweet heart.” Another short kiss. “Are you ready?”

He took a deep breath and after a pause, said, “Yes,” before starting to release himself from the embrace.

“Alright. Then what I am going to do is cast a few enchantments to give us some privacy up here.” Dorian then closed all the windows and cast an illusory spell on the glass.

“What spell are you casting?”

“An illusion so that anyone outside looking in just sees something normal. They'll just think we moved into here. It'll last for a few hours or until I end it,” he explained as he took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Useful.”

“Very! It's not the first time I've had to leave in a hurry.”

There was a silence for a moment while he started organizing clothes and soap in a bag, more silence than Halamar wanted to listen to. Before the deathly images could return, he said, “Thank you so much. I love you, Dorian.”

“I love you too, Halamar. I don't say that often enough.” Halamar came over with a shirt half-folded in his hands to kiss him. Dorian grasped his face with both hands and deepened the kiss. They held this for long enough that Halamar dropped his half-folded shirt onto Dorian's lap, pushed him slowly onto his back, and stroked his chest while kissing him passionately. “Oh, amatus,” he said, breaking away from the kiss, “I would love to continue this, but perhaps pack first?”

Halamar sighed. “You're right, of course. You're just... you're so important to me, too. I wanted to show you that.”

“You don't need to show me anything, amatus. I know.” Halamar kissed him softly once, lingering against his lips for a time. It was a bittersweet separation for him to return to packing his clothes, necessities, tools, and materials for complex spells. Dorian filled the silence with as much loving and witty banter as he could spit out, which was mostly a constant stream of thought. Filling the silence was something he knew he could do all too well.

When the packing was done, Halamar began to write a note on his desk under the light of a few candles.

To my advisors:

Dorian and I are gone. We will return, but I must leave this place for a while to deal with my grief. While we're gone, your orders are to support our efforts to bring as many of the people responsible for organizing my people's murders to be judged at Skyhold as possible. They must all be held to account for organizing and enacting a genocide of my people. Prepare for mass arrests.

Cullen and Josephine should make physical arrangements for a massive funeral pyre outside Wycome. We will need a contingent of soldiers to handle that and the arrests. The remaining city elves will also need protection. Dorian and I will meet your forces there.

If you have the time, Leliana should also dispatch assassins to the House of Repose to deal with the threat to Josephine's life post haste.

Mythal'enaste,

Inquisitor Halamar Lavellan

He signed his name in common and Elven before leaving it on his desk.

“I hope that isn't an explanation for your advisors.”

“It is in part. It's vague. It's also their orders to help bring in the genociders for judgment.”

“Ooohh, good. So then what are we doing if we aren't killing them on this excursion?”

“Taking a short sabbatical. Then I have to lay my clan to rest. Then we're looking for survivors. And we're going to check on the city elves in Wycome and see who they need killed the most.”

“An excellent plan. I like that.”

Halamar lay down beside Dorian on the bed and nuzzled into his chest. He asked, “So, what's your plan for getting out of here unnoticed?”

“Invisibility magic and some more illusions, amatus. A well-placed sound in the distance plus a little bit of this—” Dorian snapped his fingers and made his hand invisible, “—and they won't figure us out until morning.”

“You think? How does that magic work?”

“You know that Ring of Doubt you found that makes you invisible in combat sometimes? I reverse-engineered the enchantment and can just cast this now! Don't even need to be fighting for it to work.” Dorian explained as he snapped his fingers again and his hand reappeared, and he wrapped that arm around his lover too. “Funny how that stealth thing rogues do is basically magic.”

“I love you so much, you thaumaturgy genius.”

“I love you, too. And of course I am. You just know me so well. Now, be with me a while, amatus. We have some time to kill yet before it's a good time to head out. The guards rotate around half-twelve.”

“But you know what else would work?”

“What?”

“There's a way we can sneak out through the tower scaffolds here, if you're up for some climbing. I have some magic that's good for that too, actually.”

“Oh, good, you know climbing is absolutely my forte, but I'll try my best, love. Anyway, you should sleep if you can.”

A heavy sigh escaped his throat. “I'm so tired, but I don't think I could sleep right now. I close my eyes and all I see are their faces, their blood...” said Halamar, sounding burnt out to his very core.

Dorian lightly stroked his back and nuzzled into his hair. It gave off a strong smell of the grass and flowers they laid in before. “Please, try, amatus. You need to sleep. I'll wake you later on. And if you can't sleep, I'll help distract you from your own horrible thoughts some other way.”

“Some other way?” he looked up at him with a grin. Dorian smiled down at him and gently kissed his lips.

“Some other way,” he repeated with a warm, coy smile, “entirely up to you. If you want to just lay here, I'm here. If you want me to kiss you, I'm here. If you want to just talk, or if you want to have grief-sex—”

“Creators, don't tell me 'grief-sex' is a pre-existing shemlen term.”

“I'm sorry to be the one to tell you, but it is. I've done that before—been on both sides. It can help with all those horrible pesky emotions you're having, and it's a spectacular distraction. I promise you, it's a thing. My point is, I am at your disposal through everything, amatus. Halamar, I love you, and—”

He cut Dorian off with a deep and passionate kiss, grasping him by the collar of his shirt to pull himself closer to him. Dorian helped with that desire for closeness, tightening his arm around his waist while his other hand ran through his golden tresses. Dorian's kisses soon trailed up his jaw towards his ear and he whispered, “Is that a yes?”

Halamar was already like putty in his arms. He shuddered and replied, “You had me at 'spectacular distraction.'”

Dorian gave a chuckle that sent a pleasant tingle down Halamar's spine, lightly nibbled his ear, and started kissing his neck while slowly lifting the hem of his shirt. He stroked the skin lightly with his fingertips, causing him to gasp and quiver. “Well, then, amatus, allow me to distract you...”

“Please...”

“Oh, I'll do that, too...”

After they had sex, Halamar finally got a bit of shut-eye, nuzzled into Dorian's chest. The loving glow they rested upon provided the blonde, bronze-skinned elf with a comfort he dearly needed but did not expect. He had fallen asleep in short order after they were done, but not before uttering his tired thanks. Dorian wrapped a blanket around themselves, stroked his arms as he shook with nightmares, and woke him when the dreams got too much. Halamar kissed him when he awoke, grateful to be free of the nightmare he was trapped in. Dorian held him close, looked in his bright emerald eyes, and tenderly asked, “How are you feeling now?”

“Like utter shite, but better thanks to you, vhenan.”

“Glad I could help at least a little.” He kissed him again before saying, “I hate to cut this short, amatus, but we should go soon.”

“Do we have to get up right now?”

“Momentarily. But we can stay like this for a few more minutes. We ought not to leave here naked, hmm?”

“Good point,” he said, burying his face in his lover's chest again, savoring the deep pressure when he pulled him in closer. “Just a little longer.”

Dorian held him tightly for another few minutes before glancing at the clock on the desk and gently saying, “Come on, amatus, it's almost half-twelve. We should get dressed and get going.”

“At least one of us has some time management.”

“Of course I do! I have so many skills! Like figuring out what you should wear. Pants, dark armor.” Kissed his forehead again. Kissed his nose and lips quickly before gently loosing his arm from underneath him and getting out of bed. He started getting his battle robes on, hoping that would encourage Halamar to follow.

The gambit worked, and they both got dressed before blowing out all the candles and sneaking through the scaffolds into the kitchen for some food. They ate and took what they needed and no more before Dorian used an invisibility spell to get them out and to the stables. He ended the spell so they could wake and handle their steeds. Dorian had a sturdy Fereldan forder, and Halamar had a brilliant Brecilian hart he named Assan—“arrow.”

Halamar approached his steed and gently awoke him, stroking his head and gently whispering Elven greetings. His hart awoke, neighed slightly before he calmed him by stroking between his massive and beautiful antlers. “Aneth ara, lethallen. Shhhhh... we're going somewhere.” His hart neighed proudly at the idea of a secret nighttime ride before being shushed again. “Come, lethallen. You can tell a great wrong has been done, can't you? We're going to go do something about it.” Assan nodded and gave a proud blow from his nose, almost a purring sound, which gifted Halamar with a newfound sense of comfort. He rested his forehead against his hart's. “You're brilliant,” he whispered in Elven. “You're such a good boy, lethallen.” Assan leaned into the nuzzle affectionately.

The lovers loaded their mounts with their belongings and two weeks of animal feed each and led them to the gates on foot. Dorian paid the two guards at the gate a combined thousand royals from the party's sold treasure fund not to immediately report this to Leliana on the promise that he'd take full responsibility for it when they returned, which to his own shock, worked.

They rode east at first to throw off whoever was or would be tracking them for a while before heading north. It occurred to both of them that Leliana probably had someone watching the stables for this exact scenario. Halamar didn't care. What would they do, order the Inquisitor to come home and stay there as if he were a truant child? Every one of them answered to him.

The pair spoke quietly during the ride to the inn to fill the silence. Dorian was trying everything he could think of to keep his amatus from living through the gruesome murders of his entire clan in the dreaded silence. His skill at filling the silence came to the pleasure of some and the chagrin of others. To Halamar's comfort at the moment. “So, what do you want to do to the bastards who did this?”

“Behead them myself. Maybe worse. Judgment first is just a formality.”

“An excellent choice! You've got to respect the classical methods when it comes to the art of executions.”

“What would your choice be?”

“More specific than that, I'd go with a guillotine.”

“Ooh, I like that idea, but I don't think the Inquisition should build a guillotine. It would send a bad message, and we don't usually execute enough people to justify one.”

“Awww. Fair enough, amatus.”

“Not to mention, it's a bit too... Orlesian for my tastes.”

“HAH! Understandable. You are your aesthetic, or something like that. I don't know. I'm making up nonsense right now.”

Halamar chuckled dryly, “I know, vhenan. It's quite endearing.”

Dorian smiled at him under the night sky, illuminated by a canopy of stars around a full moon. The moonlight drew his eyes towards Halamar's green facial tattoos, their swirling lines almost lined up with the nerves and he was just smitten. “You know, you're beautiful in the moonlight, amatus.”

That made him straighten up in surprise briefly before relaxing again. He glanced and smiled back at Dorian and observed the moonlight outlining his lips and cheekbones, reflecting like gems in his eyes, and replied, “You are too, ma vhenan. I hope we're almost there. I yearn to kiss you more now.”

“We are. Just another half hour or so until we can lay down and kiss to your heart's content.”

“Good.” The banter was becoming less effective at silencing his grief. He desperately needed to be touched, to feel a connection to someone. Anything to cover up this guilt.

“Now, listen to me, amatus,” said Dorian, “because I think I know what you're thinking. Correct me if I'm wrong, but listen too. You do deserve this, alright? You have done so much work, saved so many lives, and stabilized nations in the midst of war. And how does Thedas respond? Suspicion and a massacre. Grief is one of the hardest things in the world, and survivor's guilt? Even worse. You need time to rest now, love. You care so much for all of Thedas, a job you never asked for but perform with grace anyway. Let me take care of you for a while, alright? No need to wear a graceful mask.”

Halamar almost couldn't ride his hart for a moment, taken aback by Dorian's comforting words. He felt suddenly overcome with love for this man, and tears welled up in his eyes. The tears fell down his face and onto Assan's neck. “Dorian, I don't deserve you...”

“Nonsense, love. You deserve the world. You deserve to be happy and you deserve to feel safe. And I want to be there for you.”

Halamar looked at him and asked through tears, “Really?”

“Really. You are important to the world, and you are so important to me.” Dorian left one hand on the reins and offered Halamar the other. “Here, take my hand.” Halamar gave Dorian his marked left hand, which Dorian scooped up and gave a tight squeeze. He didn't let go until they got to the inn. This touch was just enough to keep Halamar grounded in reality to steer Assan to their destination. When they arrived at last, Dorian dismounted, picked Halamar up off his steed by his hips, and deeply kissed him. Halamar took his face in his hands, letting the kiss linger on for a while. They stayed like this for a moment, and when Halamar began to feel normal again, Assan gave him a slight nudge, gently pushing him against Dorian's torso.

Halamar pulled away at this, reluctant to end the kiss as he was, and said to the steeds, “Lethallin, I'm sure you're hungry, aren't you?” Assan nodded. “Alright, babies, come here,” he said, leading them by their reins to the stable next to the inn and putting out some feed for them both. He gave both of them some pats before turning around to face Dorian again. “Alright, ready.”

Dorian kissed his forehead and said, “I'll take care of everything, amatus.”

The second the pair landed in their suite, Dorian pulled Halamar into his arms and held him tightly, sliding off his over-robe, stroking his back and his hair, and gently kissing his face along his tattoos. “I'm here, love.”

“Thank you for bringing us out here,” he replied before kissing his lips, his trembling hands warm against his lover's chest. Dorian cupped Halamar's face and deepened their kiss, lingering, tenderly running his tongue over his lips, running his thumbs along his cheekbones. He slid one hand through his hair, pressing him closer as Halamar's fingers curled into the cloth of his shirt and pulled him backwards towards the massive bed behind them. Dorian followed, not breaking the kiss for a second.

Pulling his lover down with him to the bed, Halamar ran his palms and fingers over the length of Dorian's torso, while Dorian held him close and started nibbling his neck. He savored the sounds of his little gasps and moans as he slowly trailed up to his ear, gently kissing and nibbling while his thumbs teased the skin just under his shirt hem. He whispered in his ear, “What about now, amatus?”

“I need you,” he breathed.

“Oh?”

“Please... It turns out that grief-sex thing really works for me.”

Dorian gave a slight chuckle and said, “Well, if you're sure that's what you want right now.” Halamar looked into his eyes and nodded. Dorian smiled and kissed him deeply as he slowly lifted up his lover's shirt, all the while teasing his chest with his fingertips. He broke the kiss for a second just to take their shirts off before moving back to kiss his other ear, down his neck, planting ever more kisses along his collarbone, moving further and further down his chest and stomach as his back arced into each touch.

“Ahhhh... Ar lath ma...” Halamar breathed through gasping moans.

Dorian looked up at him from his navel and replied, “And I you, amatus,” before kissing him below his navel and starting to unbutton his pants.

Halamar got a full night's sleep after that, almost restful. The nightmares still plagued him. He had one about the Dalish in the Dirth getting killed by shemlen—even Loranil, who was at Skyhold now. He shook in his sleep. Dorian kissed his forehead and stroked his hair until he fell asleep beside him as well. A few times, Halamar awoke in the night and morning to find Dorian still and asleep. He would nuzzle further into his chest to feel safe, and Dorian would instinctively, slightly tighten an arm around him. He couldn't tell if he was fully asleep in these moments, but he cherished his presence and warmth all the same.

He loved him so much. That feeling let him sleep again.

He awoke in his lover's arms and started glancing about to get re-adjusted to where he was. Dorian, already awake, noticed his rising and began to gently stroke his arms and whispered a soft “hey.”

The corners of Halamar's lips lifted into a slight smile, and he whispered back a breathless “hey” in return. Dorian lifted his chin in his hand and softly kissed him good morning, his thumb stroking his jawline. Butterflies fluttered through his stomach, and warmth flowed through his nerves as Dorian's fingers circled round his chin to kiss him more deeply. Halamar returned with the tip of his tongue, tasting his lips. Dorian gave him the tip of his tongue as well, cupping his face between his hands, lingering before Halamar pulled away and nuzzled into his chest.

“How did you sleep, amatus?” asked Dorian softly.

“Better, Dorian. Thank you,” he replied, pulling him closer while burying himself in him. Dorian wrapped his arms and legs around him to give him some deep pressure while softly kissing his neck, causing him to sharply exhale from the small pleasure.

Dorian lightly dragged his fingertips along Halamar's side and kissed his forehead. “I'm glad. You seem to have slept better this time.”

“I guess the sex really helps.”

“Of course it does, you've been having sex with me.” They both chuckled before pulling each other into a deep kiss, yearning for more closeness, pressing their bodies against each other, fingers and thumbs tracing over the lines of each other's form. Dorian kept his hands above the waist, waiting for his amatus to signal another desire.

Eventually Halamar did pull away again, looking desperately into his eyes. He sighed deeply. “They're really gone,” he uttered.

Dorian stroked his cheek and pressed his forehead against his lover's. “I'm sorry.”

“And I really can't bring them back.”

“I know. It's like being crushed under a boulder.”

Halamar sighed and buried his face in Dorian's neck. Dorian held him closer, planting small kisses through his messy hair and caressing his skin. “Thank you for being here for me, vhenan.”

“Always, amatus. You are the man I love.”

“You don't have to keep having all this sex with me, you know. I know I'm needy.”

“Oh, what ever will I do?” he chuckled. “I get to absolutely ravish you in exchange for making you feel better? How terribly droll.”

That made Halamar laugh, nestling into the warm space between his neck and shoulder. The deep pressure from his embrace was a grounding force, keeping his mind from floating away. Halamar wrapped his arms around his torso, his hands resting behind Dorian's shoulders, his thumbs tracing over his shoulder blades. Dorian squeezed him tighter before he began to draw circles on Halamar's back with his fingers.

Touching his shoulders, Dorian could feel a thick layer of knotted muscle armor under his skin. “You're so tense, amatus. Shall I massage your back for you?”

“Mmmmm, please do,” he replied, rolling over onto his stomach and smiling at him. Dorian's hand slid slowly up his spine once before he moved to straddle his back, leaning his weight onto his hands as he started to feel for where the knots were. Where his upper shoulders connected to his neck was the worst spot, like a plate of armor formed entirely of muscle. He started there, working through the tension between his strong hands, his thumb and fingers working carefully to release the tension from around his spine.

“How is that?”

“Good... mmm, fuck, I need this.”

“I know, love. Your back is a mess.” Dorian massaged up and down the length of his spine between his fingers and thumbs, where his muscles seemed to hold on to the bone for dear life a bit too much. “You have beautiful skin, you know.”

“Really?”

“Of course, and your vallaslin are beautiful too,” he replied, bending forward to kiss the nape of his neck, pressing his hands into the sides of his back and sliding them up as he leaned. He kissed his neck a little more before returning his focus to massaging his back. Halamar was blushing, and Dorian smiled at him as he returned to work on his poor shoulders. A soft moan escaped his throat as some of the tension started melting away, and Dorian kept it up until he heard his lover's stomach rumble. “Shall I order some room service?”

Halamar's head suddenly jerked upright. “The steeds!” he realized.

“You feed them, I feed us?”

“It can wait a bit longer still.”

Dorian chuckled. “Fair enough, amatus,” he said, shifting more of his weight into massaging his shoulders. He kept running into Halamar's instinct to assist, adjusting his muscles in an attempt to make the massage easier. Sadly it had the opposite effect. “Love, don't help, you're going to tense right back up again.”

“Oh, sorry...”

“It's quite alright, amatus. Just try to go limp.” He tried, but his muscles seemed so accustomed to this position by now that Dorian realized this would take hours to fix at least. “So you just carry all your tension right here, huh?”

“Pretty much. I never had to be so constantly ready for battle until Cassandra arrested me.”

“Sounds like a Cassandra thing to do to you, quite honestly. Maker knows she's like that.”

Halamar scoffed. His stomach growled loudly again. “Ugh,” he vocalized. He exhaled before uttering, “Food, alright.” Dorian quickly gave his neck and shoulder a few kisses before dismounting him and running his hand over the length of his back with a smile, brushing his hand over his ass before kissing his head and getting up to put his clothes from the previous night back on. Halamar watched him leave, grinning at the view while it was still there to see. “I so love watching you go,” he smirked while getting up to find his own clothes. He didn't bother putting on his robe that marked him as a Keeper, just his shirt and trousers. Right now, he just wanted to be with his vhenan. He still needed to forget his life was happening for a while. Once dressed, he pulled Dorian into another passionate kiss, holding his face between his hands until his stomach practically shouted at them to get breakfast.

Reluctantly, they pulled slightly out of the kiss, touching noses. Dorian pecked his lips a couple of times more before separating their faces, and ran his hand through his hair. “We'll be right back here in a moment, amatus. I'll have them bring some breakfast up. And some brandy.”

“This early?”

“It's a few bottles for the whole day, but... yes?”

Halamar gave it some thought and concluded day-drinking didn't sound like the worst idea in the world, then shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, alright.”

“Good man!” Dorian held his waist while softly kissing his face, letting a final kiss linger on his forehead. Halamar beamed at him, pressing his forehead against his lover's once the kiss ended. “It's just too hard to leave your side,” he murmured.

“I want to stay next to you,” murmured Halamar back.

“Come. Let's race back here.” He planted one more kiss on his lips before smiling, taking his hand, and leading them out together. Halamar remembered to bring the animal feed at only the last second, but they stayed hand in hand until they had to separate for their tasks.

Halamar walked to the door and turned to watch Dorian stride over to the front desk, confident as he was handsome. He almost forgot to go feed the animals again. With a small smile on his face, he went out to the stable and found their mounts, who excitedly greeted him. He pet them and spoke to them in low Elven before loading their trough with their food and affectionately petting both of their brilliant coats. He loved these animals, and he was glad his grief wasn't killing his softness. He resolved not to let that part of himself die.

But a bratty Fereldan noble's interruption was about to test that resolve. “Hey, stable boy, fix my horses up!”

“I'm not a stable boy,” he replied curtly. “Bother someone else.”

“What? How dare you speak to me that way, knife-ear!”

Halamar flushed with rage. No. Wordlessly, he strode a few steps closer to the brat, lifted his left hand, and activated the mark just enough to let some green Fade-light through. The human brat jumped backwards and cursed.

“Shit! You're the Inquisitor!”

“Shut. Up. Get the hell out of my sight, shemlen.”

“I beg your forgiveness, my lord.”

“Shut. UP. Find another inn for your own safety.”

The shemlen brat panicked. “Yes ser, sorry ser, I'll take us somewhere else!”

“And don't you EVER abuse another elf again, you spoilt brat.”

The man squirmed back onto his horse and took his party, such as it were, with him. As they left, Dorian came through the front door of the inn and said, “ That was brilliant. Are you alright? I didn't hear what he said but I can read lips well enough to know what he called you.”

Halamar sighed. “He called me a stable boy before that. I just told him I wasn't one.”

“Nobles are dumb as shit.”

“I will never understand how Josephine likes dealing with nobles all day.”

“As someone raised by nobles, she must be either a masochist or literally insane.”

“Sometimes I genuinely can't tell which.”

“But seriously, are you alright?”

“I'm angry, but fine. Were you holding back to let me handle it myself?”

“Yes, it looked like you could handle him yourself, and you did it quite well. I was ready to join you in a fight if it came to that.”

“Thank you, vhenan. I know you always have my back.”

“Of course I do. Now come, let's go eat. And speaking of having your back, yours needs a lot more work.” Halamar smiled as Dorian wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him back to their suite.

They came back to an elaborate spread of foods, coffee, teas, and the requested extra brandy. Dorian poured a bit of brandy into each of their coffees—“Just a little to start with on your incredibly empty stomach.” Halamar took a sip and felt a small bit better. Dorian told him to eat some real food first so he wouldn't get sick from a stomach full of just coffee and booze. He obliged the request without resistance; that encounter with a racist human made him forget he was starving. He scarfed down his eggs and bacon before going back to his drink. The warmth of it was slow at first, then hit his nerves all at once. A surprising, good feeling washed over him, and he sank into his seat. Dorian gave him a smile before walking around behind him and started massaging his neck and shoulders again, giving his neck a few kisses as well.

“Mmmmm...”

“You like that?”

“Very much...”

“Good, because this is going to be my focus for at least the next hour. Or until my fingers start cramping too much. Just try to relax.”

“Have you ever 'tried' to relax?”

Dorian giggled, “Yes, it understandably doesn't work all the time.”

“It's like asking me not to think about the Inquisition.”

“Try more of that drink, perhaps. Brandy is great at impairing your thoughts.”

“Now there's an idea,” he said, taking the warm brandied coffee mug to his lips again and taking another small sip.

The pair spent the day talking and touching, drinking to avoid thinking too much. Eventually Halamar's shoulders began to feel better and they found themselves in bed again, half-clothed and half-drunk. Halamar was laying on Dorian's bare chest while Dorian stroked his back and hair.

“I am going to fucking kill the people who did this,” was something Halamar kept coming back to.

“As you fucking should,” Dorian would say each time, “and I'll be right behind you.”

“You loooove being behind me,” Halamar replied after at least the third drunken repeat of the conversation.

“You caught me,” he said with a laugh. “And I looooove you.”

“You get so much mushier when you're drunk.”

“You bring it out in me.”

“Yet you tease me for it?”

“Only because I love it about you, truly. Aaand I'm more sober in those moments than I have any right to be.”

“Awwww. You're a big softie too!”

“I am for you, amatus.”

“Oh, vhenan...” He kissed him, passionate and sloppy, while Dorian pulled him closer in his arms, sliding one hand down and up his leg. Halamar moaned into his mouth as he stroked his sides and chest, trying so hard to chase away the survivor's guilt that was building in the pit of his stomach. Not drowning in the alcohol, but just swimming in it. As he could feel some of the alcohol began to wear off, that guilt burst through, creating a wave of disgust throughout his whole body. Tentatively, he pulled out of the kiss and buried his face in his lover's neck with a deep sigh.

“Amatus, what's wrong?”

“I can't chase the guilt down forever, Dorian. No matter what I do, I can't make it go away...”

“Oh, love,” he said, pulling him in closer. He kissed his forehead and stroked his yellow hair. “I'm right here. Whatever you need.”

“Maybe the brandy was a bad idea.”

“No, it was definitely a good idea. I know from experience, even I couldn't run away from the grief forever. Alcohol is more like... a cushion to land on before you're ready.”

“I... I guess that almost makes sense.”

“And now? Are you ready?”

“Dorian, I can barely put together coherent thoughts right now. But these thoughts just linger in the back of my mind. I... I should have been there! I... It should have been me. It should have been me...” He finally broke down and began to sob again. “It should have been me, it should have been me...”

“Sshhh, amatus, it should have been no one.”

Halamar weakly nuzzled into his shoulder with his hands resting on his chest, feeling Dorian's strong arms pull him closer. He gently hushed him, not to quiet his words but to quiet the pain clinging to him like burdocks. He kissed his forehead while holding him tighter and stroking his back with his fingertips.

“I'm here. Let it out.”

Halamar let out a pained half-scream as enraged sobs escaped his throat and hot tears began to flow. Dorian held him as tightly as he could, nuzzling into his hair. Halamar kept repeating, “I wish I had died instead.”

“We'll make it as right as we can, amatus.”

“Dorian, so many of my clan were children... twelve of the—” he paused to remember through his headache—“thirty-six of them, not including me.”

“Maker's breath...”

“And I killed them! I killed our kids, I...” he sobbed.

“Listen to me, Halamar: no, no you didn't. Please, please don't say these things about yourself. I know that's how you feel right now, but, how can I put this... I guess you should know that's just a feeling? Does that make sense? Feeling something to be true doesn't make it true.”

“I should have died instead.”

“I would miss you terribly if you did,” he replied, gently but firmly clasping his lover's face in his hands and looking deeply into his eyes. He wiped the tears from his cheeks and whispered, “Amatus, you mustn't blame yourself like this.”

“Mustn't I? It was my call...”

“ And there was a group of Venatori pogromists and an entire diplomatic team trying to stop them. There were more players in this tragic play.” Halamar, still crying, fell silent in his melancholy. Dorian continued, “You did everything you could have done. You did everything right. You made decisions when they had to happen.”

“You sound like Cassandra.”

“You wound me!” Dorian replied with a joking smirk. Halamar gave a weak, single scoff. Dorian looked at him sadly, then gently kissed him on the lips and nose and said, “We will see justice done. I promise you.” Halamar leaned his face towards Dorian's, trembling while trying to take a deep breath. Dorian tightened his arms around his torso, running a hand through his hair and gently kissing his forehead. Halamar seemed to deflate and sink into him, physically and emotionally.

After an extended silent embrace interrupted only by the tender movements of fingers over skin, Halamar eventually spoke. “I can't do this,” he said.

“Yes, you can, amatus. You've done the impossible so many times now—”

“No, it's not that. I can't do this. I can't handle this.”

Dorian pecked him down his neck and said, “That's why I'm here. I'm here to help keep you sane through all the insanity.”

“Thank you, vhenan. I just don't know...”

“Well, then trust me. I know you can do this. There are thirty-six people who need you to give their spirits rest and justice, and you could never leave an injustice alone.”

Halamar felt his resolve strengthen from his words. “And I must do this . ”

“And where you go, I go, amatus.”

Halamar rolled them both over to be laying on their sides so he could wrap his arms around Dorian and hold him close. “I love you, Dorian. So much. Thank you.”

Dorian returned the embrace and kissed his neck. “I love you, too.” His lips trailed up and along his jaw until they reached Halamar's lips and lingered there. Dorian's lips on his and his thumb tracing over his cheekbone felt like a warm breeze on a cool day. For a few moments, each time one of them thought the kiss might end, the other came back in for more.

Halamar couldn't believe he was blameless for all the deaths, but coming from Dorian, he could settle near almost taking it for granted. It was good enough to let him sleep more soundly than he had in two days.

He had another dream. He found himself in a forest in the Free Marches he recognized. This was a clearing near where his clan had been camped out before sending him to the Conclave. This was his last bastion of normalcy before everything changed. He noticed a campfire, unsure if it was always there, and sat across him by it was Keeper Deshanna Istimaethoriel. An elderly woman, her hunched back supporting her, she met his eyes and smiled warmly at him. Her low-hanging necklaces made with seed beads and semi-precious stones blew in the wind. Halamar grew fearful he was about to see her cut down or burned alive in the fire. Instead, she smiled warmly at him and waved him over. “Come, da'len, sit with me a while.”

Nervously, he approached and sat by her side. She spoke to him in Elven, and when she spoke, Halamar got the impression this was more likely to be her memory or soul than a dream spirit from the Fade. He found that haunting yet comforting. “Da'len,” she said, “I could feel your anguish from the Beyond. I have taken measures to banish the nightmares haunting you, for a time. We must speak. You have always taken your responsibility to your fellow kin with the utmost seriousness. It is why I made you my First, even as young as you were.”

“Keeper, I—”

“You cannot torture yourself like this. We are gone. You must accept this.” Halamar was stunned into silence at that. Deshanna continued, “Da'len, you are our Keeper now. It's your job to remember and persevere.”

“I—I'm sorry, Keeper! This was all my fault! I can't accept this. I can't be Keeper of nothing!”

Deshanna hugged him warmly around his shoulders. “There, there, child. You cannot keep hurting yourself with your guilt. None of us yet live, that much is true. I know you will look, but you won't find any survivors among our clan. But you are our Keeper. We still need you to see us guided to the Beyond, da'len. And we need you to remember, and make sure history knows what befell us.”

Halamar began to weep into his hands. Deshanna gave his temple a motherly kiss and stroked his arms over his sleeves. “Sshhh, da'len. I know you can do this.”

His voice trembling, “I will, Keeper. I will see that our people have justice.”

“With the Inquisition at your back, of justice I have no doubt.”

“That is more comforting than you know, Keeper.”

“Good. You have built a good Inquisition. You have looked out for the downtrodden. You have done so much good for elves, for everyone. Your clan was proud of you to the last.”

Halamar spoke to her between sobs into her shoulder, “No, I should have saved you! You should be angry at me! I should have sent someone else to help you, or gone myself originally, or—Creators, I—I don't deserve to be called a Keeper.”

He felt Deshanna's arms—or her spirit's, perhaps, if there was indeed a difference—tighten around his shoulders as she responded, “Da'len, what do you think you've been to all these Andrastians, fixing their mess for them?”

“Please, don't say that.”

“Making the hard decisions when no one else can agree, guiding your people to shelter, taking on the strongest threats to your life by yourself and surviving, and revealing truths to your people. Remembering what would be easier to forget.” She ran her hand over his hair and continued, “These are the tasks of a Keeper. You have been the Inquisition's Keeper since the Conclave, you just did not know it.”

“Keeper Deshanna...”

“Hush, da'len,” she said comfortingly, “we do not have much time left. Your people await Falon'Din's guidance, and the elves of Wycome await yours. You need to accept that we are gone, child.” She stroked his cheek and looked at his face. “Mourn for us, but do not tarry in that place.”

Halamar nodded. “I understand, Keeper.”

“Good, Keeper Halamar.” She tightened her grip around him briefly before partially releasing him and smiling at him. It was her own unique smile; this was her spirit visiting him, it had to be. Deshanna said, “I must go now. Know that your people love you. I love you, da'len. We all do. You have done so well.” Halamar's eyes welled up, and she wiped a tear from underneath his eye. She smiled warmly at him. “Oh, and before I forget, your Tevinter?” she said as she released him fully, placing a comforting hand over his, “He's one of the good ones. He possesses more wisdom than he lets on. You hold onto him.”

“Trust me, I will.”

Deshanna beamed at him. “You've come so far, da'len. Your clan was proud of you to the last. Now, go, child, and be ever-cautious. May Fen'Harel never catch your scent.” With a burst of white light, the dream ended as suddenly as it began.

He awoke with Dorian's arms wrapped around his waist, laying behind him. Halamar took his lover's hands, brought one toward his lips, and gave his skin there a soft kiss. Dorian was still asleep, though, and Halamar simply enjoyed being held at his side, and stayed holding his hand until he finally awoke. When he did, Halamar rolled himself over to face and kiss him. “Good morning, ma vhenan.”

“Good morning, amatus. Did you get enough sleep?”

“I think so.”

“I'm glad. You needed it,” he said, drawing him into a soft, long kiss, running a hand through his messier-than-usual hair. Dorian's hand drifted slowly down his back, which arced towards him along the line of touch. His lips moved towards his neck, and he gasped at the touch while Dorian's fingertips teased his lower back along the line of his trousers. He stopped himself to follow up with, “How are you feeling now?”

“Surprisingly... decent. A bit hungover.”

“I'm glad you're feeling decent, Halamar,” he said, kissing him underneath his ear. Halamar gasped loudly at this touch, and Dorian grinned as he lightly nibbled his earlobe, loving to make him squirm like this. His hands softly caressed him, one hand stroking his side while the other gave his ass cheek a playful grab, with just his thumb teasing underneath the hem of his pants. Halamar moaned, leaning into him. He whispered in his ear, “What do you think, amatus? Once more for the road?”

“Yes, please,” he breathed, his hands stroking Dorian's chest. Dorian kissed and bit his neck as each pulled down the other's remaining clothing. Halamar moaned as Dorian pushed him onto his back and got on top of him, gently pinning his arms to the bed while kissing his neck with his teeth and tongue. His lips trailed over to his collarbone, placing a few kisses and bite marks further down along his chest, kissing his various scars. Halamar would curse under his breath while curling his fingers into the blankets. “Oh, gods...”

“So sensitive...” Dorian said with a wry chuckle, slowly dragging his tongue up Halamar's sternum. Halamar sharply exhaled with another moan on his breath, his wrists playfully struggling against Dorian's slight restraint as he looked up at him with a smirk.

The pair held each other in the afterglow for a while, eventually making their way over to the suite's bathtub to remove the smells of sweat and brandy. They ate, fed their steeds, paid at the front desk for going over time, and took off on their mounts northeast along the road away from the Frostbacks.

The journey would take them a week, spending the nights cuddled close by a campfire built by their magics until they had to go by boat. They filled the campfire nights with sweet and serious chatter, processing what was past and planning their next moves. Each felt blessed to have the other in their lives. Dorian was mostly glad that his lover was alive and no longer on the verge of martyring himself.

As the road took them eastward towards the Highever, they eventually ran into Clan Mahariel. Their own journeys had taken them southwest of Kirkwall, past the Waking Sea, luckily further away from all the human fanatics and red lyrium. Halamar was glad they had found some safety. The First of another clan volunteered to step in a few years ago as their Keeper after their previous one was tragically slain and they had no one with knowledge of the old magics left to lead them. A sad situation, and bitter as the people of Clan Mahariel were at this point, that they survived such hardship spoke well of them. The people of this clan were wary of Dorian's presence, but Halamar did most of the talking and the People accepted Dorian as his companion. Their Keeper wished them luck on their journey and offered her condolences about Clan Lavellan. The pair traded with craftmaster Ilen, some herbs for rations, before they headed out on their way.

They arrived at Highever in the night. They rented a room at an inn where they ended up ravishing each other again after a week of having to hold it back, tongues and teeth on bare skin, whispers of love and lust. Halamar wanted to return the favor this time. They slept well that night, with Halamar's nightmares tame in comparison to before.

In the morning, they left their steeds to be cared for at a stable and secured passage on the fastest boat to Wycome, which would take about another four days over sea. Dorian got seasick from just looking at the boat on the water, so Halamar prepared some herbal medicine for that before they went.

The boatmaster recognized the Inquisitor and gave them a discount. The wind favored their journey as well, pushing the sails swiftly forward, ultimately shortening the journey by half a day. They would arrive in the evening.

On the final approach to Wycome, the pair's whispered conversations focused mostly on planning their next moves. Their sweet nothings began to feel less appropriate the closer they grew to the city. They had to be cautious how specific they were out loud; the walls had ears on this ship. They would sneak into the city late in the night to avoid the guards. They would find a way into the alienage, which for all they knew might have been under a lockdown right now. They would only trust the elves for reliable information. It was a challenge not having much idea what was currently happening ahead of time, and they had no scout to silently send ahead. They were on their own and would have to find out what they needed to know by doing.

They camped just outside the city with no campfire on their arrival, not wanting to alert Wycome to their presence quite yet. When the waning moon reached the third hour of the night, the pair began to move. They reached a part of the city walls with few guards. Halamar used Keeper magic to grow some vines they could climb along the height of the wall and waited for a moment to sneak in. Dorian made them invisible, and they strode over the battlements and into the alienage. They could pick out the alienage from the rest of the city: closed off, run-down, a few roofs curving inward where they shouldn't have. A few elves were out and about, clearly not wanting to linger outside for long. The ground was still stained dark with the blood of Clan Lavellan. Seeing their bloodstains in the dirt filled Halamar with anger.

They reached the alienage and used the same vine magic to climb down and in. Dorian dismissed their invisibility hidden behind a building, and Halamar approached a small group of elves in the space between people's homes, Dorian keeping a respectful distance behind him. The elves recognized Halamar on sight and bowed, taking him aback.

“Hahren,” said one. “You've come! Brother, we are so sorry.”

“Andaran ati'shan, sister. You owe me no apologies. I came as soon as I could. Please, tell me what's happened since the massacre.”

“We shouldn't speak here,” replied the elf woman. “You and your shem companion can stay in my home tonight.”

“Thank you, sister.”

She led them to her home and told them her name was Althaea. She was the primary leader of the elves in the city and had much to tell them. The city elves tried to defend Clan Lavellan as best they could without bloodshed, yet somehow the humans killed the Dalish almost exclusively. In the time since the massacre, the bodies of his clan were buried in a mass grave outside the city. Althaea and others tried to protest, saying this was not the Dalish way of dealing with the dead, but the city leaders just wanted the bodies gone. Even as most of the city elves surrendered to the guard to avoid an outright purge of the alienage, the city leaders placed them under quarantine until “things calmed down.” Half a dozen city elves, mostly youths, were killed in the following confrontation, thrown in the mass grave with the Dalish. A knife-ear was just a knife-ear to these people.

“I must ask you,” Althaea began to ask, “what do you plan to do now that you're here?”

“The Inquisition will use all its resources to bring the people responsible in for justice. Most if not all will be executed."

Althaea paused somberly. “Good.”

“In the meantime, I came myself to see what your people needed and to lay the dead to rest.”

“Your presence is welcomed, hahren.” It felt strange to be addressed as a respected elder this way, but he accepted it. “If I may, I have another question—for your companion. Dorian was it?”

“Yes, Dorian Pavus.”

“That name, are you the one from Tevinter?”

“Ah. Yes, I am.”

“And hahren, you trust him at your side?”

“I trust no one to be at my side more, sister. Dorian is a good man.”

“I see... how did you meet, if you don't mind my asking?”

“Dorian saved my life in Redcliffe.”

“And I am so glad I did, amatus.”

Althaea smiled at them both. “It speaks well of you that you would save the life of an elf you did not know, Dorian. And I know enough smatterings of Tevene to figure that out, friendly shem. I'm happy for you. In this world, we must take what joys we can find and hold on.”

The pair smiled back at her. “Thank you, again, for letting us stay here,” said Dorian.

“You're very welcome. A Keeper and their companions are always welcome among the elves here.”

“It is... hard to accept, being called Keeper now. It feels wrong, but hearing it from other elves is... it feels more real.”

“No one here expects you to handle these events with perfect grace, hahren. You are here to do your duty to your people, and that is enough. We respect you greatly. Any aid we can provide you is yours.”

Halamar nodded. “Inquisition forces are already on their way here to assist. They shouldn't be far behind our arrival.”

“Hahren, thank you for looking out for us,” said Althaea. Dorian couldn't hold back a sleepy yawn, and Althaea said, “Perhaps we should rest now. I regret that I have no beds to offer you, but please do try to sleep.”

“I thank you, sister. Rest easy.”

“You as well. I'll bring you to the grave in the morning and help you prepare proper rites for your people.”

“I thank you again. If there is anything I can do to help lay yours to rest, please just name it.”

“We'll just need to bury them. I'll have to find a way to sneak out—”

“We can help with that,” said Dorian.

“Good. Then it will take some time, but we will manage this.” said Althaea. “There is another matter, however,” she added. “There were some strange shems wearing pointed armor and black robes. We saw them in plainclothes in town, riling up the humans.”

“Venatori.”

“Whatever they're called, they're trouble.”

“You don't know the half of it,” said Dorian. “They're a cult of Tevinter supremacists who want to make a dead magister a god.”

“And they're obsessed with me,” said Halamar. “They used red lyrium in the humans' water to drive them mad, then turned their existing prejudice into a pogrom against my clan and some of yours.”

“They must be stopped, then.”

“Of course. That's another reason we came. Do you know where we might find them?”

“In one of the abandoned warehouses in the shems' part of the city. I'll give you directions in the morning.”

“If it's all the same, I think we should go now. I won't get any sleep knowing they're out there,” said Halamar.

Dorian nodded. “You're right. I can stay awake to kill these cretins, certainly.”

“Oh yes. These ones die tonight.”

“Very well. I dare not get too close, but I'll tell you where to go. When you come back here, knock three times and don't let yourselves be followed.” Althaea gave them directions to a set of warehouses by the docks and offered them coffee, which they took. Halamar was familiar enough with the docks here from times when the Keeper sent him into the city to trade for supplies when needed, so they could figure out which warehouse they needed when they got there.

When ready, Dorian used his invisibility spell on his lover and himself, and the pair of them left out the back door. Althaea went out for a cigarette to cover their exit.

Halamar and Dorian sneaked their way out of the alienage to the docks, sticking mainly to dark alleyways. The stealth magic wasn't perfect, and a clever eye could pick up on the faint gleam of it on them. They ended up holding hands, however, in order not to lose each other in the winding streets of Wycome.

It was a small challenge to find the right warehouse, but with their stealth spell, they could scout out all of them until they found the one with robed Venatori chanting in Tevene. There were about a dozen of them all together in the main storeroom, four of them mages. The storeroom was packed with boxes of unprotected red lyrium, spreading through the chests it was stored in.

“There are probably more,” whispered Dorian.

“Yeah, probably.”

“How do you want to do this?”

“We have to control the battle, and finish this up quickly before city guards investigate the noise. We sneak in the back, snap the necks of anyone guarding there. On my signal, use your hastening spell on us. Now let's move before we get caught.”

“I can't believe no one's patrolling outside.”

“No one said they were smart.”

“They did fuck with you.”

The pair found the back door. Halamar listened at the door for any sound and only heard distant chanting, and carefully opened the door. There was a Venatori soldier standing watch who began to investigate the door opening, but before he could do anything, Halamar cast a spell he had ready. With repurposed Keeper magic, he pulled the air straight from the man's lungs before he could shout. Dorian quickly snapped his neck before his choking could draw attention.

The brief combat broke their stealth, and Dorian re-cast the spell before drawing close to Halamar and whispering, “How long have you been able to do that?”

“It's the same principle as magically suppressing a fire.”

“That does make sense.”

“Let's move. When we get to the main room, we go on opposite sides. I'll keep them from moving. You keep them terrified. Use your haste spell, too.”

“Ready.” Dorian nodded at this, which Halamar could see the slight gleam from. The pair moved out together. Dorian snapped the neck of another lone Venatori guard on the way and gently lowered his body to the floor. When they at last reached the storeroom, the pair communicated by touch about where to go. Dorian awaited his lover's signal.

The signal came in the form of him opening a small fade rift in the center of the room, drawing the combatants to the center of it. Dorian cast his haste spell on Halamar and himself before necromatically filling one of the mages with terror. Halamar centered his chaining lightning on that one, followed by a rain of fireballs on all of them.

“It's the Inquisitor and his pet traitor! Kill them!” shouted one of the mages before being cut down by one of Dorian's spells. The lovers saw and heard everything in slow-motion. Halamar's fade rift drawing everyone to the center wore off after some time, and soldiers began approaching them both. Halamar zapped them with more chaining lightning before they could get too close. With an unexpected surge of energy, he was able to cast it another time, bringing three more of them down.

A soldier was clamoring towards Dorian, who filled him with necromatic terror to hold him in place a few seconds before Halamar could set him on fire from a distance. The on-fire soldier began flailing about until Dorian shot him with ice through his heart from the tip of his staff. They turned their attention then back to the three remaining mages, two of whom were still on fire. Halamar knocked them down with rift energy before drawing them again back to the center of the room and shocking them with more lightning until, at last, they died.

The last of the soldiers were a challenge. Halamar and Dorian took a few hits from the last ones, but both had ways of controlling combatants that got too close. Dorian would shock their minds into a brief stupor while Halamar would magically dart away from any crowd around him before knocking them all off their feet. Together, they killed all but one. The last soldier cowered before them, begging for his life.

“You sniveling little shit,” cursed Halamar as he kicked the man in the stomach. “Tell us where your ringleader is and maybe I'll let you live.”

“Alright! I'll talk!”

“That was fast,” Dorian remarked. “You motherfuckers normally ramble about glory for the Elder One by now.”

“I don't want to die! I was just here for coin, I swear!”

“So your defense is that you slaughtered my clan for coin?” Halamar pressed his foot hard against the man's neck.

“Pathetic filth,” growled Dorian.

“Leader. Location. Now.”

“In the woods west of the city!”

“Who are they? How many are with them?”

“Another mage with two big brutes! Now please, let me go!”

“No. You don't even deserve judgment first.” Halamar replaced his foot on the man's neck with the tip of his staff and shot electrical energy into him until dead. He turned to Dorian and said solemnly, “We have another target. Let's go.”

“No time to waste.”

They destroyed all the red lyrium around and left the scene behind them, Dorian's stealth spell covering them in the shadows. They left through the back door and sneaked out of the city by climbing up its walls with Halamar's vine magic. The pair began their search west of the city and followed a campfire to the Venatori's remaining camp. As the soldier had said before, there were only three, but they were powerful opponents. The lovers separated and surrounded their enemies on either side before Halamar hit them all with chaining lightning.

Dorian cast haste on them just as the Venatori leader called out, “And so you've come to us, Inquisitor! Your head will make a fine gift for the Master.”

“Ar bellanaris din'an heem!” He shouted back in rageful Elven.

“Die, savage!”

Halamar snarled back at him as his staff crackled with electricity, which he shot into the black-clad mage's chest. A towering brute headed for each of them, and Halamar pulled them all to the center of the campsite with a controlled fade rift. Dorian began firing icy blasts at the spellbinder while Halamar damaged them all with the power of an electrical storm, shocking the armored ones into a short stillness. He used all his power to hold the rift open longer than it should have been active just to control the flow of battle, to keep the big men with battleaxes off of them. His spell couldn't hold forever, though, and eventually broke in an unstable flash of green light that hurt everyone in its berth. The blast knocked the Venatori off their feet; the lovers took advantage and rained damage down on the two brutes, Dorian focusing on Halamar's target until each of them died.

Halamar approached the weakened enemy mage and restrained him with magical vines. “Alright, you shemlen shite. You die painfully.”

“All glory to the Elder One!”

“Yes, yes, we've heard it before,” said Halamar as he filled the man's body with electricity from his staff until he died screaming. Satisfied and exhausted, he leaned against a tree to catch his breath.

Dorian approached him and asked, “Amatus, are you alright?”

“Yes, just tired,” Halamar answered, leaning onto his shoulder. Dorian wrapped his arms around him and stroked his hair. “Ow, I'm hurt. Are you hurt, Dorian?”

“A few small wounds. Nothing you can't patch up.”

“We should get back to Althaea's. Will you be alright? Where are you hurt?”

“It's nothing that can't wait, amatus.”

The lovers held each other gently a moment, catching their breath together as they stroked each other with soft touches. Dorian wiped the blood off of Halamar's face before pulling him in close. He stroked his back and his hair and sweetly kissed his forehead. After a moment, Halamar kissed his lips.

“Are you sure you don't need healing now?”

“Quite sure. Thank you. What about you?”

“Same here.”

“Then we should move.”

“You're right. Let's go.” Halamar kissed him once before pulling back, looking at him with warmth and gratitude.

Dorian and Halamar arrived at Althaea's place traveling through the shadows. Halamar knocked on the backdoor three times as instructed. Althaea went out for another cigarette to cover their movements as they went inside. Halamar leaned against one of the house's thin walls, tried to catch his breath, and fell down towards the floor with his back against the wall. Dorian knelt in front of him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We did it, amatus. They're dead.”

“I know. I'm just exhausted, and it all still hurts, Dorian.”

“Of course. I understand. Shall I hold you a while?”

“Please.”

Dorian sat against the wall beside him and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. Nuzzling his ear, he whispered, “I'm here, amatus, and I love you.”

“I love you, too, vhenan. Thank you so much for being here.”

“Of course, my love.”

After a few minutes of tender silence, interrupted with soft kisses to Halamar's face, Althaea rejoined them inside. An acrid air of tobacco followed her in, and she offered a smile to the lovers as they embraced each other. She closed the door behind her. “I assume it went well, since you're back and covered in blood.”

“The bastards are all dead,” said Halamar solemnly.

“Good. A lot of our people here will rest easier knowing that.”

“I'm glad. This is the only way to protect ourselves so damn often.”

“You should rest now. Should I fetch the healer?” asked Althaea.

“I can handle it, but thank you,” Halamar answered.

“You can wash up in the bathroom over there. Just let me know if you need anything. I'll be in the next room passed out.”

“We should be fine, but thank you, dear,” said Dorian.

“Good night. And thank you. I mean it,” said Althaea before leaving them to go to sleep.

Dorian held Halamar a while longer before guiding him to the bath in the next room and closing the door behind them. Dorian ran the water and helped his exhausted lover disrobe. He kissed his face softly as he pulled off his robes. Halamar began doing the same for Dorian, slowly pulling off his layers of armor and baubles, exhaling softly while his lover kissed his vallaslin. “It was a rough night,” said Dorian. “What do you need?”

“I don't know, vhenan. I think I just need you. And I think I need to heal you.”

“We'll get to that soon. Then let's get in this tub and I'll wash your hair.”

“That sounds nice.” The pair pulled each other's pants and underclothes off before Halamar found Dorian's wounds on his torso and healed them with gentle magic.

“You have a few injuries yourself,” said Dorian.

“I forgot, but yes.” Halamar then healed the flesh and burn wounds on his torso and legs before leaning into Dorian's chest. Dorian led him into the hot water, sitting behind him, pulling him into a long embrace from behind. Halamar leaned backwards into him with his eyes shut as Dorian kissed his neck. “Ar lath ma, ma vhenan.”

“Amo te multo, amatus.”

Dorian cupped some water in his hands and gently poured it over his lover's hair. He picked up the pine soap they brought with them and lathered his hands with it before putting down the bar on the edge of the tub. He ran his fingers along Halamar's scalp and kissed his bare shoulder. He started softly massaging his scalp as he brushed his face against his neck. “There, how is that?”

“Relaxing, vhenan, thank you.”

“Just keep relaxing.”

“I don't know how much relaxation is physically possible for me right now.”

“I understand. Just know I love you, Halamar, and we did good work tonight.”

“I love you too, Dorian.”

Dorian continued washing his hair, every so often kissing the nape of his neck. Halamar took the bar of soap and washed the rest of himself as Dorian very gently pulled the tangles out of his hair with his fingers. The blood latent on their skin slowly washed away into the water. Halamar occasionally made contented sounds as Dorian massaged his scalp and kissed his neck. Some of his tension melted away into the water.

“Now close your eyes, amatus,” Dorian whispered. Halamar did so, and Dorian cupped more water in his hands and rinsed the soap and blood out of his lover's hair. Halamar leaned into his lover, almost falling asleep in the pink bathwater as he stroked his hair.

“Shite, I should dry off and go to sleep.”

“You should, amatus. You'll need your sleep after tonight.”

Halamar leaned and turned backwards to kiss Dorian's lips. Dorian held his face, stroking his cheeks as he softly pressed his lips to his. Slowly, the elf pulled away, pushing some of Dorian's hair behind his ear as he met his molasses-colored eyes. He carefully exited the tub, avoiding stepping on his lover. He found a dark towel and dried himself off, getting to his hair last before wrapping the towel around his waist and sitting on the edge of the tub beside Dorian, who was washing himself off now.

“Thank you, Dorian. For everything.”

“Of course, amatus. You are the love of my life. I want to be here for you.”

Halamar smiled at him, holding back a tear in his eye. “The love of your life, huh?”

Dorian returned the smile and answered, “Yes. I don't think I've ever put it that way, but now it feels like I should.”

Halamar reached over and stroked his hair with a smile. “You're mine, too. I love you so much.”

Dorian looked warmly at him and stroked his hair as well. “We simply must find a place to relax together when we're done with all this.”

“There's no shortage of bourgeois suites where they shouldn't be.”

“We'll just have to pick one.”

“You can pick it out, vhenan. I don't care.”

“No preference on general location?”

“Maybe just not in the Marches.”

“Fair enough. Maybe we could pop off to Antiva for a spell. Or perhaps somewhere quiet in the Green Dales.”

“Sounds lovely, vhenan,” he said, a bit flatly.

“I'll just pick out something nice, then,” Dorian said as he started rinsing his own hair. When he was done, Halamar reached over and planted another kiss on his lips. Dorian rose from the bath with him and embraced him from behind. He was getting him damp again, but he didn't mind. “I know you're not alright,” he said, gently but firmly. “No one would be. What's on your mind?”

“The Green Dales belonged to my people once. Is there anywhere in this world free from violence against the oppressed?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“It's true. Oppression and genocide are everywhere in Thedas. It's how this world was founded. There's nowhere I can truly escape from this.”

“At least we killed them back.”

“But it won't bring my clan back, Dorian. They're rotting in a mass grave somewhere, and I'm supposed to sleep well because their killers joined them among the dead? Creators, it will take magical fire to burn hot enough to cremate them all at this stage of decomposition.”

“I'm sorry. This must be devastating. I'll help however I can.”

Halamar reached backward to stroke Dorian's face and replied, “I know you will. You're a good man, Dorian, and you've always stood by me this past year we've been together.”

“Has it really been a year already?” Dorian asked.

Halamar nodded and said, “Nearly, yes.”

Dorian said, “Well, amatus, it's been an incredible year. I've never been prouder to stand at your side.” He kissed his neck softly, holding him gently.

“We should get dressed. I need to try to pass out,” said Halamar, leaning against his lover with his eyes closed.

“Brandy?”

“Please.”

“I'll get you my flask in a moment. It's out there.” Dorian held his lover a bit longer, softly kissing his skin, pressing his lips to his shoulder, his neck.

“This is better than brandy.”

“Does that mean you don't want it anymore?”

“No, I definitely want some.”

“I thought as much. Hold on, amatus. Let's get dressed.” Dorian gave him a kiss on the cheek and held him tighter by the waist for a few seconds before slowly letting go of him to find a towel, dry himself off, and change into plain clothes. Halamar re-dried his back and got dressed as well before pulling himself into Dorian's chest, wrapping his arms around him. Dorian returned the gesture, stroking and kissing his scalp.

“At least I can feel safe with you.”

“It's a service I'm happy to provide for the man I love.”

Halamar gave his waist a squeeze before saying, “We should sleep.”

“We should,” said Dorian softly, kissing his forehead. Halamar stroked his cheek and kissed his lips before pressing his forehead to his.

“I'm so tired, Dorian,” he said. “Not the kind of tired that sleep can fix.”

“I understand. We should still sleep.”

“I know. Let's at least try.”

Dorian kissed him one more time, hoping to make him feel better. His lips gave him butterflies, but still did little for Halamar's mind. Dorian got out their toothbrushes and handed him his, and the pair brushed their teeth before making their way to their bedroll. Dorian offered Halamar his flask, and he drank before crawling into the bedroll. Dorian took a swig of the brandy before joining him, and he began to plant soft, successive kisses all along his face until Halamar stroked his face and kissed his lips once. Halamar nestled into Dorian's chest and tried to let the brandy drown out his thoughts so he could sleep. They held each other as they lost consciousness. Halamar dreamed that he was slaughtered along with his clan and awoke feeling almost good about the idea.

Althaea awoke around sunrise and began preparing for the day while Halamar and Dorian slept a bit more. She began boiling water to make coffee.

Halamar awoke from a nightmare, but smiled when he saw and felt his sleeping lover. He rested against him a while longer, trying to pretend he was still unconscious. He had nightmares as he slept, yet unconsciousness was still preferable to his task today of laying dozens of his brethren to rest.

Dorian awoke to the smell of coffee. He stroked and kissed his lover's hair when he awoke, whispering a sultry, “Good morning, amatus.”

“It's certainly morning,” he said in return, burying his face in his shirt. Dorian held him close and twirled a lock of his hair around his fingers, kissing his forehead.

When they got out of bed, Althaea offered them coffee and some of what little food she had so they wouldn't have to eat rations, but Halamar insisted that she should keep her food, as they had enough and surely she needed it more.

“I see why your clan loved you so dearly, hahren.”

He forced a smile and hoped they would rest easy soon.

Once ready, they went on their way. Dorian and Halamar made use of their unique magics to sneak the three of them out of the city through similar means to how they entered it, taking care to avoid patrolling guards. They climbed over the walls from an unoccupied alley near Althaea's house and climbed down around the other side without being detected.

The sun in the cloudless sky hurt Halamar's eyes, and he turned slightly away from it. Dorian broke the stealth spell as he held his lover from behind. Halamar looked at Althaea and said, “Lead the way.”

Althaea began walking south. Dorian let go of Halamar so they could follow. It was a short, quiet, twenty minute walk to an unmarked mound in the dirt, about five by five meters, where Althaea stopped and looked down solemnly. “Here they are, hahren. I'm so sorry.”

Halamar's whole body shook and he fell to his knees weeping. Dorian knelt beside him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, tentatively touching him. He could think of nothing to say to him that would make this better, so he simply held him as he cried. After a long time, Halamar found the strength to say, “The youngest among us was just a year old... They slaughtered our babies...”

“Maker's tears...” said Dorian, dumbstruck.

“Imalien was her name. The youngest. I was told she was chatty for her age. She was born shortly after I left for the Conclave. I never got to meet her...”

“Halamar, I'm so sorry,” Dorian said. “I don't know what to say.”

“Seldanna and the other hunters would have defended them to the last.”

“They did,” said Althaea. “Not a one of them cowered.”

Halamar spoke to the grave, “You made the Dalish proud, Clan Lavellan.”

A few blood orange spirits floated by them. Althaea was startled by them, but Halamar and Dorian observed them curiously.

“They might be the spirits of those we lost. Or they could have been drawn here from the Fade. The Veil is thin here,” said Halamar. “But I don't think they're harmful.”

“I'll take your word on that, hahren.”

Halamar continued sobbing, then started talking to himself. He chastised himself, “Come on. You can't just sit here and cry all day. These spirits are telling you to do something.”

“Amatus, you don't need to—”

“Yes, I do. It doesn't matter what I feel. Their souls are suffering. We need to gather logs. A lot of them,” said Halamar as he defiantly wiped the tears from his eyes onto his sleeve.

“Alright,” said Dorian, loath to stop holding him. Halamar pulled out of his embrace almost forcefully, to Dorian's surprise. The Inquisitor planted an Inquisition banner in the ground so Cullen's forces could find them and got moving towards the western woods. The other two followed close behind. They only went a small distance into the trees.

“Look for dry logs on the ground first. Green wood just cut doesn't burn as well,” explained Halamar as he started magically levitating a fallen tree and moving it to the edge of the woods. The three of them worked together to make a pile of fallen trees of different widths, finding and moving six by the time Halamar noticed Cullen arrive with Varric and a sizable force of Inquisition soldiers and agents, perhaps forty or fifty strong. Halamar motioned for the other two to follow him and walked across the plain to meet them.

“Inquisitor!” called Cullen when they got close enough. “And Messere Pavus. I'm glad to see you both in one piece. And who's this?”

“I'm Althaea. I lead the city elves.”

“I see. It's good to meet you, and I'm terribly sorry about all this business.”

“The scouts found dead Venatori,” said Varric, sounding impressed. “Was that shitshow you?”

“Yes,” Halamar answered with a nod.

Cullen exclaimed, “Maker's breath. With all due respect, Inquisitor, you shouldn't have gone alone. This was too risky. You could have died.”

“Noted, but I had to come this far with just Dorian. I can't explain it. And we kept ourselves alive. Now, what I need is for you and your troops to help us gather several cords of firewood. Varric, you too.”

“I—yes, Inquisitor.”

“And Cullen? You were right. I should have listened to you. I just... needed to say that.”

“Permission to speak freely?” Cullen asked. Halamar nodded, and Cullen continued, “Inquisitor, you did everything you thought was right. Bad calls happen to the best of us. As a friend who was there for me during struggles of my own, I don't want to see you beat yourself up forever because you believed in diplomacy. I'm certainly not about to give you a lecture about it.”

Halamar took a deep breath before responding. “Thank you, Cullen. You have been a good friend. I want you to know that.”

Cullen said before excusing himself with a respectful nod, “Thank you. Inquisitor,” and turned his attention to his troops. “Inquisition! We are to gather enough firewood for several funeral pyres. Hop to it!” The soldiers and agents moved immediately at his order, rushing in an orderly fashion to get an array of axes and saws.

Varric spoke to Halamar next. “Hey, Inquisitor. I asked to come because you said we're friends and I happen to know the Free Marches pretty well. How are you holding up?”

“To be honest, barely,” he answered. “Come on, let's work and talk. I need to keep busy.”

“If you stay this busy, I think your heart might stop.”

“And I think that might not be the worst thing for me right now,” said Halamar with an air of frustration in his demeanor.

“Amatus...” Dorian trailed off, concerned and uncomfortably unsure what to say.

Halamar shouted, “Don't worry about me! I'm not dead, unlike my clan. We need to finish this before the end of the day.” Dorian looked at him with deep worry in his eyes, reaching out and touching his hand. Halamar said, “I'm not going to kill myself, Dorian. I... Sorry.” He looked away, ashamed.

Dorian got in front of him and held his hands. His thumbs circled the backs of his hands as he said, “Halamar, I'm not upset. I'm just very, very worried.”

His expression contorted with guilt. “I shouldn't have snapped at you, vhenan. You've done more for me than anyone. I'm sorry,” he said, unsuccessfully holding back tears.

Wiping his tears away, Dorian said, “It's alright. You don't have to be all together right now.”

“We all understand, Inquisitor,” said Varric, who had never seen him cry before.

“If my opinion assists in any way, you've done very well, considering everything, hahren,” added Althaea.

“My clan is dead and it was my fault. Everyone should be questioning my judgment. Come on, this is why I need to keep busy.” Halamar backed away from his friends and lover and joined the soldiers gathering wood. After taking a moment to process, Dorian, Varric, and Althaea joined him.

With the soldiers' help, they were done gathering wood in a few hours. Next was preparing the pyres. A group of soldiers filled barrels with river water while the rest built seven square pyres, each large enough to cremate five adults.

It was at this point the Wycome city guard arrived. The armored man leading them introduced himself as the guard-captain of the city and demanded Cullen tell him what the Inquisition was doing here.

Halamar approached them angrily and squared up to the captain. “What do you think the Inquisition is doing here? You murdered my clan!”

“Maker, you're the Inquisitor! You have to understand—”

“I understand that all it took for you shemlen to murder the family of one of your your ostensible allies is just a little bit of red lyrium in the water. You're lucky we're not at war! You, guard-captain, I assume you took part in this pogrom?”

The man looked suddenly terrified.

“That's all I needed to know. You are under arrest.”

“You don't have that authority!”

“Actually,” said Cullen, “the rest of the Marcher cities as well as several nations have stated that they will defer to the Inquisitor in the matter of his clan's murders.”

“Bring the guard-captain back to Skyhold for judgment when we're ready. Hold them all for questioning,” ordered Halamar. Turning to a group of agents, he added, “Leliana's people, question him and the rest of the guards. Find out how this massacre happened on the ground so we know who to prosecute. I want a report this evening. Now get them out of my sight.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” came everyone's response as they started carrying out his orders. The guards put up a small fight, but decided against making a further enemy of the Inquisition.

Halamar returned his focus to the unlit pyres and the bodies buried below. Everything was ready. It was time now to disinter his clan from the earth. Cullen said, “At your word, I'll have the soldiers start digging.”

“There's no need. I'm a powerful mage.” Halamar approached the burial mound, which most people kept a respectful distance from. At his approach, the people guarding the perimeter took several steps back as he motioned for space. Dorian stood next to him for support, tentatively touching his shoulder. Halamar recoiled away from the touch instinctively and said, “I'm sorry, I just can't right now. Please... please just help me move the dirt.”

“Of course, amatus,” he answered softly and sadly.

Together, the pair used their magics to energize and move the dirt of the burial mound, pushing it forward in a wave until it formed a pile behind the newly revealed corpse pit. A vile smell of decay filled the air as dozens of elven bodies were unearthed, making Dorian and others gag. Halamar had braced himself for this, but at the sight of their corpses, most of which were face-down with their limbs strewn about as if dumped from a cart, he had to stop himself from vomiting in disgust and anger.

“Amatus... This is horrifying. I'm so sorry.”

“Vhenan, please. I don't need sympathy right now. I need to see this done.” Halamar turned to Cullen and the soldiers and gave his orders: “We have to move most of these bodies onto the pyres. Be careful not to let their bodies break, if you can. Among the dead are a few of the city elves who died defending my clan. Althaea, can you identify them?”

“By their clothing at least, yes.”

“How many?”

“Seven.”

“Is here a good place to bury them?”

“I think that would be appropriate.”

“Althaea will identify them, and we'll wrap their bodies in cloth before giving them a proper burial. The rest will be cremated. I'll handle that. You, you, you, and you,” he said, pointing to a few soldiers in a row, “start digging seven graves. Everyone get to work.”

Halamar and Dorian started moving one of the corpses on the top of the pile. Halamar recognized her as Keeper Deshanna by her clothing and jewelry. Maggots had eaten her face. She had a number of arrow wounds and sword wound through her chest, like many of the others. His chin quivering, he gently placed her corpse on the nearest unlit pyre. “I'm so sorry, Keeper,” he said to her in Elven.

Decomposition hadn't completely taken most of their faces yet, so Halamar could identify most of his clan by appearance, and the rest by process of elimination. He recognized his cousin Ghilenna among the dead towards the middle of the heap, defensive wounds all along her arms and legs, a few bones broken. The majority of the children were easily identified by size, as there were only one or two of each age. Many of the children had been shot at a distance with arrows, but some were killed up close, including little Imalien. The Dalish were all placed on pyres, and the city elves were separated and wrapped in cloth. Althaea began moving their bodies into the graves with the help of an Inquisition soldier.

It took just under an hour to get all the bodies where they were supposed to be, an hour spent mostly in reverent silence. When all was ready, people washed their hands, and Halamar motioned for everyone to give him space. He walked between the unlit pyres, reaching out to touch a few of the logs. “Lethallin, ir abelas,” he apologized to them all. He continued in Elven, “You should all be alive. I failed you. I pray you can forgive me. I pray the gods forgive me. May Falon'din guide your ashes to the Beyond.”

The Keeper faced the pyre holding the six youngest children. “Imalien, Jandar, Haranae, Celebrian, Idril, Adranath... you deserved long lives filled with love and companionship. You deserved better than the final terrors you witnessed. You were all my children, and I failed you. Ir abelas bellanaris. Falon'din enasal enaste,” he eulogized in Elven before stepping a distance back and lighting the pyre with a wide stream of magical fire from his staff.

He ensured the fire was lit and thriving before moving on to the next pyre, holding the six older children. He looked at their injuries. Many of these children had been stabbed, but Auretharia had been strangled. He wept and eulogized, “Mahtani, Ascathan, Aredhel, Auretharia, Lindir, Elendil... you were all brilliant. Lovely, beautiful children. Deserving of better than the horrors you witnessed at the hands of bloodthirsty shemlen. You were all my children, and I failed you, too. Ir abelas bellanaris. Falon'din enasal enaste.” He lit this fire next and moved on, ignoring the blazing heat on his skin.

“Keeper Deshanna, Master Arundel, my cousin Ghilenna, Nylanna, Caelis... I cannot apologize enough. I miss you. I love you. You and the clan were everyone I knew. You're all my family and friends, and I failed you. My grief knows no bounds. Falon'din enasal enaste.” The heat from the fire he lit evaporated the tears off his face. His body heaved with effort from constant crying.

“Seldanna, our best hunter, Elrohir, Amadir, Amara, and Imreia... I'm told you fought the shemlen to the last. I'm proud of you. I'll carry your bravery with me in my journeys. I will do everything in my power to prevent this happening to other elves, you have my word. This I swear in the name of Mythal. You will all have justice. My anger and grief are boundless. Falon'din enasal enaste.” As he lit this pyre, he caught the eyes of Dorian and Varric, who were watching him silently along with everyone else present. Dorian was holding his hands over his mouth and crying. The volunteers from the Inquisition were standing in formation behind Cullen, all standing at attention. Halamar moved on to the next pyre.

“Anesarda, Taoren, Rumil, Daeron, Sinaala, this should never have happened to you, or anyone. I'm so sorry, lethallin. By the looks of it, you died defending others with your own bodies. Your bravery will be honored in this life and the next. Falon'din enasal enaste.” He lit the pyre, growing weak from his exertion. The Keeper shook his head and moved on.

“Tiathria, Ryalda, Eladan, Alaithor, Irimay... I apologize for everything, including my current loss for words. You deserve to be alive, and you deserve a better eulogy. I will find out what happened to you and rain down justice, you have my word. Your First has always loved you. Ir abelas bellanaris. Falon'din enasal enaste.”

He approached the final pyre, the radiating heat causing his skin to blister. He didn't notice the pain or his robes starting to singe. He just had to see this done. He spoke to the final pyre, “Shalana, Aryllan, Melias, Raniel... you all deserved better. I'll always miss you. Shalana, you could always bring a smile to anyone's face, and now you're gone. Melias, your singing voice brought beauty and cheer to everyone around you. You all make the Dalish proud. I could never apologize enough. The world is lesser for your loss. Forgive me, I beg of you. Falon'din enasal enaste.” He lit the final fire and fell backwards from exhaustion. The intense heat blistered his face and the soles of his feet.

When Halamar fell back, Dorian ran over around the pyres to check on him. “Amatus, I'm here,” he said, kneeling down beside him and placing his hands on his shoulders. Halamar didn't recoil this time. He simply sat on the ground, staring emptily into the flames, watching as his people's bodies slowly disintegrated into smoke. “Amatus, your skin is blistering. We have to step back,” said Dorian gently.

Halamar suddenly pulled back into reality, but didn't hear what Dorian had said. He also didn't fight it when Dorian helped him to his feet and backed them both up towards the nearby stretch of river. When Dorian brushed the bridge of his nose against his temple, Halamar buried his face in his shirt and wept. Dorian held him close and let him cry, softly stroking his hair and kissing his crown.

After a few minutes, they were approached by a tentative Cullen and Varric. They stood by, respectfully letting him mourn, offering their supportive presence. When Halamar pulled his face up from Dorian's shoulder, his eyes were sunken and dark, the light gone from them. His cheeks were soaked in tears, which Dorian wiped away with his sleeve before kissing his forehead.

“I'm proud of you, amatus,” said Dorian, stroking his hair behind his long ears. Halamar met his eyes, unable to stop his sobbing. “I'm right here for you.”

“Thank you, Dorian. I have so few words left in me.”

“You don't need to speak to me if you don't want to, amatus. I'll be your rock.”

“Thank you...” A silence took over for a while.

“My timing may be poor, Inquisitor,” interjected Cullen, “but the city elves have been buried. If you want to say any words for them, you may.”

“I should... Let me get it together first,” he said through heavy sobs, his voice muffled in Dorian's robes.

“I've seen people at funerals far less together than you, Inquisitor,” said Varric.

“There's no rush, amatus,” said Dorian. “It will be a while before these fires finish the job.”

“Hold me, ma vhenan,” Halamar replied. He buried his face in his shoulder again, uttering the words over and over again, “Gods forgive me, gods forgive me...”

Dorian held him tightly as he stroked his back, squeezing him tight enough to make him feel his soul slowly return to his body. He was still weeping, but after a while, he stopped dissociating to such an extreme degree. Dorian said to him softly, “Halamar, my sweet, sweet love... I can't speak for your gods, but I think you need to—someday, when you're ready—forgive yourself.”

“I don't know if that's possible.”

“I don't, either. Would it hurt to try?”

“I don't know.”

“I happen to know a thing or two about trying to hurt yourself less. Come talk to me as our duties allow, Inquisitor,” said Cullen before he excused himself to attend to his distracted soldiers.

Varric stood by and watched the flames burn with Halamar and Dorian, saying, “Sparkler's right. You've got to stop torturing yourself someday. That shit'll kill you slow.”

“Someone ought to torture me for this. It may as well be me.”

“Amatus, no. Listen to me. You don't deserve that.”

“I think I do.”

Dorian kissed his lover's temple and stroked his hair. “You don't deserve to torture yourself, Halamar. You don't. Can you please try to believe that? For me?”

Halamar took a deep breath and grasped onto Dorian's shirt with both hands. “I can try. For you. No guarantees.”

“Thank you, amatus. Trying is all I ask.” He softly stroked his scalp and kissed one side of his face, brushing the bridge of his nose against his temple.

“I couldn't do this without you, Dorian.”

“I'm proud to be at your side.”

“For what it's worth, and obviously in a different way, so am I, Inquisitor,” added Varric.

“Thank you. Both of you. It means a lot to me that you came out this far.”

Varric said, “I cannot even imagine what you've been going through. The least I could do was show up.”

“And you did a great deal more than that.”

“You know, I used to hang with this other Dalish elf, also the First of her clan. Now she actually accidentally got her Keeper killed and almost her whole clan. If it weren't for Hawke, I swear.”

“I've read Tale of the Champion . Is this about Merrill?”

“Daisy, yeah. Screwed around with blood magic. Long story.”

“Her clan cast her out for it.”

“Yeah, they did. But you know what she's doing now? Everything she can for the elves in Kirkwall's alienage. And as far as I know, no more blood magic.”

“Well, that's an improvement,” remarked Dorian.

“My point is, you can pull through this, Inquisitor. You're a strong guy. Stronger than you maybe think. You and yours go through all kinds of bullshit on a regular basis. It's not fair, but nothing is, and you can do this. I and lots of others believe in you.”

“Thank you, Varric.” For the moment, his weeping had stopped. He had his arms around Dorian's waist now, resting his head on his shoulder, watching the flames burn. He stood toes-deep in the water with his mostly bare feet, and the flow of water over his toes helped cool his blisters and keep him grounded in reality—as did Dorian's arms around him, his fingers in his hair, his occasional soft kisses to his face.

They stood by for hours and hours as the flames burned down. The sun set over them as the bodies slowly burned. It would be a while still. Proper cremation takes longer than one might think, especially the process of turning bones to ash, and especially if the bodies had been allowed to liquefy underground for some weeks first. Halamar had to relight the fires every so often, sometimes adding more wood, to make sure it was done right. Sometimes he would start to cry again, and Dorian faithfully held him close and wiped his tears.

“Did you see the wounds on the children?” Halamar asked at one point. “Half or so of them were shot with arrows. Cowards couldn't even kill the kids up close. But there was a notable exception: the youngest baby, Imalien. Someone put a sword through her heart. The kids who defended her were stabbed, too, I think.”

Dorian shook his head. “The bastards.”

“Whoever did that is losing their head.”

“As well they should.”

Varric added, “This is just some demon-level evil shit.”

“No. It's banal human evil, Varric. Humans are taught to hate us from a young age. It's a reason why every human city has an alienage. I think it's even why they control magic the way they do—making folk magic illegal means we have to be careful with our mages, or we all could get killed. It made it easier to conquer us hundreds of years ago, slowly taking our power away.”

Dorian kept stroking his hair and kissing his forehead. “You should really write books, amatus,” he said. “Non-fiction, I mean. Treatises and the like.”

“I don't know much about writing non-fiction, but I could get you in contact with publishers,” said Varric.

“Thank you, vhenan. I love you. And you, Varric, thank you too. You're a good friend.”

Halamar held Dorian closer, leaning his weight onto him, nestling into his shoulder. His head was throbbing. He was too tired to weep anymore, so he just tried to focus on breathing, his mind drowning in guilt. Maybe his friends here didn't think it was his fault, but he couldn't shake it, and more than anything he wanted to get drunk.

A waning crescent rose in the sky. The fires began to die down again as the bodies had mostly been reduced to ash. Halamar left Dorian's arms to reignite the fires as needed, bearing witness as their bones disappeared into smoke and ash. Dorian followed and wrapped his arms around his lover from behind when he was done lighting fires, resting his chin on his shoulder, taking a look at his facial expression. Halamar looked exhausted and dead inside. Dorian kissed his shoulder over his robes and held him close around the waist. It was enough for him to know Dorian was there.

At last, after a very long time, every pyre was completely reduced to ash. Halamar fell again to his knees, his fists touching the dirt as his tears hit the ground. Dorian came down to the ground with him. “I'm sorry. I love you all,” he whispered in Elven to the piles of ashes.

Varric placed a supportive hand on his shoulder. Dorian sat cross-legged on the other side of him, and Halamar rested his head on his shoulder as Dorian wrapped an arm around his back with a soft, “I'm here, amatus.”

“Thank you. Both of you.”

Varric gave his shoulder a pat before putting his hands in his pockets. “Glad to be here, Your Inquisitorialness.”

Halamar gave him a crooked, forced smile. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders by doing this, and he could at least fake a convincing smile again. Dorian kissed his temple and asked, “What do we do next?”

“This is done. The wind has to carry their ashes to the Beyond now. We just can't disturb them.” Halamar stood upright, closed his eyes, and again defiantly wiped his tears onto his sleeve. He stood at attention for another half-hour or so, watching to see that the wind was carrying his people's ashes away. He watched as the piles of ash began to swirl away into the air as the wind blew around them.

After a while, Halamar nodded to himself and walked around the ashes to the seven graves, which Althaea had marked with seven large stones. The leader of the city elves was there, now joined by a dozen or so other elves from the city, who were crying and holding each other. Althaea spoke, “Keeper. Thank you for coming.”

“Of course, sister. Ir abelas. The world is lesser for your loss. What were their names?”

Pointing from left to right, Althaea answered, “Rhiannon, fifteen. Caelynn, her twin. Olmas, fifty. Meriel, twenty-one. Ereon, seventeen. Riardan, sixteen. Meira, sixteen.”

Halamar repeated their names and said, “May you all find comfort at the sides of your gods. Mythal's mercy. Most of them were so young. The Inquisition will bring their killers to justice. We need the city elves' help identifying them.”

“If your soldiers can guarantee their safety, you'll have it. I can't guarantee everyone will trust your human guards, however.”

Halamar nodded. “Of course. I saw plenty of elves among our volunteers, both soldiers and agents. I can send them into the alienage almost exclusively.”

“I think that will help. Thank you. I know it may not feel like it right now, but you've done so much for our people today.”

“I thank you for your kind words, sister. I'm not through yet.”

“I know. On behalf of Wycome's elves, we all thank you,” said Althaea.

“Yes, thank you,” said a crying woman. “Without your kindness, our Rhiannon and Caelynn would have never known any rest.” Many others in the small crowd nodded at her words.

“Your people, your children, your families all deserved better than this. I can never apologize enough for what happened here. I wish you'd never had to bury them at all.”

Althaea said, “But now, we could bury them at all thanks to your actions. Giving rest to the dead is a worthy act, Keeper. Not to mention you killed the ringleaders.”

Halamar took a deep breath before saying, “The Inquisition will compensate all your families. I'll see to it personally.”

Althaea nodded and replied, “We appreciate the gesture, Keeper.”

“And please let me know if you need anything else. Feel free to write to me at Skyhold.”

“Thank you.”

“We can all point out the shems who killed our families,” said Rhiannon's mother.

“Thank you,” said Halamar. “Justice will be done. I swear it.”

“I believe you,” said a man from the crowd of mourners. “Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Keeper. Our Riardan wanted to defend your clan. He was such a beautiful idealist.”

“We need more people like him in the world,” said Halamar. “I'm sorry for your loss. I'm sorry for all your losses. This never should have happened.”

“We're sorry for your loss, as well, brother,” said a red-haired woman from the crowd. “I can't even imagine, having to cremate your whole clan.”

“It's killing me,” he said honestly. “The clan was my whole world before the Conclave. They were all my family, and now they're all gone. I can't...” As he started to cry into his hands, Althaea placed a hand on his arm.

Dorian approached his side when he heard his lover weeping again, gently touching his shoulders and kissing his hair. He rubbed his shoulders as he said, “My love, I'm here.”

“Thank you, Dorian.” He leaned on his shoulder as Dorian held him around his arms from the side, resting his head gently on his crown.

Althaea removed her hand from his arm and said, “I'm glad to see you have such a close companionship in these times.”

“I couldn't have gotten through this if it weren't for Dorian,” said a tearful Halamar. A few in the crowd were surprised to see him in the arms of a human. It was uncommon for the Dalish to date non-elves at all, but also not unheard of. It did, however, sometimes get Dalish ousted from their clans. The elves of Wycome were surprised, but accepting.

Dorian kissed Halamar's temple and pulled him into his embrace as he wept. Halamar grasped his lover's shirt with both hands as he cried into the fabric, saying, “Damn it. I wanted to be more together than this. I thought I was ready for this.”

“No one ever is, hahren. There's no shame in feeling deeply at a mass death,” said Althaea.

“She's right, you know,” said Dorian, stroking his hair gently. Halamar continued to cry into Dorian's shirt. Perhaps, he thought, he'd never be through weeping, no matter how much it tired him. His lover held him close and said, “I think Cullen's people are cooking some game they caught. Do you need to eat, amatus?”

“I don't know if I can eat right now. I feel sick. After all that, I never want to eat again.”

“I understand completely. What happened here was loathsome beyond description. You should probably still eat tonight, beloved.”

Halamar sighed heavily as he nestled into Dorian's shoulder. “I suppose you're right,” he said. “I don't know how much I could stomach, though. That's all.” He turned to the mourning elves and said, “You're welcome to join us at our fire.”

“Thank you, hahren.”

Dorian said to him, “We'll see how you feel later, then. It's alright. I love you, and I'm here.”

“That matters. Thank you, vhenan.” Halamar turned to look at the graves and cried, “I'm sorry, siblings, I'm so sorry. You should be alive...” They stood by the graves for a while longer. When Halamar wasn't crying into Dorian's shirt, he looked over at where the piles of ashes were. He couldn't see them very well in the scant moonlight, but he could tell they were smaller now.

When the crowd began to disperse, some going for dinner and the Inquisition's protection, Halamar took Dorian's left hand in his right and walked over to the piles of ashes. He lit some blue veilfire in his left hand to get a better look and saw that the ashes had mostly dissipated into the wind. “Good, this went as well as it could have,” he said. “I'll build a cairn when there's time.”

“Would you like my help with that?”

“Thank you, vhenan, but no. I need to do it myself.”

“I completely understand, amatus. You do whatever you need to. What do you need tonight?”

“Honestly? Wine.”

“Now wine, I can do. I brought an Antivan port with me. But I must insist you eat food first, for all the times you've made me eat before drinking.”

Halamar sighed and said, “I know I should, shouldn't I? I suppose I can't say no to you about that.”

“I'm taking care of you, remember?”

“Yes. Thank you, ma vhenan. Let's go eat some of whatever it is the hunters caught.”

“Smells like chicken.”

“It's not chicken. Wild turkey, maybe, but they'd need several of them, and they take a quarter day to cook. Easier to hunt and cook a few boars or rams out here.”

The lovers headed towards the campfire, about a hundred feet away, closer to the edge of the woods. There, they found most of the elven mourners along with everyone else. Cullen was some distance away by a tent, discussing something with one of Leliana's agents. People were eating meat from a few rams the soldiers had hunted. When he smelled the meat, Halamar's stomach suddenly growled, and he cursed under his breath as he started to feel faint.

“Amatus, let's eat. You're exhausted.”

“I will, I will,” Halamar replied, cutting a piece of leg meat off of a ram on a spit. As he sat down with Dorian and they began to eat together, they were approached by one of Leliana's elven agents, the one who was just talking to Cullen. The man had fair skin, short dark hair, grey-blue eyes, and about a dozen daggers.

The agent addressed him, “Inquisitor, we have a good idea what happened and an incomplete list of names. About fifty humans partook in the massacre. We know the guard-captain's son killed a crying baby with a sword.”

“Good work, agent. What's your name?”

“I use the codename Scales.”

“Scales. Great work. Do you have a report for me?”

“Right here, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the small pile of paper sheets from him. “Tomorrow we start going through the city. Dismissed.”

Scales nodded and said respectfully, “Thank you, Inquisitor. And, I'm sorry for your loss. We'll find the bastards who did this.”

“I know we will.” At this point, Scales nodded solemnly and left.

“Dorian took Halamar's hand and asked, “What does the report say?”

Halamar began to skim it and summarize. “Looks like everyone we held for questioning participated at the guard-captain's order. There's a list of names; we'll have to get to the bottom of all of these, see which accounts don't match up.”

Varric spoke up, “I can help with that.”

“Good. Thank you, Varric. Let's see here... Looks like Duke Antoine's son and heir was part of it. Arresting him will be fun. Oh, and possibly his daughter. Wycome may run fresh out of nobles. Going to skip the rest of these names for now, there's about twenty of them... Aaand there's an incomplete timeline of events that day.” Dorian stroked the back of his hand with his thumb as he continued, “Looks like Antoine's son was the first non-Venatori to rile up fears of an elven or 'Dalish plague.' Just about the entire guard force hated elves already, unsurprisingly. I... fuck. They killed the young children last . Those poor kids saw everyone they knew cut down before them...”

“That sounds accurate,” said Rhiannon and Caelynn's mother, who was shaking while holding a mug of tea.

“Amatus, that's... that's evil and horrific. I'm so sorry.”

Halamar sighed sadly and looked towards the ground. He folded up the report and slid it into his pocket, unable to read any more. Dorian wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave a squeeze, trying to meet his gaze. Halamar's eyes darted to meet his for a brief moment before looking melancholy towards his own feet again.

“Amatus...”

“Vhenan... I'm heartbroken. And I'm angry as all hell. I need to go break something.”

“Eat first so you don't pass out. Let's find a log in the woods or something.”

“A solutions man. I like it.” Halamar hurriedly ate the rest of his ram meat, barely chewing it. He finished eating before Dorian did and said, “Look, I have too much rage right now to sit still, so I'm gonna walk into the woods. Please join me when you're done.”

“I'll be right behind you, amatus.”

Halamar gave him a short kiss on the lips, lingering before separating. He stroked Dorian's hair behind his ear with almost a smile and said, “Thank you, vhenan.”

“Of course.”

Halamar left the campfire behind and walked into the trees baring his fists. He lit some veilfire and held it above his left palm when it got too dark to see. He found a fallen tree further into the woods that didn't have any animals living in it, so he started screaming at the top of his lungs. “Bloody pisser bastards! Why?! They were orphans! They were no threat to you and you cut them down! I will end you! Raaagh!” he shouted before shooting raw magical energy at the log, blasting it into chunks and splinters that exploded in all directions. Animal life scurried away as wooden shrapnel landed in everything in its path, including Halamar's exposed face, hands, and feet. He cried out from the sudden pain.

“Amatus! Are you alright?” called Dorian's voice from a distance.

“Yeah, I'm fine.”

“Light your veilfire again so I can find you!” Crying again, this time from rage, Halamar did so. Dorian made his way over. “What happened?” he asked while still some distance away.

“I blew up a log. I'm just full of splinters. I'm fine.”

“Oh, amatus...” When Dorian got close to him, he put his hands on his waist, and Halamar put out the veilfire to rest his hand on him.

“Why even bother killing the children at that point?!”

“Just to be cruel, I'd think.”

“What threat did that baby girl pose?” Halamar pounded his fist into Dorian's chest in desperation for answers neither of them had. Dorian grasped his lover's frantic fist and broke it by intertwining their fingers.

“She only posed a threat to their conscience,” said Dorian. “But you don't need me to tell you that.”

“She was crying when that cretin stabbed her. By all accounts, she was the last one to die. I swear, I will kill that bastard myself.”

“As you should. These people have to pay for what they did.”

“Thank you, Dorian. Ugh...” He moved to bury his face in Dorian's shoulder, but when his skin touched him, he remembered all the tiny pieces of wood embedded in his blistered face. “Ow, shite!”

“Come on, let's get these splinters out of you, then let's get you drunk.”

“That... sounds like as good a plan for tonight as any.”

“I thought so. Come on. Do you know the way back from here?”

“Of course. This way,” he said, leading Dorian on by the hand back to camp. Dorian sat Halamar down by the fire and stroked his arms.

“I'll be right back, amatus,” he said, leaving to find his belongings. He came back with a pair of tweezers and said, “Alright, now light a bit of veilfire so I can see.” Halamar did so with his left hand, holding it near enough to his face to light it up in the dim starlight. Gently, Dorian removed the splinters he could from his face, hands, and the tops of his feet. “There, almost like it never happened.” he said before softly kissing his vallaslin. The touch stung a little, but his survivor's guilt didn't object to the slight pain he was experiencing.

After a minute, Dorian took his lover by the hands, softly kissed his forehead, and led him to the Inquisitor's tent, where their belongings and double-wide bedroll were already placed. Dorian rummaged through his belongings and got out something wrapped in an article of clothing. He unwrapped it to reveal a red wine bottle, opened with the cork movable but barely drunk from, and handed it to Halamar. “As requested, wine, amatus,” he said.

“Thank you,” said Halamar, taking and uncorking the bottle. He took a few long swigs before handing it to Dorian, leaning into his torso as they lay beside one another on their backs, leaning against their backpacks. The alcohol took effect quickly, and he sank into his lover's chest, his rage dulled. “Tomorrow morning can't come soon enough. There's so much left to do.”

“I'm here for every step, Halamar.”

“Ma serranas, ma vhenan. Ar lath ma.”

“You're always welcome, amatus. I love you, too.” Dorian drank a swig of the wine before handing the bottle back to his lover.

Halamar took another swig and went on, “I can't wait, though, because tomorrow, I get to start the process of killing everybody. Everyone who had anything to do with the massacre, I mean. And I have to crack down hard to make other shemlen think twice before purging another clan or alienage.”

“I support this completely, but this won't make you popular, you know. You're upsetting the balance of racial relations in Thedas. The Magisterium will be furious.”

“Fucking good. It's about time someone upset the balance.”

“Thinking about everything that's happened here, and reality in Tevinter, I agree. What is cannot continue. Everything has to change. And the Inquisition can change everything and anything in its reach.”

“The Dread Inquisitor. And a good reason to be known as such.”

“Indeed.”

Halamar sighed and took another swig of wine. “Am I doing the right thing?” he asked.

“I think so, but I'm a pariah. You're certainly not doing the easy thing, but I think it is the right thing. Why the sudden doubt?”

“I'm sounding like a tyrant.”

“The world needs tyrants every now and then. Like when everything goes to shit. You just have to not be one forever. That's where most of them trip up.”

“I suppose. Keep me sane, will you?”

“I'll do my best, love.”

“This shite is changing me on a fundamental level, Dorian. I'll never be the same person after this.”

“That makes perfect sense, amatus. I still love you dearly.”

Halamar took a swig of the wine, passed the bottle, and wrapped his arms tightly around his lover. “Now that I'm actually here, now that I saw all their corpses in that state, I feel like the light inside me is dying.”

“I'm here for you, no matter what, amatus. I'll try to keep that light alive. It's quite important to me.” He took another swig and passed the bottle.

Halamar took another long sip of the wine. “How might you try that?” he asked, drinking and passing the bottle back.

“Ooohhh, I can think of a few ways to keep you happy.”

“Wow, you sound shiiiiitfaced.”

“So do you, amatus,” Dorian said with a giggle. “I think we're both exhausted, for that matter.”

“Kiss me.”

“You have but to ask...” Dorian said, putting the bottle down, taking Halamar's face in his hands, and pressing his lips to his, stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. Halamar stroked his chest over his shirt as his kissing grew messier. He tasted Dorian's lips with the tip of his tongue as he pulled his lover closer by the front of his shirt.

“Thank you for loving me, vhenan...” he said mid-kiss, falling slowly on top of him, resting his body on Dorian's torso.

His lover wrapped his arms around him, running a hand through his messy hair, moving to kiss his neck. “Of course, amatus,” he uttered. “You're amazing. Everyone should fucking love you.”

“But yours is the good opinion I care about,” said Halamar mid-sigh.

“You have it, amatus,” said Dorian, nibbling below his ear. Halamar gasped and found his lips again, kissing them softly but messily. They lingered against each other's lips for a while. Dorian held him close, grasping at locks of his hair while holding him close with his other arm. He kissed his lover hard until he pulled away to make an adorable yawn. Dorian smiled up at him and said, “Sleep, amatus. At least try. I'll be right here beside you.”

“Thank you, vhenan. Ar lath ma.”

“Et amo te multo, amatus.”

The pair climbed into their bedroll after re-corking the wine, nestling into each other's arms side by side. Halamar nuzzled into his lover's chest, kissing him over his shirt until he lost consciousness. Dorian held him close and nestled his face into his smoky hair as he, too, fell asleep, cradled in his arms until morning.