Chapter Text
"You look best like this," Livius cooed, rough undertones in his voice as he rocked into Dorian, who was straddling his lap. "You want so badly to be angry, to be defiant, but you give in to heat the same as any other wanton harlot. Look at you, sweating and flushed and begging for it." Dorian flinched. Erimond glanced pointedly at Dorian's cock, bouncing hard between them and as usual, untouched. "You deny the title despite the evidence. For shame." Erimond raised a hand that glittered with electricity and reached for his catamite's throat. "You will have to be punished for that."
Dorian lurched upright with a panicked gasp, fingers flying to his collar as he choked for air. He winced as his body hit hardwood, jarring and sudden. The singe of lightning tightening off his muscles was too close, too real to be just a nightmare. My mark on you, inside you, forever, Erimond had threatened once, after beating him bloody and questioning him all night. Hands grasped his shoulders and Dorian shrank back, thrashing as he pulled away. He retreated as far as he could, flinching when his back struck wood. Have to go, have to run, not tied, maybe I can--
"Dorian!" Felix hissed in a loud whisper, not wanting the Inquisition people outside the carriage to hear him and get an eyeful of Dorian's panic. Dorian's entire body jerked, once, snapped out of the vividness of the nightmare/memory; the mage blinked, taking in the enclosed carriage he was in, the pillows and blankets littered across the wooden floor, the other man crouched before him. Felix's eyes glittered in the light, his hands held loosely before him, as though he had been reaching for something a moment prior.
Oh.
"You're back with me, I see," Felix exhaled, corners of his mouth quirking ever so slightly in a smile that was empty of anything but relief. It had been nearly three days and every time Dorian dozed he woke fighting. Heart aching, Felix opened his arms and beckoned Dorian forward, kneeling close by. "Come here then, now that I know you're not going to fry me in your sleep."
"I can't fry anything," Dorian replied quietly, throat still tight. "Damn collar doesn't allow it, as you well know." He acquiesced to Felix's summons, giving the other man time to wrangle the cushions off the bench seats and prepare a makeshift bed of sorts. Felix propped a pillow behind his back and reclined against the side of the carriage before motioning to his fellow mage who answered curling up against him. Something sneered nastily in Dorian's mind at the disgusting submissiveness in the gesture and the weakness that brought it on but at that moment, he could not rally enough energy to care. The only things he could feel strongly enough to concern him were the lingering burn through his collar, the tightness in his chest, and the uncomfortable coolness of the sweat drying on his skin. Grunting slightly in his stiffness he curled his body into a fetal ball as best he could, thankful for the blanket pile that turned the carriage floor into a passable place to rest. "I'm sorry," he added quietly to Felix.
The other man flicked him hard in the shoulder, dragging a coverlet up over him. The warmth of the blanket and the gesture both was calming, freeing a semi-deep breath from its prison within Dorian's ribs. The other mage felt it, apparently, and rubbed the spot he'd flicked.
"I seem to recall someone once casting for an entire day to help me through my pain, after the attack." Felix spoke of his illness so casually, even though it still made Dorian cringe. "That someone should shut up and let me return the favor."
"I'm rather shit at healing. Also it is not a debt, Felix," Dorian argued. He felt the chuckle before he heard Felix loose it, shivering pleasantly as the other man's fingers brushed sweat-damp hair off of his forehead. It was nothing intimate, at least not sexually so, but it was a balm to Dorian after weeks of incessant touches from hands he didn't want near him.
"All the more reason for you to be still and allow me, then." Dorian wanted to argue but the calmness and the proximity of his best friend--his only friend--was too welcome, too grounding to struggle against. He shut his mouth and concentrated on breathing, flushing the images that haunted him from his mind. "Better." Felix praised, running a hand soothingly over Dorian's shoulder. "And to think they say you never listen." He shuffled his desk down onto lap and added, “-and I do think we’ll stay on the floor this time. You keep ending up down here anyways, you bloody heathen.” The barb was without sharpness, flung fondly at a friend.
Dorian drifted off with the ghost of a smile on his lips and Felix's comfortable warmth beside him.
_______
They rode through the night the first night, taking turns napping in the carriages and stopping to make camp just long enough to pull together a hot meal of stew before continuing on. The next several days and nights followed much the same. Everyone avoided the carriage save the Iron Bull, when the occupants called on him to stop the thing so one of them could use the privy. Halward avoided speaking with anyone at all, riding alone near the back of the column. Trevelyan rode with Varric near the front, grouchy and ready to be back at Skyhold, half-listening as the dwarf told stories.
It was not until they were perhaps two nights from Skyhold that Felix made an appearance out in the camp proper, of course catching Trevelyan just as he'd managed to corner Halward for a discussion. The Herald barely managed avoid growling in irritation.
"Inquisitor, if I may speak to Magister Pavus alone for a moment?" Trevelyan frowned, looking for a moment as though he were going to refuse. Felix noticed this, and responded before he did so. "I do not plan on hashing out anything secretive. Everything I have on the Venatori is yours, Inquisitor, and I owe you and your men my life and Dorian's. The only things I need to discuss with Halward are private, things of a personal nature that will mean nothing for the Inquisition. Anything else you wish to know I will tell you." Trevelyan appeared ready to tell Felix that only he decided what was relevant, but Halward caught his eye. The Herald froze, his words locked in his throat, and found he could do nothing but go along with the magister, who inclined his head once in agreement.
"Very well then," Trevelyan leaned over to Halward's shoulder and whispered once in his ear, "-but do not make it a habit of speaking privately. I understand you know one another, but it looks suspicious. We have something of an abundance of Tevinters," he finished, instantly flinching at the way he’d phrased it.
"Believe me Inquisitor, I understand." Trevelyan nodded, eager to flee, and left them to it, splitting off to discuss rounds with the soldiers. Halward and Felix walked over away from the excitement, away from the carriage, finding a place off by themselves.
Felix was tense and that gave Halward all the information he needed as to what the topic was going to be. The younger man didn't say a word at first, letting his scowl and the silence speak volumes. The elder of the two took another step back after a long moment of tense stalemate.
"We need to discuss how to tell Dorian you're here," Felix finally said quietly. His shoulders were drawn down into a heavy weariness that the magister found somewhat understandable. Halward pondered how to answer and Felix immediately added "-and I would ask that you speak plainly, Halward. You may have no love for me but I am no magister and this is not the Imperium--we have no need for games." The sigh he released was belabored. "I am worried for Dorian and concerned at what seeing you will do to him. How long has it been since you saw him last?"
“Too long,” was the weary response. Irritation twisted Felix’s features; he did not hesitate to take another step closer and get in Halward’s face.
"Speak. Plainly. I haven't the time to leverage anything against you before I die and I give too much of a damn about your son to argue trivialities. Whatever the proper amount of lying in a conversation like this is, cut it to zero." Howard looked at Felix, really looked at him, appraising what he saw before him and weighing the risk of the honesty the younger man was demanding. For a substandard mage who was Blighted and dying, Gereon's son cut an imposing enough figure, features twisted in impatience despite everything else. The lines in his face were too deep and too pronounced for one so young. Finally Halward sighed.
"Apparently the South has had its way with your manners as well."
"Being the captive of your countrymen in a foreign land do that." Felix agreed, letting some of his anger go with a wry smile as he took Halward's blunt observation as an agreement to be forthright. "Now, about Dorian."
"He will not be happy to see me."
"No, he will not, you're right. You did, however, work with the Inquisition to save us both. Too little too late given what you did to him, but you did rescue us. That should count for something." He rubbed a hand along his neck, easing a knot. "Should count for something, but might not. Livius was not kind to him, Halward."
"Erimond? Livius Erimond was behind this?"
"The very same," Felix nodded. "I knew he was with the Venatori but he's the one who was running their operations out here. They're headed West, from what I heard. He...he was the one who abused Dorian." He had to stumble a step back because Halward's hands chose that moment to explode in magic, wreathed in bright tongues of fire that licked at the hem of his sleeves. After another moment a whiplash of flame materialized just long enough to burn a tree nearby to cinders in a blink.
Felix did not think he had ever seen Halward do anything emotional beyond frowning especially hard; this kind of temper was akin to screaming out loud.
The magister took a deep breath, then two, and the flames died down. His shoulders heaving, his arms postured aggressively...Felix was stricken at how much Halward looked like Dorian at that moment, energy and power and temper wound into one. The comparison made him sick to his stomach.
"You wished honesty, there you have it,” Halward breathed. “I will incinerate that motherless worm for daring to do this to my son, and to you." The temper faded to something softer and the grimace on his face carved Halward's fine features into something much older, a statue weathered hard by years of punishing forces. "I owe Gereon that much. Is he...does he yet live?"
"I don't know. I doubt it. I have to make it back to Minrathous before the word spreads and the vultures descend, in any case." Halward nodded.
"What do you suggest I do with Dorian?"
"I'll talk to him. Let him know what happened, how you brought the Inquisition after us. I'll be honest with him and we’ll go from there.” Felix looked thoughtful. “You could’ve let Trevelyan kill me in that jail but you didn't. I owe you that much, and I don’t want Dorian hurt. I will do my best." Felix finished, and though many decades of training in the Imperium had taught Halward how easy it was to feign sincerity, he believed him.