In spite of the recent events' achieving in completely managing to dash all expectations and tossed all Dorian understood about his reality in the privy, Dorian no longer had anything to distract himself with.

Trust him. He tried.

He tried to wrap his head around what happened between him and Alarion, but never managed to get very far before becoming both giddy and terrified until his brain could take no more and he'd have to stop for his own sanity.

So he attempted to focus entirely on the fact that Alarion was meeting with his clan right now. If Dorian were to guess (or hope, he supposed), he'd place money on at least one sibling was among those that arrived.

But, despite his warm sappy feelings he got whenever he thought about Alarion getting to meet his family, his mind was unable to keep on that tangent before kicking him back to the reality of the situation.

What were they going to do about Amladaris?

Dorian audibly sighed out loud in his quarters, finally giving in to the urge to pace. That bastard wanted Alarion back. He was going to try and take him. Or demand payment.

His hands began to shake as his shut his eyes. Fingers curled in the air as his entire body went tense.

Dorian didn't want to kill him, he needed to. He ached to rip that man's limbs off and laugh in his misery. He longed to roast him alive as slowly as possible. Every single moment that Dorian could cause him suffering would surely be filled as much pain as any human being has ever felt before.

Payment. After everything that vile man had done, he was honestly expecting payment.

It. His letter had referred to Alarion as 'it'.

Had… was Alarion not even a person in his eyes?

Dorian buried his face and managed to make it to the bed before his knees gave out. "Maker,"

The Pavus House had slaves. They were treated well. Dorian never questioned it. Simply put, it was just how it was. Even the idea to question slavery didn't cross his mind until he had gone down South.

Meanwhile, Alarion despised slavery. The mere notion of it sickened him in a way Dorian hadn't understood. Because while some Magisters treated their slaves poorly, most didn't. Surely a comfortable life as a slave was preferable to alienages?

His old words made his stomach turn. Massaging his temples barely saved him from losing the contents of his stomach. Dorian was no better than that man. Those slaves his family owned… did Dorian know a single one of their names? Even now, were they even people to him?

How many out there were just like Alarion? How many had been ripped from their loved ones, broken down, and forced to serve? Alarion once told him that slavers (and bandits, and Templars as well) would often target his Clan since the Lavallen Keeper never shied away from trading with humans. While they repealed every attack, they weren't always completely successful. Templars had killed some of his clan when Alarion was a child. And one of his childhood friends had been taken by slaveries. His clan never managed to track them to rescue him. Alarion said he never knew if his friend was alive, or enslaved.

I have taken every step to ensure every legal ownership.

Josephine had even backed that claim up. Alarion was technically not a legal citizen of any known country. It didn't help that no one, not even Alarion, was even sure what country he had even been born in. And while his Clan had standing in Wycome, Alarion hadn't been officially welcomed by the Free Marches since he had been with the Inquisition at the time. Meanwhile, Skyhold existed somewhere outside of both Fereldan and Orlesian jurisdiction. Given all these technicalities, Alarion wasn't an official citizen in any country in Thedas.

As far as the law was concerned, Amladaris had done nothing wrong.

The thought made Dorian sick.

Aside from directly challenging that bastard to a duel, Dorian had no legal way to defeat him.

That thought made him beyond furious.

Sighing loudly, Dorian glanced up at the ceiling. Josephine was chatting with Queen Anora and Empress Celene. Considering both leaders owed their lives to the Inquisition (and the political gain they would receive in exchange) Josephine was arranging to get Alarion citizenship in Orlais, Ferelden, and the Free Marches. That would ensure that no Tevinter could ever attempt to claim him again.

And while it won't mean they could go after that bastard legally, it meant that they would at least not have to hear about payment again.

Or worse. If they didn't resolve this soon, Amladaris could send slave hunters to legally hunt them down. They would never take him, but would Alarion believe that? Or would he spend his days looking over his shoulder?

Dorian leaped to his feet. He needed to strike something with lighting. Anything. Maybe one of Cassandra's dummies. Surely she won't miss one, yes?

As the door swung inwards, he was surprised to find his way blocked by an uncharacteristically surprised looking Josephine. "Oh! Lord Pavus. Were you heading somewhere?"

"Nowhere of importance, Josephine," Dorian said smoothing, shoving his fury down to a small ember. "And just 'Dorian', please."

Josephine nodded, before presenting a small bundle of paper. "After the commotion yesterday, the letters I gathered for the Inquisitor were left behind. I wanted to bring them by while he was busy elsewhere."

Dorian wanted to sigh but forced it to sound like a seamless chuckle instead. Josephine had enough on her plate without adding 'unnecessarily comforting him' to the list. He accepted the bundle with, "Thank you again, Josephine. I had forgotten about these."

"You had other matters on your mind." She replied before growing silent for only a moment. "Have you come to a decision about-"

"Not yet," Dorian quickly said. It was the very last thing he wanted to think about at the moment.

"Have you discussed - no. It isn't my place to ask." She took a step back. "I must return to the War Room. If there is anything I can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

Josephine bade her farewell quickly before ducking away. The sudden momentary distraction was enough for Dorian to snap out of his building fury. He suddenly felt exhausted, turning around to his room with a small sigh.

Again alone, he set the bundle of the desk and returned to sitting on the bed. What was he going to do? How best could he protect his amatus? If he simply stormed the man's house, there could be actual legal consequences. If spun badly enough, it could be considered grounds for execution, even in Tevinter.

Even if it felt worth it 90% of the time to roll those dice, Dorian knew he couldn't let himself be killed. It wasn't his life to throw away. His feelings on the matter of his life aside, Alarion needed him. Therefore, they needed another option. And, of course, the advisors had plenty of opinions and agreed on nothing.

Josephine wanted to fight the system.

The Spymaster Charter wanted to simply send assassins with no trace back to them.

Cullen wanted Dorian to legally challenge him to a duel.

And Dorian wanted to know what the Inquisitor would've done in this situation. Alarion… who could make decisions that shook the world with such conviction. Alarion. Who always found a way to keep true to his doey-eyed ideals no what little options he had available.

How did he do it?

Dorian exhaled loudly into his room before looking up at the ceiling. Varric's words echoed into his mind.

"…would Alarion have given up on you if your situations were reverse?"

While Dorian knew that Varric had only said that so he would pull his head out of his own ass to see that his self-pity was only wasting time, but he found himself thinking on the question from time to time.

How would have Alarion had handled this if their situations were reversed? If it had been Dorian the memory loss? Whenever the thought crossed his mind, Dorian couldn't help acknowledge the simple answer to that.

Alarion would've done better.

Dorian sighed, closing his eyes as he bowed his head. He needed to stop thinking that; there was no time for it. Alarion needed him.

Opening his eyes, Dorian glanced towards the door. Between his heart rate beating in his chest, stiff limbs, and the tightness of his throat, he was forced to confront the ugly feeling that had its claws in him for some time.

Dorian was scared. This all too familiar fear.

Alarion had such a talent for surviving. This was the mantra in Dorian's head since the very beginning of their relationship. Some nights when they would share their bed, Dorian would just hold his amatus close so he could hear that heartbeat of his. He remembered some battles, ugly ones, when he would lose sight of him, or, worse of all when he would find him on the ground. But Alarion always came back. No matter how impossible, Alarion always survived.

Even still.

After a chuckle with no humor, Dorian buried his face into his hands. Yes. He knew this fear well. That blend of helplessness to the inevitable moment when he would lose him forever and the shattering dread for when that day would come.

He needed Alarion to be safe. There was nothing more important in this world.

And yet, he was stuck. He didn't know what to do.

Because how could Dorian keep him safe? There were so many enemies. So many threats. Far too many options with potential consequences. Consequences with repercussions that Dorian would not survive. But what could he do? Between the Inquisition scouts, soldiers, Cole, and the remaining Inner circle, Alarion had the best protection one could have. So if he suddenly wasn't safe in Skyhold… There was no country or city where Alarion would be. And, as tempting as it seemed, hiding away in some vast mountain away from all civilization wouldn't be safe either.

"Vishante kaffas!"

Dorian swung to his feet and began to pace again before his legs froze. A fire lit in his soul at the injustice of it all, fists curling all the tighter. Clenching stronger and tenser before it all dissipated from his body in one motion.

He hadn't felt this helpless for many, many years. If ever.

Something had to get done.

Spinning quickly, he made his way towards the desk. It was unlikely those Fade books Josephine had procured would have any mention of magic like the Qamek, but there was only one way to be certain.

That was something he could do.

Hours passed before he found himself blinking at a paragraph. Somehow it had become too dark to read. He stared at it, blinking a few time before his daze lifted enough for him to groan and rub his eyes.

Thoughts, and theories, and questions, and wonders, and facts, and methods, and more were racing behind the dark in his eyes before he lowered his hands and glanced up at the ceiling. It took several minutes staring at the stones above before his mind stopped racing and he could function.

His back was stiff and his muscles were angry with him. How long had he been reading? Had he remembered to eat at all?

Judging by his blurry vision and throbbing gut… it was unlikely.

For a moment, Dorian blinked at the ceiling before he began to take inventory of his mental capabilities. It seemed that his earlier panic attack had quieted, leaving him feeling weary but calm. It was unlikely to remain for longer than the rest of the day. Still, Dorian would take it.

After a moment to inwardly prepare, Dorian stood against his protesting body. He didn't allow himself to groan as he stretched knowing fully well he had brought that on himself. Despite the pain, a smile flickered across his face as Dorian could practically hear Alarion's chastisement in his ear, trying hard to sound firm, but his concern too pure to have it be anything other than fretting.

That bleeding heart man.

Speaking of whom, it was quite a bit later in the day. The plan had been for Alarion to stay with the Clan uninterrupted for as long as Alarion wished, or dinner, whichever came first. Dinner was to be a small secret banquet (Josephine had insisted) for Alarion's clan as well as a few of his friends that were here in Skyhold; Bull, Varric, Cole, Cassandra, Cullen, and Sera. The entire affair was very last minute given the uncertain timing of his clan's arrival in addition to the concern many shared about overwhelming Alarion before he was ready.

But Alairon had seemed excited about the idea this morning when a very red and embarrassed Cassandra had knocked on their door. Maker, if that scene had her looking eerily similar to a tomato, it would've quite the spectacle see if she had ever opened the door to their previous escapades.

Despite grinning at the idea, Dorian shook his head and began to the door. He needed to make sure Alarion was still feeling good about this meal. They could still cancel if that felt like too many people.

Maker. Which one of them was fretting now?

Shaking his head, he went a door over and knocked, paused, then called out, "It's Dorian."

"Come in."

Taking a deep breath, Dorian pushed the door open and entered. He was greeted to the sight of Alarion standing near his bed. His diary still laid open on the blanket, but Dorian barely paid it any mind as he noticed what Alarion was holding and suddenly could see nothing else.

The firm and carefully carved wood. Dyed and decorated in the orange shine of dragon hide. The taut string.

"Your bow."

Alarion glanced down as well. For a moment, he remained silent before saying, "My sister Adalyn gave it to me. She had been keeping it safe."

He blinked, before closing his eyes and banishing the memories. When he turned his attention back to Alarion's face, the elf was clenching his teeth. "You met your sister then?"

"Both sisters, actually," he said, lowering himself down onto the bed. "They were… very happy to see me."

Dorian tried in vain to relax his jaw. For the hundredth time, he wished he had his amatus' knack of knowing what to say. "That's good, yes?"

"...Yes,"

"Then why the dower tone?"

"It's just," he stopped short, turning to look at the wall. After a pause, he turned back. "I was… underestimating what my memory loss meant."

"How so?" Dorian gestured at the spot next to Alarion on the bed and wordlessly sat down as Alairon scooted to give him room.

For a moment, he fiddled with his hands before slowly glancing at him. "Everyone I had met up until this point had only known me for a few years. So I had," he shrugged before turning to face the wall again. "I guess I had only been thinking that I had only existed for a few years. That all I lost was remembering the people I care about. And how much I want to remember all my friends and you."

He turned his attention back to Dorian, though his eyes kept wandering across his face, failing to keep eye-contact. Or maybe he was searching for something in his expression. "I never really thought about what my memory loss meant to me. I lost more than memories of people; I lost everything.

"It wasn't just a few years like it had seemed." He gestured without looking towards the diary. "I was more than what I was in that book. I was a person with dreams, and a job, and people to look after. Before the Inquisition. I had a real life."

It seemed painful to rip his eyes away to instead look at his lap. "Decades," he whispered, "just… gone."

Silence fell heavy on them until Dorian sighed, unable to handle it. "I only know a finite of stories of your childhood, but I or your sisters could tell as many as-"

"That's the problem," Alarion sighed, turning his attention to the ceiling as he rubbed the back of his neck, "I feel like, Maker it sounds so stupid, but I feel like everyone is telling me my life. Which, obviously, you are. And there's no reason for me to be this bitter about it but-"

"Alarion,"

"Like I said! It's stupid." His fist tightened on his bow, face becoming red at the edges. "I have no reason to feel this way, but I do!"

"You have a right to be angry."

"Not at you!" Alarion snapped before rising to his feet. His grip tightened further on his bow's clasp. "Not at myself! You did nothing wrong! I did nothing wrong! I should be furious at the ones that did this! But to the void with logic!"

The words felt like punches to Dorian's gut. Oh. He had done so much wrong. But he was a coward and could never bring himself to tell his amatus that everything that had happened had been Dorian's fault. If he had never left...

As Alarion began to pace, his face grew redder. "Not that we even know who to really blame for this. Because I can't remember that either!"

"Alarion," Dorian said gently, beginning to stand. But he froze in the process of placing a hand on his shoulder. It felt as though time had slowed to a single moment. Ice formed in his stomach as he watched.

Tightened ever more so around his bow, green began to flare out.

"It's fucking Amladaris!" Alarion half-shouted, angrily gesturing to the ground with his free hand. "It was him and all those other Magisters that abuse slaves. We're not property! We're people! I'm people!"

"Alarion!" But Dorian's alarm was drowned out as Alarion violently shook his head.

"He took it away from me!" Alarion turned on Dorian, face deepening into a powerful glare. "He separated us! Tortured me! Just because he could!"

"Alarion!" Dorian leaped forward, grabbing ahold of his left arm just as Alarion screamed out.

"I hate him!"

As the words ricocheted across the stone room, a pulsing, painfully vibrate green erupted. Panic mixed with the sensation of falling. All was lost in the split moment of freefall.

The room and then the world slipped away as Dorian was forced to close his eyes against the pure color. Only one thing existed to him.

And he was never going to let go of that arm.