Fabriel was nursing his head when the team found him some hours later. He sat on a small boulder near a split tunnel, with his neck bent downwards and his hand pressed against a large bruise partially hidden underneath his hairline. The light of their torches roused him from his haze.

"Fabriel!" Dorian called. He surged ahead, almost toppling his companions, and all but raced into his lover's arms. Their embrace was desperate; it was as if both thought that the other would disappear the moment they let go.

"Dorian," the rider breathed. "Amatus."

"We need to rest before we move on," Damien called out, though he was uncertain if either man was listening. Instead of pressing the issue, he commanded his team to start pitching their tents in what little room was available, and discussed with Cassandra a possible watch-rotation so that no one was caught off-guard.

"I'm not going to waste time being angry – but, just so you know, I'm furious."

"I'm sorry, my love. There are…I let my fear dictate my actions. I shouldn't have."

"No, you shouldn't. But it doesn't matter now. We'll face this together, and we'll win. Then I'll take full liberties in berating you."

The rider chuckled and pulled him closer to his lips, "I don't doubt, amatus."

Their kiss was sweet and soft, half-shrouded in the shadows that still lingered outside of the torches' halo of light. Fabriel closed his eyes and held Dorian flush against him. He had accepted that he would never lay eyes on his lover again. But now he enjoyed the feel of his arms around his waist, the softness of his lips and the scent of his cologne. Even the occasional clunks and shuffles from the team could not distract him from their embrace.

When they parted, Dorian rested his forehead against his lover's and murmured, so quietly that only he could hear, "Never leave me again."

Fabriel's arms tightened ever-so-slightly around him. His lips pressed together and he tilted his head to the side, and in his eyes Dorian could see he wanted to tell him that he would stay at his side forever, if that was what he wanted. But the Great Dragon's lair was close. It would soon be left to fate to decide whether or not their time was up.

"I will love you until the very end," the rider told him.

"And I'll love you even after."

Fabriel was not willing to let him go yet. They swayed together in the half-darkness, murmuring sweet words peppered with kisses and the occasional quiet declaration of love. None of the team disturbed them – not even the Inquisitor, who wanted to find out what the Dragon-Slayer knew about the creature and how to stop it. There would be time soon enough. He would not pull them from a happy reunion to confront the dark reality ahead of them.

"Fabriel," the mage said after a while, "I don't want to ruin the moment, but, Solas told us. About your talent."

"My talent?" he replied. His response was almost sleepy, as if he were in a dream.

"How you can…shape the Fade."

Fabriel's jaw tightened and he nodded, though he did not pull away from his paramour. That would waste precious seconds he could spend in his arms.

"It's not what I expected to hear. It seems whenever I think I have you figured out, there's another secret that pops up and changes things."

"Are you angry?"

"No," he replied, and he kissed the edge of his nose as though to emphasise that. "But, after this is done – assuming we're both still standing, of course – I want to know everything. No more secrets. No more hearing things second-hand. I want to be the first one you think of when something hurts and you need to get it out. I want to be there for you."

Fabriel stared into Dorian's eyes with such a tender vulnerability, it was almost boyish. The rider nodded, and then, glancing at the others to ensure they were alone, he pulled Dorian a little further down the tunnel. He held his hands in his and created some space between them once he was certain no one could hear.

"Then…then perhaps this is the best time to ask."

"Ask what?" The mage queried.

"This place is hardly where I wanted to do this, but," he took a deep breath. "Dorian Pavus. Being with you has been so, so wonderful – as if I've found my missing piece. I know that even if we survive the future isn't certain for us, but…but I love you, and even if I'm a thousand miles away from you that won't change. I don't care if the entire world condemns it, or if the people revolt against me. There is no one else in the world who could take your place in my heart. If we're to be parted after this is over, then I want this to stand as my commitment to you. To us."

Dorian felt his grip tighten, and he took a steadying breath to steel himself against his nerves.

"I…" he said, then shook his head and started again. "I don't have a ring. But I have this."

Fabriel pulled his Chantry necklace from underneath his clothes and over his head. He held it limply in his hand, its tattered string and battered pendant, and sighed.

"It's not much. Definitely not your style. But I hope that it's enough, for now."

Dorian's heart hammered in his chest as his lover presented it to him. He went down on one knee, and in a distant part of his mind the mage realised that this was why he had ushered him further down the tunnel – for privacy. The team could not see them as clearly in the darkness. He wanted the moment to be between them; a memory only they shared.

"Dorian Pavus," he said. "Will you marry me?"

Dorian lowered himself to Fabriel's height. He put his hands over his and smiled at him, before he slipped the string from his fingers and over his own neck. The pendant sat beaten and proud against his fine clothes – and the rider's heart swelled when his lover pulled him in for another quiet, deep, unhurried kiss.

"I will," he murmured when they parted. The Dragon-Slayer's smile was so genuine, so unfettered in its joy that he almost melted in its beam. He pulled him close and, for a while, the pair just sat in the dark, lost in each other's arms.

"It won't be an easy fight." Fabriel told the Inquisitor and Cassandra while the team settled around a small fire nearby. The trio were off to the side in the circle of tents, where if one listened they could hear their conversation; but no one wanted to listen. Dorian sat beside the Iron Bull and Cole with a smile on his face, fiddling with his pendant as he gazed at his lover's prone posture and folded arms.

"How bad is it?" Damien asked.

"Very," he replied. "It's a strong beast. Much stronger than what I've faced before. The harem is roughly one hundred, one hundred and fifty drakes."

"We must be careful not to expend all of our energy on them," Cassandra warned. "The dragon will rely on that. If she's as old as you claim, she is ten times more cunning than her counterparts."

"That is where the Venatori might come in useful."

"When have they ever been useful?"

"If the Venatori reach the lair before we do – although it will be a small number of them – it could mean that a few of the drakes will be killed off, or at least tired out. By this point, any and all advantages we find, we must capitalise on."

"What if they kill the dragon?"

"They won't," he replied. "It's not possible with a harem that size. But if they can cut a few of them down, we have more of a chance."

"How much will it increase our odds?"

"From zero to zero-point-two. It's not a good situation."

"Then we need to strategise," said Damien. He sat down on a nearby boulder and rested his elbows on his knees, putting his hand to his chin as he gazed into the distant dark beyond them. "If we focus our efforts on the harem, we might be able to clear a path for you to reach the queen."

"We need more people than this."

"Cullen will come soon. We've left markers for him to find us. He might decide to bring a few of our soldiers with him – we sent a raven about the attack outside."

Fabriel's eyes softened. "Those were fine men and women. If I felt any doubt in leaving the Venatori to die, that would quickly solve it."

"Then we have a plan." Cassandra said. She seemed in her element, and for a moment Fabriel forgot that she was the Divine, that this armoured woman was the Most Holy, the lady on the Sunburst Throne. He was comfortable in her presence. It was an odd fleeting thought.

"But for now, we rest," Damien told them. "Cullen won't be here for a while yet, and we need a real sleep. I have the first watch."

"I can—"

"Vivienne said you needed to rest after your head injury," Damien cut him off. "Go and sleep. If there's trouble, you'll hear it."

The rider paused, considering an argument, but ultimately decided against it. His head throbbed and he wanted to crawl beside Dorian and forget, at least for a few hours, what loomed before them.

He and Cassandra departed from the Inquisitor's company and found themselves a place at the fire. Fabriel leaned against Dorian, wrapping his arm around his waist and slipping his eyes closed in sudden weariness. He felt the mage's soft lips against his bruise. Solas watched them peacefully from his spot, but did not disturb them. The elf would find another time to speak to his son.

"There's a tent set up for us," the mage pointed out quietly. "It's near the Inquisitor."

"I want one last night around the fire," Fabriel murmured. Dorian shook his head.

"It won't be our last," he half-chuckled. "We have a terrible habit of surviving things we shouldn't."