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For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

The taste of ash lies thick in the air. For once something manages to overpower the foundry stench and blacken the perpetual orange of Kirkwall's night sky. Rubble lies massed in the streets, flung from the highest point to almost the lowest. Insanity and sudden chaos in the wink of an eye, a fateful explosion that has Cullen still blinking back blue lines, negative light impressions burned onto retinas.

Knight-Commander Meredith has left the Champion with an ultimatum that she not surprisingly doesn't take, murder her companion and choose their side, or the mages will all face the consequences. Hawke has vowed to fight to the bitter end to protect the mages of the Circle from the Right. Cullen privately hopes that she'll keep that word whether he agrees with her sparing of the abomination or not. This is all moving too fast with blame falling in the wrong quarter. The right answer isn't more blood. Meredith is implacable with all of them drawn along in her wake of righteous fury.

Cullen doesn't stay silent, arguing about the Champion. Surely arrest will be enough. Kirkwall's nobility won't stand for one of their grudging own being murdered by the arm of the Chantry. It isn't their place, Viscount or no Viscount in office. To his surprise, he earns concession on that front.

Then there is no more room for talking. They come upon their first wave of demons and abominations slaughtering unfortunates. The night turns red and black, a mist of blood and ichor. Cullen bashes his way through wave after wave of evil torn straight through the Veil, called by violence and horror. His sword arm burns. His shield feels as though it gains twenty pounds of its own volition, all of that before they reach the Docks District.

He hears a sound up toward the boarded up Qunari compound, more fighting. He peels away from the main force following Meredith, promising to catch up shortly, and runs up the steep steps. Breathless at the top, he sees flashes of fire past the barrier. He throws his weight behind his shield and bashes it in enough to gain entrance. A lone figure stands in the long abandoned plaza battling demons with magic and not an abomination himself. Without further thought, Cullen charges into the fray. "Aid behind you!" he shouts. He doesn't want to be mistaken for another enemy in the fight.

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There's nothing shocked about the man but Dorian's rather amused for the brief moment of brevity they have. It's been hard to find laughter or smiles in the ruins.

"There will always be bad apples, but that doesn't make all of them bad," he says with a shrug. It's how he feels about Tevinter. There's bad but there's good worth saving. The same with mages.

He shakes his head. "Well, you'd do best to get one sooner rather than later as the mages would like to help more instead of leaving things to Templars, mercenaries and dwarves."

"I know." He seems on the verge of saying more and stops himself. This isn't the time or the place, and a mage is the least likely to listen to it. He doesn't have the same perspective. How could he?

Cullen rubs the back of his neck, a pinching gesture that does nothing to chase the tension. It never stops him from trying. "I have the list in my office right now. If you have a moment, we can go over it."

The mages will have their input, too. He can't very well promise them change and then be a dictator when it comes to who they will follow. However, he feels it necessary it's someone who can work with him and vice versa. No matter their differences, Greagoir and Irving had respected one another and felt regard. Between Meredith and Orsino, there had been nothing but bitterness and hatred, and they could all see where that had led.

He stands abruptly. "Shall we?"

Dorian is rather surprised by his abruptness but he stands smoothly and stays calm even if the man seems tense. He doesn't know why, but he'll let it pass. It's been tense around here. It's understandable.

"Of course," Dorian says, folding his arms behind his back. "I can always spare a moment for the knight in shining armor that so heroically leapt to my rescue."

It's much easier to make a joke about that first meeting now. Some people might find it in bad taste to make jokes now but Dorian finds it helps.

"Maker's breath," Cullen huffs, cheeks reddening. It's not how he sees himself or what he did, and to hear it described in such a way is flustering. "You know, I..." He can think of no way to end that sentence that won't end with him more flustered yet, so he doesn't.

He does, however, slow his stride once they're out the mess hall so it's less like he's rushing him from one destination to another. The Gallows still bears scars from the fighting, deep soot stains on white marble, brown blood stains in the stone and some of the carpets they haven't had time to think of trying to replace. In this it reminds him a great deal of the Hold. He has perfected the art of looking without seeing when it comes to these things.

Just as in Kirkwall proper, getting anywhere here is a matter of stairs upon stairs. Stairs down, stairs up, and eventually they're in the corridor that used to house Meredith's office which has now become his own. The distinct stench of demonic incursion still lingers, largely due to the pride demons that manifested in the inner courtyard further down.

Cullen pushes into the office and heads for the desk. Unlike during Meredith's tenure, he has a chair for visitors. He gestures absently and searches through a small, neat stack of papers for the list in question. "Here we go." He offers it over.

The response is surprising. Dorian's eyebrows jump up as Cullen suddenly stumbles over his works and turns bright red. That's not the reaction he expected when he made the joke. Laughter, yes, but this? How interesting. He puts that in the back of his mind as they walk through the destruction.

He runs his fingers along scars in the stone, left by demonic claws. If he focused he could feel the energies gouged in, lingering traces of the Fade. Instead, he follows Cullen into the office.

"Thank you," he says as he takes the list and drops in to the chair before the desk. He makes himself comfortable as he goes down the names. "Who is your favorite for the position?"

"Janica," he says without hesitation. He holds a hand up. "I know she's a bit young. There are three on that list older and with more experience. However, she not only keeps a cool head in a crisis, she's no zealot. She thinks things through, and she's reasonable. Reasonable with a backbone is what I feel we need here more than raw talent or a scholarly bent." He'd had decent relations with her before the crisis, and since then she has been one of the only mages willing to meet his gaze directly and without a heavy cloak of suspicion.

"Wilken would be my second choice. He's sometimes a firebrand if his back is up. He's not quick to get there, and he doesn't have ego issues like Regnen." For all of his flaws, Orsino hadn't been an egotist, either. He had the interest of the mages at heart, but he lacked the patience. And apparently had been dabbling in things Meredith was right to suspect.

Sometimes he feels the weight of the empty office across the hall. All the more reason to get this done.

He has met all the mages in question and he agrees with Cullen's assessment. "Regnen is right out. That would only lead to disaster. I have an ego but it pales in comparison."

He puts the list back on the table and settles back in his chair. "Janica is a good choice but that age of hers might make people reluctant to follow her. She hasn't proven herself quite like Wilken has. The mages will follow Janica without question but your Templars and outsiders may have trouble doing the same."

There were problems with anyone Cullen chose. People would always have issue but Janica would invite more and he isn't sure if Cullen has thought about that. "Wilken is the more cooperative choice. The mages will follow, the Templars will listen and you'll only have that pesky temper to deal with."

"Possibly." He paces slowly, one hand resting against his lower back, the other still swinging freely with his steps. "I was twenty-one when I came to Kirkwall and became Knight-Captain." It was a hard time, an upstart Fereldan boy being given authority over men and women sometimes decades his senior, Marchers who resented the Void out of it and him and went out of their way to make him miserable.

Still, he had earned their respect over time, those who weren't hateful zealots. He wonders if he's comparing Janica to himself subconsciously and placing more trust than is warranted. Or more pressure. What if she folds?

Wilken's temper is enough of a concern he's hesitant. "Is that what your gut tells you? That he's truly the better choice? Or is it just concern over her age? She has proven herself solid in the time I've known her." He's not willing to override him without hearing him out fully.

"Tevinter's don't follow their gut," he says as he runs a finger over his mustache. "We do what's most politically advantageous to us. Wilken will be better for the city politically as long as you can keep that temper under control. Now, what's politically better isn't always what's better in the general sense."

Dorian knows it well. He's quite familiar with doing what's best for himself instead of politically. He doesn't need to explain that to Cullen right now or ever, really.

"You know Kirkwall in a way I cannot as I've never lived here. When you make this decision, ask yourself what will make the city better and is it worth the consequences?"

"And we Fereldans don't trust politics at all." He snorts a quiet sound and drags his hand down his face. Damn Meredith for getting the Order so tied into Kirkwall's governance. Templars were never meant to run a city-state, and the choices for First Enchanter should never have an effect on anything more than the Circle in question. Everything is upside down and backwards.

"I'll interview both of them and make my announcement by tomorrow. I appreciate your input." He believes he'll have a better idea of who can better handle it by seeing how they react to the possibility.

"Since we both have one another's time and at the moment, is there anything you need or want to bring to my attention? Any concerns or questions?" It seems as good a time as any to allow for it. He doesn't know when he'll have another moment to spare. Quiet one on one time with anyone is rare for him these days.

"Well, you've seen what Orlesians do with it. I don't blame you." The one thing he would claim he has in common with Fereldens without a sense of shame was the distaste for Orlesians. Honestly horrible people, he imagined. How did you trust people who wore masks all the time?

He thinks for a moment, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair he is in. "What sorts of goods can we get? The herbs are running low and the healers could use more. Perhaps with most of the demons culled you could send more in the field to help rebuild, give them a purpose. They're a bit aimless and it's frustrating them."

"Trade is disrupted and likely will be until there's someone official in the office of Viscount." He'd just as soon it was Bran as anyone else. It still has to go through official channels. He's making it a point not to be vocal in his support or opposition to anyone in the running. The days of Templar control of Kirkwall are over and done with as soon as he can help to make that happen more quietly. The only way anyone will know where he leans is that every reasonable request that has come from the man he has made efforts to fulfill.

"It's not a bad idea. I'd say avoid the Wounded Coast for the time being. The place is crawling with slavers and raiders looking for stragglers to capture and sell. I imagine mages are going for a pretty price at the moment. Take them toward Sundermount. The Dalish clan there has moved on from what I understand. It should be safer. As safe as that place ever is."

Dorian frowns deeply at the mention of slavers. Oh, he knows who they are. Sporati, probably, traveling very far from home where Tevinter doesn't have to worry about the questionable practices they use to get fresh stock.

"Slavers, you say? Hm, that does sound dangerous." He'll certainly keep the elves away. Slavers are always looking for elves. No one in Tevinter questions where elves come from. "I'll make sure no one wanders there."

Except Dorian himself. His fellow countrymen could use a reminder that Tevinter isn't allowed to take slaves from the South. There are enough in the Imperium to satisfy the demand.

"It is. The coast is a dangerous place at the best of times. Just like sharks, certain sorts are drawn by blood." If he had more men to spare, he'd suggest a joint foray with Aveline to clean up some of the worst of the scum. All things in time.

"I'll draw up the permission. You can take as many as you need for extended foraging at the mountain." Anyone who was going to make a run for it has already made a run for it. Those staying behind have done so for a reason. He's not going to treat them like prisoners. Kirkwall needs as much help as it can get from all quarters.

"Watch for dragons, too. A couple of years ago, I heard rumors a few had settled at the peak. They may not all have been wiped out. There could even be Darkspawn." There were also rumors of more ancient evils. He hopes they all have the sense to stay out of the deep ruins there. They won't find much to help them in the bowels of the earth, nothing but trouble.

"Ugh, I do hate the water." Dorian feels sea sick remembering the trip across the sea. It's a wonder he didn't throw his stomach right out of his gut from it. "We'll find what we can in the mountains for the time being. One mage expressed an interest in a garden so they don't have to travel or rely on trade. I'll let him collect seeds as well."

He might as well see how much independence he can get these mages to embrace while he's here even if he doesn't know a damn thing about gardening.

His eyebrows have not dropped one inch. If they had anywhere to go they would leap at the mention of dragons. "Oh goodie. Dragons. I'm so thrilled."

"The voyage from Highever was a nightmare. If I never sail the Waking Sea again, it will be too soon." The ferry trips between the Gallows and the docks don't count. The harbor doesn't heave like a restive beast embroiled in perpetual bad dreams.

He frowns thoughtfully at the idea of a garden. "It would have to be raised planters. I imagine we can manage it if we bring in the right sort of dirt." Coming from Honnleath makes him no expert on the rearing of crops.

"I suppose that means you likely don't want to hear of the arcane horrors and revenants? I could curl your toes with all of the tales I've heard of trips to Sundermount. The plants there, however, seem far more potent and useful than those growing closer to the walls. I suppose there's always some sort of a trade, and it's the closest place you can harvest without encroaching on owned lands. I'll give you access to the maps I have. You'll need them." Part of him wishes he could accompany them. Getting out of the city for a few days would be a relief, despite the danger of the destination.

He can't. He has duties here, and he's currently indispensable. It's not the ego stroke it sounds like it would be. He feels all of that weight on his shoulders all of the time, heavier than plate by far. He moves to a shelf with several neatly stacked scroll cases to find the maps in question while he's thinking of it.

"I'm aware of them intellectually," he counters. "They aren't common in the wilds of Minrathous. Some of the smaller towns, the wilder places of Tevinter, yes, but let's be honest Ser Knight, I am not one for wilder places."

Dorian could fight and had fought a few times but nothing quite like what he had encountered coming here. Kirkwall was teaching him to be a better fighter and a better mage. He won't say that outloud but he is rather pleased with the developement of his skills.

"Why don't you come?" he asked, noting the slightly wistful look. "You and your Templar friends can search the area for bandits with the city guard or round up any wayward blood mages practicing their ugly arts. Stretch those legs, get that skirt out in the breeze."

"Then I suppose I had best get you a few more materials. You're likely to have more than intellectual awareness by the time you get back." He pulls the maps and turns to set them on his desk. There's a chance he doesn't have the documentation on tactics against the more esoteric enemies on hand in the office. He may have to get one of the Tranquil on the task. They're very good at finding things quickly.

He sighs and shakes his head. "I don't think that I can. If I traipse out of the city for several days, it's not going to look good. People will worry there's some threat we haven't made them aware of, or the Seneschal might need me. I'm not... I'm afraid my days of such forays are over for the foreseeable future." He hates to say it, as though the office didn't already feel like a cage.

"I probably should spare you a couple of templars, though."

"I do love knowledge." He had already taken a few books from the library to read during any free time. Free time is rare though. Dorian is only slowly making his way through the books.

Dorian could see the man easily taking the position of Knight-Commander officially but he doubted it would be a happy appointment. There's nothing that screams ambition and power in Cullen. He wants to argue that he should do it anyway but he doubts it will get him anywhere.

"A few Templars would be nice. Some of the mages will feel safer." Dorian doesn't like the Templars all over, always watching. How these mages can tolerate it baffles him. "Still, come with us sometime. If only to bring the officials to survey the damage to the coast. The City Guard Captain should see it and be out there doing things."

"If I ever get the time, I will. It's not good to stay cooped up in the Gallows or even the city for overly long. I'll need to see for myself from time to time what the conditions are like beyond the walls. Now simply isn't the right time for it." He has a feeling it will be a while before that can happen.

"All right. I'll have those texts sent to you. Take the maps with you and share them with the other mages. I'll have the permission writ filed by this evening, and all should be in order. I'll see you again in a couple of weeks if all goes well. Maker watch over you." He's not thinking in terms of dismissal, except there are easily a dozen other things he needs to see to within the next couple of hours, and he has subconsciously begun to manage his time accordingly, blocking things out according to priority and time needed. It leaves little time for pleasantries.

Dorian almost asked why local mages would need maps but then he remembers that these mages aren't allowed the same freedoms. Of course they wouldn't know anything. They had probably rarely even been outside.

"Permission writ," Dorian snorts as he gets to his feet. The idea is ludicrous to him. Mages needed permission to go somewhere as if they were children instead of adults capable of rational decisions and their own actions. "The South is an odd, odd place. I'll see you when we return. And as always you can come find my company if you're bored or need an opinion. At least someone around here listens to me."

"You've earned that." He'd fight anyone who tried to say otherwise by this point. Some of his officers have wanted to question. He has seen it, and perhaps it's a conversation they all need to have at some point. He doesn't want to be another Meredith. For now, he doesn't have the time to allay his men's and women's concerns about someone useful. They've trusted him this far. They'll have to trust him further.

The next couple of weeks for him pass the same as the previous, an exhausting blur. By this time there are no more survivors to be dug from the rubble, but they're still forced to find the corpses. For every one that they don't, there are reports of walking dead wreaking all kinds of havoc.

News continues to arrive from beyond Kirkwall, Circle uprisings, brutal sanctions, chaos and madness spreading like wildfire. With his hands more than full with Kirkwall, Cullen can do little beyond pray for Thedas and tend to his own hearth fires. Unexpectedly, he and Aveline grow closer, finally able to set aside the intense rivalry and anger between guards and templars due to Meredith's political posturing. They function more as a team now, tried in the tribulations of the city since the destruction and made stronger for it.

Although he spares some thoughts in that time for the Tevinter and the other mages on their mission with three of his men, he has to believe that they're competent enough to come back in one piece and successful.

The mountain is quite wild and Dorian is quite miserable while they're off collecting supplies. He hates the wild places but the mages in his company seem to be in awe of it when they're not terrified of it.

The Templars are... chilly to him. They know he's helped but they just can't trust a Tevinter mage. They're always watching and Dorian private chaffes under all the attention. He gets a bit petty about it, really, using magic for mundane things like warming water and picking plants.

He teaches the other mages things he knows as well. Force magic is a wild school he's never heard or seen in Tevinter so he's eager to trade his knowledge of necromancy for their tricks. He's quite pleased with all he's learned but he imagines the Templars have much to report.

When they return to the city, he hears of the chaos beyond in the rest of Thedas. It's also when one of his dwarven contacts comes to him with news of a cult. He seeks out Cullen immediately.

Not surprisingly, Cullen is in his office at the late hour. During the day he's out in the streets. By night, he's making certain everything stays in order, requisitions, personnel concerns, disciplinary actions, and anything else that could be audited by the Chantry should they deign to turn their eye in their direction and not just declare an Exalted March, which he wouldn't put past them at this point.

He looks up from a report when Dorian sweeps into his office and sets it aside. The look on his face looks like business. "I take it this isn't about herbs," he says, bracing himself for bad news.

"We have enough herbs and seeds to last us a lifetime," he says as he begins to pace, his hands moving in irritation. "What I've discovered is a bigger problem."

He tosses the letter his dwarf contact gave him down on to the desk. "That is my friend, Felix, we grew up together. He's one of the few people who know I'm here. A mutual dwarf friend of ours passed that to me today. His father's joined a cult, the Venitor, who are worshiping some Elder One. He's worried because his father and the others are talking of what's going on here."

Dorian feels a bit of worry as well. It's never good when Tevinters go back to worshiping the Old Gods. "I'm going to write him back, pass it threw the dwarves, but whatever these Venitori want it can't be good."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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