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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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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."

Cullen reads over the letter in a quick scan, most of his attention still on what Dorian is saying rather than the contents. "That is disturbing news. Are any of them active in or around Kirkwall?" He glances up at him, then, setting the letter down.

"That we know of, of course." There's always a chance they could be undiscovered. Cults are notoriously good at disguising their activities in this city until it's too late.

He wonders if this means they're about to lose him in pursuit of this new threat. If so, he could hardly blame him. That's something dealing with his homeland, something that could impact people he knows and cares about. Cullen has known for a while they won't be keeping him here forever.

"No, no, Felix says it's spreading and he's worried but so far they've only talked of coming here." Dorian drops into the chair suddenly, his fingers drumming with the irritation he feels. "But with all the chaos going on in the South it's only a matter of time before they start coming over. I wanted to make you aware so you would be on the look out."

He can't go back and fight it in Tevinter but perhaps he could do something here. Kirkwall, Ostwick, the coastal cities would be the first places a Tevinter cult would land. It would be their foothold.

"If Felix tells me they're coming and he will if he knows that they are, I'll tell you that as well but the docks should be watched if they can be."

"I appreciate the information being brought to me." He'd have to inform Aveline, and he'd probably spread quiet word to the dwarf Varric, as well. He doesn't trust him for much. He knows he loves Kirkwall and has an extensive network throughout the city, eyes where guards and templars could never go unremarked or unseen.

"I'll make certain it's filtered only through certain channels." The last thing they need is for panic to spread. The only thing he can imaging going over worse with most Kirkwallers right now than word of another Qunari invasion would be news there are Tevinter infiltrators out to raise some Old God or dread evil. Maker's breath, as though they don't all have enough to worry about already.

"The foray went all right, then? You didn't lose anyone?" He imagines if he had, that news would have been first to the table rather than the letter. It doesn't hurt to ask.

Dorian still felt uneasy under his skin. Alexius being involved in the cult hurts the memories he has of the man. He also has access to all the notes they came up with, powerful theoretical magic. It's got to stay theoretical.

"Your Templars will be annoyed with me," he says after letting out a deep breath. "I perhaps felt a bit resentful for their presence and annoyed them on purpose. No one got hurt and no demons were summoned. There are some raiders moving in to the mountains but they were easily scared off."

Magic seemed to terrify them. Dorian didn't understand such a visceral fear of magic. It had always been a comfort to him, his strength and power. It kept him safe. "Besides a few blisters, sun burns, and sore feet your mages are fine."

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. He probably should have expected something like that or seen it coming. He can only imagine what he's going to get in the debriefing. "I'm glad no one was hurt." It's about the most neutral thing he can say to the news his men were deliberately goaded.

"I'm also glad they had the chance for some field experience. It's something I want to institute more frequently. The world is changing, and we need to change with it if we've any hope of keeping things together." He rubs his hand over his lips and down his chin. He feels stiff, as though he has been sitting in one place for too long.

"When I take this news to Guard Captain Aveline, I'd like for you to come with me. You have knowledge of your people, what we should watch for and expect. I'd rather her not get it filtered through me." He rests his hand lightly on the letter. "Will you be ready early tomorrow morning? It's easiest to catch her at the barracks then."

He laughs. Cullen makes a rather good diplomat. At least he knew to expect it instead of being surprised. He's a willful Tevinter mage, of course he balked at Templars on his heels like dogs.

"You could, oh I don't know, give them freedom," he offers as a suggestion with a casual shrug of his shoulder. "The South is falling apart because of the Circles. The system is broken. Time to move on, try something new."

He wouldn't say he's an activist but honestly it doesn't seem that hard to him. He makes a face at the idea of early mornings. He's had to do that a great deal recently. "Fine. I will be up and we can chat to the Guard Captain. Besides what's in that letter, however, I can only tell you logical assumptions about what's going on."

Cullen sits back and folds his arms casually. It's less of a defensive posture than getting comfortable. It's late. He has time for a talk if this is what it's going to be. "Believe it or not, not all mages down here want freedom. No one is holding a leash or collar on those left behind. They could have left with their fellows the night the Gallows fell. They didn't. People in the south, non-mages, fear them. Many would as soon kill them as look at them. Many of them came to us from exactly such circumstances. I've lost count of how many mages I've pulled off of pyres or down from gallows, rescued from burning houses. This isn't Tevinter. If they left, it wouldn't be better than it is right here. Some of them know that still."

He frowns and reaches to tap a finger on his desktop. "Regardless, it's not my call to make. I answer to the Divine. She has yet to make her will known. Until she does, I maintain the Circle as it is to the best of my ability and try to undo the damage my commanding officer did during her tenure." There's a tiredness that creeps into his voice when he mentions Meredith and a hollow expression in his eyes. It's still hard to reconcile the woman who greeted him when he stepped off the ship to the person she became ten years after the fact.

"I know Aveline. She'll want it from you, however brief or sketchy on details." It would also ensure that she understood there's a Tevinter in their midst and that Cullen trusts him enough to bring him into important things. It will help the man in his dealings in the city in the coming weeks.

"Now, now, I never said they had to leave," he says, scolding slightly. He does hate it when people put words in his mouth. It's just like assuming he's an evil magister simply because he's from Tevinter. "What I mean is that you don't need writs of permission to let them walk around Kirkwall. Let them learn how to take care of themselves, let them have a taste of life. My Circle was a school, not a prison. The same could easily be done in the south."

It might be a wild and crazy idea to Southerns but Dorian didn't think it was outrageous. It would have saved many lives if the South figured that out sooner. Dorian didn't understand how these people couldn't see that. Then again, they were brainwashed by the Chantry and all the propaganda that seemed to permeate every book.

"Ah yes, the Divine. The woman you're all waiting for to make the decision. I would be nice if she said something before this situation explodes." A poor choice of words, really, but Dorian only uses tact when it benefits him. "Has there been any word from the Chantry?"

"I know you mean well, and I know you're speaking from a position very different from what you've run across here, but you're wrong there. I do need the writs. I need to keep very careful records. This Circle was almost completely destroyed. I don't know when it will happen, but I do know that it will. There will be Seekers. There will be an inquiry. If we're very lucky, that will be all it is. If we're not, there could be an Exalted March on this city-state, and my meticulous records will be the only thing between the Right of Annulment and every templar here hanging for treason." He's not given to dramatic speeches. Despite the extremity of what he's saying, it's delivered in a calm, level way. There's a chance he'll hang no matter what for his part in what happened. At the least no one else will suffer for his shortcomings.

His brows drop down along with the corners of his mouth tugging down, too. It's very ill chosen phrasing. He shakes his head. No word yet and no way to know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. "They may have their hands full in Orlais. I have no idea. I only know we won't stay beneath their notice forever."

"And those marches have gone so well for Orlais in the past." Again, he's not terribly impressed with the reasoning but he does understand it. It would be a shame to see all these mages killed because of missing paperwork that the Chantry needs to feel safe. "It's ridiculous people are treated this way."

The only people treated this way in Tevinter were slaves. Dorian frowns at the thought before he pushes it out of his mind and thinks about something else instead. There's no need to dwell on this.

"Well, if those Seekers do arrive I'll make sure to be on my best behavior. I won't make any trouble for you." He'll make trouble before the Seekers get here and after they leave. Though, that's assuming he's going to stay. He really shouldn't think that way. He has a bigger purpose than this.

"It would go better for Orlais than Kirkwall this time. There's no way we could hope to defend ourselves." And if they tried, the rest of the Free Marches would turn on them like a pack of wolves turning on a wounded one of their own and tear them to pieces.

"Are you truly saying the lower class people and slaves in Tevinter are treated better?" No, that's not something he'll just sit back and take without a counter of his own, especially not after the explosion remark before it.

"If you hear they're coming, you might want to find an elsewhere to be for your sake. They won't take my word on anything, I'm certain." He's truly expecting to be sanctioned, removed from office, and very likely executed. He doubts his time is much longer.

"Yes because Fereldens appreciate Orlais marching an army so close to their borders." He could imagine the other country might object to Orlais marching in to the Free Marches and taking over. Then again, they were recovering from the Blight still. Maybe they wouldn't march.

He rolls his eyes. "Slavery is not the worst thing I can think of. Tranquility by far is worse." Those mages terrified Dorian. There were a bunch of them still around and he couldn't look them in the eyes. They sent chills down his spine.

"Your Chantry is not allowed to do anything to me. I'm not a citizen under their control. It would cause an international problem if they tried." As long as he had his family's crest he would be safe. At least, he felt he would be safe.

"It's not Orlais marching. It's the Chantry. Ferelden is an Andrastean nation. They wouldn't try to lift a finger for an Exalted March." He feels almost like they're speaking a different language. The man understands so little of the politics down here.

"You only say that because you're a mage. Tranquility is the worst thing you can think of. I wonder if a slave would say the same?" Or even the Tranquil for that matter, given that some of them beg for it.

"The Seekers operate under their own rules. You're naive if you think if they want you gone they couldn't make it happen and keep the whole thing quiet. Kirkwall is a dangerous city for anyone right now. The powers they have... They're not like anything you've ever encountered. I can promise you that. I don't trust them. Not for a moment. An amulet won't help you if they decide you're part of the problem. They're utterly ruthless."

It doesn't seem reasonable but Dorian is used to politics being seperate from the Chantry. The Tevinter Chantry has very little power. What they have is lip service and that's all.

"Being completely stripped of dreams and emotions doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world to you?" he counters with an eyebrow raised. "Theoretically, of course, since you're safe from it. A slave dreams, a slave feels and can love, and a slave can be freed. A Tranquil has none of those things."

For a moment he feels a bit intimidated by the idea of the Seekers. He's not used to being intimidated by anyone or anything. "You shouldn't be afraid. You've done all you can for this city. It's not your fault your Commander went mad and some mage attacked the Chantry. I'm not worried and you shouldn't be either."

"Not in the least." It's sharp enough to hang in the air between them. He hadn't intended either the vehemence of the response or the revelation of it. To be free of nightmares and crippling emotion? Never to face another awakening of not knowing where he is, the stench of rot and corruption so thick in his nose it makes him gag and retch in his own bed? If he were a mage, it's an option he might have chosen years ago, and he doesn't know if that makes him a pragmatist or a coward. Maybe it's possible to be both. He holds a hand up, half conciliation, half forestalling.

"That was...unworthy of me. My apologies." He draws a deep breath and regathers scattered thoughts. "A slave can also be sacrificed, worked to death, and deprived of every comfort and kindness all at the whim of another. Many of the Tranquil you meet asked for that fate, because the alternative was to be taken completely, corrupted, and destroyed. Meredith...abused the rite. I'll not sit here and deny it. When it's applied as the law allows, it's a kindness, not a cruelty, and at least it's done with the consideration in mind of what the mage wants or needs, not because they're property."

He snorts very softly. "Any templar not afraid of the Seeker Order, especially under these circumstances is a fool and likely to be a dead fool if he doesn't watch himself. They won't care who's to blame as much as they'll want a scapegoat. The most logical one is a smoking statue out in the courtyard. Look around. The next best thing isn't hard to find."

A kindness? Dorian couldn't fathom how it would be a kindness to take away all feelings, free will and desires. He's afraid of temptation like any mage but there were other options, other ways to learn control.

"There are abuses, I won't deny it," he says with a small nod. This is a tense topic on both sides. If Cullen is willing to admit he's out of line, Dorian can be gracious to accept it. "It's one of the things I'd like to change about my homeland but if you think the Chantry doesn't own the Tranquil you need to open your eyes, my friend."

"We should ward that statue though I'm not sure what the lyrium will do to any standard wards." Perhaps changing the subject will lead to a more pleasant conversation. He didn't come here to argue with Cullen. "I'll check it and see if we can't make it safe for the public."

"When it's that, possession, or death? I can understand the choice." He's calmer again, his demeanor smoother. It's no mere act. He can back away from the precipice of his temper fairly easily when he's not unduly provoked. "Once they're Tranquil, more than ever they're our responsibility. I'll give you that." And he'd have no more beatings of them. Once he had discovered it, he'd put his foot down hard. It sickened him like so many of his discoveries after the battle that night. In truth, if he could wash his hands of the Chantry altogether, he would. Not aimlessly, however, and not in meaningless rebellion.

He nods slowly. "If it can be done, yes, we should. But we should also take care what magic is worked in its vicinity. It's..." He presses his lips together and frowns thoughtfully. "It hums. Do you hear it?"

"There are more options than that," he says softly, his voice gentle. There is always another option, another way. A mage can learn control, even the most weak minded mage could learn. He had seen it in Tevinter. Perhaps he could teach a few things more here. "Well, as long as everyone else is aware as you are."

"I can smell it on you and the other Templars," he says, tapping the side of his nose with a finger. "I don't hear anything from it but it doesn't smell right. It's... rotted, I guess is the best way to say it, it smells wrong. You smell rather nice."

He's unsure of that. He has never seen the rite put off with good results. However, much like Dorian he has no desire to fight. The man has been a good ally thus far. There's no reason to quibble or bicker over their cultural differences when it serves little purpose. "They are." And they know there will be the Void to pay if he finds out otherwise.

His brows lift in surprise. He can smell it on them? Cullen smells it in the vial, but never on his person. Perhaps he's used to it? He tries to recall if he ever noticed such a thing about the other templars when he was a recruit. No, not to his recollection. "It sounds...too right, like the song of a desire demon behind your eyes. But...not demonic. Something else. I don't trust it, and when I ask my men about it, their eye contact goes evasive."

He sits up straighter. "The sooner we try for that warding, the better, I think. Wouldn't you say?"

"I will take a closer look at it tomorrow, talk with some of the mages more familiar with warding than I am," he said with a small nod. "In the meantime perhaps you keep your Templars away from it. Mages are very good at resiting demons."

Mages were more careful with lyrium perhaps because they had seen what it could do to Templars. Dorian isn't as familiar with it as the mages he's come to know here but they always sound like the Templars are bound with lyrium. It's an odd thing to think.

"If they're having troubles with it and we're not, it seems easy enough to pass things on to us."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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