lovingvambrace | For pavus

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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Cullen simply cuts him a look and shakes his head. The time for any such worry is long past, and he believes they both know it. He doesn't go too far. He doesn't need to. He pushes in among the cutting leaves and glances back to Dorian over his shoulder. "Just be careful of the edges. As long as you don't move too quickly, they won't claim blood."

He goes down on his haunches, gathering the thick skirting out of the way, and digs his fingers down into sandy soil until he feels a fat, fibrous root beneath them. He works his hand under it and jerks up with a sudden snap of the vegetation. Lifting the root to his lips, he lets clear water drip into his mouth. There's a surprising quantity of it before it stops. "Fresh water, completely untainted. Only when you see the small white buds on the shrubs." He points them out hidden amongst the leaves. "They flower at different times depending on sun exposure. If you get lost or separated, you won't die of thirst before we can find you again."

He brushes sand from his fingers and stands again. "Giant spiders are all over, particularly the caves. Watch yourself when we go past openings. They like to ambush."

"Even the plants are inhospitable. Lovely." Dorian looks at them with distaste.

He is careful as he crouches down next to Cullen to watch him dig up the root and pour water out of it. That's quite a trick and Dorian is very impressed. He also smiles fondly because the poor man keeps forgetting he's a mage and can conjure water from nothing.

"I'm so glad you trust my abilities to stay with a group," he says dryly. "It warms the heart, really."

Cullen chuckles and nudges him with his pauldron. "I used to get lost out here all the time. You start fighting. It spreads out. One rise looks exactly like another with twisting paths that cross back on themselves, and so many sets of feet treading them that before you know it you've walked a circle four times before someone else stumbles onto you. Add in darkness, and it's ten times worse."

He tosses the spent root aside and climbs back up to his feet again, careful of the skirting. "There used to be pockets of Tal'Vashoth, too. I haven't heard of movement out of them for a while now. That doesn't mean they're all gone."

He tucks a thumb into his sash and regards him with amusement. "Believe me when I say I trust your competence. I wouldn't have invited you if I didn't."

"I'm probably more familiar with fighting Tal'Vashoth than you," he points out with a roll of his eyes. "I grew up with them practically on my doorstep."

He didn't mean to sound ungrateful but honestly, he wasn't a helpless mage. He had a blade on his staff and knew how to fight if his mana was drained. Perhaps he didn't have the best wilderness survival skills but he had sense in his head.

"That root business is much more useful to me. And which way is Kirkwall from here? If I do get lost I can navigate by the stars if I know which way the city is." He studied astronomy because it was important to Tevinter history and no other reason. It just happens to be a good skill right now.

"So prickly." He shakes his head and does his best not to grin. "I'd hate to see the response if I dared to suggest I enjoy your company along with your usefulness."

He took a moment to orient himself and pointed southwest. "It's not a straight go. Some of the scrub is impassible and there's rugged terrain. As long as you stay roughly headed in that direction, eventually you'll start to see a few outlying farms. I...wouldn't recommend showing them that medallion of yours. Rural Marchers can be a little..." He holds his hand out flat and rotates it a little from the wrist back and forth. "They don't like any foreigners. Hard to say who they hate worse, Tevinters or Fereldans."

That actually stops Dorian for a moment. Cullen enjoys his company? He's not used to someone admitting that so openly, without some sort of political motive behind it. A friend. He could have one of those. Well, that's surprising. "I imagine someone might suggest I've used blood magic to enthrall you or some other ridiculous suggestion."

"Tevinters," Dorian says immediately. "When in doubt blame it on the Imperium." He could find his way with the rough direction though. It wouldn't be a pleasant experience but Dorian had plenty of those in his life. "I can manage that. If we are separated I will head back towards Kirkwall. You can send the search party that way."

"Good thing I'm not talking about someone else's responses. Just yours." He's nothing if not capable of staying on point.

He nods, feeling better overall about his being out here. The Wounded Coast is dangerous enough for people used to it. A first-time trip under these circumstances isn't an ideal introduction. He gestures back toward the camp with a sweep and starts walking that way.

"Let's make sure they know to leave enough food for us. The guards in particular can be very greedy." He has no doubts the guards would say exactly the same of templars. It's practically tradition by now, the rivalry, despite some mending of fences over the past couple of months.

"Yes, well, mine is mild surprise." Someone in the south wants to call him friend. Dorian isn't sure what to do about that. He enjoys Cullen's company but he's never examined it deeply.

It makes him a bit quieter on the walk back to camp. He learned not to examine his feelings towards men beyond a fondness. He wasn't allowed before. He'll have to think about it carefully what it means for him now.

"I've seen how much Templars eat. I imagine the guards are trying to get their fair share." He's a mage, he's going to make fun of Templars whenever he gets the chance.

He could bristle at that in turn, about how just because he's a templar or a Southerner doesn't mean he can't befriend a mage from Tevinter. Some instinct keeps him quiet on that. It's foolish to assume every little thing is about him at all. It could just as easily be something unrelated, and then he'd look a proper ass.

It's much easier to rise to the less emotionally charged bait about the guards. He does it with a will. "Please. Just watch Guardsman Hendyr. If he doesn't take at least three servings of ram tonight, I'll owe you a gold piece. And no cheating and asking him not to ahead of time. I'll be watching."

In this case it's not Cullen's problems or personality but Dorian's. He has issues that he is not going to discuss with this man who he is only learning about. It's terribly difficult to let himself get close. He's not certain he's going to allow it when he plans on leaving.

"Oh, a gold piece? I'm willing to pay that if you turn out to be right." Dorian is tempted to argue about lyrium's effect on the human body and that Templars may eat more to counter act but he was only really learning the effects since coming here to the South. "I would buy you a drink but I imagine the tavern is still burned down."

"I'm sure there are still places we can scrounge drinks somewhere. I'm not sure they'd be the sorts of places either of us would care to frequent." It's not that he's a snob. He truly isn't. It's that since the disaster entertainment of any sort has been almost fully overrun by a criminal element. Their spirit of cooperation has only gone so far, and neither side is willing to get too deeply into bed with the other for fear of debts.

The smell of roasting meat and stewing vegetables is thick in the air by the time they get back to the camp. Cullen waves away the offer of one of the first cuts. It's good to see his and Aveline's men and women mingling in a spirit of companionship, exchanging rough jokes and lining up to get their shares.

The mages still sit off to the side. They're not being ostracized as far as he can tell. There has always been that separation out in public. Whether it's for the best or not, he can't say. He catches Aveline watching him watching them, a complex look passing between the two. When it's his turn, he steps up for his serving and helps himself. He takes his food a little off to the side. He doesn't want to put a damper on the others' high spirits or make them feel self-conscious with their commander looming and listening to every word. He's used to the separation by now, having to hold himself away. He notices Aveline does the same.

"If there is alcohol to be had, I will find it." Dorian is very fond of the drink. He adores a good wine and oddly enough he finds himself enjoying strong Ferelden ales. His father would be ashamed. Perhaps that's why he likes it.

He does not have the same sense of careful caution. He gets his serving and motions for the mages to join him by the fire. It's cold off by themselves even if they can make their own fire and own warmth. It's really his personality that draws them in and his sense of confidence in the face of guards and Templars who are still wary around mages.

When he notices Cullen is off by himself he claps a mage on the shoulder and passes the mantel of making everyone deal with their idiotic bigotry. He moves over to Cullen and sits with him. "Here I thought you enjoyed my company."

"You're good with them." He nods over toward the mages. They don't look completely comfortable. Nor do the people immediately around them, but no one is moving away and no fights are starting. It's progress. "Better coming from you than from me. If I had gone to sit with them, they'd have closed up tighter than a beach clam dug out of the sand, and if I had invited them over, they'd have seen it as an order."

He takes a pensive bite of stewed vegetable. "It's the same with the men, really. The Guard-Captain knows. It's a fine line to walk, being approachable without being subsumed into their social circle. We must seem an odd lot to you."

He points out a man with mutton chop sideburns stepping up to the fire with an already clean plate moving for a second helping. "That's Guardsman Hendyr, and that's two." He sounds somewhat smug.

"Again, my secret is I treat them like normal people as they are." Dorian really doesn't see why that's so hard for everyone else. He knows it's his upbringing and how mages are in Tevinter but it can't be that hard. "They were afraid of me, at first, you know, some of them. I was a Tevinter Magister to them, never mind I never made that rank, but I was almost as scary as a demon to them."

It had been incredibly insulting but Dorian dealt with it as he always did by proving them wrong. He didn't suddenly become a sweet, gentle soul. He was himself and they came to see he was actually a person.

"There are defined political and class structure in Tevinter but if you're going to keep these mages in your Circle system you need to let them see you are a person otherwise they'll live in fear of their jailors." He shrugs, it's simple to him but he knows things are different here.

He rolls his eyes at Cullen's gentle reminder of the wager. He doesn't rise to the bait.

"There's more to it than that," Cullen says, glancing at him. He takes a leisurely bite of ram while thinking of how to put it. He's not completely sure why it matters to him if Dorian understands or not, but it does. It's not just a matter of thinking mages are less than people, although to his shame there was a time he held that harsher view.

"As templars, our duty and charge is to watch them as well as protect them. There's a very real risk that if you get too close to someone and they turn, you'll hesitate. You'll hesitate, and an abomination will rampage through the entire wing before anyone is the wiser. They will never be free of fear when they see me, and I can't afford to lose sight of why I'm here. When templars and mages are too close in a Circle, that Circle falls. I haven't just heard it. I've lived it."

"Would it make you feel better to know that when a demon takes over the mind of the mage is gone?" he offered. Tevinter mages studied possession a lot more than anyone in the south ever had. Since they dabbled in blood magic so often they had to be aware of what happened to the mage. "Ancient Tevinter texts say the mage's mind is in the Fade, unaware of what the demon is doing with their body. There are even some texts that speak of entering the Fade and pulling the demon out. Unfortunately there's not much on how just that it was done."

He wants to point out that there are hundreds of reasons a Circle could fall including that it is a flawed system. He holds his tongue. He doesn't want to insult his only ally here. "There's nothing wrong with being kind now and again. The happier the mages are the less chance they'll turn to blood magic or demons. Some will, some you least expect..."

His voice trails off as he remembers his father and then he shakes his head. "But the majority simply want to learn to control their powers and live their lives."

"Not really. It's still a matter of training and basic human nature. If you're close to someone, you're going to hesitate when that hesitation will cost lives. Templars are human, too. The reasons behind our methodology aren't cruelty for its own sake." He takes another bite and follows it with some vegetable, chewing methodically and quickly. That's also habit. Eat what he can when he can, because there's no way of knowing when it will be interrupted.

"I'm all too aware of that." The ones that turned, some of them at least, he never would have expected. He frowns.

"Until there is a way to know, this is how it has to be. Not all of us want to bow under the yoke of powerful magisters." He holds up a hand to show he's not trying to start an argument. "It may be there's no true balance to be had, but as things stand right now I think we can both agree that neither Tevinter nor the South have stumbled upon the right answer."

Oh, how he could argue basic human nature. Dorian didn't. His past was his past and he is not going to talk about them with a man who is still practically a stranger.

"There's always balance," Dorian scolds slightly. "The only thing that doesn't balance is a merchant's scale."

That's an old Tevinter saying and it makes him smile to say it now. It usually made a few people laugh at a Tevinter party. They were very far from that right now. The food is really different. "Tell me more about your plans for the evening."

That earns a snorted laugh. "That's a good one. I'll have to remember it." There's much truth to that in the Marches, too.

He looks out over the campsite, gathering his thoughts. "When it's dark, we're going to leave behind a party guarding the camp and take a small group out. We'll have black tabards, no glinting plate to give us away. We're going to see how many raider camps we can spot from a few different vantages and if any of them are small enough to take with our reduced forces. We'll hit them hard and fast. By morning the fog will be rolling in. That's when the real fun begins. We'll be tired, but we'll be ready and bring our reinforcements. We should be able to take out the larger camps then. We'll continue a northward sweep until we hit the ship supply lines. That's when the Viscount's forces come into play from sea."

"There is a spell I know that can make us move faster and fight harder for a brief amount of time," he said as he ran his fingers over his mustache. "When the fog rolls in I can cast that. We'll have an even bigger advantage."

He was not used to doing things like this but he was actually rather excited. The plan seem well thought out and not terribly risky. He would have to try and change his spells so they weren't quite so flashy. That would take some theorizing before they went out.

"But, do ask your men if they'll allow me to cast on them. I don't want to get accused of blood magic."

"I'll tell them to expect it." There'd be no asking. He has seen enough of Dorian to believe he's not a blood mage. If he can give them that sort of advantage, he'll take it. He'll be sure to brief Aveline, too, so that her own men and women can be prepared. The templars will actually feel the surge of mana. Her people won't.

"It's going to be an interesting time." It's clear he's ready for it and looking forward to it. He has been wanting to curb these criminals for a while now, angry that they've been taking advantage and preying on the outskirts while Kirkwall licks her wounds. They're about to find out she's not limping along quite that badly after all.

He polishes off his meal and sets his plate to the side to be scrubbed later. They don't want to attract wild animals and wind up fighting on two fronts. "Now we can rest for a bit and wait for darkness." He won't sleep. He's too keyed up for that, but he knows how to take advantage of down time when he has it.

"It won't hurt them," he reassures him. "It will just make them stronger and faster for a brief time. It's actually rather interesting, it's very slight time manipulation."

He stops himself before he goes in to the details. It's very risky magic and if he's not careful he could do something disastrous but it works on a very small, very brief scale. Alexius would be proud, he thinks.

"I have to figure out how to make lightning less visible otherwise I'll blind everyone on the battlefield not just our enemies. Maybe I should try ice magic," he muses, wiggling his fingers with a bit of mana flowing over them. "Flashy is not really useful to you and the others right now."

The thought of that makes him uneasy, something he's not quick to let on. Is there nothing the Tevinters won't touch with magic? Time, the dead, blood, even if Dorian himself stays away from that latter. "Ice would be quite useful in the fog. You're right that lightning would be to our detriment then, as well as in the dark. We don't want to alert them to us if we can help it."

Oh, eventually they would know they were being cut down and had warriors and mages in their midst. There's no sense in advertising to camps further away. He'll be advising minimal use of fire, too, for the same reasons.

"It's not my strongest magic, I'm afraid," he admits but doesn't let that thought linger in Cullen's mind. "By tonight, however, I will be unstoppable with it."

And then as the raiders started to die Dorian would really send those bastards in to a panic. Hopefully the Templars and Guards wouldn't panic as well. He frowns at the thought.

"Perhaps you should warn them that I work with Necromancy as well." It is unusual for him to care this much about the people around him. He typically cast whatever spell suited him without question. This is odd.

"Not lacking in confidence. I'll give you that." He also knows he's not lacking in ability, at least not as far as he has seen for himself. He still vividly recalls the night he encountered him in the old Qunari quarter.

"I'll be sure they know what to expect." It won't do anyone any good if they panic or fail to understand what is actually going on. They aren't going to like it. Cullen doesn't like it. He doesn't have to like something to recognize its usefulness.

He pushes himself off the driftwood log he's using as a seat and settles directly into the sandy soil with a few shifts to work any lumps out beneath him. Now he can lean back against the large sea faded bole and prop his head to relax. One hand comes to rest just above the line of his sash.

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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