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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"If it involves taking away my magic I want nothing to do with it," Dorian says immediately and firmly. He will take his rolling stomach and possibly throwing up over the side of the boat over the loss of something so vital to him. "I appreciate the thought but I simply need some ginger and sparkling water when we return."

There would be no wine for him tonight if his stomach had any say about it. Dorian sighs. "You should try it. Ginger is well known to help the stomach in Tevinter. Or is it rare around here?"

Cullen nods first, then shakes his head afterward. "I'm afraid we don't have any of that at the Gallows. You'd be hard pressed to get it in Kirkwall these days at all. We do have mint. It's not bad for stomach troubles, either, especially when taken as a tea." Or they could talk one of the mages into helping him later. They're not completely devoid of healers.

He's relieved in a way that he turned down the offer. He wouldn't be comfortable seeing him reeling from a cleanse. He's not sure how the other templars would have taken it, either. It would have been some rather unconventional justification for what is usually a combat technique.

"Of course not," Dorian sighs. The luxuries he's used to are in very short supply. It isn't like he has the money to pay for them right now either. He longs for the days of easy money if not the suffering of Tevinter society.

He glances over at Cullen, considering him for a moment. "Join me for a cup of tea once we get back?"

"All right," he says without having to take much time to consider it at all. He enjoyed their conversation the night before. The thought of some quiet down time with him back at the Gallows is far from onerous.

"My treat. I have some very decent mint tea. I think you'll enjoy it." It's one of his few indulgences he allows himself to splurge on when he gets the chance. He has a few other herbal teas, too. The mint is some of his favorite.

"We can take it in my antechamber." He almost never uses the sitting room in front of his bedroom. It's well appointed, and he knows they're unlikely to be disturbed.

Apparently, Cullen's not worried about what people will thing. His ease in accepting is nice to hear. Dorian ducks his head and hides his brief short smile.

"You have an antechamber?" He scowls at him like he's jealous. "I'm still sharing quarters with other mages and you have an antechamber. I see how fair the treatment is here."

Dorian huffs for show. A great deal of the mage part of the gallows was destroyed in the fight. It's lucky they have the space they do.

"One of the very few perks of this job," Cullen says, snorting a quiet laugh. "It's a nice one. Very comfortable. Pity I almost never have occasion to use it."

Meredith's old quarters were even nicer. He hasn't been able to bring himself to set foot there since an initial foray to search for documents and anything relevant to the running of the Gallows. It's too depressing and disconcerting. At times he contemplates sealing the rooms off altogether.

"You'll be the first guest I've had in..." How long? Since before Thrask's murder, easily. "Let's hope I recall how to play host."

"There's something comfortable in the Gallows? I'm shocked. I thought the design scheme was depression and chains."

Perhaps it was a bit unfair to Kirkwall but honestly the place was a shit hole. Yet, there were hints of Tevinter architecture everywhere and they made Dorian homesick when he picked them out.

"I'm sure you're manners will be charmingly rustic," he drawls giving Cullen a sympathetic look. "If you make a mistake I'll politely correct you."

He puts on a mock expression of pique. There's a certain set to his mouth that gives him away. He's not as good at bluffing when he's fighting amusement. "I'll try my best not to stir my tea with a serving fork."

He folds his arms in a soft clank of mail and tips his head back against the warm rock face. It's going to be a bit of a wait for the ferry. The sand is too shifty for him to want to try to sit down here. It's also just damp enough it could seep into seams or joints of his armor. Better to stand.

"I think you could say that of the whole city," he says, returning to an earlier point. "It was a major port for slave trade, after all. I'm sure you saw the statues coming into the harbor."

"Kirkwall was originally Emerius, after the Magister who founded it. It supplied jet stone to the Imperium for years before elected the heart of the slave trade after a slave revolt that almost killed Archon Vanarius Issar. Ironically, the city was a major backer for the Imperial Highway which helped Andraste march right in during the revolt."

He pauses and glances over at Cullen with a very small smirk. He doesn't need a reminder of Kirkwall's history. He knows it all. Admittedly only because it's a former Imperial city.

"In the end the city fell in a slave revolt. What is know Hightown was sacked and almost all the signs of Tevinter were destroyed except for those statues. Mostly because of their importance to opening the sea gates. Should I lecture you more? I can even tell you about how it became part of the Free Marches."

"I'm sorry. Were you saying something? Your mouth was moving, and I just drifted off somewhere. We barbarians hate learning things." It's as dry as dry can be. He recalls his history lessons from his days as a recruit. He might not have always managed to be the best student. It wasn't from lack of desire to learn.

His lips purse very slightly, a remnant of amusement. When was the last time he felt so inclined to tease or let his more playful side emerge? It's not something he has felt free to share with those now under his command, and he's quite certain the other mages would either be terrified or annoyed with the thought that perhaps they were expected to laugh.

It's an odd position to be in and somehow, now that he has started down that road, he's not at all inclined to shut it off or redirect it again.

"I was like that in school, actually," Dorian says with a little fond smile. "It drove my teachers mad. So bright and so not dedicated to everything."

He had also been whoring his way through like at that point but he didn't talk about that. He carried enough shame as it was. No need to share that with the world.

"However, your sarcasm is not appreciated."

"Sarcasm? I'm quite certain I'm not sophisticated enough for that, Altass Pavus." He quickly looks off to the side to avoid cracking a smile. It's there, just waiting to emerge in the set of his lips. He's glad no one seems to be paying much attention to them, or he'd be less inclined toward this game at all.

"What was your favorite subject, aside from the different magic disciplines, I mean? Was it history?"

"Maker give me strength not to choke you for your deliberate mispronunciations." Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a slow, soft breath. He's being toyed with and he knows it. He shouldn't get upset. It still irks him.

"History and languages. I speak Orlesian, Antivan and Dwarven along with common," he says when he decides Cullen is worth speaking to again. "I have a mind for those, I suppose. Another thing that drove my teachers mad. I'd be reading one thing in a class on another subject."

It's not often that he's the one getting to someone else. One side of his mouth ticks up. His eyes light with enjoyment. However, he also knows when enough is enough and doesn't keep prodding. There can be a fine line between good natured teasing and outright bullying or browbeating. He doesn't want to cross that line. He likes the man far too much for that.

"I'm impressed. I speak a smattering of Elvish, mostly what I picked up in the Tower from the few Dalish we had there." He doesn't speak enough of it to have a fluent conversation. He merely knows a few words and common phrases.

"We'd never have gotten away with that as recruits." Failure to be disciplined was a one way ticket to home and shame.

"Oh, I didn't get away with it." But that is all he's going to say on his past within Tevinter's circle schools. He does not want to pick at that particular wound today. It's almost pleasant except for the looming boat ride. "It's why I'm not in the military, you see, no discipline, to free thinking, rebellious. Oh, and nobility."

He would make a horrible soldier. Knight-Enchanters were incredibly powerful mages but strict and rather regimented in their thinking. Dorian was quite happy being his rebellious, free thinking self.

"And the armor is horrendous. Look at you, no sense of design and beauty in the armor at all. Just bits of plate struck together."

"Nobility, yes. Don't remind me, or I'll start thinking wretched things." His opinion of most nobles is about as low as his opinion of Orlesians. In his experience they're self-important, mostly useless, and cause more problems than they solve with a very few exceptions. In that respect, Dorian differs. He has been very useful and shown he's not afraid to get his hands dirty.

"Oh, it's much more than that. These bits of plate are custom fit to every templar, minimizing openings for weapons, maximizing mobility. The design is tried and true for what it's meant to do. We're not here to look pretty. We're here to do a job. Our mail keeps us alive for it, and is readily recognizable. That's all it needs to be." For all that he sometimes wishes he didn't have so much weight on him nearly every waking moment, he appreciates his armor. It has saved his life on many occasions, such as with the most recent spider attack. It's hard for him to imagine wandering unarmored. He has been in it for longer than he was without it in his life.

"I'm Tevinter. You're already thinking wretched things." Dorian can't be a typical noble out in the wilds like this. He doesn't have the money and the standing for such antics. He does act like it a bit but out of habit. Habits that are changing.

He lets Cullen lecture about the armor with a small smirk. He got one over him with that comment like he knew he would. "Oh, sorry, were you saying something? I was busy thinking of other things more important."

Cullen rolls his eyes. It's only because there are witnesses he's not stooping to grasp a handful of sand and fling it at him for that. So he can give as good as he gets. It's something to keep in mind for future conversations.

His mild pique doesn't last for too long and is driven away by the sight of the ferry sails. "There's our ride," he says entirely too cheerfully. Everyone lines up and waits for the prow to slide smoothly up against the beach before boarding. Cullen settles himself midway. He finds that spot to have the least overall movement. He lifts his face to the salt air and squints against the glint of sunlight on water. It would be more beautiful without damaged Kirkwall looming ahead of them and an empty spot in the sky line where the Chantry once stood.

Once they hit the Gallows docks, he takes Dorian aside for just a moment to murmur, "Seven thirty for tea. I'll see you then."

He has several things to attend before he'll have some free time. It's nice to have socializing to look forward to. He contemplates breaking out his chess set. Either way, he anticipates a decent time of it and approaches his paperwork with less resignation than most days.

The ferry back is miserable. Dorian sits with his head between his knees. One of the mages rubs a hand over his back, trying to help him through his rolling, angry stomach. The waves aren't even that bad but they still make Dorian feel like he is dying.

He nods at Cullen when he's pulled aside, not up for speaking until his stomach settles more. They have sad news to deliver to the other mages when they return. He leaves that task to the man who might become First Enchanter. It's not his place to say words about mages he barely knew.

When the time comes for tea and Cullen's company, Dorian takes a moment to check his hair, mustache and robes before he makes his way over. Yes, it's just a meeting between friends but he can't help but want to look his best.

"Tell me you put aside your work and remembered our meeting."

Cullen smiles at Dorian's arrival and stands from his seat near the tea table. There are two chairs at the table. Offset from that is a cushioned bench before a currently clean and bare fireplace. It's not nearly cold enough for such a thing. The one large window shows the deep purple of fading dusk and reflections from the brazier in the corner and the candles on the mantle. The door to his bedroom opposite the entrance to the antechamber is shut.

"If I haven't, then I'm woefully under dressed for work." He smiles and gestures toward the other chair. He's wearing a comfortable looking navy shirt tucked into dark brown breeches and softer boots than usual that lace at the front rather than the back.

"I've been waiting to put the mint in the pot until you arrived." He turns and tosses a couple of generous pinches of fragrant dried leaves into the teapot and pours boiling water from an enchanted kettle, then covers it to steep. "It shouldn't be long. Please, make yourself comfortable."

He was not expecting to see Cullen out of armor. It actually makes him hesitate a second before he moves in to the room and takes a seat. If this was someone else Dorian would say he was being romanced. He knows better, though. This is tea between friends.

"I suppose it would depend on what work you were doing," he muses as the scent of mint rises from the steam in the pot. "You look dressed for political correspondence but not fighting demons."

Dorian, of course, looked his best in his robes. He's horrible at dressing casually like Cullen is. Then again robes are comfortable unlike heavy armor.

Edited (whoops) 2015-04-26 18:18 (UTC)

"If this look says politician, then I should burn this shirt after tonight." Cullen chuckles and takes the other chair, stretching his legs out comfortably and crossing them at the ankles.

"This is more comfortable than rocks on a beach, I daresay. I really don't ever have much occasion to make use of this room. I should change that. Things are stabilizing a little, enough that we can make a few attempts at civilization." He looks him over. If he's feeling any worse for the wear from the voyage still, he doesn't look like it now.

"You're all right?" It's offered casually. There's genuine concern behind the question. Despite their teasing on the beach, he took no pleasure in seeing him so ill.

"I fine. I'm merely not meant for sea travel." He waves a hand, dismissing his sea sickness as he would any other weakness. It wasn't encouraged in Tevinter to admit to flaws. "I am very good at being on solid, dry land."

He's especially good at being in large cities and places with sitting rooms. Dorian is most comfortable in this sort of environment.

"You should take time when you can. No one has worked harder than you to restore order. Don't forget the small comforts of life."

"Glad to hear it." Compared to a true sea voyage he has managed over time to grow used to the ferry. When he first arrived in Kirkwall, it was difficult to tolerate. Once more his thoughts turn to wondering how long they'll have their unexpected guest before he decides it's time to move on. Unlike the last time he had the thought, he realizes that when it happens, he'll miss him on a personal level. Funny that he only had to lose almost an entire city-state to gain a friend.

"I'm afraid more often than not such considerations are wasted on me. I've never slowed down long enough." He pauses and smirks lightly. "What you're witnessing this evening is almost as rare as our whale sighting."

He leans in toward the table to open up a small tin of cookies and pushes it closer to Dorian. "To go along with our tea. They're not fancy. They are quite good." They're crisp and light and browned nicely at the edges, thin sugar cookies.

"I remember those days when I was an apprentice. I would go days without sleep," he said with fondness in his voice. "Then usually collapse as soon as I found a bed."

It was better that way. He worked until he couldn't and then slept until he was ready to work again. It kept him away from alcohol and brothels. It gave him purpose, a direction. Now, all he had was the eventual goal to reform his beloved home.

"Are you hoarding sweets?" Dorian is surprised by the treats. He hasn't seen anything sweet in the mages' quarters. "I didn't expect you to have a sweet tooth."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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