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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"Here? I doubt it. There's barely any trade between our countries. I'd be amazed if you could find the spices for it here." He reaches for the honey as soon as its offered and pours two generous spoonfuls in to his tea. "I love ginger and honey tea. Maybe with a little bit of peach if it's in season."

He settles back in his chair with his hands wrapped around the mug, breathing in the scent of it. It's sweet with just the hint of mint behind it. Even the smell of it chases away some of the lingering sickness that was all in his head.

"It's difficult to find anything of my homeland besides ruins and what I managed to bring with me." He would not give up his robes and staff for anything, simple they may be in terms of his former Altus glory.

"We can hardly find common spices to the Free Marches in Kirkwall right now. I imagine you might have better luck in Starkhaven, or perhaps Wycome. The port trade is brisk there." It's also a touch warmer from what he has heard. He spoons a generous dollop of honey into his tea and takes a bite of his cookie while he stirs it.

"It must be strange to look everywhere and see echoes and shadows. Familiar bones beneath foreign construction. The Gallows...well, before the battle at least, were little changed. Less so than most of Kirkwall. There was no real need or desire. It lay empty for a long time."

He takes a small sip of his tea and finds it doctored to his liking. "I feel that way a bit sometimes when I hear Fereldan accents in the street. My eyes see a Marcher city. If I close them for a short time I'm there." Some days he indulges that feeling and others distances himself. He still has mixed feelings about Ferelden and what he endured there.

"What reminds you most of home here?"

"I'm not ready to move on but perhaps when I am I will head there next." Dorian has no idea when he'll be ready to leave. Right now, he really has no where to go, no place in mind that will take him. He has sort of found a place here with the mages but he knows it's temporary. He doesn't know how long that will be.

He sips his tea and sighs as the warmth goes through him while the honey coated his throat. It's almost like home except instead of ginger burning his nose, it's mint.

"The architecture in places, the statues, there are hints of Tevinter everywhere and yet it's overwhelmingly Free Marches in the end. There's an overwhelming amount of spit shot at me which does not happen at home." He should leave but something, or someone, keeps him here.

The faint smile comes before he knows it's there, and by the time he realizes it, it's too late to hide it. Really, what harm is there in being open that he's glad he's here, not leaving them any time soon? It's not as though it's knowledge Dorian would abuse or use to a bad turn.

He regards him over the rim of his tea cup when he takes another sip. It's not until after another thoughtful nibble of cookie that he speaks again. "It's ignorance," he says quietly. "If they knew how much you've done..." He sighs, his shoulders sagging slightly, and shakes his head. "Realistically, not much would change. These Marchers are such a stubborn lot. They still hate Fereldans when we've been fighting to rebuild their damned city as hard as anyone."

His cup lightly clinks his saucer when he sets it down again. "Some know the truth." It's as close as he'll get to gratitude again, since he knows anything more open will just earn scoffing discomfort.

He finds himself smiling in return. Someone appreciates it. What a dangerous thing for him to have a friend or someone he desires. He has been so careful about that since leaving even though the South seems more accepting.

"I don't mind. I know who I am and what I've done to help. I don't need their recognition." Though he would like some, maybe, something to remind him he's not the deviant his country would label him. "You've done most of the work. Don't count yourself out."

He will put the focus on Cullen, which is more comfortable for him. Or he'll talk about himself. He's very comfortable with that.

"If I needed recognition, then I chose the wrong vocation." He's still halfway smiling, keeping it light. "Still, it's hard to imagine that such unrelenting hostility doesn't grate or wear." As a Fereldan, he had been on the receiving end of resentment, but not the unbridled hatred he knows many feel for Tevinters.

"I know you impressed my men and women out there. Scared the Void out of some of them, too, but impressed them. We were better off with you there than without you. And the mages love you. It's very evident." In some cases it looks to him from the outside in like hero worship. It's not too surprising given the state of things.

He continues sipping the tea, letting the mint refresh and relax him. This time he keeps the cup cradled in hand and idly pushes it side to side between his thumbs, letting the handle be the stopping point for the reversal. "If I ask you something more personal, will it anger you?"

"Considering the fame some Templars have in Southern history you might be wrong about that." Dorian knows a bit of Southern history, not that much, but he knows many of its most prominent figures are Templars or related to the Chantry in some way.

He snorts. Of course he impressed them and scared them. His power is impressive and what he can do, raise the dead and manipulate spirits, would scare anyone. When he first thought of learning it scared him. "I act as the mages wish they could. That's why."

"I suppose that depends on the question," he answers carefully. He isn't sure what Cullen wants to know.

He tips his head in partial concession to that point. It's true that there are some templars who stand out in history as men or women of note. Compared to the thousands of others who die lyrium addled and in obscurity or fall to the hazards of the duty, they're few and far between.

"You honestly think..." He cuts off. He very likely does honestly think that's why the mages love him. It's the perfect segue into his question, and he wasn't even trying to direct it that way.

"Every time I thank you, or express positive sentiment your way, you..." He gestures with his free hand, a sideways deflecting wave. "Am I offending some custom of which I'm unaware, or is there some reason you don't want to hear it? As much as I enjoy having one over on you sometimes and getting as good as I give, I don't wish offense. Not really. Like just now. You don't really think the only reason the mages love you is because they want to be like you, do you?"

That is a question with a very complicated answer that Dorian really doesn't want to get in to. He's not angry, no, but bitter because the answer has so much to do with his ugly past.

"No, no, most mages in Tevinter want nothing but praise heaped on them and the more you praise them the better they feel about themselves." He waves a hand and looks away. His answer will have to be a careful consideration of what to say and what not to.

"They don't love me, they idolize, they envy," he says further. "They want the freedom I have. That's all. They may like me and enjoy my company but love is a bit much."

"I can't decide if it's them you're not giving enough credit or yourself." He shakes his head. "But." He pauses long enough to emphasize the word. "That's not really the answer to the question I asked."

He can't help but to wonder what he makes of his overtures. Does he see envy, or a desire to use him? Is Tevinter so cutthroat that they don't have friendships that don't involve strong self-interest at the forefront?

"You can tell me it's none of my business. I'll respect it without being happy about it. It leaves me in an awkward position of wanting to...to do for you sometimes and having little acceptable way of accomplishing that. I'm not used to that." In hindsight, he realizes he has often done it to others with no thought for how it might feel for them. It's not the most comfortable look in a mirror he has ever experienced.

The truth is he doesn't have an answer. He wants to accept the compliments and take the praise but no he can't. He can't until he's done something to earn it and that's the horrible traces of his father lingering.

"When I do something truly amazing I'll accept the compliments," he says softly with his eyes downcast. He takes a drink of his tea and uses that to cover up his little frown. "What I've done here is simple, easy things for me. I've navigated complicated political and social situations my whole life. I breathed magic before I could wield it properly. Staying to help, that's foolishness but I'm here."

He's quite certain that might be enough to answer, all of it said quickly and in a bit of a rush but it's been said. That's enough.

Cullen makes a small sound, not quite enough breath behind it for a laugh. He doesn't look amused. "All right." He relents, because what else can he do without making him much more uncomfortable? The downcast gaze and rushed sentences are so strongly at odds with the usual show of confidence that he doesn't dare prod what has to be a very sore spot.

He lets the silence settle and watches the shifting surface of his tea while he continues the slow half spin of the cup back and forth. "It is foolishness," he says presently, looking at him again.

"Noble, stupid foolishness to throw in with our lot. Many would argue we made our bed, and we ought to lie in it. Few would look beyond the surface or see anything worth saving. I stopped questioning your motives some time ago. Whatever they are, you fit here. You do, and if I and the mages are the only ones who see it then more's the pity for the rest of Kirkwall and my people. I can try to lead them to water. I can't make them drink it."

"Many would say the same of my country but I know it can be better, it can be fixed," he says, lifting his eyes to Cullen's. "You see the same thing here don't you? It's a disaster and things like in ruin but ruin is a chance to rebuild, to be better, to redeem."

Dorian knows all too well how to rebuild a ruin. He had to do it with himself, multiple times, but he did it. He's a better man, he is. It just took time.

"They'll look to you, a Ferelden, before they ever look to a Vint, as their savior. It's a fact of life. Don't trouble yourself over it. It doesn't trouble me."

Yes, he believes Kirkwall can recover, that all of them can get through this terrible disaster that had begun well before the explosion. He doesn't know if he'll live long enough to see it through or how many years true recovery will take. He has doubts that he'll be in charge much longer regardless. The Chantry won't stay silent forever. He nods, his expression pensive but not doubtful.

The expression shifts a little more wry. "It does trouble me. I'm sorry, Altus Pavus, but you're going to have to wrap your head around the fact, somehow, that you've earned a place in my regard, and I happen to be quite protective of those whom I value, whether they need it or not." His look challenges him to gainsay him in that.

"You are a foolish man for that," but there's a fondness in his voice, a warmth. Dorian really is fond of Cullen even with all the inconvenience it would lead to. If only he was more confident, more certain of flirtations with men. He might get somewhere but alas he wasn't sure if he should push his luck.

He smiles as he drinks his tea and takes a cookie for himself. "I've noticed your protective streak. I hope you'll keep the mages here from being made Tranquil when these Seekers come. They're a decent sort. Like yourself."

It's an admission of how he's rather fond of this place even though it's a shit hole and a disaster.

"I'm here. I believe we both know what that says about my judgment or lack thereof." He chuckles and shakes his head. "And I'm not going anywhere until there's a very compelling reason for it." It's not in him to abandon his post, no matter how shitty the conditions.

His smile fades, his look almost pained. "I'll do what I can. Historically, the Seekers are more concerned with templars than mages. When they arrive, it will be we who must give an accounting, not the mages. I'll endeavor to remind them of that if they should prove...unconventional." It's one of his larger worries, that the Seekers will harm those under him and in his care, possibly vent their spleen about the Chantry's destruction on the few left to bear the brunt.

"If for some reason they don't listen or I'm arrested..." He frowns, his fingers tapping the side of his cup. "I want to show you something. We'll have to wait until most are asleep. I imagine we can find a way to while away a few hours here. I can always pull out my chess board. I'm taking a certain risk in showing you. In this case I feel it warranted."

Oh, the words felt so good to hear even if they were only meant in friendship. Dorian had very few true friends in Tevinter. Many wanted his friendship only for power. Cullen had nothing to gain and everything to lose by befriending him.

"How... mysterious," he says, his eyebrows jumping up. "I'm intrigued in what you've got hiding away. Any sort of hint? We are alone right now and I doubt we're going to disturbed."

The Seekers were a problem hiding away in the distant future. Dorian still wished they'd come and then go so they could stop worrying so much. "I haven't played a game of chess in... years probably. We have a different game in Tevinter but I learned."

"There's a saying in the Gallows. The walls have ears. All I'll say is that it may very well save lives if it comes to it, and I have to trust that of all the mages here, you're most likely to be able to cut through any opposition." He downs the rest of his tea before it can chill and stands.

"Excellent. Then I'll fetch the board, and we can entertain ourselves." He heads to the closed bedroom door and opens it, stepping beyond and leaving it open so they can continue to talk. The only thing visible from the open doorway is a very large fireplace and mantel with brass candlesticks atop it, and a small bookshelf crammed with books and more on top pressed between heavy bookends. Cullen is elsewhere in the room.

"What game do you play in Tevinter?" he calls.

"Flattery will get you everywhere," he drawls with his tone completely dry. He's back to that dodging of compliments. Luckily Cullen has his back turned so he wouldn't see Dorian's brief blush and soft smile.

Talking about Tevinter is much easier for Dorian. He settles in his chair with a sense of comfort. "Ludus latrunculorum or the game of brigands. It was developed to teach military tactics. It's still done for that but it's also a good game for nobility. You place your pieces on the board then the game begins. The winner captures the most pieces and more territory."

It is hard to explain the game without the pieces to show it off. He doubts Cullen truly wishes to know how to place. Dorian would love to play a game again. He was too reckless in playing but he enjoyed the game.

"Are you saying I should busy myself deciding what I want?" he asks lightly without too much thought behind how it sounds. It's the unfortunate fact of his rejoinders that it's only later, if at all, that he realizes how they can sound or be taken in full.

He returns with a flat, rectangle case under his arm, the wood beautifully polished and maintained. It's one of the few things he has from his family, sent to him after Mia discovered his new whereabouts and had to tell him of their parents' deaths during the Blight.

"It sounds fascinating. I'm always looking to learn new strategy games." Rather than clearing the tea table, he offers Dorian the closed case and hastens back to his room for a small side table. He has few belongings to clutter his room. He sets it up near the tea table so that when they get the board set, they can still have their tea things in reach and have more.

"This should serve. Here, I'll take that." He takes the case back, opens it to set it on the table, and begins arranging the pieces quickly.

"If you are not aware of what you want already I'm afraid there's nothing I can do to help you," he says easily. Cullen's innocence and ignorance is quite amusing. He wonders if the man even knows he's attractive.

While Cullen busies himself with the table Dorian turns the folded box over and over in his hands, examining it. It was beautiful and quite well loved judging by the condition. He knew enough of Cullen's personality to know that when he cared he took care.

"I doubt we'll find a proper board or the right amount of pieces just lying around. I'd have to commission it." He hands the board back to Cullen with a smile. "I think you might enjoy the game if simply because you would want to win."

"I'm very easy to please, at least on a personal level. Amiable company and a good challenge now and then are all I need." He's relaxed and chattier than usual in setting up the game. He's looking forward to it. It has been far too long since he's had a chance to indulge this passion.

He glances up and shoots him a half smile. "I always want to win. If you ever do get the pieces and want to teach me, you won't find a more dedicated pupil." It's a competitive drive nothing has ever quashed, and it might be part of the reason he's still standing when so many of his fellows in Ferelden fell.

"Here, we're set up now. Would you like black or white?" He's host enough to give his guest the choice.

"Oh, you make yourself an easy target but I'll take pity on you." Dorian won't make the million or so bawdy jokes he could. He imagined a Templar would faint from shock.

Dorian turns the board so that he has the black pieces. He's Teinveter and might as well play up to the stereotypes. "I'll see. Right now is not the best time for me to try and find a craftsman. The city is a bit busy rebuilding."

He sits forward in his chair to get a better view of the board. He'll take his playing very seriously if Cullen is going to.

"Pity? Don't you dare." He's all mock outrage, and once Dorian is settled and has chosen his side, he gets more down to business. "We could cut paper pieces for the rudiments of learning the rules." He's willing to try if it comes to that.

Since he has been given white, he makes the first move. It's always exciting starting a game with someone who's an unknown factor. He has conversed with him enough to know he's intelligent, but that tells him little of his tactics or strategies.

Leaning to the side, he refills his tea cup and stirs in more honey. "More for you?" he asks.

"And make a board out of paper as well?" He raises an eyebrow at Cullen, impressed and amused by his desire to learn. Most people shun everything that has to do with Tevinter, even the games. "You are desperate for entertainment aren't you?"

Dorian reveals he's a bold player with his first move. It's not in his nature to hesitate. He thinks ahead but he's always forward, always first if he can be.

"Yes, please."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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