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 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."

"If we have to. I care less about the aesthetics than learning. We face so many life and death challenges every day it will be nice to be able to throw my focus toward something recreational but still useful." It's not a game just for the sake of a game. There's something of value to gain in it.

He pours his tea and doctors it the same way he saw him do so when they started but leaves it to him to stir. Cullen's style is more cautious. He takes his time thinking through the next several moves that could come from Dorian's opening gambit before committing to his counter.

His demeanor is calm, almost placid, revealing nothing of what he's thinking or how he intends to conduct his match. He sips his tea and settles back against his chair back to watch the next move.

"Well, find me some sturdy paper and something to color the pieces and when I find another free moment I'll make a board for you," he said with a glance at him. Dorian would be glad to pass on something of his homeland.

He lets the tea sit at his elbow while he thinks about his move and only picks it up when he's satisfied with his answer in response to Cullen's more cautious play.

"Are you going to silently stare at me this whole game? It could give a man a complex."

"I'll do that." He's sure he has enough supplies around to suffice, not in his personal chambers but his office.

He smirks at the question and leans his elbow on the arm of his chair. He lifts an ankle to cross over his knee, a mirror image of Dorian's earlier pose. "I'm sorry. Is it unnerving?" Of course it is. That's the point. His sister used to do it all the time to great effect until he learned to bear the scrutiny and ignore it.

"You're not the first man to admire my handsome profile." Dorian turns his head to show off that profile which he knows is very striking. He's terribly handsome. Perhaps he should have mentioned something about women but he was only good at flirting with them but never appreciating them.

"If you're distracted by it, it's not my problem." He can play without concern. Cullen's not admiring him, not flirting, or teasing. He's only trying to make Dorian screw up in the game.

"Oh, Maker, here we go." Cullen laughs and rolls his eyes. "There's a bird deep in the wilds of Ferelden. Blue and purple plumage with red on the outer wings. Whenever it perceives it's getting attention from a desired prospect, it puffs up and lifts its crest, spreading its wings, showing itself off to the very best advantage. Are you showing off now? For me? Should I be flattered?" He suspects it's his way of trying to get under his skin in turn, and he has no intention of making that easy for him.

His next move is quicker than his last, because he already plotted what to do on this contingency. He's still smiling, already enjoying the fact that it's more than a straightforward game of moving pieces. They're jockeying for psychological advantage, the same cutthroat way he has been taught to play and part of why he likes the game as much as he does.

"I don't need fancy plumage to draw the eye. Unlike some people." He deliberately looks Cullen over to emphasize that maybe he did. In truth, no. The man was attractive if more plain than men in Tevinter. If Cullen dressed as a Tevinter soldier well Dorian might have some trouble controlling himself. "It's fine. There's nothing wrong with a little vanity, a little dress up. I don't hold it against you."

He's having more fun teasing than he is playing the game. Chess is mentally engaging, sure, but he prefers these sort of games. He makes his next move to corner Cullen's piece.

"Are you saying I do? Feathers aren't my style." He hasn't seen Dorian wearing feathers, either. No, the only one he ever saw habitually kitted out in such a way was the apostate who brought ruin to their city. Like the Void would he ever wear feathers.

He leaves the cornered piece as an attractive distraction. If he takes it, the new piece he positions will be in place to take one in turn and give him an advantageous launch for his next gambit. It's all very casual, his moves, the way he holds his hands.

"You are a bit flashy," he says dryly. It's possibly the biggest lie he's ever said since he agreed to his father's arraigned marriage. "It felt rude saying anything so I've held my tongue but since you brought it up."

It's Cullen's deliberate casual nature that makes Dorian suspicious. He's trying too hard to look like he's not. Dorian pays close attention to the board for a moment and makes a defensive move instead of claiming the piece he had been about to take.

"Maker's breath, you are the worst liar. You were just taking me to task about how drab and plain our uniforms are. Don't go trying an about face now." If they weren't so delicious and something he treasures, he'd throw a cookie at him for that. Instead he lifts one to have a crisp bite of it and washes it down with some tea.

He feels a small thrill of inner satisfaction when Dorian notices his strategy. He likes to win, but he likes a challenge. Winning too easily is never satisfying at all. He adjusts to the new contingency, still playing somewhat cautiously but not without some risk. A completely defensive game almost never makes a win.

Dorian bit his lip to try and stop the grin that threatened. He did not want to give up the game so easily but it is just so amusing. Cullen really does give as well as he gets. "The uniform is not you, Cullen. You're more than a Templar. There's a man under all that armor."

Dorian's strategy is unconventional. He seems to think is very odd ways. It's the same way he studied magic, in his own way, his own mind. He knows the standard strategies but he ignores them for his own.

"Of course I am. Let's examine the facts here," he says. He sets his tea aside to brush cookie crumbs off his shirt, then gestures down his quite plain outfit. "This." He then gestures a finger up and down at Dorian's much more ornate robe. "Versus that. And you're calling me flashy?"

For all that Cullen knows the usual strategies very well, he's proving himself adaptable. He's more than a by the book thinker. He feigns a bit of distraction with his tea and sets up another sacrificial piece as bait.

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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