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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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Cullen sits heavily and immediately starts to dig into his food. He has taken few breaks since this all started and doesn't always remember to eat. It has him ravenous when he does. He has downed several bites and washed it down before he tries to speak again at all.

"I have to admit I'm a little surprised you're still with us. I'm not saying that because you're a Tevinter or a mage. It's...I wouldn't expect anyone not a Marcher or not invested in Marcher politics to be here now." The conditions are terrible and not getting much better. They're finding far fewer living now. The stench of the dead at times overpowers the stench of the chokedamp that wafts up from Darktown.

"How long do you think you'll stay?" He knows he can't expect him to be here forever. He is bound to have other business, a life outside of Kirkwall's ongoing crisis. He'll miss his competence. He knows this already.

Since his companion is clearly very hungry, Dorian pushes his bowl over to him. Any more of the stew and his stomach is going to revolt.

"It's not about Marcher politics," Dorian explains with a look of disgust on his face. "These mages need help and I'm the only person who thinks of them as humans right now. Have you see the way some people here look at them? They look at them like they're waiting for demons to spring forth from them."

It's clearly been a point of frustration for him. He's tired right now and it lets his more personal feelings out. He takes a deep breath and focuses on control as Tevinter has taught him. "I'm not sure. I don't have the gold to leave so here I am."

It says something about his hunger that he doesn't think to question the gesture or whether Dorian is sure, merely nodding his thanks instead. The transfer of one bowl for another is nearly seamless when the first is emptied. He wipes his mouth and sets the spoon down once he no longer feels there's a chance he could start on his own arm.

There was a time he'd have argued that people have good reason to fear, that mages are doorways to demons and that it's naive not to see it. He has seen too much prejudice in the other direction now to fire off that sort of retort. His expression goes a little grim. "You're not the only person," he says quietly. "But you aren't wrong. It's a volatile time, and it's going to take much effort to reach anything resembling normalcy again." If such a thing is possible at all. He decides to amend that, since normalcy for Kirkwall is hardly a worthy goal. "What I mean by that is deescalation on both sides. We didn't get to this point overnight. We won't get away from it quickly."

He swallows down the remaining contents of his tankard. "You're hardly idle here. You're doing good work. I can see about setting you up with pay. It won't be much. Contrary to popular belief, Circles aren't swimming in coin, and we're not beneficiaries of the Chantry's deeper pockets." With their Chantry gone entirely, the situation is even thinner.

Normalcy. Dorian snorts at the very idea. Kirkwall will never be the same as it was. There are already rumors floating between the mages that other Circles are thinking of rebelling against Chantry rule. He's privately rather pleased by this but knows better than to speak of it.

"No, but you know who's shoulders the blame will be placed." Cullen could argue if he wanted but Dorian knew better. In the South it is always magic or a mage's fault when something goes wrong. The people were so ignorant of the good magic could do it only seemed like a curse.

He waves a hand, "No, there are others who need the money more than I." Which was a terrible thing to say. He had goals, things he should be doing, but here he was, still, tending to a broken city. "Keep your money. I can get my own coin if I decide I've had enough."

He nods faintly. He knows very well where blame is being placed, and he has heard the rumors of the trouble spreading. It's frustrating. They can barely contain Kirkwall. If the madness spreads, there is no telling how many innocents will die in the wake of it all.

A small line forms at the center of his brow. He doesn't like the thought of this man trapped here without the coin to go and performing duties for no recompense. "If you find yourself in need when the time comes, you can approach me. I'll do something for you. I'll not leave you hanging in the wind when it's blowing so ill."

He still doesn't fully understand why he's here. Can it truly just be empathy for the plight of the mages? "I know the others are grateful for you. You've helped their confidence. They feel safer." It's something he can't provide. Many of them still associate him closely with Meredith. That mistrust will take time to erode, if he ever can.

"Oh, stop scowling," Dorian says with a roll of his eyes. "I'm not some helpless Circle refugee. I'm aware I can leave whenever I choose and can get the means to do so. I simply have not."

He does appreciate Cullen's concern but honestly it isn't needed. He doesn't need to be treated like the Circle mages here who are struggling to figure out life without everyone caring for them and oppressing them. "I'm here because it's the right thing to do. Yes, a Tevinter mage does know what that is and how to do it. Shocking but do try to pick your jaw up off the floor."

Dorian is a man used to prejudices and he enjoys proving them wrong. Everyone expects him to act one day and in many cases he does. He's an arrogant bastard, it's true, but these people need help. He's not heartless. "You know what the secret is? I treat them like people and, gasp! They've proven they are. Someone merely had to let them see it."

The exasperation amuses him. One side of his mouth tugs higher. He toys with his empty tankard between both hands, a slow roll back and forth with thumbs stopping the handle and reversing the direction each time. "Do I seem shocked? Truly?" The half smile inches higher yet.

The smile fades shortly afterward, though, and the steady gaze shifts to the side, something in him shuttering off again. "It's not always that simple." No one in Kinloch Hold was mistreated. If anything they were lenient, for all the good it did.

"We are grateful for what you've done here and are continuing to do." Brisk now, business-like. "Soon enough I'll be looking into getting a new First Enchanter appointed. I'd appreciate your input into the matter."

There's nothing shocked about the man but Dorian's rather amused for the brief moment of brevity they have. It's been hard to find laughter or smiles in the ruins.

"There will always be bad apples, but that doesn't make all of them bad," he says with a shrug. It's how he feels about Tevinter. There's bad but there's good worth saving. The same with mages.

He shakes his head. "Well, you'd do best to get one sooner rather than later as the mages would like to help more instead of leaving things to Templars, mercenaries and dwarves."

"I know." He seems on the verge of saying more and stops himself. This isn't the time or the place, and a mage is the least likely to listen to it. He doesn't have the same perspective. How could he?

Cullen rubs the back of his neck, a pinching gesture that does nothing to chase the tension. It never stops him from trying. "I have the list in my office right now. If you have a moment, we can go over it."

The mages will have their input, too. He can't very well promise them change and then be a dictator when it comes to who they will follow. However, he feels it necessary it's someone who can work with him and vice versa. No matter their differences, Greagoir and Irving had respected one another and felt regard. Between Meredith and Orsino, there had been nothing but bitterness and hatred, and they could all see where that had led.

He stands abruptly. "Shall we?"

Dorian is rather surprised by his abruptness but he stands smoothly and stays calm even if the man seems tense. He doesn't know why, but he'll let it pass. It's been tense around here. It's understandable.

"Of course," Dorian says, folding his arms behind his back. "I can always spare a moment for the knight in shining armor that so heroically leapt to my rescue."

It's much easier to make a joke about that first meeting now. Some people might find it in bad taste to make jokes now but Dorian finds it helps.

"Maker's breath," Cullen huffs, cheeks reddening. It's not how he sees himself or what he did, and to hear it described in such a way is flustering. "You know, I..." He can think of no way to end that sentence that won't end with him more flustered yet, so he doesn't.

He does, however, slow his stride once they're out the mess hall so it's less like he's rushing him from one destination to another. The Gallows still bears scars from the fighting, deep soot stains on white marble, brown blood stains in the stone and some of the carpets they haven't had time to think of trying to replace. In this it reminds him a great deal of the Hold. He has perfected the art of looking without seeing when it comes to these things.

Just as in Kirkwall proper, getting anywhere here is a matter of stairs upon stairs. Stairs down, stairs up, and eventually they're in the corridor that used to house Meredith's office which has now become his own. The distinct stench of demonic incursion still lingers, largely due to the pride demons that manifested in the inner courtyard further down.

Cullen pushes into the office and heads for the desk. Unlike during Meredith's tenure, he has a chair for visitors. He gestures absently and searches through a small, neat stack of papers for the list in question. "Here we go." He offers it over.

The response is surprising. Dorian's eyebrows jump up as Cullen suddenly stumbles over his works and turns bright red. That's not the reaction he expected when he made the joke. Laughter, yes, but this? How interesting. He puts that in the back of his mind as they walk through the destruction.

He runs his fingers along scars in the stone, left by demonic claws. If he focused he could feel the energies gouged in, lingering traces of the Fade. Instead, he follows Cullen into the office.

"Thank you," he says as he takes the list and drops in to the chair before the desk. He makes himself comfortable as he goes down the names. "Who is your favorite for the position?"

"Janica," he says without hesitation. He holds a hand up. "I know she's a bit young. There are three on that list older and with more experience. However, she not only keeps a cool head in a crisis, she's no zealot. She thinks things through, and she's reasonable. Reasonable with a backbone is what I feel we need here more than raw talent or a scholarly bent." He'd had decent relations with her before the crisis, and since then she has been one of the only mages willing to meet his gaze directly and without a heavy cloak of suspicion.

"Wilken would be my second choice. He's sometimes a firebrand if his back is up. He's not quick to get there, and he doesn't have ego issues like Regnen." For all of his flaws, Orsino hadn't been an egotist, either. He had the interest of the mages at heart, but he lacked the patience. And apparently had been dabbling in things Meredith was right to suspect.

Sometimes he feels the weight of the empty office across the hall. All the more reason to get this done.

He has met all the mages in question and he agrees with Cullen's assessment. "Regnen is right out. That would only lead to disaster. I have an ego but it pales in comparison."

He puts the list back on the table and settles back in his chair. "Janica is a good choice but that age of hers might make people reluctant to follow her. She hasn't proven herself quite like Wilken has. The mages will follow Janica without question but your Templars and outsiders may have trouble doing the same."

There were problems with anyone Cullen chose. People would always have issue but Janica would invite more and he isn't sure if Cullen has thought about that. "Wilken is the more cooperative choice. The mages will follow, the Templars will listen and you'll only have that pesky temper to deal with."

"Possibly." He paces slowly, one hand resting against his lower back, the other still swinging freely with his steps. "I was twenty-one when I came to Kirkwall and became Knight-Captain." It was a hard time, an upstart Fereldan boy being given authority over men and women sometimes decades his senior, Marchers who resented the Void out of it and him and went out of their way to make him miserable.

Still, he had earned their respect over time, those who weren't hateful zealots. He wonders if he's comparing Janica to himself subconsciously and placing more trust than is warranted. Or more pressure. What if she folds?

Wilken's temper is enough of a concern he's hesitant. "Is that what your gut tells you? That he's truly the better choice? Or is it just concern over her age? She has proven herself solid in the time I've known her." He's not willing to override him without hearing him out fully.

"Tevinter's don't follow their gut," he says as he runs a finger over his mustache. "We do what's most politically advantageous to us. Wilken will be better for the city politically as long as you can keep that temper under control. Now, what's politically better isn't always what's better in the general sense."

Dorian knows it well. He's quite familiar with doing what's best for himself instead of politically. He doesn't need to explain that to Cullen right now or ever, really.

"You know Kirkwall in a way I cannot as I've never lived here. When you make this decision, ask yourself what will make the city better and is it worth the consequences?"

"And we Fereldans don't trust politics at all." He snorts a quiet sound and drags his hand down his face. Damn Meredith for getting the Order so tied into Kirkwall's governance. Templars were never meant to run a city-state, and the choices for First Enchanter should never have an effect on anything more than the Circle in question. Everything is upside down and backwards.

"I'll interview both of them and make my announcement by tomorrow. I appreciate your input." He believes he'll have a better idea of who can better handle it by seeing how they react to the possibility.

"Since we both have one another's time and at the moment, is there anything you need or want to bring to my attention? Any concerns or questions?" It seems as good a time as any to allow for it. He doesn't know when he'll have another moment to spare. Quiet one on one time with anyone is rare for him these days.

"Well, you've seen what Orlesians do with it. I don't blame you." The one thing he would claim he has in common with Fereldens without a sense of shame was the distaste for Orlesians. Honestly horrible people, he imagined. How did you trust people who wore masks all the time?

He thinks for a moment, drumming his fingers on the arms of the chair he is in. "What sorts of goods can we get? The herbs are running low and the healers could use more. Perhaps with most of the demons culled you could send more in the field to help rebuild, give them a purpose. They're a bit aimless and it's frustrating them."

"Trade is disrupted and likely will be until there's someone official in the office of Viscount." He'd just as soon it was Bran as anyone else. It still has to go through official channels. He's making it a point not to be vocal in his support or opposition to anyone in the running. The days of Templar control of Kirkwall are over and done with as soon as he can help to make that happen more quietly. The only way anyone will know where he leans is that every reasonable request that has come from the man he has made efforts to fulfill.

"It's not a bad idea. I'd say avoid the Wounded Coast for the time being. The place is crawling with slavers and raiders looking for stragglers to capture and sell. I imagine mages are going for a pretty price at the moment. Take them toward Sundermount. The Dalish clan there has moved on from what I understand. It should be safer. As safe as that place ever is."

Dorian frowns deeply at the mention of slavers. Oh, he knows who they are. Sporati, probably, traveling very far from home where Tevinter doesn't have to worry about the questionable practices they use to get fresh stock.

"Slavers, you say? Hm, that does sound dangerous." He'll certainly keep the elves away. Slavers are always looking for elves. No one in Tevinter questions where elves come from. "I'll make sure no one wanders there."

Except Dorian himself. His fellow countrymen could use a reminder that Tevinter isn't allowed to take slaves from the South. There are enough in the Imperium to satisfy the demand.

"It is. The coast is a dangerous place at the best of times. Just like sharks, certain sorts are drawn by blood." If he had more men to spare, he'd suggest a joint foray with Aveline to clean up some of the worst of the scum. All things in time.

"I'll draw up the permission. You can take as many as you need for extended foraging at the mountain." Anyone who was going to make a run for it has already made a run for it. Those staying behind have done so for a reason. He's not going to treat them like prisoners. Kirkwall needs as much help as it can get from all quarters.

"Watch for dragons, too. A couple of years ago, I heard rumors a few had settled at the peak. They may not all have been wiped out. There could even be Darkspawn." There were also rumors of more ancient evils. He hopes they all have the sense to stay out of the deep ruins there. They won't find much to help them in the bowels of the earth, nothing but trouble.

"Ugh, I do hate the water." Dorian feels sea sick remembering the trip across the sea. It's a wonder he didn't throw his stomach right out of his gut from it. "We'll find what we can in the mountains for the time being. One mage expressed an interest in a garden so they don't have to travel or rely on trade. I'll let him collect seeds as well."

He might as well see how much independence he can get these mages to embrace while he's here even if he doesn't know a damn thing about gardening.

His eyebrows have not dropped one inch. If they had anywhere to go they would leap at the mention of dragons. "Oh goodie. Dragons. I'm so thrilled."

"The voyage from Highever was a nightmare. If I never sail the Waking Sea again, it will be too soon." The ferry trips between the Gallows and the docks don't count. The harbor doesn't heave like a restive beast embroiled in perpetual bad dreams.

He frowns thoughtfully at the idea of a garden. "It would have to be raised planters. I imagine we can manage it if we bring in the right sort of dirt." Coming from Honnleath makes him no expert on the rearing of crops.

"I suppose that means you likely don't want to hear of the arcane horrors and revenants? I could curl your toes with all of the tales I've heard of trips to Sundermount. The plants there, however, seem far more potent and useful than those growing closer to the walls. I suppose there's always some sort of a trade, and it's the closest place you can harvest without encroaching on owned lands. I'll give you access to the maps I have. You'll need them." Part of him wishes he could accompany them. Getting out of the city for a few days would be a relief, despite the danger of the destination.

He can't. He has duties here, and he's currently indispensable. It's not the ego stroke it sounds like it would be. He feels all of that weight on his shoulders all of the time, heavier than plate by far. He moves to a shelf with several neatly stacked scroll cases to find the maps in question while he's thinking of it.

"I'm aware of them intellectually," he counters. "They aren't common in the wilds of Minrathous. Some of the smaller towns, the wilder places of Tevinter, yes, but let's be honest Ser Knight, I am not one for wilder places."

Dorian could fight and had fought a few times but nothing quite like what he had encountered coming here. Kirkwall was teaching him to be a better fighter and a better mage. He won't say that outloud but he is rather pleased with the developement of his skills.

"Why don't you come?" he asked, noting the slightly wistful look. "You and your Templar friends can search the area for bandits with the city guard or round up any wayward blood mages practicing their ugly arts. Stretch those legs, get that skirt out in the breeze."

"Then I suppose I had best get you a few more materials. You're likely to have more than intellectual awareness by the time you get back." He pulls the maps and turns to set them on his desk. There's a chance he doesn't have the documentation on tactics against the more esoteric enemies on hand in the office. He may have to get one of the Tranquil on the task. They're very good at finding things quickly.

He sighs and shakes his head. "I don't think that I can. If I traipse out of the city for several days, it's not going to look good. People will worry there's some threat we haven't made them aware of, or the Seneschal might need me. I'm not... I'm afraid my days of such forays are over for the foreseeable future." He hates to say it, as though the office didn't already feel like a cage.

"I probably should spare you a couple of templars, though."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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