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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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He laughs. Cullen makes a rather good diplomat. At least he knew to expect it instead of being surprised. He's a willful Tevinter mage, of course he balked at Templars on his heels like dogs.

"You could, oh I don't know, give them freedom," he offers as a suggestion with a casual shrug of his shoulder. "The South is falling apart because of the Circles. The system is broken. Time to move on, try something new."

He wouldn't say he's an activist but honestly it doesn't seem that hard to him. He makes a face at the idea of early mornings. He's had to do that a great deal recently. "Fine. I will be up and we can chat to the Guard Captain. Besides what's in that letter, however, I can only tell you logical assumptions about what's going on."

Cullen sits back and folds his arms casually. It's less of a defensive posture than getting comfortable. It's late. He has time for a talk if this is what it's going to be. "Believe it or not, not all mages down here want freedom. No one is holding a leash or collar on those left behind. They could have left with their fellows the night the Gallows fell. They didn't. People in the south, non-mages, fear them. Many would as soon kill them as look at them. Many of them came to us from exactly such circumstances. I've lost count of how many mages I've pulled off of pyres or down from gallows, rescued from burning houses. This isn't Tevinter. If they left, it wouldn't be better than it is right here. Some of them know that still."

He frowns and reaches to tap a finger on his desktop. "Regardless, it's not my call to make. I answer to the Divine. She has yet to make her will known. Until she does, I maintain the Circle as it is to the best of my ability and try to undo the damage my commanding officer did during her tenure." There's a tiredness that creeps into his voice when he mentions Meredith and a hollow expression in his eyes. It's still hard to reconcile the woman who greeted him when he stepped off the ship to the person she became ten years after the fact.

"I know Aveline. She'll want it from you, however brief or sketchy on details." It would also ensure that she understood there's a Tevinter in their midst and that Cullen trusts him enough to bring him into important things. It will help the man in his dealings in the city in the coming weeks.

"Now, now, I never said they had to leave," he says, scolding slightly. He does hate it when people put words in his mouth. It's just like assuming he's an evil magister simply because he's from Tevinter. "What I mean is that you don't need writs of permission to let them walk around Kirkwall. Let them learn how to take care of themselves, let them have a taste of life. My Circle was a school, not a prison. The same could easily be done in the south."

It might be a wild and crazy idea to Southerns but Dorian didn't think it was outrageous. It would have saved many lives if the South figured that out sooner. Dorian didn't understand how these people couldn't see that. Then again, they were brainwashed by the Chantry and all the propaganda that seemed to permeate every book.

"Ah yes, the Divine. The woman you're all waiting for to make the decision. I would be nice if she said something before this situation explodes." A poor choice of words, really, but Dorian only uses tact when it benefits him. "Has there been any word from the Chantry?"

"I know you mean well, and I know you're speaking from a position very different from what you've run across here, but you're wrong there. I do need the writs. I need to keep very careful records. This Circle was almost completely destroyed. I don't know when it will happen, but I do know that it will. There will be Seekers. There will be an inquiry. If we're very lucky, that will be all it is. If we're not, there could be an Exalted March on this city-state, and my meticulous records will be the only thing between the Right of Annulment and every templar here hanging for treason." He's not given to dramatic speeches. Despite the extremity of what he's saying, it's delivered in a calm, level way. There's a chance he'll hang no matter what for his part in what happened. At the least no one else will suffer for his shortcomings.

His brows drop down along with the corners of his mouth tugging down, too. It's very ill chosen phrasing. He shakes his head. No word yet and no way to know whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. "They may have their hands full in Orlais. I have no idea. I only know we won't stay beneath their notice forever."

"And those marches have gone so well for Orlais in the past." Again, he's not terribly impressed with the reasoning but he does understand it. It would be a shame to see all these mages killed because of missing paperwork that the Chantry needs to feel safe. "It's ridiculous people are treated this way."

The only people treated this way in Tevinter were slaves. Dorian frowns at the thought before he pushes it out of his mind and thinks about something else instead. There's no need to dwell on this.

"Well, if those Seekers do arrive I'll make sure to be on my best behavior. I won't make any trouble for you." He'll make trouble before the Seekers get here and after they leave. Though, that's assuming he's going to stay. He really shouldn't think that way. He has a bigger purpose than this.

"It would go better for Orlais than Kirkwall this time. There's no way we could hope to defend ourselves." And if they tried, the rest of the Free Marches would turn on them like a pack of wolves turning on a wounded one of their own and tear them to pieces.

"Are you truly saying the lower class people and slaves in Tevinter are treated better?" No, that's not something he'll just sit back and take without a counter of his own, especially not after the explosion remark before it.

"If you hear they're coming, you might want to find an elsewhere to be for your sake. They won't take my word on anything, I'm certain." He's truly expecting to be sanctioned, removed from office, and very likely executed. He doubts his time is much longer.

"Yes because Fereldens appreciate Orlais marching an army so close to their borders." He could imagine the other country might object to Orlais marching in to the Free Marches and taking over. Then again, they were recovering from the Blight still. Maybe they wouldn't march.

He rolls his eyes. "Slavery is not the worst thing I can think of. Tranquility by far is worse." Those mages terrified Dorian. There were a bunch of them still around and he couldn't look them in the eyes. They sent chills down his spine.

"Your Chantry is not allowed to do anything to me. I'm not a citizen under their control. It would cause an international problem if they tried." As long as he had his family's crest he would be safe. At least, he felt he would be safe.

"It's not Orlais marching. It's the Chantry. Ferelden is an Andrastean nation. They wouldn't try to lift a finger for an Exalted March." He feels almost like they're speaking a different language. The man understands so little of the politics down here.

"You only say that because you're a mage. Tranquility is the worst thing you can think of. I wonder if a slave would say the same?" Or even the Tranquil for that matter, given that some of them beg for it.

"The Seekers operate under their own rules. You're naive if you think if they want you gone they couldn't make it happen and keep the whole thing quiet. Kirkwall is a dangerous city for anyone right now. The powers they have... They're not like anything you've ever encountered. I can promise you that. I don't trust them. Not for a moment. An amulet won't help you if they decide you're part of the problem. They're utterly ruthless."

It doesn't seem reasonable but Dorian is used to politics being seperate from the Chantry. The Tevinter Chantry has very little power. What they have is lip service and that's all.

"Being completely stripped of dreams and emotions doesn't sound like the worst thing in the world to you?" he counters with an eyebrow raised. "Theoretically, of course, since you're safe from it. A slave dreams, a slave feels and can love, and a slave can be freed. A Tranquil has none of those things."

For a moment he feels a bit intimidated by the idea of the Seekers. He's not used to being intimidated by anyone or anything. "You shouldn't be afraid. You've done all you can for this city. It's not your fault your Commander went mad and some mage attacked the Chantry. I'm not worried and you shouldn't be either."

"Not in the least." It's sharp enough to hang in the air between them. He hadn't intended either the vehemence of the response or the revelation of it. To be free of nightmares and crippling emotion? Never to face another awakening of not knowing where he is, the stench of rot and corruption so thick in his nose it makes him gag and retch in his own bed? If he were a mage, it's an option he might have chosen years ago, and he doesn't know if that makes him a pragmatist or a coward. Maybe it's possible to be both. He holds a hand up, half conciliation, half forestalling.

"That was...unworthy of me. My apologies." He draws a deep breath and regathers scattered thoughts. "A slave can also be sacrificed, worked to death, and deprived of every comfort and kindness all at the whim of another. Many of the Tranquil you meet asked for that fate, because the alternative was to be taken completely, corrupted, and destroyed. Meredith...abused the rite. I'll not sit here and deny it. When it's applied as the law allows, it's a kindness, not a cruelty, and at least it's done with the consideration in mind of what the mage wants or needs, not because they're property."

He snorts very softly. "Any templar not afraid of the Seeker Order, especially under these circumstances is a fool and likely to be a dead fool if he doesn't watch himself. They won't care who's to blame as much as they'll want a scapegoat. The most logical one is a smoking statue out in the courtyard. Look around. The next best thing isn't hard to find."

A kindness? Dorian couldn't fathom how it would be a kindness to take away all feelings, free will and desires. He's afraid of temptation like any mage but there were other options, other ways to learn control.

"There are abuses, I won't deny it," he says with a small nod. This is a tense topic on both sides. If Cullen is willing to admit he's out of line, Dorian can be gracious to accept it. "It's one of the things I'd like to change about my homeland but if you think the Chantry doesn't own the Tranquil you need to open your eyes, my friend."

"We should ward that statue though I'm not sure what the lyrium will do to any standard wards." Perhaps changing the subject will lead to a more pleasant conversation. He didn't come here to argue with Cullen. "I'll check it and see if we can't make it safe for the public."

"When it's that, possession, or death? I can understand the choice." He's calmer again, his demeanor smoother. It's no mere act. He can back away from the precipice of his temper fairly easily when he's not unduly provoked. "Once they're Tranquil, more than ever they're our responsibility. I'll give you that." And he'd have no more beatings of them. Once he had discovered it, he'd put his foot down hard. It sickened him like so many of his discoveries after the battle that night. In truth, if he could wash his hands of the Chantry altogether, he would. Not aimlessly, however, and not in meaningless rebellion.

He nods slowly. "If it can be done, yes, we should. But we should also take care what magic is worked in its vicinity. It's..." He presses his lips together and frowns thoughtfully. "It hums. Do you hear it?"

"There are more options than that," he says softly, his voice gentle. There is always another option, another way. A mage can learn control, even the most weak minded mage could learn. He had seen it in Tevinter. Perhaps he could teach a few things more here. "Well, as long as everyone else is aware as you are."

"I can smell it on you and the other Templars," he says, tapping the side of his nose with a finger. "I don't hear anything from it but it doesn't smell right. It's... rotted, I guess is the best way to say it, it smells wrong. You smell rather nice."

He's unsure of that. He has never seen the rite put off with good results. However, much like Dorian he has no desire to fight. The man has been a good ally thus far. There's no reason to quibble or bicker over their cultural differences when it serves little purpose. "They are." And they know there will be the Void to pay if he finds out otherwise.

His brows lift in surprise. He can smell it on them? Cullen smells it in the vial, but never on his person. Perhaps he's used to it? He tries to recall if he ever noticed such a thing about the other templars when he was a recruit. No, not to his recollection. "It sounds...too right, like the song of a desire demon behind your eyes. But...not demonic. Something else. I don't trust it, and when I ask my men about it, their eye contact goes evasive."

He sits up straighter. "The sooner we try for that warding, the better, I think. Wouldn't you say?"

"I will take a closer look at it tomorrow, talk with some of the mages more familiar with warding than I am," he said with a small nod. "In the meantime perhaps you keep your Templars away from it. Mages are very good at resiting demons."

Mages were more careful with lyrium perhaps because they had seen what it could do to Templars. Dorian isn't as familiar with it as the mages he's come to know here but they always sound like the Templars are bound with lyrium. It's an odd thing to think.

"If they're having troubles with it and we're not, it seems easy enough to pass things on to us."

"We don't understand it well enough to know what kind of trouble anyone is having with it. Let's keep all but the senior enchanters clear, too." Better safe than sorry. He has already ordered his people to give it wide berth and had to punish three of them for breaking orders.

Maybe he should have a rotating guard set on the thing. He gives an involuntary shudder. "I wonder what that smell means." There's no real way to know. He hopes it's not some sort of rotting flesh wrapped up in the metal. If that were the case, surely he'd smell it, too?

He shakes his head abruptly. "Perhaps we should speak of something else. It's a dark subject." In addition to giving him the shivers, it makes him sad. "I don't think I've ever asked you what brought you to Kirkwall. Were you just passing through? What rum luck if that was the case."

"I agree with that and as much of the public as we can as well. I don't think the children should be playing around it," he says with a sigh. He could see people who aren't aware of the dangers sticking their fingers in it.

He tilts his head at the little shudder that doesn't go unnoticed. "Nothing good. Lyrium shouldn't change scents."

"I was just passing through," he says with a small shrug. "Unfortunately, I didn't have the gold to move on and was stuck here."

"Agreed. They seem scared of it for now. It won't be too long before familiarity brings curiosity. The idea of children being corrupted is completely unacceptable." Perhaps they could construct some sort of barrier around it. It seemed fused to the flagstone, so there was no hope of having it removed, no matter how much he wanted to. It was only part of what was still wrong with the Gallows courtyard. The remains of ruined bronze statues also littered shattered stone. Any hope they had of moving such heavy things lay in contact with the dwarves, and Cullen had already decided they were best put to work in the city where the hazards of unstable walls and foundations threatened safety rather than a sense of aesthetics or unpleasant memory.

He made a small moue of distaste for the other man's sheer bad timing. "I hate that your misfortune is our gain. I'm hoping that before you're ready to move on we can do something for you that will leave you with more than nightmares of your time here. Such a thing to take home and share with friends. Ah, yes, Kirkwall, a stinking pit of demonic incursion and ignorant southerners without the good sense not to make it worse."

"Would a wall around it be too much? An iron vault?" he muses, mostly as a joke but honestly the idea has some merit. If the statue isn't going anywhere and they can't ward it with magic a wall might be their only option left.

"You'd be surprised by how ignorant Tevinter can be," he says with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. Demons aren't just a problem of the south. Blood magic is not just the last resort of trapped southern mages. "I won't be going home straight away, though. I think I will head on to Denerim. Perhaps have an audience with the King."

"When we can afford it, probably not." He can see it happening eventually, making it a column, a statue plinth surrounding the real statue, monument to the fallen. Something, anything other than what sits exposed, a nightmare given form.

It's somewhat surprising to hear him critical of his homeland when he has seemed defensive at other times. His esteem raises in Cullen's eyes. He appreciates practicality and a willingness to face and speak truths, especially difficult ones. His hazel eyes light with amusement, although he's controlled enough not to laugh. "You don't want much, do you? Good luck catching him at home. I believe it's the queen who tends the home fires while her husband wanders." It could sound disparaging of Anora, he realizes, when nothing is further from the truth. She's the shrewd steady hand on the reins, Alistair by some accounts a perpetual child who would rather keep adventuring than shoulder the responsibility of a kingdom. If it works for them and Ferelden, who is he to criticize?

"I hope you like dogs." More amusement. More than any other complaint he ever hears of Ferelden, it's the smell and the noise. Mud, dog shit and wet dog, and constant barking.

"Perhaps get some noble to give up the money in an attempt to make themselves seem better than they are." Nobles like to do that. Dorian's very familiar with the things nobles will do to make themselves seem better.

"King, Queen, whoever is willing to see the noble son of House Pavus. What else is there to do in Denerim but brothels and taverns?" His question is somewhat genuine. He doesn't know the details of Ferelden's capitol besides that it is the capitol. No one in Tevinter cared.

He makes a face at the question. "I've not spent a lot of time around dogs. I had a pet baboon for awhile until my mother made me get rid of him. Victus insulted an important guest."

"That is an idea." Bran might be the better one for drumming up such funds and guilting the nobility into dipping into their pockets, if only Cullen can come up with a reason that would suit the irascible seneschal. He'll think of something.

He laughs and shakes his head. "Oh, how could they possibly turn you down with that attitude? Denerim is... No. I'd hate to spoil the surprise." He can't help but to wonder how he'll take it when he arrives. Cullen is Fereldan and would still be hard put to describe the capitol to someone unused to the landscape and their culture.

"A baboon? Really?" A few of the years drop away in an instant. He has heard of exotic animals in Tevinter and even seen a few with a traveling menagerie. Never one of those. "How did it give insult?"

"I know nobility almost as well as I know magic. Magic is a bit more predictable." Dorian would be happy to talk to Kirkwall's nobility on behalf of Cullen but he doubted anyone in the South wanted to hear what the Tevinter Magister had to say.

"Oh, well, now I have to go with that ringing endorsement." He could head off to Denerim and then perhaps to the dwarven city. He had heard it was a beautiful city. They would be welcoming at least.

"He bit another Magister on the leg," he explains with a fond smile. "Personally, I thought it was fine. The man was an asshole but he was important to my father's political career. So, the baboon had to go and the man got a formal apology from me."

He chuffs an amused sound. "You can say that again. I'm afraid I'm not the best choice for diplomacy. I'd rather deal with the magic." He's trained for that, after all.

He tries to imagine what Queen Anora would make of a Tevinter noble showing up at the portcullis expecting an audience. To be a fly on the wall. The amusement lingers. It's the most cheerful he has looked in weeks.

His smile widens. "Animals are often better judges of character than people. A shame he was banished. I'd love to see a baboon one day. The drawings are so fierce."

He has nothing so exotic in his background other than the golem. "In the village where I grew up, there was a huge, frozen stone golem. Birds loved it. The last I heard the Hero of Ferelden somehow awakened it and traveled with it for a time."

"We both would." While he misses many things about his home, Dorian doesn't really miss the politics and backstabbing. He's more free than he's ever been. It's fantastic.

Dorian doesn't truly expect an audience with the Queen or the King. It might be nice if they were willing to listen to him but he has no real power here, not like in Tevinter. Denerim will be a fun distraction at best.

"They are but they're also intelligent animals. You can teach them like a small child, almost." He has fond memories of teaching his pet numbers and colors. Those were happier days.

"A working golem outside the Imperium?" His eyebrows go up in surprise. "That's quite impressive. They guard Minrathous."

For pavus_redemit Kirkwall

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