#songbird hill farms

[songbirdhillfarms]

#sabrina shewfelt santa cruz #sabrina shewfelt #songbird hill farms #photooftheday #songbird hill farms by sabrina shewfelt #santa cruz #photography #sabrina shewfelt songbird hill farms #songbird hill farms photography #backyard garden #santa cruz harbor #santa cruz sailing #santa cruz boats #santa cruz beauty #sailboats #santa cruz sailboats #santa cruz photos #santacruz

[geopsych]

As a Pennsylvanian who loves to hike, your photography touches a very deep place in my heart! Thank you for the beautiful work!

Hey, thank you for that and you're very welcome. I don't think most people appreciate how much parts of Pennsylvania resemble the Shire in the Lord of the Rings: the rolling hills, the old farms, the fields and grazing meadows and woodlands, old apple orchards, fresh streams just off the mountains, deer, hawks, all kinds of songbirds singing, crickets and fireflies, mushrooms and wildflowers, and so many other beauties large and small. Some of these places just seem like poetry spread out around you. 💚

#pennsylvania #the shire #landscape

[dreamcoconutvilla]

Birdwatcher's Paradise: Spotting Avian Wonders in Munnar

Do you enjoy watching birds and are searching for your next feathered encounter? Look no farther than Munnar, a charming hill station tucked away in Kerala, India's Western Ghats. Well-known for its verdant tea gardens, foggy mountains, and tranquil lakes, Munnar provides avian aficionados with an experience that is simply unmatched. Munnar is a paradise for avian marvels just waiting to be discovered, from vibrant songbirds to towering raptors.

The Thattekad Bird Sanctuary, which is only a few hours away, is one of the best places to go birdwatching in Munnar. This is where you can see a wide variety of bird species, such as the elusive Malabar Grey Hornbill and the colourful Malabar Trogon, among thick forests and winding streams. For anyone interested in discovering the sanctuary's undiscovered treasures and discovering more about its abundant wildlife, guided tours are offered.

Once again, the Anamudi Shola National Park in Munnar town provides an excellent opportunity for birdwatching. Hike through unspoiled shola woodlands, looking for the Malabar Whistling Thrush and the unique Nilgiri Wood Pigeon. The park is the perfect place to get back in touch with nature and watch birds in their native environment because of its serene atmosphere and stunning views.

Visit the tranquil Mattupetty Dam if you want to go birdwatching more slowly. Waders and a variety of waterfowl are drawn to this picturesque location, which is surrounded by tea gardens and undulating hills. Scan the skies for the stately Painted Stork or the elegant Spot-billed Duck, making sure to have your binoculars accessible. Enjoying a peaceful bird watching session is made possible by the dam's serene surroundings.

Don't pass up the chance to see thousands of roosting birds come together at Pothamedu View Point as the day comes to an end. It's an incredible sight to behold. This viewpoint, which is surrounded by tea farms, provides expansive views of the surroundings and the opportunity to see flocks of swifts and swallows making their way back to their roosting locations.

A remarkable birding experience is guaranteed in Munnar, regardless of your level of skill. Everywhere you turn in this charming hill station, with its varied ecosystems and profusion of birds, you'll find something new to explore. In order to discover Munnar's bird treasures, get your binoculars, put on your trekking boots, and set forth.

There's nothing better than relaxing at an opulent Munnar resort after a full day of bird watching experiences. Enjoy the peace and quiet while you eat delicious local cuisine and share stories about what you saw that day. Staying at a resort in Munnar is the ideal way to top off your avian adventure because of its luxurious lodgings and unmatched hospitality.

#best resort in munnar #family resorts in munnar #resorts in munnar #resort in munnar

[downtoearthmarkets]

Millions of people will shower their beloved with gifts and flowers next Wednesday, February 14th. But you might want to hold the red roses, as a survey by the National Confectioners Association shows that a whopping 94% of us would prefer to receive chocolate and other sweet treats on Valentine’s Day. It’s no surprise that chocolate has become synonymous with this holiday, because it’s not only delicious, it also possesses health-promoting, mood-boosting and euphoria-inducing qualities.

Chocolate has been enjoyed on this continent for thousands of years, dating to as far back as 1500 BCE. It was first consumed in ancient Mesoamerica, or present-day Mexico, by the Olmec who formed the earliest major civilization in the region. These indigenous people discovered they could transform beans from the Theobroma cacao tree into chocolate through fermentation, roasting and grinding. The unsweetened chocolatey drinks, gruels and other concoctions they produced during this process were used in ceremonial rituals and medicinal treatments.

Despite advances in manufacturing and refinement, modern day chocolate production remains very similar and still employs many of the same basic elements as it did back then. And, while there are now several different varieties to enjoy–with a brand-new one bursting onto the scene as recently as 2017 with the introduction of ruby chocolate–the three main types of chocolate are as follows: 1. Milk Chocolate Milk chocolate is by far the most popular kind of chocolate, with close to half of Americans (49%) expressing partiality for its smooth sweetness and silky texture. Classic milk chocolate is made by combining cocoa mass (a dark paste made up of cocoa solids and cocoa butter) with sugar and milk, and often contains soy lecithin to prevent ingredient separation. According to the FDA definition, milk chocolate must contain at least 10% chocolate liquor and 12% milk.

If you’re looking to indulge your Valentine in the creaminess of a milk chocolate but without the dairy or carbon footprint of commercial chocolate, slowcocoa craft chocolate has just the bar for you! Their Original 57% Zorzal Milk Chocolate is 100% vegan and made with only four organic ingredients -- cacao, cane sugar, soymilk and cacao butter. Beyond its delicious soy milkiness, this bar packs a surprisingly nuanced set of flavors thanks to fine-quality Dominican cacao sourced directly from smallholder farms in the Zorzal Reserve. Named for the rare songbird Bicknell’s thrush (zorzal in Spanish), Zorzal Reserve is an organic co-op that is a pioneer in sustainable agroforesty and cacao harvesting in the Dominican Republic.

2. Dark Chocolate Dark chocolate has surged in popularity in recent years thanks to widespread coverage of its health benefits, including high levels of minerals and antioxidants. Most high-quality dark chocolate contains no dairy and is typically made from only two ingredients – cocoa mass and sugar. According to the FDA definition, dark chocolate must contain at least 15% cocoa mass, but usually contains closer to about 50% which lends it its darker hue. The bittersweet and semi-sweet chocolates commonly used for baking are dark chocolates, usually with a lower percentage of cocoa mass. Dark chocolate with a higher percentage of cocoa mass will often list what percent of the bar comes from cocoa bean vs. sugar or other flavorings on its packaging, with a typical range between 55 and 85%.

Down to Earth’s baked goods vendors incorporate dark chocolate in many of their scrumptious products. Delight your Valentine with a box filled with breakfast pastries such as chocolate chip scones from The Sconery NYC, chocolate croissants from Wave Hill Breads and Orwashers chocolate rugelach. Plus, a visit to Luxx Chocolat is not to be missed, so be sure to stop by their booth next time they’re in the market! This award-winning Master Chocolatier uses fine category, couverture dark chocolate to create exquisite collections of artisan chocolates and gourmet confections featuring locally sourced ingredients.

3. White Chocolate Unlike its brown counterparts, white chocolate is made from cocoa butter but contains no cocoa solids and is often flavored with vanilla. Per the FDA standard, white chocolate must contain a minimum of 20% cocoa butter and 14% milk solids with a maximum of 55% sugar.  

Slowcocoa’s Almost Heaven White Chocolate contains high-quality, organic cacao butter sourced from Camino Verde, Ecuador that carries many of the complex flavors and health benefits that give darker chocolate its chocolatey prowess. This creamy white bar is made from only three simple ingredients – cacao butter, cane sugar and soymilk. If you prefer a more oaty-type of goodness, be sure to try their Cloud of Oats White Chocolate Bar that contains gluten-free oats in lieu of soymilk. All slowcocoa products are vegan, gluten-free, certified kosher, handcrafted and hand-wrapped with love in the Bronx using only 100% compostable materials.

Now that we’ve provided a little background on what makes chocolate so very special, we hope you have fun this weekend shopping in the market for all things sweet and heart-shaped. And we wish you and your favorite someone a happy and delectable Valentine’s Day!

#shoplocal #chocolate #valentines day

[adrainea-writes]

Hello everyone!! In a desperate attempt to regain joy in my life, I have decided to create a side blog specific to my interest in literature. To start off this New Year and new blog, I have created a

2024 Reading List

That I will be attempting to follow. Books may be added, and I may not get to everything on this list. I basically just took everything I was somewhat interested in and stuck it here to remind myself. I’ll gladly take suggestions for additional books to read!

I have very eclectic taste, so there is no theme to the books I’ve put on this list other than I would like to read them (and some of them have been sitting on my shelf so I should really get to it).

- [ ] Boundless

- [ ] Relentless

- [ ] Starlight Enclave

- [ ] Ariadne

- [ ] Princess Bride

- [ ] The Last Unicorn

- [ ] Six of Crows

- [ ] Overlord 1 (light novel)

- [ ] Animal Farm

- [ ] The Art of War

- [ ] Journey to the West

- [ ] The Comedy of Errors

- [ ] Henry VIII

- [ ] Antony and Cleopatra

- [ ] Nineteen Eighty-Four

- [ ] Frankenstein

- [ ] Dracula

- [ ] Maus

- [ ] The Iliad

- [ ] Pride and Prejudice

- [ ] The Portrait of Dorian Grey

- [ ] The Cherry Orchard

- [ ] The Glass Menagerie

- [ ] My August Strindberg Collected Works

- [ ] Our Town

- [ ] Doctor Faustus

- [ ] Long Day’s Journey Into Night

- [ ] Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead

- [ ] No Exit

- [ ] The Handmaid’s Tale

- [ ] Dante’s Inferno

- [ ] Killers of the Flower Moon

- [ ] Galatea

- [ ] A Court of Thorns and Roses

- [ ] The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

- [ ] Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke

- [ ] The Monk

- [ ] American Psycho

- [ ] Lunar Park

- [ ] The Wasp Factory

- [ ] Tender is the Flesh

- [ ] Geek Love

- [ ] The Terror

- [ ] The Haunting of Hill House

- [ ] House of Leaves

- [ ] The Colour of Magic

- [ ] A Wizard of Earthsea

- [ ] The Eye of the World

- [ ] Dune

- [ ] The Sword of Shannara

- [ ] The Poppy War

- [ ] The Priory of the Orange Tree

- [ ] Ranma

- [ ] The Rose of Versailles

- [ ] Ghost in the Shell

- [ ] Fist of the North Star

- [ ] Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind

- [ ] Neon Genesis Evangelion

#reading list for 2024

[songbirdspells]

Read Along: Ancient Greece A Political, Social and Cultural History by Sarah Pomeroy, Stanley Burstein, Walter Donlan, Jennifer Tolbert Roberts. Long post, reminder that you can blacklist "songbird chirps" and/or "read along ancient greece book" to avoid these posts.

(Pg 15) "The soil in Greece though rocky is fairly fertile, the richest plowland being in the small plains where, over the ages, earth washed down from the hills has formed deep deposits"

Thoughts: Because the soil is rocky and because Greece is so mountainous the soil is relatively thin so it makes sense they would need to rely on terraforming and natural low points. Ties into later quotes about the lack of large scale farming and how much of the population was involved in agriculture, which informs what they focus on.

(Pg 15) "Forests became depleted as time went on, however, and by the fifth century BC the more populous regions were forced to import timber."

Thoughts: just interesting from a socio-economic point, honestly, less about religion. This is just for me, lol.

(Pg 16) " The Aegean, though often calm with favoring winds, could just as suddenly boil up into ferocious storms that sent ships, cargo, and sailors to the bottom--drowning at sea, unburied, was a hateful death to the Greeks."

Thoughts: possibly ties into how Poseidon is portrayed, as he reflects the seas as much as he rules it. Also interesting on the death at sea being bad as the death cults all involve literally going underground and the idea of the after life was going down *underground*. Just interesting given how much of a sea-faring country they were. Will need to cross reference this against more specific sources as it seems an...incomplete...statement.

(Pg 16) "In general, the soil and climate amply supported the "Mediterranean triad" of grain, grapes, and olives."

Thoughts: makes sense, the soil honestly kind of sucked (use the aggie books as back up sources), and common offerings are just what they had, so what they had was...bread, wine, and olives. Especially as noted previously, water wasn't as common. Good confirmation for local cultus and offerings ideas proposed in other sources.

#read along ancient greece book #songbird chirps #i'm further along in the book just breaking this up into much smaller chunks for readability and because ... #....i'm lazy y'all i am NOT up for typing up huge things at the moment

[philadelphiaepoxyflooringpa]

Best 3 Trails In Philadelphia, PA

WISSAHICKON VALLEY

Wissahickon Valley Park is a well-established hiking trail in Philadelphia. The park is 1,800 acres of the canyon, crossing trees and pastures before plunging into the sun-drenched waters. It is one of the last remaining examples of the many roadhouses and taverns. Visitors can explore a feeling of nature through this undisputed jewel of the park system in Philadelphia. The spot is designated as an important birding area by the National Audubon Society. The park has gurgling memories of industrial mills that once attracted power from the sea. There are also miles of side paths winding along the wooded hillside. It has more than 50 miles of often rugged trails criss-cross the park. Visitors can use trails for off-road biking or horseback riding.

PENNYPACK PARK

Pennypack Park is a well-renowned hiking park in Philadelphia. The park occupies over 1600 hectares of woodland, meadows, wetlands, and fields. The park has multi-use trails, an outdoor bandstand, plus historic houses, and a farm. It is the perfect place for children to attend a summer music festival and a beautiful place to stroll and picnic. There are several paved and unpaved trails for hiking, biking, running, and horseback riding. This rambling city park's landscape features rolling hills, open meadows, and many miles of paved and unpaved trails that are great for walking. There are also numerous historic buildings to enjoy for visitors, including a working farm. Pennypack Park includes over 150 species of nesting and migration birds that use the park.

JOHN HEINZ NATIONAL WILDLIFE REFUGE AT TINICUM

Tinicum's John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge spans is one of the best hiking trails in Philadelphia. The park has 1,200 acres and acts as a refuge for exotic plants, native and songbirds, and native animals like squirrels and deers. The sanctuary is an excellent venue where Philadelphians can take part in many outdoor activities related to wildlife. John Heinz National Wildlife Refuge has several family-friendly walks and nature programs. The park has a wide range of walks and nature programs appropriate for the entire family year-round. It has over 300 bird species in and around the refuge, 85 of which nest here. You can enjoy free hiking and fishing every day of the year from sunrise to sunset. The sanctuary also has more than 10 kilometers of trails. Every Tuesday and Thursday, programs are scheduled on Facebook live.

Philadelphia, PA Local Services/Resources

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Epoxy Flooring Benefits

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Epoxy flooring is an ideal choice for busy families who want their home to look beautiful without spending hours on maintenance chores. It also makes an excellent choice for commercial properties such as restaurants or offices where durability is important but maintenance isn’t always practical.

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#epoxy flooring #garage epoxy flooring #garage floors #epoxy basement floor #epoxy floor coating #metallic epoxy floor #residential epoxy flooring #garage floor coating #epoxy concrete floor #commercial flooring

[plazmafields]

Cullrian Mulan AU

Word Count: 27,573

Summery: After escaping the Venatori and his family in Tevinter, Dorian finds refuge with a kindly older woman on a farm in Ferelden. When the Inquisition comes knocking looking for volunteers, Dorian can't help but overhear that they are looking to defeat the Venatori once and for all. He could join, but he can't have them thinking he might be a Venatori himself, especially not the Commander.

Forward: Holy jesus mercy, this literally took me years to get to. Between wanting to build out the universe to make it all fit together, then getting some serious writer's block (because nothing I love can come easy), then actually writing the damn thing! This has been a journey, and I really hope you all enjoy. I know it's a pain to read long fics on tumblr, so just let me know if you'd prefer it on AO3 or something. All my love, please enjoy my longest fic ever!!

__________

Just as the sun began to rise over the hills surrounding the farm, songbirds began to chirp, stirring Dorian from his sleep. Though he hated the insistent noise, he had to admit it was a softer wakeup call than Halward pushing ten tired slaves into his room to make him “presentable” before another noble’s daughter arrived. When Dorian had rejected the woman betrothed to him since birth, his mother offered that perhaps they should find an equally suitable candidate that Dorian could see himself getting along with. Poor mother, just trying to help; but she would never understand the true reason for Dorian’s rejection. Or perhaps they knew, and just couldn’t bear to face it as truth.

It took Dorian a moment to fully wake before he was hurriedly getting dressed and cleaned up, hoping to make it downstairs in time to make breakfast. As he descended the stairs, however, the scent of eggs and baking bread filled his nose. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. While it smelled wonderful, he still felt a bit guilty for making his kind host cook for them both.

At the bottom of the stairs, he smiled and gently bowed his head at the middle aged woman at the stove. “Good morning, Miss Ella,” he said as he entered the kitchen just off the stairwell.

“Good morning, dear. How do you like your eggs?” The woman turned to greet him with two plates of food in hand, each set prepared differently.

Dorian didn’t look at the meal before responding, “I’ll take whichever you don’t prefer.”

The older woman frowned, distinctly upset with the answer. “Ser Dorian, I insist you choose. You’re my guest, after all. I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

The two stood both with expectant stares for a short while until Dorian sighed, taking one of the plates. “And I want to make sure I’m as nonintrusive as possible.” He turned quickly, taking a seat at the quaint kitchen table.

The woman smiled gently as she joined him. “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: you are not intruding. I took you in, and that’s the end of it. You should feel as though we share this house, just as we share this food and the land where it grows.”

Dorian couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle as he began to eat. “Thank you, Miss Ella. You’ve been far too kind to an undeserving stranger.”

Miss Ella scoffed as she swatted at Dorian’s arm with her handkerchief, “Oh, don’t say such nonsense! Everyone is deserving of kindness, especially when they show such courtesy in return.”

Dorian said a quiet thank you as he continued to eat, trying to avoid another kind hearted argument with the woman. They stayed silent for a long moment until the woman shook her head and laughed.

“The only doubt I have about you is where you’re from. Not that I mind your secrecy; I understand the need. I only wish I knew so I could know who to thank for your wonderful manners.” She teased, wholeheartedly.

Dorian smiled despite the remembrance of home life, and answered gently, “I hardly think my parents had much to do with my manners. They’re not the kindest of people, unless they’re trying to impress someone.” His smile slipped slightly, enough for Miss Ella to notice.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she frowned and reached across the table, patting the back of Dorian’s hand, “I didn’t mean to strike a nerve. I wasn’t meaning to imply life was perfect, only that you seem acclimated to the finery in life. However, I know that comes with its own stresses and consequences.”

“You’re certainly right about that,” Dorian sighed, finishing the food on his plate.

As he stood, he took Miss Ella's empty plate as well, taking the dishes and cutlery to the wash basin to clean. As Dorian began scrubbing away, there came a rather harsh knock at the door. The two glanced curiously at one another before Miss Ella went to answer.

Dorian slowly set the dishes in the water, listening closely to who was at the door, waiting to see if it was a voice he recognized, come to take him back to Tevinter.

Instead, he heard a voice clearly announce: “Hello, serah, we’re here on behalf of the Inquisition. We’re requesting that every household contribute at least one able bodied person, or sign for a draft, if necessary.”

“Oh yes, the Inquisition. You’re the ones who patched up the sky, yes? While I would love to be of service, I’m afraid I am unable to enlist—”

“How old are you, ma’am?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Dorian heard the soldier clear his throat. “I asked your age, ma’am.”

Miss Ella, seemingly a bit taken aback by the direct nature of the question, gingerly answered, “Well, I’ll be turning fifty at the end of next month…”

The sound of confirmation and flipping paper piqued Dorian’s curiosity, as he slowly peeked into the foyer to watch the interaction.

The soldiers all nodded, one pulling out a form. “You’re within the age range to sign for the draft. If you would please—”

“I’m sorry?” Miss Ella stared in awe at the men before her. “I am the sole owner of this farm; all the land you see within several acres is my land! I cannot simply leave my property; who would be here to care for the animals? I would be more than willing to donate crops to the cause, but I am not going to leave my animals and harvest to suffer.”

Dorian watched on, ready to stand up for his gracious host, when the soldier tucked the form back into his satchel. “Ma’am, I understand your concerns, but I’m afraid, as valid as they may be, they cannot stand in the way of the fact that we need soldiers. As the Venatori threat strengthens—”

“I would be willing to volunteer,” Dorian stepped into view of the doorway, “on behalf of the household.”

Miss Ella turned with surprise, giving Dorian a worried look. He simply smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Very good, Ser. And thank you.” The soldier pulled out a list of volunteers’ names and began to assign Dorian an ID. “What is your relation to this woman?”

“My son.” Miss Ella spoke up, “Dorian Rider.”

Dorian gave a gentle, thankful look, trying not to make it too obvious to the soldiers.

“I assume, then, you were born in Ferelden?” The soldier studied Dorian’s dark complexion suspiciously.

“Orlais,” Dorian lied, “but I’ve lived here much of my life…”

The soldier seemed to find that more believable as he nodded, noting the answer on the form.

“And what is your role in the household? Just a simple description of what you do around the house will suffice.” The soldier asked, poised to write.

“I help maintain the farm.”

The soldier nodded, “Very good. And do you have any experience with fighting or combat?”

“Spell—” Dorian quickly closed his mouth, remembering mages were not supposed to live or practice magic outside of the Circles in Ferelden. He worriedly glanced at Miss Ella, before he noticed the soldier give him a friendly grin.

“Don’t worry,” The soldier said, lowering his writing board, “the Inquisition is not here to discriminate. We take anyone willing to risk their lives for the cause.” His eyes went soft, as he seemed to sympathize with Dorian. “I was a thief in Denerim before I joined. I’m not one to judge. Thank you for volunteering, Ser. Serah.”

The soldiers each gave a respectful bow before starting off to the next house. The one with the writing board called over his shoulder, “We’ll knock again when we’re ready to head off to Skyhold. Please be ready. You need only to bring your personal effects; we will have weapons and armor for you there.”

Miss Ella quickly closed the door and grabbed Dorian by the shoulders. “What are you doing? I thought you were hiding out! This is a sure way to bring attention to yourself, boy!”

Though she shook him lightly, she was not angry as Dorian looked in her eyes. The only thing he saw there was fear and worry. For him; for his safety.

Dorian took her hands in his and smiled reassuringly, “I’ll be ok. I can handle myself in a fight. Besides, what was I supposed to do, let them take you away from your livelihood? That hardly seems right.”

Miss Ella continued to look him in the eye for a time, all the while tears starting to well, before they eventually fell and she wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug. “Thank you so much, dear. I just hope they keep you safe from whatever you were running from. Maybe one day you’ll be free of fear, and you can tell me everything.”

__________

Finally at Skyhold, the entire cart full of recruits gazed upon the glory of their new home for the foreseeable future, everyone taken aback by the size of the castle. Once through the gates, Dorian found himself being shuffled through a group of anxious troops, somehow ending up near the front of the crowd. Just as he began to wonder what all the fuss was about, the entire mass fell silent, standing mostly at attention.

A pale skinned man with thick blond hair strode up to the group of recruits, his presence alone demanding full attention. As he scanned the crowd, seemingly impressed with the number of volunteers, he momentarily locked eyes with Dorian.

The mage immediately froze, holding his breath as the blond’s eyes studied him. It seemed like minutes before their eyes met again, the blond saying kindly, “Welcome to the Inquisition.”

Dorian didn’t realize the blond was addressing the whole group, and not just him, until the entire mass said in unison, “Ser, yes, Ser.”

Dorian jumped at the roar, averting his gaze to his feet. The rest of the blond’s speech went by as a mumble, Dorian only picking out a few things. “I am your commander,” “thank you for your service,” “we are all fighting for the same cause,” etcetera.

“Those of you who are weary from the journey may feel free to retire to the barracks and claim a bunk. Make certain your items are secure and accounted for. As for those anxious to begin your service, please follow my associate Seeker Cassandra; she will give a brief tour of the grounds.” The blond gestured to a broad and powerful woman, who already appeared annoyed. “As she will be assisting me in your training, I expect you all to treat her with the same respect and authoritative recognition as you would me.”

The blond Commander took a final look over the troops before dismissing them to follow Cassandra or head to the beds. But just as Dorian followed after the retiring group, he heard a gentle summons.

“You there, mage.”

Dorian turned to see the Commander watching him with a careful eye. “Dorian, Ser.” He answered.

“Ser Dorian,” The Commander let the name roll on his tongue for a moment before continuing, causing Dorian’s breath to hitch in his throat. “I understand you’re an apostate.”

Dorian let out his held breath in a deep sigh, nearly rolling his eyes. “Yes, I am. Ser. I don’t suppose you’re going to turn me in to your recent allies?” He crossed his arms and lifted a brow, challenging the blond standing several feet from him.

The Commander narrowed his eyes, “I certainly wasn’t planning on it.” He slowly closed the distance between the two of them in several long strides, saying in a low tone, “Unless you’re going to have a problem with my authority, Ser Dorian.”

With the blond so close, Dorian felt his heart speed up. Something about his presence made Dorian feel held in place. Not as if he was trapped, simply that he couldn’t make himself step away.

Dorian scanned his eyes over the Commander’s form, noticing the Chantry insignia on his bracers. Ah, Dorian thought, he plans on taking care of me himself.

“Not unless you’re going to play those little Templar tricks to dispel my magic when I’m simply trying to warm my tea.” Dorian could have sworn he saw the corner of the Commander’s lips curl up at his accurate observation.

“That would just be rude. No, I wanted to inform you that, despite my past, I have very little patience for discrimination.” The Commander's eyes scanned over Dorian's body once more, “If anyone says anything, does anything, or even looks at you in a way that makes you suspect ill intent, do let me know. They’ll be dealt with discreetly.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to feel; between the Commander’s word choice and his eyes wondering Dorian’s physique, he felt maybe the blond knew his preferences just by looking at him. Did he have to be more worried about that than being an apostate? Though Dorian knew little about the south, he knew even less about their feelings on…sexual endeavors. More specifically, who you ventured those endeavors with.

Dorian hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring at the Commander without answering until the blond tilted his brow up. “That is an order, Ser Dorian.”

He was shaken from his trance by the mention of his name in a soothingly gentle voice; surprising for a man in his militant position. “Yes, Ser.” Dorian responded quickly, eager to have the Commander’s caressing gaze off him.

The blond smiled, seemingly content with the response. “Good. And don’t be afraid to approach me.” He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice even more to an impossibly comforting near-purr, “I don’t bite.” He grinned reassuringly.

Perhaps I’d rather you did, Dorian thought, admiring the Commander’s gait as he strode off, heading for his office.

In the barracks Dorian chose a bed, near to the wall to prop his staff and hang his pack, filled only with a few herbs for mixing potions and a book or two.

Though his sleep was fitful, he woke more or less prepared for training the next morning, those blasted birds even louder in the mountains than Miss Ella's valley farmland. Their loud singing mixed with the shuffle of new troops preparing for training woke Dorian far earlier than he would have liked. But he hurried along, seeing he was one of the last troops to rise, and made it to the training grounds just as the sun rose above the horizon.

He had eyes on him the moment he walked onto the grounds, scared young men and women glaring at him and eyeing the ornament on the end of his staff, watching cautiously as magic flowed through the crystal gem, all originating from Dorian’s fingertips. All the looks, the suspicion, made him feel as though he was not exactly blending in like he had hoped. He scanned his fellow soldiers, finding most were pale. Those with dark skin like his seemed no less acclimated to his presence. Their undertones were all cold blues and greys, making Dorian’s red-brown skin stand out in an unnatural, if stunning, manner against the natives.

As Dorian felt more and more uncomfortable in his own skin for the first time in years, a voice echoed off the fortress walls from behind him.

“You’re late.” Dorian turned to find the Commander stalking toward him, free of his armor and only covered by simple leather trousers. His chest was dusted in scars of all sizes; some reaching from collar bone to hip, one leading Dorian’s eye down a mischievous path to the Commander’s laces.

“Did the bells not wake you? Perhaps I should make that your responsibility; to wake and ring the bells for everyone else to hear? Since they seem not to faze you.”

Dorian scoffed, “I suppose you would like all your men to be late as well, then? If I were in charge of the bells, we’d all be waking half past tea.”

The Commander seemed equally confused and annoyed with Dorian’s flippant nature, seemingly having no respect, no regard for his position.

As he closed the distance in a quick stride, Dorian simply crossing his arms and sighing, almost bored by the interaction, he said lowly, “Fall in line before I make an example out of you.”

Dorian, sifting his words through his head, began carefully evaluating his next move. While he didn’t enjoy being told what to do, and very much enjoyed testing people’s patience, he decided against saying anything at all, taking several steps back and lining up with the other troops.

The Commander relaxed his shoulders, turning slowly to take his place in front of the herd. As he glanced back to face his troops again, and saw Dorian at the front line of their formations, he quickly changed his mind.

“Alright Ser Dorian, since you seem to enjoy being the center of attention, perhaps you would like to help me demonstrate some defensive maneuvers.”

Dorian tensed. While he was proud of his magical knowledge and ability, he knew things the average Ferelden mage most certainly would not. He had to be careful of what spells he used, as not to let on too much or attract attention.

But he relaxed as he saw the Commander reach for an extra sword and shield, gesturing for Dorian to step forward. He stabbed his staff into the ground and sauntered up to take the weapons. As he did, the Commander asked quietly, “You do know which end to hold it by, don’t you?”

Before Dorian could think, he grinned and responded in a flirtatious tone, “I’ve had plenty of experience handling swords, Commander.”

The Commander stared at him blankly as a slight rosy color filled his cheeks, then cleared his throat as he handed the sword off to Dorian.

“How much experience do you have with shield work?” The Commander asked, getting into a proper fighting stance.

Dorian mimicked his movements, obviously less confident with a sword and shield. “Certainly less than with staff blades and staff defense,” he muttered.

The Commander nodded once. “Let us spar—so that I can evaluate what you know—then, we’ll try it again with your staff. All I want you to do is defend.” The troops drew closer, forming a circle like a fighting ring around the two. “Don’t let me into your personal space.”

Dorian wanted to make a suggestive remark about his personal space, but the time was lost as the blond charged at him with speed and an unfair amount of force. Dorian dodged and defended as best he could with what little knowledge he had while the Commander showed no mercy, but ultimately, in only a matter of seconds, the blond had managed to disarm him and enter his space.

They were nearly chest to chest, Dorian breathing somewhat heavily while the Commander hadn’t even broken a sweat.

“Your movements are arrogant,” he announced, loudly for the rest of the troops to hear, “despite having no idea what you are doing, clearly. While half of defense is confidence, not showing your enemy weakness, it is not the whole fight.”

He stepped away from Dorian, acquiring his stance once more. “Again,” the Commander proclaimed, “with your staff this time.”

Dorian smirked as he pulled his staff blade out of the soil, poising himself for a good fight. He knew this was about physical defense, no magic involved, but by the Maker if he wouldn’t fight back.

The Commander once again charged at him, but this time Dorian knew what to do. He twirled his staff, directing the sword’s momentum away and back to the Commander, using his own power against him. Aside from a huff of disapproval, the blond went unfazed, using the off-railed momentum to carry his shield arm forward, bashing Dorian’s staff in an attempt to throw him off balance. But Dorian stabbed his staff blade into the ground, stopping the blond’s shield dead in its tracks. The Commander pressed forward, waiting for Dorian to inevitably lift his staff and take the force.

Rather than lift his staff, Dorian used it as leverage to swing his body around and kick the unsuspecting Commander’s sword from his hand. Unfortunately for Dorian, his opponent was ambidextrous, catching the sword in his left hand and switching the shield to his right. At this point, the Commander was visibly annoyed, putting more force into his blows, testing the mage’s strength. Dorian held his position for as long as he could, motivated by the troops’ shocked mumbling to one another.

Finally, after several minutes, the Commander’s sword came down on the blade of Dorian’s staff, throwing off the momentum and leaving Dorian open for the Commander to once again step into his space.

After this round, however, they were both panting, a sheen of sweat lightly reflecting on the blond’s chest. Dorian kept his eyes up, staring intently into the Commander’s.

“Much better,” He said flatly. “You use your staff as an extension of yourself. You know not only the magical maneuvers, but the physical ones as well. You still need to work on paying more attention to your opponent, and less to your own actions. They should come as second nature, as I’m sure your magic does.” The Commander backed away once again, relaxing his grip on his weapons. “Well done, overall. I’ve worked with and against many mages and, routinely, close combat was their weakness.” He scanned Dorian from head to toe, shrugging slightly. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m impressed, but…” extending his hand out to Dorian, “I respect your ability.”

A nearly collective gasp came from the audience of troops around them, all surprised at Dorian’s redemption. From problem recruit, to Commander-respected mage. Perhaps Dorian had nothing to worry about after all.

He took the blond’s outstretched hand and shook it lightly, bowing his head with thanks and returned respect.

“Now then,” the Commander signaled for the troops to regroup into previous formation, “While we have mages among our ranks, many of you would not find the maneuvers performed by Ser Dorian particularly useful, unless you plan on fighting nonlethally.” A quiet chuckle simmered through the troops.

“For the majority of your sakes, I will have my associate Cassandra help me with your training. I warn you, she is a stickler for form. And rightfully so, as it could mean your life…”

The rest of training went by with little incident, other than the occasional calling out and embarrassing of inept recruits. And by the end of the session, nearing lunch, everyone was exhausted.

As the mass headed off for the dining hall, dismissed reluctantly by the Lady Seeker, Dorian saw from the corner of his eye the Commander and Seeker talking in hushed voices, glancing occasionally in his direction.

I’ll speak with him, he made out from the Commander’s lip movements. After nodding and donning a linen shirt, Dorian watched from his peripheral vision as the blond closed in on him.

“Ser Dorian,” he placed a light hand on the mage’s shoulder, “Could I speak with you a moment?”

Dorian acted surprised, even going so far as to ask, “Am I in some sort of trouble?”

The Commander chuckled, “Not at all. Performing well in front of your peers in nothing to be punished for. However, on the topic of your performance, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

Dorian’s breath hitched. Kaffas, they’re getting suspicious, he thought to himself, trying not to appear alarmed.

The Commander led him away from the hungry glob of languid recruits and in the direction of a more private location, beginning to ask several questions along the way.

“So, if you don’t mind my asking, where did you learn to fight with a staff?” he asked nonchalantly, hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed manner.

“I went to a very prestigious academy; one where our days were filled with nothing but magical and alchemical training. More general teachings—reading, writing, arithmetic—were expected to be taught in the household between school hours.” Dorian explained, leaving out any details that could be traced to Tevinter.

The Commander nodded, humming in understanding before asking, “In Orlais? I read in your recruitment form you were born and raised there.”

“Indeed,” Dorian knew quite a bit about Orlais, and spoke a bit of Orlesian, so he supposed he could continue this lie rather well. “I was lucky to be born to a noble family.”

“I’ve never heard of the Rider family.” The Commander stated bluntly, making Dorian’s heart jump a little.

“Well,” he began, spinning a believable story in his head, “we were unfortunately, when I was rather young, stripped of our finances by a business partner who ran off with my parents’ money. The rest appears to be history.”

The Commander narrowed his eyes, taking Dorian up and down once again. “I prefer my history well documented.”

Before Dorian could comment, a runner jogged toward them, handing off a stack of papers.

“Commander! New reports for you, Ser. Spymaster says they’re not urgent, but could be useful.”

The blond sighed and skimmed several of the papers, a lock of frazzled hair falling in front of his face. He rolled his eyes, handing the papers back to the runner, “Useful seems an over statement. Jim, take these to my office and tell Leliana, respectfully, this matter is a waste of my time.”

The runner nervously nodded, jogging off from whence he came. The Commander sighed and pressed his thumb to the bridge of his nose as he thought aloud quietly, “I am not the negotiator, that is Josephine’s job and it should remain her job if we are all to stay sane…”

He dropped his hand after a moment with a deep sigh before turning to Dorian. “I apologize, Ser Dorian, but I’ve work to do before the next bout of training. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Certainly, Commander…?” Dorian waited for a reply.

“Cullen. Always Commander Cullen, of course.”

“Of course,” Dorian agreed. “Until this afternoon, Commander Cullen.” He gave a graceful bow, the Commander simply ducking his head slightly in acknowledgement before they parted ways.

__________

Dorian tossed and turned that night, nerves and nightmares drilling deep into his conscience. He woke with a start, finding his fellow troops all still asleep, gentle blue moonlight shining through the slit of a window. Determined to clear his mind and be able to go back to sleep before training that morning, Dorian set off for the battlements.

After climbing the steps, passing the few troops on night watch, Dorian found a good spot to clear his head, out of the path of patrolling guards. He leaned against the stone wall and hung his head over, propping himself up on his elbows. He sighed, hoping his nerves would leave with his breath and leave him his confident self once again. But the worry continued; worry about being found out, about being dragged back home, about dying a face in the crowd, no one knowing him for what he wanted to stand for. A man against the fear mongering of his homeland, a man against the all-ruling wants of the Imperium, the good Tevinter.

But above all else, he worried about dying before he could prove to himself that he deserved all that recognition.

Just as the feeling of existentialism began to consume him, he heard a sudden voice from behind him, gentle and light. Soft, in a way.

“Shouldn’t you be getting some rest? You trained hard yesterday, you deserve it.”

Dorian jumped and turned to see the person speaking to him. He found the Commander, once again in linens, leaning in the doorway to what Dorian assumed was his office.

“I don’t mean to interrupt your brooding,” Cullen said apologetically, coming to lean against the battlement walls as well. “I heard walking around out here, and the guards don’t patrol this close to my office. I thought maybe there was trouble. Was I correct?”

Dorian smiled gently, looking out over the mountains again, “If I’m deserving of a rest, you are far beyond deserving. Letting recruits wail on you for hours? You must be tired.”

Cullen took a deep breath, letting it out as he spoke, “They don’t know nearly enough to have actually done any damage. I’ve certainly taken worse.”

They stayed silent for a moment before Cullen spoke again, “But you didn’t answer me.”

Dorian looked at him curiously.

“Is there trouble?”

Dorian chuckled, letting out a breathy laugh and ducking his head. “No, I’m just a bit sleepless. It’s nothing new, nothing I can’t cope with.”

Cullen nodded, quiet for a moment, before saying, “With all due respect, Ser Dorian, I don’t believe you.”

Those were not words Dorian needed to hear. They only added to his nervousness over being found out. He wanted to get out of there, quickly. “I suppose I should head off then, back to bed. Don’t want to be late for morning training again.”

“There’s no curfew, you know. Well, the tavern closes an hour after sunset, but there’s no rule saying you can’t wander the grounds.”

Dorian wasn’t sure how to continue, still poised to walk away.

“Would you mind if we talked a moment?” Cullen asked innocently, gesturing to his office.

Dorian reluctantly entered the Commander’s office and took a seat.

“Our ambassador looked into your ‘noble family’, by the way.” Cullen uttered as he closed the door, sauntering over to his desk and pulling Dorian’s recruitment form out to place in front of the mage.

He was fucked, he knew it. They found out who he really was and they were going to assume he was a Venatori spy, interrogate him for information, maybe even kill him.

“Only noble Rider family in Orlais was over two hundred years ago and they died out from inherited illness. So…” Cullen lowered himself into his seat, propping his elbows on the desk and placing his head on his wound hands, “Why did you lie?”

Dorian looked through the papers in front of him; his recruitment form, his payment contract, the information dug up on the Riders, but found nothing about his true identity. Did they not figure out who he really was? Was Cullen keeping the information from him to catch him in another lie? Dorian took a deep breath before testing his luck.

“I was staying with an old friend of mine in the Hinterlands when your recruiters came knocking. My friend manages her land all on her own—it isn’t much, but she’s not as spry as younger folk—and I came to help her. The recruiters were insistent that she ‘volunteer’ or that she sign for a draft. Obviously, she can’t leave her crops and animals to parish, so I offered to go in her place, on behalf of her household.”

Dorian held his breath, waiting for Cullen to react.

The blond took a breath before restating, “Your friend is older and you wanted to make sure she wouldn’t lose her land by being drafted?”

Dorian nodded, still barely breathing.

Cullen pursed his lips and slowly bobbed his head, glancing back down to Dorian’s papers.

Finally, he opened his mouth to speak, “My recruiters were trying to force her to volunteer? Or sign for the draft? That goes against their orders, which are, simply, to spread the word of our cause and take those who volunteer for a draft, if necessary, or to join the ranks.”

Dorian let out his breath, slowly as to not let on how truly relieved he was. Cullen had not only accepted his story, but truly seemed to believe it. Not all of it was a lie, in fact most of it was true, if not laid in truth.

“Let me ask next, did you give us her name when volunteering? Or some other alias?” Cullen raised his brows like a disappointed parent catching their child in a lie.

Dorian knew giving his real name would give him away and possibly get him killed, so he instead continued the lie. “No, my name is Dorian Rider, however I don’t believe there’s any relation to the Orlesian family. As far as I know, my roots are in Antiva. However, I do not know much about my heritage. My family…” He cringed at the little truth he was about to slip in, “My family disowned me for not following their life plans for me. I only know where my parents were born.”

Cullen’s eyes went soft, emotion slipping through his interrogation mask. “I…I am truly sorry. That’s something I’ve been lucky enough to never have experienced. I won’t press the matter.”

Dorian nodded in thanks, his heart finally settling.

“While your intent was in good standing,” Cullen said, running his hands through his natural curls, “I must still report this as misconduct. You could have worse; I’m going rather easy on you for this sort of misdemeanor. I expect I will not regret my decision, Ser Dorian?”

Dorian nodded, just relieved the whole confrontation was over.

“Good, then I believe everything is settled,” Cullen stated, leading Dorian to the door.

As Dorian began to hurry off, Cullen called after him, “And Ser Dorian!”

Dorian turned to listen.

“I said while sparring I would not go so far as to say I was impressed with your performance. It seems I told a bit of a lie myself.”

Cullen gave a knowing look before closing the door to his office.

__________

After several days of following a simple routine—getting up at the arse-crack of dawn, training for the morning, eating lunch, then training until sundown—Dorian began to feel comfortable with his new surroundings. Since his impressive display sparring with the Commander, people had begun to respect him, addressing him politely as he passed, even if Dorian was hardly their acquaintance. He felt good, confident in himself once again, and sure his secret was completely safe.

As he wandered the courtyard, clearing his mind after a lackluster lunch with the other recruits, Dorian noticed an elf with a powerful stance, Dalish markings on his skin, approaching him with purpose in his step.

“Dorian Rider, yes? I’ve heard much about you from your fellow troops; and our Commander himself.”

“Inquisitor!” Dorian suddenly realized, only having seen the man from a distance before now, “It’s an honor. And I’m happy to have good things said about me.” He bowed, low and respectful.

The elf scoffed, “Please, enough with the formalities. I was hoping to speak with you, if I could.” He gestured forward, in the direction of the main hall.

“Of course,” Dorian answered as he followed, only a slight nervousness rising in his chest.

When they arrived in the hall, few people occupying the echoing space, the Inquisitor began to ask, “From all I’ve seen and heard, you have quite a talent for magic and fighting. While all mages are technically apostates now, I understand you were an apostate before all the in-fighting broke out. Is that correct?”

Dorian nodded, thinking he knew where this was going. “I was indeed. While I won’t claim to be better than a Circle mage, I do believe I had the opportunity to learn many magic forms the Chantry might frown on. Excluding blood magic, of course. A disgusting use of power.” Dorian shuddered slightly, remembering its uses in Tevinter politics.

“Absolutely. You seem an upstanding man, one who would not abuse the privilege of living outside the Circle.” The Inquisitor sauntered slowly toward a door at the side of the hall, pushing it open and beckoning Dorian through. Dorian obliged, waiting in the short corridor before holding the second door open for the elf.

“Among my people blood magic is considered savage and unnatural, as many others feel, Circle mage or no. While I believe the Circle has a place, I do not believe it is to control or constrict mages, but to teach them and help them learn to control themselves and their own power. From what Commander Cullen has told me about Kirkwall, I think the Circle has driven more mages to consider dark magicks as a means to escape. Horrifying things they may never have even conceived of if given more freedom.”

The elf seemed oddly adamant for a non-mage, making Dorian slightly suspicious as to where the conversation was headed. But as the Inquisitor led them to a massive room with a massive map table, Dorian felt there would be no trouble today.

Several men stood behind the map table, some Dorian recognized as the Inquisitor’s associates, and others he’d seen around Skyhold with no context as to who they were.

“I’d like to introduce you to some of my most trusted members and friends of the Inquisition.” The elf gestured forward with a sweeping motion, triggering everyone to bow their heads and smile.

“Firstly, Solas, who has been with us from the beginning, helping me cope with the Anchor and studying its power.”

The tall slender elf smiled softly, “It is a pleasure, Ser Dorian.”

“Secondly—of course you know him—our Commander, Cullen, leader of our forces, ex-Templar, currently slowly dying from lyrium withdrawal he never told me about.” The Inquisitor eyed him angrily as the Commander gave a sheepish smile, muttering some sort of apology.

“And of course, the roguish duo of Varric and his little shadow Cole.”

The Dwarf waved as he continued to tune up his crossbow, saying casually, “Good to meet you, pretty boy.”

The young man behind him, on the other hand, looked Dorian curiously in the eyes before uttering, “You’re different inside your head: lacking, loathing, lonely; soft words never enough, but harsh words too harsh to heal.”

Dorian gave the Inquisitor a side glance, eyes wide with surprise. “Um, yeah. He does…that.” The Inquisitor apologized.

Dorian nodded tentatively to each of them before saying quietly to the Inquisitor, “While it’s lovely to meet everyone, I’m not quite sure I understand what this is about.”

The elf chuckled as he approached the war table and walked around to join his colleagues on the other side. “I, Eridan Levellan, would like to personally induct you into my inner circle, to join me and my allies—and closest friends—in the monumental task of keeping the Inquisition afloat and keeping our allies, and prospective allies, satisfied and compliant.”

Dorian’s jaw fell open in shock, meaning to say something, but at a loss for words.

The Inquisitor laughed again, “Allow me to explain my reasoning: Cullen and Cassandra told me about your skill with fighting and magic after your first display, and have kept me up to date on your progress and ability as it’s been relieved to us through your training. While I am incredibly glad to have you among our forces, I think your skill could be better put to use in the field, when it’s just me and a small group out and about.”

He pulled Cole and Varric into his side, arms around their shoulders and a hand on Solas’s arm as he stated, “While I have other members in my inner circle, these three are the ones who most often join me on my personal missions. Providing immediate aid, closing rifts, dealing with people’s weird family problems in exchange for supplies and alliance—we see it all, and it’s all dangerous. I think I could use someone with your talent out with me, watching my back!”

The short, and surprisingly stocky elf seemed incredibly excited about the concept, raising his eyebrows to question Dorian, imploring him to accept the offer.

When Dorian hesitated, Solas spoke up, voice soft and reassuring, “If I am to have an opinion in the matter, I would be delighted to work with another mage interested in the magicks not taught within any Circle. As an apostate myself, I chose to study spirits and ancient magicks, finding lost pieces of history in the fade as I dreamt. Many mages from the Circle believe this means I have made pacts with demons, and explaining my innocent intentions becomes tiresome. I, for one, would welcome the addition of a like minded apostate into our ranks.”

“The only apostate I ever met escaped from the Circle and it’s all he ever talked about. ‘Templars this, rebellion that.’ Had an insane spirit living in him, too. I’d like to spend time with less crazy mages,” Varric chimed in.

“You think about acceptance, but have never come to expect it. I’ve seen the dangers, lived with them. If that’s acceptance, I would have to change for it. Would I be myself after that?...” Cole was suddenly next to him, despite being under the Inquisitor’s arm only a second ago.

“Sweet Andra—! Can you not do that?” Dorian exclaimed, almost jumping away.

“Don’t mind him. He’s some kind of ‘good’ spirit. He doesn’t really understand boundaries.” The Inquisitor said, coming around the war table to pull Cole away by the wrist.

Cullen’s voice, the softest of everyone’s, gained Dorian’s attention immediately, “As the one who recommended this to begin with, I of course think you should accept. You have a wonderful talent that I can’t use among my troops. It seems a pity to waste it under my command.” He gave an encouraging smile, making Dorian’s mind up instantly.

“Inquisitor, it would be an honor to be part of your inner circle. I accept.”

The Inquisitor practically cheered, ushering everyone out so he could explain what would be expected of Dorian. Dorian listened intently, making sure to joke with the elf to gain his trust and form a feeling of comradery.

After stepping out of the war room, Dorian found Cullen waiting for him, leaning against the ambassador’s empty desk, standing upright when Dorian entered the room.

“I’m happy to hear you’ll be traveling with the Inquisitor from now on. As I said before, I truly think your skills will be better suited in the field.” Cullen extended his hand to offer congratulations.

Dorian took it in a confident grasp, giving a single solid shake. “I appreciate the referral. I’m certain it will surprise you to hear, but not many people appreciate my efforts.”

Cullen chuckled, “I can certainly relate; there have been times in my life where I felt the same. Looking back…” the Commander trailed off slightly, “Well, I’m not so certain anymore that my efforts deserved to be appreciated.”

“I assume you mean your time as a Templar?”

The blond sighed, rubbing nervously at the back of his neck, “Yes. I followed faithfully, but I realize now I was not following the right path.”

Dorian smiled, understanding completely, “Believe me, Commander, I know the feeling.”

They were both quiet for a moment before Cullen asked, shyly, “Would you mind if I asked…?”

“My family. What my family had planned for me, for the rest of my life. I followed as faithfully as I could until…” Dorian looked at his feet, eyes full of pain, trying to avoid Cullen noticing. “Until I was older and understood what they expected of me. After I dared to defy them one too many times…”

Dorian stopped. He couldn’t say anymore. Yes, it might give him away, but that wasn’t why he couldn’t speak. He knew, he remembered what his father was willing to do to change his preferences, and it hurt too much to say out loud. The man he thought had his best interests at heart turned out to only care about himself. Saying it out loud was like admitting a truth Dorian didn’t want to accept.

Cullen tried to look him in the eyes, touching his hand ever so gently to gain his attention. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright, I’m learning to accept it. It just…isn’t fun to talk about.” Dorian gave a pained smile.

Cullen sighed, dropping his hand from Dorian’s in favor of rubbing at his neck again, “I know. One’s past shapes who they are and who they become. Sometimes it’s difficult to accept who you were…”

Dorian saw the familiarity in Cullen’s gaze—distant and unsure—and heard the regret in his tone, but decided not to push the matter.

“Or, uh, who your parents were, I mean. I-I’m sure you’ve always been this wonderful. A wonderful person, that is! Good, uh, good moral standing, and all that.” Cullen’s face was very quickly getting red as he tried to avoid eye contact and stutter through his explanation.

Dorian chuckled, taking pity on the blond. “I understood what you meant, Commander, no worries.”

“Cullen.”

“Pardon?”

The Commander looked up suddenly, looking directly into Dorian’s eyes. He hadn’t noticed before that they were nearly gold. “Call me Cullen. You’re no longer under my command, so please: just Cullen.” He smiled so genuinely that Dorian almost forgot to respond.

“Oh, yes, well…” he laughed a little more to fill the silence as he thought. “I suppose I like the title. It suits you.”

Cullen smiled sheepishly, the blush coming back, less strong this time. “As you wish, Ser Dorian.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, shifting his weight to a more casual stance, finally feeling comfortable, “Now you’re just teasing me.”

Cullen poorly faked a look of offence, “Tease? Never!”

“Mm, you should work on your poker face, Commander.” Dorian couldn’t help but smile a bit.

Cullen laughed with him before the two fell silent again, neither wanting to leave, but neither knowing what to say.

“I…I wanted to ask a while ago, but I didn’t want the other recruits to think I was giving you special treatment: would you care to continue sparring when neither of us is busy? As odd as it may sound, I enjoyed the challenge.” Cullen seemed to be looking anywhere but ahead, avoiding Dorian’s eyes.

Dorian grinned, also avoiding eye contact, feeling like a childish school boy dodging around outright flirting with one another. “I would like that, actually.”

The two agreed on a time and place, and parted ways for the rest of the day. Dorian wandered a while until he saw the Inquisitor again, casually asking about continuing to sleep in the barracks.

“Oh! We can find you more private quarters if you like. I certainly wouldn’t want to live with a bunch of other people if I didn’t have to. Talk to Josephine, our Ambassador; she’ll find an open room for you.”

And so Dorian did, and by the end of the day, he had moved his belongings to a small—but comfortable—room with a view of the tavern and gardens. Right off the side of the main hall, and up a few flights of stairs, Dorian’s door opened to a balcony where he could see everything. While he knew these rooms were meant for visiting guests, and it may not be a permanent living situation, he had to admit it felt good to have his own space again. He did what had to be done to survive—slept in inns, travelers’ camps, worked odd jobs before finding Miss Ella’s farm— but it certainly wasn’t the lifestyle he was used to.

But that lifestyle was far out of reach now. As he sat on the edge of his new bed, mindlessly sorting his collection of magical trinkets, he wondered if life would have been better if he went along with his family’s plan to begin with. Marry the girl, have another mage son, continue living a lie for the rest of his life. He often told himself it would have been easier, but that wasn’t true. How could it be easy to deny your true self for your entire life? How could it be easy to force yourself to have sex with someone you could never be attracted to until you finally had a child?

How could it be easier than leaving everything you’ve ever known behind? That was difficult enough on its own.

“I don’t know;” he thought aloud, “how could it be harder?”

“Harder?”

Dorian jumped, conjuring a small flame in his palm on instinct, letting it fizzle as he saw the Commander in the doorway, leaning casually on the doorframe.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Cullen said, extending his hand out as he carefully approached, “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just thought I would come see how you were adjusting. All this, it must be a bit of a transition.”

Dorian’s palm quickly cooled as he let out a long breath, slowly calming down from the scare. “It certainly is. I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it seems so sudden. Too sudden.”

Cullen chuckled, “I’d say you’ve earned it. But of course I would, I made the suggestion. How do you feel about it all?” he cocked his head on a slight angle, like a curious dog.

Dorian gestured for the Commander to sit next to him, the blond taking a tentative seat. “It’s odd. Coming here the way I did. Knowing what I came from—money, power, having to exceed expectations if you wanted to get anywhere in life…it was so stressful, and running away from it all was so stressful. And now…”

Dorian turned his head to see Cullen’s innocent golden eyes filled with understanding, knowing just as well what it was like to run from the only life you’d ever known. He found himself entranced, forgetting everything as he lost himself in wisdom-filled, pained eyes that reminded him of his own, a tired glaze darkening the once bright shine of hope they held years ago.

“And now?” Cullen repeated, hardly voicing the words.

The moment felt so intimate; the bed was somewhat small, so they were seated close, leaning toward each other. Cullen’s hand was pressed to the bed to support him as he leaned, placed right behind Dorian. It almost felt like they were embraced without touching each other. He felt comfortable, so comfortable he couldn’t even bring himself to question what was happening. So he simply let the moment linger. It didn’t feel awkward, it didn’t feel drawn out. It just felt…comfortable.

It seemed like an eternity before Cullen’s leg gently bumped his, the blond letting the tips of his fingers rest on Dorian’s thigh. He wasn’t sure what the intent of the action was, but it only made Dorian lose himself more. At first he was just lost in the ex-Templar’s eyes. Now he could see the entirety of him, inside and out. And after scanning over his body, Dorian’s eyes locked on to the blond’s lips. The room froze, time froze. Dorian saw Cullen’s adam’s apple bob as he swallowed harshly, obviously wanting more than just Dorian’s eyes on his lips.

Dorian let himself move closer, just a bit, and Cullen did the same.

“And now,” Dorian’s voice was somewhere below a whisper, “things almost feel easy.”

“They could be,” Cullen’s voice was even, giving nothing away. Dorian wished there was some sort of hoarseness, wobbliness, something in his voice that made it clear what was happening here.

But Dorian wasn’t sure. He needed to be certain before he outed himself here. In Ferelden, in the Inquisition, in this moment with Cullen. He needed to be certain.

So he backed off, leaning away again and closing his eyes. He heard the Commander sigh next to him and clear his throat, shifting away.

“You sound like you have a lot on your mind,” Cullen sounded disappointed, but by this point Dorian had already convinced himself not taking a chance was the better course of action.

“I can leave you with your thoughts, if you like?”

“For now,” Dorian sighed, “That might be best.”

Cullen nodded, standing and heading for the door. “Until tomorrow?” he asked, audibly confused about their situation.

Dorian smiled gently, “Until tomorrow, Commander.”

__________

Dorian slept only a few hours that night, anxious and almost excited for Cullen and his appointment. He wore something more or less appropriate for sparring, forgoing his Inquisition sanctioned armor in favor of his own. It fit his form in a much more flattering way, and the magical embellishments made it more practical as well. He had a bounce to his step as he exited his room, using his staff halfheartedly like a walking stick as he went.

Before he reached the training grounds, Dorian took the time to admire how empty Skyhold felt. There were a few soldiers on the battlement, tired runners getting back from late errands, even two recruits who thought they were being stealthy while stealing a bottle of ale from the closed tavern. They noticed him, swearing as they sprinted off into the bushes to enjoy their find, and Dorian couldn’t help but chuckle at their youthful behavior.

He felt content. Things were going well. He knew he shouldn’t let his guard down, but Dorian couldn’t force himself to be paranoid in this peaceful moment an hour before dawn. He looked to the sky to see the scar and the moon almost perfectly aligned, about halfway set. He had time.

Just as he took a deep breath, a gentle voice barely rocked him.

“Fancy meeting you here. Any reason you’re up so early?”

Dorian turned to see Cullen with a smirk on his lips and still in full armor, despite normally dressing down to train and spar.

“I believe we had a date, Commander. It appears you may have forgotten, from your dress.” Dorian let Cullen notice as he purposefully drug his gaze over the blond’s physic, deciding against licking his lips. What about the wee hours of the morning made Dorian so openly flirtatious, he would never know. Even when it came to men who otherwise wouldn’t be his first choice, Dorian was always more open minded at the early hours.

Cullen raised a brow under the sensual scrutiny, “Oh, I haven’t forgotten. And I could say the same for you, in your…intricate attire.” He dropped his sword and shield next to him on the ground as he began to remove his upper armor, leaving his boots and trousers alone.

“Oh, do you like it? I would have brought it out sooner if we weren’t made to wear uniforms under your command. Boring, ugly uniforms.” Dorian shuddered dramatically.

Cullen shook his head and smirked as he loosely held his weapons, now shirtless and prepared to spar. “I didn’t assign those uniforms, you can take that up with the Inquisitor. However, I doubt your armor would be very practical when rushing into battle. Too many belts.” He eyed Dorian’s armor, trying to figure out how it worked.

Dorian adopted a pose to show quite a bit of his body, showing himself and the armor off at once. “It’s not nearly as complicated as it looks.” Stated matter-of-factly, before dipping his voice to a more sultry tone, “I could show you if you like. With practice, you could become quite proficient. It doesn’t take me much time to strip out of it all.”

His eyes were lidded as he watched Cullen. The Commander’s expression hardly changed as he said, oh so quietly as usual, “Perhaps I’ll keep that in mind.”

He hadn’t hesitated with his response, and Dorian found himself caught off guard at Cullen’s boldness. Maybe the morning hours had an effect on him as well.

“Well then,” he said, squaring up to Dorian, “How shall we start?”

Dorian followed his lead, “Magic or no magic?”

“None yet. I haven’t had to defend against magic without my—what did you call them? ‘Little Templar tricks’?—in quite some time. I don’t want either of us to get hurt. Perhaps when we have some supervision.”

Dorian sighed and said in an overly exasperated tone, “Shame; I was rather hoping these would be…private sessions.” He winked.

Cullen’s face heated, but it didn’t stop him from responding, “Out in the courtyard? This is hardly private. Now, if you ever show me how to work that ‘armor’ of yours; that I’d consider a private session.”

The morning was chilly, dew freezing on to the grass, but it was warm enough that Dorian should not have visibly shivered. He couldn’t pull any excuse when Cullen noticed. It was obvious what was happening. The blond smirked at him, Dorian trying not to think about the effect Cullen’s flirtations had on him. Not here, and certainly not now. Dorian had designed his armor himself, and liked that it fit in a way that left few things to the imagination, but if this sparring session got a little too handsy, Dorian may be wishing he had worn the Inquisition’s armor instead.

Thankfully, Cullen didn’t mention Dorian’s reaction, and simply started their training, leading with the initial blow as always. Dorian could dodge and throw up wards like there was no tomorrow, but he wanted to train his defense, not just evasion. So he used his staff to block and parry Cullen’s attacks, focusing his mind on observing his opponent, just as Cullen had been telling him to.

Before long, Dorian was focusing less and less on Cullen’s form, attack patterns, or eye line, and more on his body, movement, and gaze.

His eyes seemed sharp, knowing exactly where he wanted to land a blow. His body was under full control, every muscle accounted for and flowing to where his gaze wanted them. He moved with such grace for a warrior; surprisingly loose and agile for all his heavy armor and muscle build.

Dorian had continued to successfully dodge and defend while in his trance, but he hadn’t been holding his ground very well, slowly backing up and losing awareness of where his feet were.

Inevitably, his foot landed on uneven ground and he slipped. But long before he would have hit the ground, Cullen wrapped his arm around the mage’s waist and pulled him back up, their chests flush.

Dorian was tense, not even having realized he’d been falling until Cullen pulled him back. He returned from his thoughts when he heard Cullen’s voice say with an incredible tenderness, “I’ve got you.”

“You certainly have…”

Cullen cocked a brow, gentle smile still donned, as he waited for Dorian to make a move. He wasn’t letting go until Dorian told him to, and Dorian finally had the confirmation he needed to take the risk of making said move. His body relaxed against the Commander’s as he let his arms slide between them, nimble fingers tracing up Cullen’s marred chest. Dorian let his hands rest on either side of the blond’s neck, slowly pulling him forward to let their lips meet.

But just as their lips brushed together, they heard footsteps skid to a halt in front of them.

Cullen sighed and turned his head, growling with frustration, “What!?”

The troop looked stunned, having only just realized what she walked up on. When she failed to answer, the Commander let go of Dorian’s waist and marched slowly, intimidatingly toward the recruit, nostrils flared and steps heavy. The young woman backed away with her hands close to her face as if Cullen might actually hurt her. Dorian couldn’t blame her for thinking he might; the blond certainly wasn’t calm.

“I-I’m so sorry Ser, I just w-wanted to be e-early—”

“What do you think the bells are for? So you can wake up before them? If you showed up to battle early, do you know what would happen?”

“I don’t—”

“It would be you against an army, with your fellow soldiers miles behind you. You would be dead before you even had time to scream.”

The poor girl was shaking by this point, trying to stutter an apology through wobbly breath.

Cullen closed his eyes tightly, grumbling as he pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose. “While I appreciate your incentive,” he began after he calmed down, “I expect you all here exactly when I say. Not a second later, nor a second sooner. Don’t be early, be on time.”

He looked apologetically to the girl as she continued to quiver. Cullen placed a hand on her shoulder and turned her around, gently prodding her back toward the barracks. She walked off slowly, still in shock.

Dorian smiled and shook his head, arms crossed, as Cullen sauntered back over to him with an embarrassed blush, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“That poor young woman is going to have nightmares” Dorian looked at Cullen accusingly, but he couldn’t help smiling at how ridiculous the whole situation was.

“I’m going to have to apologize to her later. I think I ruined the moment more than her seeing us did.” Cullen’s blush reached from the tips of his ears all the way down his neck and to the bottom of his collarbone.

Dorian chuckled and stepped closer to Cullen again, placing a hand on his cheek only to be greeted with the heat of his blush. “Perhaps we can bring it back before the bells. Unless you’d like to frighten a few more of your troops this morning? Show them who’s boss, etcetera?”

Cullen scoffed a little, but he was smiling. How could he not be, when Dorian was gently caressing his face and coaxing him into a kiss? He replaced his hand on Dorian’s waist and pressed against him, the mage pulling Cullen in tighter by the biceps.

And, finally, their lips met. Dorian meant for it to be rather chaste, leaving Cullen wanting more, but he couldn’t pull himself away. It wasn’t the same kiss he had gotten a hundred times in Tevinter. It wasn’t a formality during a loveless night together. This kiss was warm and soft, tender and compassionate, much like the man giving it.

Dorian’s hands slid up Cullen’s arms to hold his neck firmly, for fear the blond might pull away before Dorian had gotten the chance to relish the kiss. Cullen let his shield clatter to the ground, wrapping both arms tightly around the mage, hands splayed across his back, trying to feel through the armor. For a moment, Dorian considered removing the upper portion of his armor, so the two could be skin to skin, and he could feel Cullen’s callused hands up and down his back. By the Maker, that’s all he wanted in the moment, but he forced himself to save the stripping for somewhere other than the training grounds.

It almost felt like it lasted for hours by the intensity and the way the sun had risen over the fortress walls in the meantime. What finally broke the kiss was the striking ringing of the morning bells sounding Skyhold to wake up. Both men jumped at the sound, completely forgetting their surroundings while locked in each other’s embrace.

Dorian’s surprised eyes locked with Cullen’s with a matching expression, and both couldn’t help but laugh at their reaction. Cullen’s arms were still around Dorian’s waist, and Dorian’s draped over the Commander’s shoulders comfortably. It wasn’t until the men caught a glimpse of approaching grounds keepers that their embrace fell away, standing back awkwardly from one another before they were discovered.

“I…”

Cullen raised his eyebrows, waiting for Dorian to say something, because he was too stunned to do it himself.

“Thank you. For the sparring, that is. I…enjoyed it.” Dorian didn’t want to believe he was blushing, but he knew blood was rushing to his face.

Cullen smiled, only extending his hand in response. Dorian took Cullen’s hand in a firm grasp, giving a single solid shake. They stared at one another for a moment before Cullen stepped forward, his hold becoming gentle and soft. Eyes still locked with Dorian’s, he pressed a lasting kiss to the back of the man’s hand, the gesture holding more emotion than Dorian knew how to respond to. So, instead, he just smiled and ducked his head.

“So did I.” Cullen said lightly bringing their entwined hands away from his lips.

__________

His mind was in shambles, there was no way he could focus with his heart and head racing like this. Adrenaline had his hands shaking and his legs restless, so he paced. And paced and paced, around the room like it was a stage and all his anxiety and fears were the actors in a play.

But all these were real. Far too real for comfort.

Dorian exasperatedly threw open his door, rushing to the tavern to drown his panic attack away. As he walked—it was more of a jog, if he was honest—he wondered if there was really any reason to be anxious. Had anyone even seen him snogging the Commander? Would it be as scandalous in Ferelden as in Tevinter? While he doubted it, his anxious mind was having none of his logic.

When he entered the Herald’s Rest, it was fairly loud, the Inquisitor and Bull getting rowdy with the Chargers and a few stray recruits. Good, plenty of noise to drown out his thoughts.

Dorian grabbed a seat and a drink and proceeded to drink his feelings.

He hadn’t been counting, but it must have been an hour after he started drinking—and seven drinks in; he had been counting those—before a large and gruff hand smacked him playfully on the shoulder. Dorian jumped, turning quickly and narrowing his eyes. As he looked up, he saw a massive rack of Qunari horns and muscle looming over him, tankard in hand and bare chested.

“How’s it going? You’re that mage who kicked Cullen’s ass, yeah?” he lowered into a chair across the table.

“Is that how the story’s been spun?” Dorian’s words were melding together as he swirled his drink around in its mug.

“Might as well go with it,” the Oxman shrugged. “Better than being known as the undercover Vint, right?”

Dorian immediately sobered, back straightening and voice dropping low. “Who are you? What do you know and what do you want?”

Bull raised his brow, “Not even denying it? I’m guessing you aren’t normally this careless when you’re sober. Don’t think you would have made it this far.”

“Answer me,” Dorian growled through clenched teeth.

Smiling, Bull leaned his beefy arms on the table, dropping his tone as well. “I’m Ben Hassrath. Don’t worry, it’s no secret, actually I think that’s the first thing I said to the Inquisitor,” Bull cleared his throat and adjusted to lean even farther across the table, “It’s my job to read people, know things they would never admit by just looking at them. Besides, you really don’t think a Qunari would recognize a Vint when he sees one?”

Dorian couldn’t think straight; the way Bull talked quietly felt as if he didn’t want to out anything, but why would he bring this up in the first place if he was going to keep it a secret?

“I can pay whatever you want, I come from a very wealthy family. Just name your price and I’ll—”

Bull held up a hand to stop him, “Yeah, your family might be rich, but you’re not, are you? You ran off with the clothes on your back and something expensive to sell, just in case. Isn’t that right?”

Dorian’s mouth hung open as he tried to process the information, the fact that Bull was hitting every nail on the head with no more information than what he could see on Dorian’s face.

“That’s what I thought. And don’t worry, I don’t need you to pay me. I know you’re not Venatori, just a regular cocky mage boy. You won’t hurt anyone, not on purpose anyway.” He leaned back, crossing his arms in triumph, watching as realization washed over Dorian’s face.

“You’re not going to tell the Inquisitor? Or the Inquisition as a whole?”

Bull shrugged, downing the last of his ale, “No point. You’re keeping this a secret for a reason, and it’s a pretty good one. It’s probably what I would do in your shoes.”

Dorian took a moment, then shook his head, “But…you were in my situation. And you told them who you really are.”

Laughter echoed around the tavern as Bull belted out, “Oh, I guess I did, didn’t I?” He let the last of the laughter trickle out in several smaller huffs. “Well, at least the whole world isn’t at war with the Qunari.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “For once,” he muttered.

Bull sneered at him, “Watch it, Vint boy.”

Dorian sighed a breath of relief, hanging his head in his hands. He had no reason to trust Bull would keep his word, but for now it was enough.

After a moment of relative silence—as silent as it can get in a tavern after dark—Dorian heard the chair across from him creak as Bull leaned forward again.

“So, uh…I can see you have a lot on your mind. Think I could help clear your head a bit?”

Dorian looked up in near disgust. He wasn’t sure it was genuine, more just to keep up the Qunari-Tevinter feud. “I think not.”

Bull shrugged and stood, sauntering back to his Chargers. “Suit yourself. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

While Dorian had to admit he was curious, he was far too enamored with the Commander, thinking back over and over on their moment in the courtyard that morning.

__________

Paranoia had filled his bones for days, taking over his thoughts and actions. He wanted nothing more than to be alone, do as little as possible that could draw suspicion. He separated himself from the troops, the inner circle, the Inquisitor. Bull, especially.

And he tried to separate himself from Cullen, a major source of his anxiety. But every time he saw the blond walking toward him, with a sweet crooked smile that acknowledged their mutual feelings without bringing them to the forefront of conversation, Dorian could feel his shoulders relax and his mind declutter.

And, of course, it happened again. As Dorian trained in the courtyard, he could see the Commander’s infamous armor out of the corner of his eye. He just stood, watched as Dorian put his magic on display, not necessarily trying to impress anyone, but being impressive nonetheless.

At that point, Dorian was finding it hard to tell if Cullen was watching him out of adoration or suspicion. In an attempt to hide his nerves, Dorian ceased his casting and gave Cullen an exaggerated side glance.

“Enjoying the show, Commander?” He shifted his weight to one hip as he poked his staff into the ground.

Cullen raised his brows innocently, “Show? I was just admiring your form. A natural gift, I’m sure.”

Dorian strode up to where Cullen was leaning against a wall, “My form, he says.” He was tempted to run a hand down the blond’s chest, but chose not to out of fear of passersby noticing.

“I was simply studying how you move for the next time we spar, that’s all.” Cullen’s cheeks were ever so slightly pink.

Dorian grinned, “Is that all you were ‘studying’?” his voice was low and rumbly.

A few seconds passed before Cullen had to look away, his face turning bright red, unable to control a smile. Dorian had to give him props for how long the Commander managed to flirt back.

“I was actually here to ask if you had a bit of spare time,” Cullen’s blush slowly left his cheeks as he spoke, “but I figured I would wait until you were done.”

Dorian tilted his head a bit, “I might, depending on what for.”

“Chess.”

Was the conversation still flirtatious? Was “chess” a euphemism used in the south that Dorian wasn’t aware of?

“Chess?”

Cullen chuckled, “Yes, it’s something I like to do to clear my head, and you’ve seemed…full-headed, let’s say, as of late.”

Dorian huffed a laugh, “That would be one way to put it, yes.”

Cullen smiled and gestured to the garden, “Shall we, then?”

They didn’t say much as they walked to the garden, but Cullen began to explain as he pulled out Dorian’s chair for him, “My sister and I used to play chess against each other in hopes of beating our father one day.” He walked around to take his seat once Dorian was settled. “Eventually, she became even better at the game than Dad, so the new goal was for me to beat her. My brother and I practiced for months, hoping one of us would be able to beat her at least once. The look on her face when I finally won…”

The memory of triumph put the sweetest, most juvenile smile on Cullen’s scarred lips. Dorian couldn’t help but inquire, “A girl and two boys? Sounds like you parents had their work cut out for them.”

“Two girls and two boys, actually. Mia is the eldest, Rosalie is the youngest. I’m the older of us boys, however. Branson is a few years younger than me.”

Dorian scoffed with shock, “Quite a large family, isn’t it? And to think, I have no entertaining sibling stories to share.”

“Only child? You must have been spoiled, getting all the attention.” Cullen moved a piece on the board to start off the match.

Dorian gave a single harsh laugh. “Hardly; if my parents spent money on me, it was for my schooling. Only the most prestigious academies for their little heir.” Dorian rolled his eyes as he made his move, sitting back and crossing his arms after.

Cullen’s expression was so gentle and sympathetic. Dorian didn’t enjoy being pitied, but he knew Cullen wasn’t the type.

“Children should be free to have fun. It wasn’t fair of them to make you work so hard.”

Dorian felt a deep compressed anger bubble up before he said, “Children should be free to have fun, teenagers should be free to have fun, and I believe adults should be free to have fun. We should all just have fun with whomever we want and no one should have the right to judge us for it.”

Arms crossed over his chest, Dorian took a moment to calm down before looking back up to meet Cullen’s gaze. He seemed shocked and a little worried. Dorian looked at him expectantly with eyebrows raised.

“Uh, yes, I agree!” Cullen rushed to assure him, “I’m just not sure where that came from. Is that what’s been bothering you these past few days?”

Dorian sighed, “I suppose it’s part of it. That has been bothering me for most of my life, truthfully.”

The rest of the match was played in silence, Cullen only interjecting once to call Dorian out for cheating. They both laughed as Dorian replaced the affected piece, but they fell quiet again to finish the game.

“I believe that’s Checkmate.”

Dorian shook his head playfully, “You’re in the right line of work, it seems. Strategy is your forte. Good game, Commander.”

“And to you, Dorian. Care to play another round?”

As much as he was enjoying Cullen’s company, Dorian’s mind was tired from all his worrying—though this had been a good distraction—and he just needed to rest.

“I’m afraid not. I’ve things I wanted to get done today, I’m sorry.”

Cullen rose from his seat, “It’s no problem at all.”

Dorian rose as well, but neither went anywhere. They both just stood, looking softly at the other.

“Um…” Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck. “Could I walk you back to your quarters, then? Or wherever it is you’re headed.”

Dorian felt a flattered smile tease the corner of his lips. “I would like that, yes.”

On the steps up to the loft of the main hall, Dorian cleared his throat before speaking, “I apologize for my outburst earlier. I’ve just been thinking about my life back home recently.”

Cullen shook his head and placed a gentle hand on the mage’s back, “You have nothing to apologize for. I was hoping a game of chess would help clear your mind, so I was expecting you to vent a bit.”

At Dorian’s door Cullen added, “You know, you should feel free to talk to me. About anything. I said that when we first met, and it hasn’t changed just because you’re no longer under my command.”

As he stood in the doorway, Dorian glanced from Cullen to inside his room, wondering if he should act on their mutual attraction, or continue avoiding Cullen forever. How would Cullen be hurt if Dorian’s lies came to light? Not nearly as badly if they were just friends.

Dorian took a deep breath, “Maybe talking would help.”

Cullen smiled loosely.

“Or…” I’m really going through with this, aren’t I? “maybe not talking would help…”

Cullen’s smile fell away as he caught Dorian’s meaning. He didn’t make any move toward or away from Dorian, just like the first time he had been in his room. He simply said, in the quietest voice just above a whisper, “Whatever you’d like, I’m here.”

That was Dorian’s last chance to not do something stupid, but he ignored his racing heart. “I’d like you to come in.”

Cullen took a single stride into the room, closing the door and locking it behind them. He slowly closed the distance between them, placing caring hands on Dorian’s hips, waiting for more invitation.

Dorian let his hands glide up the armor on Cullen’s chest, watching his fingers draw closer to Cullen’s neck, the blond’s eyes studying his unsure expression all the while.

Just as skin met skin, Cullen whispered, “We don’t have to do this. No one’s making us. If you’re not certain—”

“I’m certain about you,” Dorian met his gaze, “I’m only uncertain about letting myself do this. I’ve fucked this up before, I don’t want to fuck it up with you.”

Cullen let out a pained sigh, gently taking Dorian's face in his hands and kissing him. How could something so soft be so intense all at once? Dorian dug his fingers into the fur mantle of Cullen’s armor, walking them backward toward the bed. With each step, a new article of clothing fell away, until they finally fell onto the bed in only their trousers. Cullen’s attention turned to the mage’s neck, Dorian biting his lip at the sensation.

Cullen’s kisses moved up and down and back up slowly and methodically, making Dorian arch off the bed ever so slightly with each touch, subtle noises escaping his lips. Cullen wrapped his tongue around the shell of Dorian’s ear, breathing heavy but quiet, “I can’t begin to tell you how you make me feel. I adore everything about you. I admire your confidence and how unabashedly ‘you’ you are. I can hardly stand to be away from you the more I get to know you.”

Dorian was nearly breathless as Cullen kissed his way down the mage’s chest. It wasn’t until those callused fingers started to loosen his laces that he felt he couldn’t breathe at all.

As Cullen made tantalizing work of Dorian’s last remaining garment, he whispered with raw emotion, “Nothing could change the way I feel about you, Dorian Rider.”

With that, Dorian sat up and grabbed Cullen’s hands to pause their work.

“Stop.”

Cullen’s head shot up to look Dorian in the eye, worry flooding his mind. “Are you ok?” he lifted himself to sit on the edge of the bed next to the mage, caressing his cheek with one hand, stroking his hair with the other.

“You don’t know me, Cullen. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Confusion washed over Cullen’s features, “I…I don’t understand. I want to know you. I feel like I do, but if I don’t, then I want—”

Dorian shook his head vigorously, “Cullen, you don’t get it! You wouldn’t want me if you knew me.”

Cullen’s eyes went stern, “Dorian, I just told you nothing could change my feelings for you. Nothing. I meant that.”

Dorian removed Cullen’s hand from his face, gently stroking the Commander’s knuckles with his thumb, “Please go, Cullen. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You could never hurt—”

“Please,” Tears threatened the rims of his eyes as he tried to hold his ground. He wanted nothing more than Cullen’s body against his, but he knew Cullen would only be let down, falling for a fake man Dorian created.

Cullen took a moment to lean his head against Dorian’s, a wordless goodbye, before he rose and began throwing on his armor, scattered from the door to the foot of the bed. Dorian watched his hands as Cullen silently dressed, glancing back periodically to gauge the mage’s feelings.

As he opened the door to leave, Cullen’s weak voice called back, “You can tell me anything, Dorian. I meant that, too.”

“Not anything.”

The room turned cold when Cullen left, and the breeze from the door closing behind his one chance at love shook the tears from Dorian’s eyes, falling onto his shaking hands.

He could have been sitting there for hours—he wouldn’t know—just trying to…well, he wasn’t sure of that either. He felt so numb despite the tears he could feel on his cheeks. He couldn’t decide if he needed a drink, a good sob, or some self-pleasuring. None of them would make him feel better, but they would make him feel something.

He’s gone. Dorian kept repeating in his head. He’s gone, and I sent him away. He confessed his feelings to me, feelings I share, and I told him to go. I can never get him back, I sent him away…

__________

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when the bells rang out, his eyes opened. They were dry and sore from crying; probably still red, too. Dorian reluctantly dragged his body out from under the fur blankets and sulked over to his mirror. Yes, definitely still red. He didn’t want to go out like that. He didn’t want to go out at all, for fear he might have to face his lost lover.

No, I didn’t lose him. Dorian stared himself down in the mirror, I pushed him away.

Dorian managed to make himself presentable, but he felt like a fraud in his own skin. He had settled into the identity of Dorian Rider, but somehow Cullen had undone all his hard work. Dorian was once again faced with himself, nothing to cover the shame he felt lying to a man who cared for him so deeply. And yet, he made no effort to tell Cullen the truth.

He would only be hurt that I lied to him, things are better this way. Interesting, the way Dorian continued attempting to convince himself he was in the right, when every part of him knew better.

Before he could psychoanalyze any further, Dorian pushed his chair back from the vanity and marched out the door, leaving his doubt at the threshold.

On the walk to the library, he felt like people were looking at him differently. They weren’t, when he looked closer, but nothing felt comfortable anymore. And things only became more uncomfortable when in the main hall Dorian’s eyes locked with golden ones on the other side of the room.

Cullen was entering the hall to the war room, papers tucked under his arm, when he glanced up, double taking before locking his gaze with Dorian’s. He wanted to run to the Commander, throw himself into the blond’s arms and apologize for everything. But melting on the other side of the hall would have to do. Cullen’s stare went soft as he saw the pain in Dorian’s eyes. They both knew the other was aching for their love, but both were too scared.

Cullen finally shook his head and looked down at his boots, disappearing into the ambassador’s office without a word.

Dorian tried to brush it off, tried to focus on his research, but to no avail. His mind was flooding with his mistakes. Though his eyes trekked the page in front of him, though his fingers turned the pages, he processed nothing. His mind was too full.

If there’s any perfect place to brood, it would be a library. Everyone passed Dorian without suspicion, assuming him to be lost in his work, all the while his crisis played out in silence. By the time the sun was setting, Dorian had read several works, but only had a page of notes. He tried to be productive, at least.

Now he had a choice to make: go back to his room and sleep his problems away, or go to the tavern and drink his problems away. Decisions, decisions.

Drowning his sorrows did sound tempting, but Dorian had pretended to be okay around enough people today. Besides, he didn’t need Bull to dive into his subconscious.

Dorian reached his quarters and, just as he prepared to shed his clothes and fall into a fitful sleep, a frantic knock rattled his door. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He waited a moment, but nothing more happened. Dorian slowly approached the door and unfastened the latch. Right as he did, the door flew open, nearly knocking him back.

Cullen charged into the room with a wrinkled piece of parchment strangled in his fist. He slammed the door behind him, and somehow quietly screamed, “What, by Andraste, is this?!”

He held up the letter just long enough for Dorian to see a familiar signature at the bottom of the page. “Halward Pavus.” Oh, Maker, no.

Dorian’s jaw dropped, eyes wide, hands turning clammy. He had no words, not that Cullen was interested in listening.

Cullen threw the note behind him, roughly grabbing Dorian’s shoulders and pushing him into the vanity behind them. Dorian tried to babble a “this isn’t what it looks like” before the backs of his thighs collided with the table and a pair of harsh, sweet, warm lips crashed against his.

Before he could return the kiss, or even close his eyes, Cullen pulled away and stared him down. “You really had me falling for you. Was that your plan? Get close to the Commander of the Inquisition so you could leach information from me to send back to your Venatori parents?!”

“No, Cullen, I would never—”

“You made me fall in love with you.”

That word took all Dorian’s breath. His previously pounding heart stopped. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what he had done, the pain he caused, the trust he’d broken. This is all he wanted to prevent.

“I-I’m so sorry, I never wanted this—”

“You aren’t even going to deny it?!” Cullen stood back from him, disgust in his eyes. That look alone could ruin Dorian.

“Cullen, please! I’m not Venatori! I tried to hide because I knew you’d think a Tevinter mage was Venatori, I knew you would think I was a spy, or a thief, or—”

“Lying only makes you look guiltier, Dorian! Bull told us exactly what he was going to do if he joined the Inquisition and we took him on his word because we were desperate. If you had told us, told me the truth—”

“Would you believe a mage walking through your gates saying, ‘Yes, I am a very powerful necromancer from Tevinter, but I swear I’m not Venatori’?”

Cullen’s face contorted again, backing up further, “You’re a necromancer?”

Dorian should have held his tongue. If he had stayed quiet, would they have given him a trial? But he supposed staying quiet is what led to this mess in the first place.

“Cullen I—please, give me a moment to explain! I never wanted you to get hurt, I didn’t mean to fool you into falling for me. I promise you, I never wanted any of this!”

Cullen’s voice dropped, “You didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you?”

Dorian’s shoulders relaxed, “No—well, yes. I—I hoped you were falling too because, Cullen, I lo—”

Cullen’s jaw clenched and he nearly gripped Dorian again, taking all the strength he had to hold back. “Don’t…say it.”

“But, Cullen, I really do—”

Cullen was on him in an instant, hands digging into his hair, lips locked in a heated kiss. Passion mixed with anger and confusion as the two men lost themselves in physical sensation.

Dorian gasped for air as the kiss finally broke, Cullen asking through panting breath, “Make me believe you. Prove you’re the same man I loved.”

Dorian searched the blond’s face for something that could help him, but he found only hurt and betrayal. “I…I can’t.” he didn’t know how he could fix this, he didn’t think he could.

Tears finally fell from Cullen’s eyes as he looked to the floor, crossing his arms over his chest and turning away, not wanting Dorian to see just how much he’d hurt him.

“Get out. Take your things, food, lyrium potions. I don’t care, take whatever you want, just…”

Dorian held his breath, devastated to hear what came next, “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

He was crushed, he felt like his legs would give out from under him. But Dorian moved as he was told, gathering his things, tears staining each item he touched.

Cullen refused to look at him, keeping his back to Dorian as the mage packed all he could.

Dorian approached the door slowly, hoping Cullen would stop him to say something more, something that could bring Dorian hope for seeing each other again. But he got no such reply.

“Don’t let anyone see you leave. I’m going to tell them you vanished into the night before I could confront you. They won’t come looking for you. Neither will I.” Cullen’s glazed eyes rose to look into Dorian’s, puffy and bloodshot. “Goodbye, Dorian.”

His heart sank. He felt like he might vomit, if he had any strength. He felt so weak and lost.

“Goodbye, Cullen.”

With those final words, Dorian was gone. He did as Cullen told him, making sure no one witnessed him leave into the dark. With nowhere else to go, he headed toward Miss Ella’s farm. Dorian didn’t know how he would tell her, but he was done lying. He’d hurt the most important person to him already, nothing could be worse.

__________

Cullen stood in the empty room with his eyes closed, hands over his face, wiping away his tears so he could pretend he wasn’t hurt. After taking a moment to compose himself, Cullen began searching the room halfheartedly. He threw open drawers without really looking, making the place look ransacked in a rush. Once he’d scattered things in a believable way, he turned his attention to the lock on the door. He took the hilt of his sword and knocked the latch loose, making it look like he had broken in. That should be enough to convince his fellow advisors.

Cullen quickly returned to the war room where many members of the inner circle, along with the Inquisitor and his advisors, waited in anticipation for the Commander’s return. As the door swung open, all heads turned toward him, each with equally expectant and worried looks. Cullen’s face was blank, but his feeling of defeat was still obvious.

“Well?” Cassandra stepped forward, worry in her eyes but anger on her face, “Where is that Venatori bastard?”

Cullen sighed deeply, the rest of the room raising their brows in unison.

“Gone. I didn’t find him in the ‘Rest or his room.”

Cassandra scoffed, “Then we send a search party. Check all corners of Skyhold, then we—”

“We can send all the search parties you want, Lady Seeker, but there’s nothing left of him here. I broke into his quarters and looked for any information as to where he could be or what he hoped to gain by joining our ranks, but I found nothing. He either took everything important with him, or destroyed it.”

Everyone’s heads fell, shoulders slouching in defeat.

The Inquisitor looked to Cullen with sadness strewn across his features. “And to think, we had all become so close…and it meant nothing to him.”

Tears threatened Cullen’s eyes again as he remembered how desperately Dorian had clung to him, tied to convince him he was innocent. But innocent men don’t hide, innocent men don’t lie.

“I know. But that must have been what he wanted. For us all to get comfortable, slowly leaking him the information he needed.” He closed his eyes tightly, shaking and dropping his head, “I should have never let him join the inner circle. I’m sorry, Inquisitor.”

The Inquisitor looked back to his party, nodding toward the door. All but the advisors exited the war room, leaving the room silent and cold. Once the space was empty of onlookers, the Inquisitor shuffled over to Cullen with wet eyes. They looked at one another for a long moment before the Inquisitor wrapped his arms around Cullen’s waist. Cullen’s eyes widened in shock, looking down at the elf hanging onto him for dear life, before he gave in and squeezed the Dalish’s shoulders in return.

They stood like that for a moment, Leliana and Josephine watching on solemnly, wrapped in their own somber embrace. The elf pulled back but stayed close, saying in a quiet voice, “He was my friend, Cullen. Our friend,” he gestured to the women behind him, “I know he was yours, too.”

Cullen felt his heart stop, then fall into the empty pit in his chest. “Yes,” he said gently, “the closest I’ve had since…in a while.”

The elf made certain the door closed quietly behind him as he left, Josephine following closely behind. Before Leliana made her move to leave as well, she handed Cullen a short stack of papers.

With a soft voice, she said, “I’m sure this isn’t the best time to tell you, but I started digging right after we intercepted the letter. I found the names of a few close friends and accomplices of the Pavus family. One of which has been heavily involved with the Venatori since before the term was coined, before they worshipped Corypheus.”

Cullen flipped through the pages, sloppily skimming the words on each one.

“Name?” Cullen asked, no nonsense.

“Gereon Alexius, a former mentor and family friend, from what I found. If Dorian had anything to do with the magicks Alexius had been developing…”

“I’ll go over it in the morning. Thank you, Leliana.” Cullen’s voice was flat and flavorless.

The spymaster sighed, placing a sympathetic hand on Cullen’s cheek, palm surprisingly warm. “I know what you felt for him. When I first joined the Hero of Ferelden on her journey…”

Cullen looked at her with understanding.

Leliana cleared her throat, never having gotten this personal with the Commander before. “Well, people have feelings that sometimes contradict with their goals. And they choose which to follow. Often, I think, they choose the wrong path.”

Cullen nodded, eyes squeezing shut with hurt.

“What I’m trying to say is this: I wonder if he didn’t lie to you about the way he felt, but knew it wouldn’t align with his plans.”

“I can’t have feelings for someone who supports the Venatori’s agenda. He fooled me, Leliana. I fell for a man that doesn’t exist.”

Leliana’s hand fell from his cheek. “Have you considered his personality may have been real?”

Cullen opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out, his brow simply furrowed.

She gave a slight smile, “Please rest, Commander. The war can wait a night.”

__________

Cullen didn’t sleep that night, his dreams plagued by images of Dorian and echoes of their final goodbyes. He could still feel the mage’s thin fingers in his hair, the passion and meaning in each kiss they shared. Cullen would wake frequently throughout the night, sweating and conflicted, his emotions at war with reality.

It was futile after a while, and only served to drain his energy more each time he woke, so he stopped trying to rest, instead making his way down to his office to mull over Leliana’s research. The blond felt hopeless as he read, not recognizing any of the names of the influential families mentioned, despite them all being connected to someone he thought he knew.

As he skimmed the next few pages—mostly filled with descriptions of how money was passed amongst the families for favors, something Josephine could use later—Cullen’s eyes paused on a description of Dorian. The quote seemed to be a letter sent from a man called Felix, to Dorian’s father:

“Lord Pavus,

My father has been rather busy with his project, so he asked me to write you in his place. Dorian has been of exponential help with his academic knowledge, but also with his experience. My father truly appreciates you continuing to allow Dorian to remain with us. As promised, he is kept an eye on, allowed only to leave the grounds with the accompaniment of myself or a guard. Speaking personally, your son is a great man. He has been nothing but honest with us, and I consider him a friend. I am starting to suspect he does not know my father’s intent with their project, and I am beginning to worry he may cease work if he discovers its purpose. Know that, should that happen, I will not stop him. Our task was to keep him from trouble, and if he deems the project as such, I will trust his judgement. My father and I have different views on these types of magicks; Dorian seems to enjoy thinking about the hypothetical, but he agrees that these things are better left to imagination. While the project is important to my father—and of course to myself, if it can work to cure me—I feel a need to allow Dorian to do what is best for himself. These are my intentions, not my father’s. He has all intentions to hold up his end of your bargain. I have made no such promises to you. Be aware of that.

Yours Truly,

Felix Alexius

P.S. Dorian asks that you do not attempt to contact him directly. He has nothing to say to you.”

Cullen could deduce two things from the letter: Felix Alexius is Gereon Alexius’s son, and whatever they were working on was magic most people have an aversion to. Could it be blood magic? What would blood magic have to do with curing someone of an ailment? Even if this Felix was possessed, blood magic could only transfer the demon to another living being, not banish it. Blood magic is a demon’s domain.

As much as he tried to focus on what information he could draw about their “project”, Cullen couldn’t help but see how devoted Felix was to Dorian. While he claimed in the letter to consider Dorian a friend, could they have been more? Another detail about Tevinter Dorian had hidden.

“Nothing but honest?” Cullen thought aloud, “If only. Would have saved me a few headaches.”

Cullen drug a hand over his face, wiping away a tear he hadn’t noticed pooling in the corner of his eye. This was harder than he thought it would be, to consider his paramour could be capable of aiding the Venatori, or even worse, being one of them.

He took a moment to collect himself before dressing in his usual armor and setting off for the war room where he would wait for the morning to fully rise and his fellow advisors to arrive.

Entering the hall leading to the war room, Cullen was greeted by Josephine at her desk looking exhausted, mulling over paper work of her own. She looked up upon hearing the door creak open and gave him a weak smile.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked knowingly, fixing her frazzled hair.

Cullen nodded, “I see you couldn’t either. Manage to dig up anything else?”

Josephine sighed, bringing a tall stack of parchment up from the floor by her feet. “There are many noble families associated with the Venatori. Most are from Tevinter, of course, but there are a surprising handful from Antiva.”

Cullen plopped into the seat in front of Josephine’s desk, about to start sorting through the things she’d dug up, when the door creaked again, Leliana leaning her head in.

“I thought I heard you up, Josie. Commander.” She nodded to Cullen in greeting.

He nodded back, handing her his notes from the morning, “I found a letter in what you gave me, from a young man named Felix. It looks like he’s Alexius’s son, and he knows what they were working on. Something big, something dangerous, something even Dorian seemed hesitant about.”

“Blood magic?” Josephine asked, walking around her desk to peer over Leliana’s shoulder.

“That was my first thought, but the people of Tevinter have a long history with blood magic; I wouldn’t think a Tevinter would have any qualms about using it. No, this must be something people don’t play with.”

The women shook their heads in unison. “Corypheus is driving his followers to play with the laws of nature.” Leliana said under her breath.

“Possibly. We need to find Alexius before he completes his project, if he hasn’t already.”

The women nodded, Josephine rushing off to wake the Inquisitor.

As the door swung closed, Leliana turned to face the Commander, kneeling on the ground before him. “Are you feeling any better? I take it you didn’t sleep well.”

Cullen shook his head, leaning forward in defeat. “I understand you have eyes everywhere around Skyhold, but how is it you knew about me and Dorian, but didn’t know Dorian was pretending to be someone else?”

Leliana sighed, crossing her legs under her, “I don’t know. I feel like I failed us, I let such a huge threat pass through our defenses. He must have been extremely careful. It…it makes me wonder if he has other correspondents in our ranks.”

Cullen nearly choked on his bitter laugh, “One thing at a time, Leliana. If there were any other Tevinters in the Inquisition, they would have fled with Dorian. They’d know they had been found out. We can look into it after we find this mentor of Dorian’s and find out what that secret project is all about.”

It didn’t seem to make the spymaster any less nervous, picking at her fingernails and staring into her lap. Cullen sighed, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder, “You haven’t failed anyone. I’m the only fool here.”

Before she could reassure him, the door flew open again, the Inquisitor and Josephine holding yet more research. Cullen stood, bowing his head respectfully.

“What’s this about a secret project?” The elf asked, almost panting.

“I found a letter from Dorian’s mentor’s son describing a project using magicks none of them felt comfortable messing around with. We’ve ruled out blood magic; we think it could be something even more threatening.”

“Are we certain? Dorian seemed very against blood magic when we spoke about it. He almost looked sick talking about it.” The Inquisitor nearly snatched the letter from Cullen’s hand when offered.

“Even if those were his true feelings on the matter, blood magic is not a rarity in Tevinter, and even this mentor and his son seemed hesitant.” Cullen explained, pointing to his notes in the margins.

The elf sighed, sitting in Cullen’s now vacant seat. “This is bad. So bad.”

“Yes…” Cullen sat as well.

After a long silence where the room seemed as tired as the people in it, Josephine spoke up.

“Should we start work on a plan of attack?”

“I’ll see if I can hunt Alexius down. Maybe find his son, if I can’t find the man himself.” Leliana was already heading back to her nook to send out spies.

The Inquisitor absentmindedly nodded, approving but reluctant. “I’ll see who wants to come along to fight an insane Venatori with some mystical secret magic. Wish me luck.” He stood and shuffled toward the door.

“Cullen, form a small band of troops. Some of the more talented Templars, if you could. I have a feeling we’ll require their abilities.”

“Yes, Ser.” Cullen said bluntly, watching the Inquisitor as he exited.

Josephine and Cullen turned to one another. “I’ll see if anyone is willing to trade their honor for a bribe. I suppose we’ll regroup after we’ve all finished. Stay strong, Commander.”

“Thank you, Josephine. I will certainly do my best.” Cullen gave a respectful bow before leaving the ambassador to her work.

As he walked down the main hall, ready to turn left through Solas’s quarters toward his office, Cullen noticed the light breeze coming from a door to his right. He glanced over and saw the garden mostly empty before the door swung shut again. He could use to clear his head.

So he turned right instead, stepping out into the garden. Cullen breathed in and held it, letting the silence wash over him. He let the breath out and began slowly pacing the garden. He brushed his gloved fingertips across the leaves in the herb planters, watched on as a bird drank from the well, and stepped over the line of ants making their way to their hill. But when he reached the gazebo, he stopped.

Cullen looked on solemnly at the chess board, pieces still set as they were when he and Dorian had played, a few knocked over from wind. Cullen sat in his seat and stared across to where Dorian should have been. He’d looked so beautiful that day, the sun backlighting and outlining his face. He had still had a sheen of sweat from sparring, glistening off his toned arms and neck. Cullen heaved a long sigh before moving one of Dorian’s pieces forward.

“Check mate,” He whispered, “You got me, Dorian.”

After a moment Cullen stood, making his way into the small Chantry set up in one of the rooms off the garden. Andraste’s likeness watched him as he entered, false golden eyes seeming to follow him. Cullen gently lowered himself onto a knee, clasping his hands in front of his face before the shrine.

“It’s been a while since I’ve done this properly.” He admitted.

Cullen proceeded to recite the Chant of Light and several prayers for the men and women he would be taking with him to battle. One for the Inquisitor, one for himself, one for his friends, and one for his family.

Before he stood, Cullen closed his eyes tightly. “He may not deserve it,” he said softly, quietly, “but Maker please, keep Dorian safe. I doubt more and more the decision I made sending him away. I should have let him say his piece. I didn’t know Dorian Pavus, but I knew my Dorian. There has to be something of the man I loved in there. It couldn’t have all been a lie. He cried for me, he told me he didn’t want to hurt me. I can’t bear the thought of it all having been manipulation. Please, wherever he is, keep him safe.”

__________

Cullen would have preferred it hadn’t taken as long as it did, but here they were two days later with plans sprawled out on the war table. Each advisor had done their work quickly but surely, getting as close to the truth as they could in such a short time frame. Cullen had his Templar volunteers and a solid fighting strategy, Leliana had her eye witnesses, and Josephine had her bribed sources.

As the Inquisitor wrapped up the meeting, all attendees on board with the plan, he asked, “Any final questions?” Hesitant to move forward with their search.

The room had a sad sort of silence, none of them sure they would return safely, or return at all. They had been lucky since Haven to avoid any true life or death battles, but they were all well aware this would be like no fight they had fought before.

With the lack of any remaining questions to help him stall, Lavellan turned to Cullen with soft eyes. “Are you ready, Commander?”

After a deep, deep breath, He nodded. They were all on their horses and off in an instant, Skyhold’s gates behind them reminding them there was no turning back.

Hours later, after following the directions Leliana’s spies could write out with any certainty, the party found themselves passing through Redcliffe Farms, past the stables and the druffalo, to a fork splitting the trotted path in two.

“This way, I think.” The Inquisitor said, checking the written description again.

“Are you sure?” Cullen chimed in quickly, riding up to align their horses so he could glance over the elf’s shoulder. “The only thing up the hill is the watchtower. A stream beyond that. I expect if the Venatori were holed up there, the stable master and his wife would have noticed. Certainly our guards in the tower would have seen them come and go.”

Lavellan chewed the inside of his lip as he became less convinced they weren’t out on a wild goose chance. “The reports just say ‘Venatori activity traced back to Redcliffe Farms. Suspected to be in Dead Ram Grove.”

Increasingly frustrated by the vague intel they had managed to scrounge up practically overnight, Cullen let out a scoff. “Dead Ram Grove is the start of the stream, where the water flows down from the mountains. The only thing there is water and sheep. Obviously Leliana’s helpers need their heads examined. It’s pointless to even look.”

As Cullen turned his horse around, ready to head back to the farm and ask around, the Templars all perked up in unison.

“Commander,” Barris pulled his horse to block Cullen’s path. “There is magic here. It’s faint, not like a mage is present, but a spell they left behind. Whether they remain here, or have since left the area, I still believe it’s worth investigating.”

Cullen looked over his shoulder for conformation, the Inquisitor already leading the group ahead. While he trusted Barris’s sense for magic, Cullen also felt dread, part of him hoping they wouldn’t find anything Venatori related. Or at least nothing that would confirm Dorian’s connection to them. But he followed dutifully, returning to his position right next to the Inquisitor.

As they passed the watch tower overlooking the farm, and led their horses to wade through the water as they followed upstream, Cullen’s heart raced. The Templars continued to sense lingering magic, perhaps even an active enchantment; a ward meant to hide things in plain sight.

“Dispell,” Cullen commanded, Barris and his soldiers taking deep swigs of lyrium. Cullen averted his eyes as they did.

Moving as one, the Templars gave two hardy hits each to their shields, and a shock wave erupted out from their group. It made no noise, but bounced off the walls of Dead Ram Grove like an echo. The party stayed silent in waiting.

Distant voices could be heard speaking Tavene.

Cullen and Lavellan whipped their heads around to look at each other with wide eyes. “Venatori!”

Hurried but quiet, the party leapt off their horses, loosely draping their reins over branches to keep the steeds in place. They followed the voices to a low cliff overlooking the grove. There was little foot traffic, with overgrown grass and weeds, dead trees leaning to make a morbid arch. As they inched closer, a small sconce lit on its own, causing the Inquisitor to jump.

He took a hesitant step forward, narrowing his eyes at the greenish blue flame. “Veil fire.” He whispered behind him. “That means mages.”

Part of Cullen’s heart sank. While he knew this would lead them to gaining an edge against Corypheus, a selfish part of him wanted them to find nothing, so he would never learn more about just how much Dorian had lied to him.

Entering the ruins of what must have been an old exit from the deep roads, massive stone pillars loomed, along with menacing statues of cloaked skeletons driving their swords into the ground. The group felt uneasy, each member fidgeting and glancing to every corner of the room. It was dark, but the light from outside showed them a staircase leading even further into the earth, and further into darkness.

Cullen blocked the Inquisitor from continuing, rather taking the lead himself to protect the elf from a possible ambush. Making their way forward only led them to darker and darker rooms, no torches in sight, only dim Veil fires that continued to flare up ominously as they approached each sconce.

Just as they entered the final room of the cave ruin, Cullen starting to think there may be nothing here after all, the room came to life, sconces bursting into multicolored flames, illuminating the space to reveal that they were surrounded.

“Inquisitor,” a dark figure in Tevinter robes grinned smugly from a ruined throne at the far end of the room. “Welcome.”

“Sheath your weapons,” the surrounding mages demanded, drawing ever closer with staves outstretched.

The party looked to Lavellan for instruction, and he nodded, returning his sword to his back. The group followed suit.

“We were beginning to wonder if you might realize how close we had drawn. Corypheus sends his regards.” The mage stood from his seat, tossing back his hood and crossing his arms behind him.

“Oh, we found you out quickly,” Lavellan snarled, “Your little spy wasn’t as stealthy as he thought. Maybe you should handle your correspondents’ communications more carefully.”

The Tevinter’s brow raised, looking surprised, but always taunting. “My ‘spy’?” he inquired with a lilted voice, “Do tell, Inquisitor.”

Cullen rolled his eyes. “No need to play coy, Alexius. We intercepted Magister Pavus’s attempts to contact his son, whom you so clumsily slipped into our ranks.” Cullen’s bitterness and blame had all lifted off of Dorian in that moment as he directed his hurt onto Alexius, the man responsible for all this heartbreak in the first place, as far as Cullen was concerned.

“Magister Pavus’s son?” Alexius’s grin dropped, “You speak of Dorian, Commander?”

Cullen flinched at the mention of the mage’s name.

Alexius looked to the throne behind him, tracing a finger along the arm. “My poor Dorian; if only he could have seen the good he could achieve. Not only for Tevinter, for the world.”

Cullen was in shock at what he was hearing. If Alexius hadn’t sent Dorian to the Inquisition, then who did? Could all that Dorian said, that fateful night on which he was banished from Cullen’s sight, be true after all? From where he stood, all Cullen could see was a backlit outline, but the mage before them began to make an obvious, sinister movement toward his pocket.

“What Dorian never realized, what I tried to teach him through our research, is that Thedas…Thedas needs direction,” his voice was low as he turned, eyes glistening with intent, knowing he had won.

“Thedas needs control.”

Blue light began sparking in the mage’s palm, lighting his crazed expression from below, broken sounds of laughter escaping his lips as he raised his hand higher.

The Inquisitor and Cullen watched on with masked fear as a small talisman on a leather cord began to rise on its own from the palm of Alexius’s hand, crackling in an unstable, uncontrolled manner. Just as dread and the weight of their own mortality began washing over the party, a voice called out from a shadowy corner:

“No! I won’t let you do this.”

The blue cast vanished at once, the talisman dropping from its ominous floating and back into the mage’s hand. Alexius whipped his neck around, eyes worried and shocked at once, obviously recognizing the voice. The young man had dark, tired eyes as he revealed himself from the dark. His skin lacked color, and his hair was thin. He looked as if he had lived a man’s full life in only a few years, and he was exhausted.

“Felix!” Alexius ran to the young man’s side. “My son, you should be resting, you’re too weak; you look so pale!”

Cullen’s shoulders relaxed as he heard the familiar name. “Felix?” he said quietly, then directing his question to the man himself, “You were friends with Dorian, weren’t you?”

Felix pushed past his father, standing before the party with confidence. “I am. I know him well, and I know he would never have helped with your project if he knew what you planned to use it for.” He turned to face Alexius, pointing an accusing finger. “You lied to him! You lied to me! You said this was for my health, that you thought this could save me! You betrayed his trust, my trust!”

His eyes went somber as he quietly asked, “What would mother think?”

That sent Alexius into a rage, shouting furiously, “This could bring her back! Both of you would be safe, healthy, happy! I did this all for you both!”

Tears began to well in his eyes as Felix retorted, voice meek and sad, “No. She would have never wanted this.”

Alexius became irate, nostrils flaring and fists clenching, “How dare you!!” he screamed. “You have the opportunity to have your mother back, to have never lost her at all, and you tell me she would never want this? You stand before me, your own father, who has loved and raised you single handedly since she passed, telling me this isn’t all for you?!”

“Raised me? Single handedly?! What about all the days, even weeks, I went without seeing you because you were too hung up on your project? Too lost in the past to spend time with your own son? After my mother died in front of my eyes!”

Alexius’s hands began to burn with fire, the talisman feeding off of his rage and sparking once again. “You would be in the grave with her if it weren’t for me! All that research, just to keep you alive for all these years! You would have died within days of her if it weren’t for all my time spent in that damned laboratory, slaving over revolutionary medicines I now learn you weren’t even grateful for!”

“I wish I had died with her!” Felix’s cry echoed through the stone of the ruin walls. “I’ve been suffering for years! I feel the Blight eating away at me from the inside every moment I continue to breathe! You have no idea the pain you’ve put me through!”

The room fell silent, Alexius thinking on his son’s hurtful words.

“Well,” he said after a long while, voice raspy with emotion, “If my magic can’t serve to help you,” he clenched the talisman with ferocity, “It will serve Corypheus just fine!”

The room lit with blue lightening, the talisman flying into the center of the space and igniting with quick bursts of magical energy, barely controlled. Alexius howled with mad laughter, arms outstretched to feed the talisman with all his mana, fueling the chaotic reaction.

“Father, No!” Felix screamed, throwing himself at Alexius, tackling him to the ground.

While the Venatori were distracted, all watching in awe at the display of power destabilizing in the center of the room, the Inquisitor sprinted forward, drawing his sword and charging to take Alexius out for good. But, from the corner of his eye as he wrestled with his own son, Alexius spotted the elf’s attack. He managed to get a hand free from Felix, commanding the talisman to explode with a magical fury of light spiritual wisps, imploding inward on itself, sucking the Inquisitor in as he screamed in agony, his every essence torn across time and space. Cullen and the Templars watched on in abject horror, Lavellan’s blood curdling cries echoing in their minds.

Though the Inquisitor was gone, his blade continued his momentum, flying across the room and driving directly into Alexius’s shoulder, causing him to tumble off Felix and crash onto the stone floor.

“Venatori! Attack the Inquisitor’s reinforcements!!” Alexius hollered as he stumbled off to his escape.

“Retreat!” Cullen commanded, tailing Barris and the rest of the Templars as they fled, defending them against attacks from behind as they fought through the Venatori hoard before them.

Once there was a hole in the opposition’s defense, Cullen called out, “To the watchtower! Tell them to fire on the river! Shoot anything that moves!”

The Commander fought off those trying to prevent their escape, helping his team push to the ruin entrance. When they reached the threshold, each member jumped back onto their horses, galloping off to the watchtower and the camp just beyond Redcliffe Farms for backup.

“Open fire! Venatori!” Barris yelled to the watchtower guards. A shower of arrows came down almost instantly, flying just behind their horses, taking out many of the Venatori swordsmen. But the mages hadn’t left the mouth of the ruin, and Cullen was right there waiting for them. Dodging the hail of arrows and trying not to fall off the short cliff, Cullen fought back as many of the mages as he could while he waited for backup from the camp. Barris came riding back in just in time to save Cullen’s back from an attack he didn’t see coming.

As their numbers dwindled, it became easier for the Templars to dispel almost all the defensive magicks the Venatori were using, causing the remaining few mages to panic and retreat back into the ruin, following Alexius’s escape route.

Exhausted, but still on edge, Cullen and Barris’s Templars made their way back to the farm to regroup and process what had just happened. What had happened to the Inquisitor?

As they rounded the corner to check on the guards at the watchtower, Cullen heard footsteps running up behind them.

“There’s a straggler!” He called out, pulling out his sword and shield again, ready to strike.

“No, don’t shoot! I want to help you!”

Cullen stayed poised as he watched the man come into view. It was Felix, panting and running toward them, unarmed.

“What did you do with the Inquisitor?!” Cullen inched closer to Felix, still not convinced he could let his guard down.

Felix stopped several feet away, leaving enough room so Cullen felt unthreatened. He raised his hands above his head to show he meant no harm. “He’s not dead, I can promise that much, but I don’t know where he is.” His hands lowered as he scratched his chin in contemplation. “Well, that’s not quite what I mean. I know where he is; he’s here.”

Cullen’s sword and shield lowered and he looked at Felix with confusion.

“What I should say is: I don’t know when he is.”

Frustrated, Cullen ground his teeth, “Enough being cryptic! Just tell us where Alexius took him!”

Felix shook his head. “This is going to take a lot of explaining, and it will sound outlandish, but you have to believe me. I was there when my father and Dorian developed this, I know how it—”

“Spit it out!” Barris barked, now standing next to Cullen, also ready to fight.

Felix sighed, “He sent the Inquisitor through time.”

The Templars looked around at each other, none having heard of such magic before.

“Don’t lie to us, boy! We have you surrounded.” Barris raised his shield in preparation before his arm was pushed down.

“He isn’t,” Cullen held Barris back, then sheathing his own weapon and shield. “When we first suspected Dorian was Tevinter, Leliana found the letter we all read in the mission briefing. The letter was written by Felix, and he said the magic they were experimenting with was magic no one had ever considered manipulating before. Because it’s dangerous; one doesn’t just mess with the laws of nature.”

“You saw my letter? To Dorian’s father? So that’s how you knew of me, and that I know Dorian.” Felix approached slowly as he connected the dots. “So you must see now: Dorian knew he was developing a way to manipulate time, but he thought it was for me. He ran away, here to Ferelden, the moment my father started to speak of joining the Venatori. And he would never have helped in the first place if it wasn’t a matter of life and death.”

Cullen looked Felix up and down, taking in his thin frame, eaten away at by something inside of him. “You said in there that you’re sick. Is it really the Blight? I’ve never seen anyone survive past a day, let alone a year.”

Felix nodded sadly, eyes going even darker, “Yes. While my father is no healer, he is an excellent alchemist, and created many medicines to try and help me while he worked on a more permanent solution to curing me. That’s when he…recruited Dorian to help. It was more like blackmail, but Dorian just wanted to help me.” He looked down at his hands, wringing them nervously. “He was like a brother to me. He never knew this would happen.”

Barris lowered his weapons completely, but would not sheath them. “Then…did you send Dorian to the Inquisition?”

Felix’s eyes went wide, “No, I never even knew he joined. I haven’t been able to contact him for months. It was too risky, I couldn’t have my father knowing I planned to stop him. Dorian always said he would be by my side on that day, But after we lost touch…”

Cullen felt his shoulders relax; Dorian wasn’t Venatori! What a relief. But he felt no relief, as just as the revelation swept over him, another realization came to tighten his chest. He drove Dorian away for nothing. He broke the mage’s heart, and his own, based on assumptions.

“I never let him say his piece…” Cullen thought aloud.

“What?” Barris turned to him, finally putting his weapons away. “You spoke to Dorian? When?”

Cullen wiped a hand over his face before glancing over to Felix. “It looks like the two of us have a lot of explaining to do.”

__________

As they rode their horses back to Skyhold, Barris in the lead and Cullen protecting the rear of the group, Felix tapped Cullen’s shoulder from behind.

“Cullen, is it? Could I ask you something?” Felix said as he shifted uncomfortably on the back of Cullen’s saddle.

“You’ll call me Commander until we know we can trust you.”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect, Commander, I assure you.”

Cullen had to stop himself from groaning. He would have liked to say he was angry, but the only thing jumping around in his mind was confusion. The only thing he was angry about was his decision. And frankly, he was tired of thinking about it. He was only making himself feel worse.

“Just ask your question.”

Felix nodded and asked, “I hadn’t heard from Dorian after his initial letter telling me he had arrived in Ferelden. I’m missing a lot of time between then and now. Could you tell me what happened that led to you believing Dorian was Venatori?”

Cullen heaved a deep sigh, “It’s not a short list of events, I’ll warn you.”

Felix chuckled, “We’ve nothing but time at the moment.”

“I suppose,” Cullen half-heartedly agreed.

When he finished catching Felix up to speed, the young man was silent for a long while, mulling over the details.

“It sounds like Dorian trusted you.” He prodded.

Cullen dropped his gaze to the reins in his tightly fisted hands. “I know I trusted him. I thought he had betrayed my trust when we intercepted his father’s letter, but I…” He squeezed his eyes closed, “I said things I wish I hadn’t. Things I didn’t mean. I know now that I betrayed him, just because I wouldn’t listen.”

“I still can’t believe you spoke to him before he vanished.” Barris chimed in from the front of the formation. “You lied to the entire Inquisition! Even your friends. That’s me I’m talking about, by the way. You lied to me.”

“I know.” Cullen sighed, “I’m sorry. I just…wanted to make sure he was safe. I didn’t know what the Inquisitor would do to him. But I guess it couldn’t have been much worse than what I did…” Cullen’s voice fell off as he remembered all the things he said.

I don’t ever want to see your face again…

Entering Skyhold’s gate led them directly into a crowd of people wanting to congratulate the Inquisitor on defeating the hidden Venatori forces. But when Cullen passed under the arch and into the courtyard with the Inquisitor’s empty horse led behind him, all the chattering stopped.

“Where is Lavellen?” Cassandra asked with worry. And as Cullen’s horse turned to reveal the second passenger, “And who is that?” She growled.

Cullen lowered himself off the horse, pointedly not offering Felix any help to get down, which he did ungracefully.

As he handed the reins off to a stable hand, Cullen told the Seeker, “Call a war meeting.”

__________

“You WHAT?” The ladies exclaimed in unison.

Cullen drug a hand over his face, leaning on the war table and sighing before he said, “I know it was stupid of me, but Dorian isn’t Venatori, so there’s no danger in him being out there on his own.”

“But you didn’t know that when you sent him away!” Josephine shouted, as much as the mild-mannered woman could.

“Look,” Cullen closed his eyes tightly, pinching the space between his brows, “I lied. I lied to all of you and put you in danger because I let myself get too close. I considered Dorian a friend. I didn’t want him to be in danger in the hands of the Inquisition. I’m sorry. I know I was reckless, and I’m sorry.”

The room fell quiet as the women looked to one another, silently acknowledging Cullen’s apology.

Cullen continued after recognizing the soft looks in their eyes. “But what we need to do now is find him. He’s the only one who might know how to get Lavellen back.”

“Dorian can reverse engineer a spell better than anyone I’ve ever met,” Felix added, “He’ll be able to undo this. I’m certain.”

“Well, mister ‘best friend’,” Leliana turned to Felix, annoyed that he had cut in, “Where do you propose we start our search?”

Felix took a second to think. “In his initial letter, to tell me he had arrived, Dorian mentioned he was staying with an older woman in the Hinterlands. He simply called her ‘Miss Ella’. She has a small farm, he said. I haven’t heard from him since then, so that would be my only guess.”

Cullen nodded, “Even if he’s not staying with her, he might be hiding out nearby. Runaways tend to return to places they know first.”

“I trust your ability to hunt down a mage, Commander.” Cassandra said, too dry to tell if she was joking.

But before the hunt could begin, all of Skyhold needed rest and time to absorb the news of the Inquisitor’s disappearance. No rest came to Cullen, however; as if he expected it to. His mind and heart were racing. What if they couldn’t find Dorian? Who would be able to bring back the Inquisitor?

And what if they did find Dorian? Would he forgive Cullen for what he had said? Would he attack or flee?

Worst of all: what if they found his body? Just another casualty of the war between the Templars and mages. Another victim to Corypheus’s forces.

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to clear the image from his mind. He couldn’t bear the thought that his final words to Dorian would be his banishment, never able to redeem himself. Never able to beg for Dorian’s forgiveness.

With his eyes still closed, Cullen heard footsteps drawing casually closer, not trying to sneak, but also cautious.

“Can’t sleep either?” the voice was still slightly distant, not wanting to get too close. Cullen opened his eyes to see Felix, immediately skeptical as to why he was being allowed to walk the castle on his own.

Felix read his expression and chuckled. “Your spymaster has someone tailing me. The Lady Seeker isn’t far behind either. You don’t have to worry, I’m not here to assassinate you or something.”

“Who knows, I might welcome it at this point,” Cullen said under his breath.

Felix’s brow pushed together, “What happened between you and Dorian?”

After a long moment of staring through Felix, the Commander dropped his gaze to his folded fingers leaning on the battlements. “He was incredible to watch. So skilled with magic and combat; it was mesmerizing.” Cullen lifted his head to look up at the stars above. “And intelligent, as well. I enjoyed talking with him about the books he was reading, and the documents I was trudging through. He never looked away while I spoke.”

Felix gave a soft smile, looking to the heavens himself. “I know exactly what you mean. Dorian loves to talk about his research and learn what others have been studying. It made him a great student, one of the reasons he caught my father’s attention as a sponsor.”

A silence fell between the men as they both remembered their friend fondly. Cullen quietly asked, “Can you tell me about the Dorian you knew?”

Felix cocked his head curiously.

“I’d like to know if any of him was the real him.”

A sympathetic smile warmed Felix’s expression. “You described Dorian pretty perfectly just then. Always willing to debate—or argue, whichever he would get the most satisfaction from—and always showing off. He pretends to be self-centered, but he’s the most caring man I’ve ever met. And while I’m not interested in men myself, I don’t think there’s a person in all of Thedas who can deny Dorian’s charm.” Felix chuckled once, “Always the flirt, that one.”

Cullen’s heart dropped. “So he flirted with everyone?” He asked in a whisper, not really meaning it as a question. But Felix still answered.

“He did, but there were always different kinds. It took me long to learn each of them.” Feeling more comfortable with their relations, Felix approached the battlements himself and leaned his hip on the stonework, crossing his arms and looking out over the mountains. “There are four types, so far as I could tell: for showmanship, for de-escalation, for banter, and for real. The showmanship is self-explanatory, Tevinter is built around relationships and marriages. Dorian had to faine interest in his women suitors to keep up appearances. De-escalation, just flirting to calm an argument. Telling people what they want to hear, you know. And of course a little flattery back and forth between friends was his favorite.”

“How could you tell if he ever meant it?” Cullen asked, hopeful.

Felix ran a hand over his hair as he thought. “Dorian is a very honest man, most of what he says he always means, even if he doesn’t say it directly. He might think a noble woman is quite pretty, for example, and rather than tell her flatly, he will go out of his way to make her smile by flirting. ‘By the Black Divine, my lady, have you any common blood to Andraste herself? You have striking eyes, just like hers! And those cheekbones, they could surely cut marble!’ He likes to make people smile.”

“And he’s very good at it,” Cullen couldn’t help the fond grin that spread his lips.

“That he is.” Felix agreed, finding himself with a smile of his own as he reminisced.

__________

Cullen stood silent with his head down, fist poised to knock against the solid wood door before him. He hadn’t had to do something like this since Kirkwall; sharing the tragic news of a Templar’s death with their family. Somehow, this felt similar, having to tell someone Dorian clearly cared about, that he wasn’t who he said. But at least he didn’t have to tell her Dorian was a Venatori spy.

He took a final deep breath before giving a hardy knock. It took only seconds for Miss Ella to answer, like she had been waiting by the door. The door swung open with an audible whoosh, to reveal an older woman with joy in her cheeks, giving way to pleasant confusion when he looked Cullen up and down.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was expecting someone else. Is there something I can do for you, dear?” A sweet smile wrinkled the skin around her eyes.

Cullen couldn’t help but give a small smile back before clearing his throat and beginning to explain, “Commander Cullen, at your service, ma’am. We are looking for a troop previously employed in our…”

Cullen’s eyes squeezed tightly shut and he sighed, “Dorian. He stayed with you for a while, didn’t he?” He dropped his voice to a whisper so the others couldn’t hear his informality.

Miss Ella reared back a little, bringing the door closer to her so she could close it at any time. “I...oh, I rent my spare room to travelers, I suppose a ‘Dorian’ could have passed through--”

“Ma’am, please. You’re not in any trouble. Neither of you are, we just…” He couldn’t look the sweet woman in the eyes as he said, “I made a mistake. It came to our attention that he had been lying about his past, and I handled it very poorly. If he’s been back here...please, we need his help.”

Miss Ella still didn’t seem convinced, opening her lips to give a vague excuse. Cullen decided to show a little urgency.

“Ma’am, the Inquisitor is missing. Kidnapped, or otherwise incapacitated by the Venatori.”

Miss Ella gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “Did...did he do it?”

“No, while Dorian is from Tevinter, as we found out, he has nothing to do with the Venatori. But he knows about their magic, and we need him to help us get the Inquisitor back.”

She took a moment to process before stepping aside in the doorway and beckoning them all to enter. Cullen, Felix, and Cassandra crammed into the small farmhouse, while Barris and his templars waited outside. Only Felix accepted an offer of tea.

“He did come back, but he didn’t come inside,” Miss Ella recalled as he stirred honey into Felix’s tea. “He made it nearly to the welcome mat, but no further, and said he was sorry. That he couldn’t stay because I wouldn’t be safe, and it was better if he kept the truth to himself, because he didn’t want to involve me. I figured he must have people after him, so I was expecting a visit, but not from the Inquisition.”

Tempted to sit, but ignoring the urge to slump into any nearby furniture, Cullen rubbed at the back of his neck, “Yes, well, while I’m not at liberty to say much, I made a rather large mistake that--”

“To which are you referring?” Cassandra asked with her arms crossed, scowl doned.

Cullen glowered back and continued, “...that put us all in danger. Dorian included.”

Cassandra let her arms drop, brow softening as she recognized Cullen’s regret.

“Well, as I said, he didn’t stay here long. He headed in the direction of Redcliffe, not taking the roads but going through the woods.”

They stayed long enough for Felix to finish his tea, then they were on their way north to Redcliffe, taking as odd a way they could in hopes of coming across Dorian’s trail.

After nearly an hour of trudging, one of Barris’s templars stopped.

“I smell viel fire.”

Cassandra looked at Cullen with a quirked brow. “Are you certain? How can you tell it isn’t just fire?”

Barris nodded, “I smell it too. It’s like fire but without the smoke, just the heat.”

“Any wards?” Cullen asked.

“None. It shouldn’t be hard to find him if we follow our noses.”

Cullen nodded, letting Barris lead the charge. Soon after, the group came across a very small clearing, staying in the trees to keep cover.

There in the center of the brush, surrounded by wildflowers, sat Dorian, playing with the green flames before him, deep in thought.

Cullen stared longingly, wishing he could just run out and hug the mage, hold him and never let go.

“I’ll go. You all wait here.” Cullen began pushing branches aside.

“You don’t think he’ll give you any trouble?” Barris held him back.

“No, but he will panic if he sees a group of templars coming out of the bushes at him.”

Cullen took a deep breath for courage and stepped out into the sun.

It only took a few steps before Dorian shot out of his seat and grabbed his staff, summoning a ball of fire in his hand. Cullen put his hands up, away from his sword and shield. Slowly, Dorian recognized the blond hair, honey eyes, and marble skin. His guard lowered along with his staff, but only slightly.

“C...Cullen?”

Cullen let out a sigh of relief, lowering his hands and taking a step forward.

“Stop!” Dorian yelled, “This is some kind of trick isn’t it? So what type of demon are you, hm? Rage? Envy? Desire?”

Cullen’s eyes went wide before his brow furrowed with worry, “No, Dorian it’s...it’s me. It’s Cullen.”

Dorian scoffed, “No, that’s not possible. He told me he never…” he swallowed hard. “never wanted to see me again.”

Cullen flinched at his words, seeing how much they had hurt. “I didn’t mean any of it, I swear. I was just scared, I didn’t think before I spoke, and I hurt you. I’m...Dorian, I’m so sorry.”

Cullen watched as emotions came and went in rapid succession across Dorian’s face.

“Make me believe you.” The mage whispered. “Prove you're the same man I loved.”

Those words. They struck him like a knife in the chest, tearing his heart out. Those were his words.

“I can’t…” Cullen whispered back.

Dorian’s staff fell abruptly into the grass, the fire in his hand disappearing into embers as he ran to Cullen. He wrapped his arms around the blond’s shoulders, Cullen returning the embrace just as tightly.

They pulled back, only to bring the other closer into a crashing kiss, tears spilling over onto both men’s cheeks.

“Dorian,” Cullen choked, “I’m so sorry, I said so many things I didn’t mean. I should have listened to you. Maker, I’m so--”

Dorian put a finger to the blond’s lips, then brought his to meet them. “I love you.”

Cullen’s eyes only watered more as he leaned their foreheads together and said, with all his heart. “I love you too.”

They both heard the trees opening from behind them, glancing that way to see Cassandra and Barris with his band of templars.

And Felix.

Dorian’s face lit up as he ran to meet his friend. “Felix!”

Their chests collided as each man wrapped an arm over the shoulder and around the waist of the other.

While the two were updating one another on what had happened between seeing each other last, Cassandra approached Cullen with an annoyed huff.

"So that's why you let him go." She crossed her arms.

Cullen sighed, turning to face her. "Yes," he stated, "because I didn't want him thrown in our prisons, because I didn't want him questioned for hours without rest. Because I love him. Is that what you want me to say?"

The corner of the Seeker's lips turned up on one side, barely a smile at all. She placed her hand on Cullen’s shoulder. "Yes. And I'm glad you do."

It took him off guard, but Cullen was grateful for Cassandra's understanding. He knew she read those romance novels--Varric made sure to boast about it to everyone in Skyhold--but he never expected Cassandra of all people to be forgiving.

Suddenly her face went stern. Pulling her hand away and pointing a finger, she whispered through clenched teeth, "Don't tell anyone I said that. As far as Josephine and Leliana need to know, I'm still angry with you."

Cullen tried not to grin as he nodded.

He turned back to Dorian and Felix who laughed together as Dorian placed a kiss to Felix's cheek. Cullen smiled as he watched them reconnect, a warmth filling his chest.

"I hate to interrupt a reunion," Barris cut in, "but we have grave news about the Inquisitor."

"The Inquisitor?" Dorian looked to Felix, "Your father. He didn't…"

Felix cringed as he nodded, head dropping, eyes closed tightly.

Dorian slumped, arm falling off Felix's shoulders. Cullen came behind him to place a comforting hand on his back.

"He's not dead, is he?" Dorian asked with a heaviness in his breath.

"We...we don't know." Cullen brought Dorian in by the waist, hugging him from the side. "Alexius used an amulet to...send him through time, was it?" He looked over to Felix to make sure he had gotten it right.

"So he finished it." Dorian's eyes widened with fear.

"No!" Felix put himself between Cullen and the mage, "He could never perfect it after you left. Something went wrong when he cast the spell; it wasn't like when you did it."

"You've traveled through time?" Cullen pushed Felix aside to ask Dorian.

Dorian grinned, "What? Never been with a man who invented time travel? Oh, no, of course not, how silly. Because I invented it."

"Dorian." Cullen said sternly, looking for a straight answer.

"No, I didn't go through time. Alexius and I sent an apple core a week forward in time and it came back rotten." As he gave the explanation, a wave of realization washed over Dorian, "But what's when the spell didn't work!" He grabbed Cullen but the hands with excitement. "The plan was to wipe the apple from existence, and only those who cast the spell would remember there ever having been an apple there. The fact that you all remember the Inquisitor proves the spell failed!"

"But how do we know where--when he is?" Barris asked, trying to keep up.

Dorian let go of Cullen's hands to twirl his mustache in thought. "Ah! Have you any paper, my love?"

Cullen grabbed some parchment and charcoal from one of the templars' satchels.

Dorian took the supplies eagerly, kneeling down to use his seat as a writing surface. "Look here," Dorian pulled Cullen in close as he drew a diagram, "We don't know when the Inquisitor is in time, yes? But we do know where. He'll be exactly where he was transported from."

Cullen nodded, following so far.

"So we need to go back to where and, somehow, enter the fade because--"

"Because time doesn't exist in the fade." Cullen cut in, "You can feel for his spirit and pull it back through the veil from the other side of time!"

Dorian smiled, excited that Cullen understood, "Well, I can't. While I studied the dead, I don't have any control over the spirits I use to possess the bodies. But I know someone who does."

"Solas." Cullen, Barris, and Cassandra said together.

__________

Back at Skyhold, they explained the plan to Solas, Cullen's fellow advisors still suspiciously eyeing Dorian.

"I'm impressed with your knowledge of the fade, Dorian. Yet you've never entered it, is that right?" Solas sipped at his coffee.

"I still have my sanity, that should be a dead give away."

Solas grinned, "Indeed. And yet you understand its properties well. And this plan of yours is nearly fool proof."

"Nearly?" Cullen leaned in, "We need better than nearly. We need the Inquisitor back."

Solas held up a hand to calm him, "Nearly is the best place to start. I can help you, but the Inquisitor's spirit isn't the only thing on the other side of time. We need to find his body. Both were transported, were they not?"

Dorian nodded, "Yes, that's where I'm uncertain. Can he enter the fade without performing the ritual himself?"

"Do you know the Arl of Redcliffe, Commander?" Solas asked, hands behind his back as he rounded the desk.

"You're talking about the incident with Conor and Bann Tegan. I've heard the story." He watched Solas with suspicious curiosity.

"I am. There is a way to perform the ritual on another, without entering the fade yourself…"

Cullen's eyes went wide, "No! No one is doing any blood magic!"

"Blood magic?" Dorian looked to Solas with anger. "You're suggesting I perform a blood ritual on the Inquisitor? Nonsense!"

Solas shrugged, "That is the only way I know of to return both the Inquisitor's soul and body as one."

Dorian scratched his chin as he tried to think of another way. "If I had the amulet here…"

Felix perked up, "What if I could get it from my father?"

The room looked over to Felix.

"What? Is it safe after what you did to help us?" Cullen asked.

Felix shook his head, "My father may not be in his right mind, but he's always been a father first. If I need him, he will be there with open arms."

Dorian slowly walked to Felix. "You'd steal from your own father for us?"

Felix smiled, "I would steal sweets from his personal stash for you all the time."

Dorian smiled and gave him a hardy thump on the shoulder. "Then we need to head back to Dead Ram Grove."

The day had been long and exhausting, and while time was of the essence, they all needed rest.

But Cullen couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned in an attempt to find a comfortable spot, but to no avail. Finally, he decided it wasn't worth fighting and went for a walk to think.

He walked the battlements until he was sick of looking at stone walls. When he got back to his office, no more ready to sleep than before, he thought of Dorian, how he had so much more he wanted to say, and so many more apologies to make.

Heading across the bridge to the library, Cullen tried to be as quiet as possible opening the door to Solas's floor. The door creaked ever so slightly, and Cullen heard a calming voice say, "Dorian is downstairs."

He looked up to see Solas painting a mural of the fade on the atrium wall.

"Oh I was just…" Cullen started, but Solas gave him a knowing look. "Thank you." He said gently as he headed for the main hall's staircase to the basement.

Once down there, he saw a soft red light emitting from a door across the hall, where a small private office was. He smiled as he heard Dorian quietly talking to himself.

Cullen pushed the door open silently, seeing Dorian's back facing him. He snuck up and wrapped his arms around the mage’s waist. Dorian gasped before realizing who it was, then leaning his head back and humming in contentment.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Cullen asked in a breathy whisper.

Dorian sighed, "I have to know what I'm doing when I reverse the amulet's magic, if Felix can get it off his father. If we can find his father. Hopefully they've stayed put."

Cullen hummed, acknowledging Dorian's concerns. "I wish we had more time, then you could perfect this."

Dorian turned in Cullen's arms and wrapped his around the Commander's neck.

"I wish we had more time, too." He looked deeply into Cullen's eyes, leaving the silence between them.

Cullen quickly caught on, walking Dorian into the desk, lifting him by the thighs to sit atop it. "We have a couple of hours, at least."

Dorian smiled, bringing Cullen in for a light kiss. It quickly became something more, with hot hands finding fasteners on the other's armor and unfastening them. Their kiss turned deep and passionate and nearly frantic as the men wasted little precious time.

Dorian leaned back and pulled Cullen over him, holding him close as he whispered between kisses, "I never stopped loving you. I couldn't make myself stop after you told me to go. You had me."

Cullen kissed down Dorian's neck as he whispered back, "I thought it was just me. And I need you to know I only sent you away because I was scared. I didn't know what the Inquisition would do to you. I was only upset you'd lied to me."

"But you know why I had to." Dorian held Cullen by the cheeks to get his attention. "Would you have wanted me if I had told you I was a Tevinter necromancer."

Cullen pulled the mage’s hand back and kissed his palm, "I want you now, don't I?"

Dorian's words were thick with need as he whispered, "Do you?"

"More than anything."

And the love they made in the night, in a private tucked away space, far from the eyes and ears of Skyhold, was more than either man had felt in many years. Possibly all their lives.

__________

Cullen smiled as he rode alongside Dorian's horse, listening to him and Felix reminisce. They had a long history, from what Cullen gathered, and cared for each other like brothers. It felt good to see Dorian as his true self, and not a bundle of half truths peeking out from behind an alias.

The group was much larger this time, with closer to fifteen templars, including Barris, along with the addition of Solas and a handful of other mages. Cullen was grateful for the help, even if it meant spending time with Solas, trying desperately to find something to talk about.

When the team arrived, they tied their horses up at the camp near Master Dennet's stables and took off on foot toward Dead Ram Grove, signaling the watch tower to stay on guard.

At the entrance to the cave, Cullen took Dorian's hand and squeezed tightly while giving him a worried look. Dorian smiled gently, squeezing back. Cullen nodded and signaled the group into formation and forward. It was still dark, but with several mages summoning flames into their palms, they would be able to see any ambushes this time.

The team stepped cautiously into the final room of the cave where the Inquisitor had been torn through time. It was quiet, with the scattered corpses of Venatori from their failed attack on Cullen’s crew. Dorian winced as he saw the familiar clothing of his homeland, not happy to be fighting his countrymen.

Cullen looked to Dorian with concern, wordlessly asking if he was alright. Dorian nodded and continued on, reminding himself these men chose this path.

After glancing around the room, everyone turned to face Cullen with disappointed looks.

"There's no one here. How are we going to bring the Inquisitor back without that amulet?" One of the mages asked.

Dorian bit his lip as he thought.

Before he could come up with anything, Felix spoke up. "No, there must be another way out of here. My father didn't head for the entrance when he retreated, he went further in."

Cullen nodded, "That's right, everyone look around! There must be--"

Dorian placed his hands on the wall at the back of the cave and closed his eyes, reciting a spell quietly.

Before anyone could ask what he was planning, the wall dissolved away, revealing a laboratory and a barely conscious Alexius breathing heavily on the ground, books scattered where he sat.

"Father!" Felix rushed to his side as he pulled bandages from his bag. Alexius’s wounds were deep and unhealed, but not from Lavellan's sword, which laid across his lab table, still coated in blood.

"My son," Alexius’s voice was incredibly weak, sounding more like air than words.

Felix began applying pressure to his father's rotting wound, exposed flesh healed open.

"We have healers here, just hold on," he said even as the healers shook their heads, wounds too old to fix.

Dorian approached with caution, nerves rising at seeing his old mentor again. He stepped into view just as Alexius looked up.

"The Venatori," he wheezed, "they left me, abandoned me. Told...told the Elder One I failed them."

Felix's eyes began to well up with tears, "They were using you, father, just like you used Dorian. They wanted your magic, that was all."

Tears tugged at the edges of Alexius’s eyes as well, as he admitted, "The Elder One...Corypheus...he came to take the amulet, tried to kill me. But...but I…"

He began to cough and sputter, blood leaking from his nose and mouth. He tightly grabbed Felix's hand, holding on with all his strength as he gasped and panted for air.

The air was stagnant, musty and old. Without a draft present, Dorian and Felix could feel as Alexius’s last breath escaped his chest and hit their skin.

Felix sat back on his hunches, eyes glazed, staring down at their entwined hands.

Dorian looked away and closed his eyes tightly.

A long silence hovered in the room, Dorian's hand gripping Felix's shoulder to comfort him. He looked down at his hand, still clasped in his father's, and felt something heavy and cold kiss his palm. He pulled his father's hand away to find the amulet, pulsating and smooth, as if never used.

"Crafty bastard," Dorian said as he lookes at the amulet in pristine condition. "He repaired it, but not perfectly. The way the magic is calibrated, it should work in reverse."

Dorian looked from the Inquisitor's sword to the books scattered on the floor.

"He was going to bring Lavellan back and try again."

"Maker's sake," Felix dropped his head into his hands.

"It's already 'calibrated' to bring him back? That saves us some time, doesn't it?" Cullen looked to Solas for confirmation.

"I am unfamiliar with time magic. I believe everyone to be, except for Dorian." Solas gestured from Dorian to confirm.

He nodded, taking the amulet from Felix and looking it over for imperfections. "Indeed it does. So long as he's done it correctly."

Dorian began work on his spell with the mages silently watching on. Though he had asked them not to, they often asked questions, to which the usual reply was, "This is time altering magic, you know. Let's not forget the danger of this."

When they began to ask too many questions they wouldn't get an answer to, Cullen stepped in and shooed them away. After they scattered, Cullen placed a hand on the small of Dorian's back, resisting the urge to wrap his arms around the man from behind. He wanted nothing more than to rest his head on Dorian’s shoulder and close his eyes. And when he would open them, the Inquisitor would be there unscathed and everything would be normal.

Cullen heaved a deep sigh at the thought, Dorian turning to look at him with concern.

"Something the matter, amatus?"

"Who?" Cullen asked, not really having absorbed the question.

Dorian chuckled, "You, silly. Are you alright?"

Cullen shook his head slightly, eyes closed, "No. I mean, yes, it's nothing, just...who is Amatus?"

Dorian rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around Cullen’s neck. "It's Tevene, a term of endearment like 'honey or 'dear'." A smirk came to his lips as Cullen scolded himself for sounding jealous.

"Sorry, I'm just nervous about this whole situation. I didn't mean to…" Cullen trailed off.

Dorian pressed a nimble finger to his lips. "It's alright, I'm nervous too. This is something I've never done, never even considered having to do. But it will turn out. The Inquisitor will be fine, I promise."

Cullen stared with anxious eyes for a long moment, "That's an awfully confident promise."

Dorian's calm smile faltered ever so slightly, but Cullen caught it, placing a warm ungloved palm to the mage's cheek. "I trust you, Dorian, but it's not your fault if he doesn't come back."

Dorian cringed, "This has all been my fault. If I had just been honest from the beginning--"

"Stop." Cullen leaned forward to silence him with a kiss, forgetting the others around them. "Hunting down the Venatori has been our goal this entire time. This may have happened eventually, you couldn't have changed this."

Dorian nodded, lips still so close to Cullen's. "You're right, I know you are, but I would feel much better if I could bring him back."

Dorian grabbed the calibrated amulet and a tome off the lab table, breaking free of Cullen's embrace and moving toward the center of the room to prepare the ritual.

Solas stood from his crouched position, holding out his hands to take Dorian's completed spell.

"The most difficult bit will be leaving the fade at the same time you entered. Make certain you do not interrupt the flow of time." Solas warned as he started casting.

Dorian looked to Cullen one last time before a green and yellow tear opened before him and he stepped through.

Hours passed and still Dorian hadn't returned with the Inquisitor. Cullen paced the room along with the mages, while Solas maintained meditation in the center of the room, waiting for the beckon call.

He couldn't take the suspense any longer. Cullen gingerly walked near and around Solas to see if he could still hear him. Solas coldly spoke, quiet and even, "I am entirely aware of my surroundings outside the fade, Commander."

It made Cullen jump at first. He then asked, "Are you...in there with them? Can you help them?"

Solas stayed completely still with his eyes closed and legs crossed as he responded, "No, I cannot. I am simply suspending my mind in the fade, but I am not there as they are. They went in physically, body and spirit as one. I would have gone in myself and done this more quickly, but alas, there must be someone on the other side to pull the Inquisitor back through. Dorian has an excellent understanding of time, but the fade can disorient even the brightest minds."

None of this made Cullen feel any better, or more confident that they were safe. "But can you see them? Are they alright?"

Solas sighed, annoyed at having to dumb things down, "Dorian and the Inquisitor have made contact. I can sense their spirits near one another, but I cannot see anything. Were I there, I could use my senses. I am not, however, so I must feel for their souls. I know not where they are in time, or how they fair."

Cullen grunted in frustration. Why did he expect a clear answer?

A short while passed and Solas began to rise, grabbing his staff again. "Everyone stay back, the tear could pull you in!"

Everyone scattered to the edges of the room, watching in astonishment as Solas tore the veil open, Dorian and the Inquisitor stumbling through back into the 'real' world, haggard and panting.

Cullen approached slowly as the tear sealed behind them. When Dorian locked eyes with him, he ran into the Commander's arms.

"Cullen," he whispered in his ear, breathy and shaking, "Thank the Maker, it's you"

Cullen returned the embrace but was still confused. "Yes, it's really me. What happened? Are you alright?"

The rest of the room rushed to the Inquisitor's aid, healers starting to mend cuts and bruises and wrap them gently but with urgency.

Dorian pulled back to look Cullen in the eyes, tears nearly falling onto his cheeks. "Time moves differently. I hoped we would be out in a few days, but it's been weeks, maybe months for us. Lavellan said he'd been sent into the future and stuck there for nearly a year. I can't begin to imagine…"

Dorian shuttered and pulled Cullen close again, Cullen shushing him softly, running calloused fingers over his hair.

__________

Back at Skyhold, a crowd waited anxiously at the base of the steps from the main hall, nervous chatter rumbling through them. The Inquisitor was in his chambers, healers and templars looking him over, a scholar begging him to recount his experience.

Cullen and his fellow advisors took deep breaths before opening the doors of the main hall and descending the steps until they reached the middle landing.

"People of the Inquisition!" Cassandra shouted over the chatter, "The Inquisitor is safe and in good health!"

The crowd sighed a collective sigh of relief as they applauded.

Cullen smiled as he added, "All thanks to the brave and valiant efforts of the templars," they raised their swords from within the crowd, people cheering. "Our mages," they raised their staves as well, Solas smiling as he bowed his head.

"And lastly, this man." Cullen held out his hand, inviting Dorian from the front of the crowd to join him. "This man, who joined with you as a troop, rose quickly through our ranks with his impressive display of magical knowledge; who joined the Inquisitor in the field, and contributed to the important research done in our library."

Dorian was already stunned as he stood above all the people of Skyhold, but Cullen took both hands in his, and faced him full on. "This man, who risked his reputation, his place in the Inquisition, and ultimately his own life, to return the Inquisitor to us from beyond time. Dorian Pavus."

Felix, standing at the front, looked up to Dorian from within the crowd and shouted, "To Dorian!" The crowd joined in with thanks, crying out with joy for their Herald’s great return, and the man who saved him. Dorian looked out over the crowd as they said his name, as they recognized him for all his deeds despite his lineage.

The good Tevinter.

He smiled as he turned to Cullen once again. "A tad overdue, if you ask me."

Cullen chuckled, "You're impossible."

Cullen pulled Dorian in for a long and tight hug, the crowd around them cheering for the Inquisitor. Cheering for the

#cullrian #cullen rutherford #dorian pavus #mulan au #cullrian au #da au #dragon age au #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai #long reads #slow burn #like really slow #but it picks up #disney au #disney inspired #writing #long fic

[galadrieljones]

Magnolia: Chapter 20

The Walking Dead ❤️ Bethyl ❤️ Fix-it (Beth Lives) ❤️ Mature  

Summary:

After escaping the funeral home, both Beth and Daryl are injured and captured away to Grady Memorial Hospital in Atlanta.

AO3

Chapter 20: ...Beware.

The House

Beth stood in her pajamas, opened the refrigerator door and saw the bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill. She’d been saving it up for something special, from when Daryl had salvaged it from the rural Wal-greens, with Aaron and Carol and Morgan. Maybe for Rick's birthday, maybe Christmas, or New Year’s Eve. She picked it up to study the label, which was kitschy and old-fashioned. The bottle was heavy and cold in her hand, and then she put it back and stared into the bright white light of the refrigerator as if it may still contain some secret or blessing of which, in life, she was not yet aware. It was cleansing. What surprises were still out there? What could possibly take place without warning that she had not already witnessed or endured?

So much for drinkin, she thought.

“Hey,” said Daryl.

She closed the refrigerator and turned around. He was washed up, leaning against the counter, eating an oat cake. He had one for her, too, wrapped up in plastic, and he also had his crossbow. They were all going to a place called Hilltop, with Jesus. Rick was curious. Jesus wanted them all to see. It was probably going to be a few days.

“Hey,” she said.

“You feelin okay, little songbird?”

“Yeah,” said Beth. “I think I just zoned out for a minute there.”

"You ready to go?"

"I'll meet you at the gate," she said. "I ain't even dressed yet, and I still got a little packing to do."

"You sure? I can wait."

Keep Reading at AO3

#the walking dead #bethyl #daryl dixon #beth greene #daryl x beth #bethyl fanfic #magnolia #**update

[thiswasinevitableid]

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect. 

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him. 

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him. 

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed. 

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching. 

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head. 

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes. 

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.” 

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket. 

------------------------------------------------

“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen. 

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands. 

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way. 

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground. 

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous. 

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back. 

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night. 

-------------------------------------------------

“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister. 

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river. 

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping. 

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend. 

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position. 

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink. 

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it. 

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore. 

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt. 

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

-----------------------------------------------

Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face. 

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.” 

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago. 

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

--------------------------------------------------------

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters. 

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late. 

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them. 

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position. 

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur. 

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #monster march #centaur boyfriend #reader request

[songbirdhillfarms]

#photography #photooftheday #songbird hill farms #sabrina shewfelt #sabrina shewfelt santa cruz #songbird hill farms by sabrina shewfelt #sabrina shewfelt songbird hill farms #backyard garden #santa cruz #songbird hill farms photography #santa cruz flowers #wildflowers #santa cruz beauty #santa cruz photography #santa cruz photos #sabrina shewfelt photos #sabrina shewfelt photography #sabrina shewfelt santa cruz flowers

[vulturhythm]

sunday in the six-day war

“geralt,” says jaskier, late one evening, his voice delicate. “we need to head out at dawn.”

geralt turns from the fire he’s been tending in the fireplace, fear clenching tight upon his heart within seconds. he meets jaskier’s gaze, opens his mouth to speak, finds words beyond him.

his husband of ten years is sitting on the soft, well-worn sofa, watching him with eyes that are just as tender, tinged with affectionate sorrow. his hand is pressed low upon his side, covering the old scar where a manticore’s stinger punctured his flesh years before.

yennefer had done what she could, but she’d warned them both... the venom was just this side of too potent for humans.

jaskier would make it little more than a year, the venom’s path to his heart slowed by powerful enchantments, but not completely halted.

“it’s been ten months, geralt,” jaskier whispers, coaxing his witcher into motion. he reaches up as geralt draws closer to stand above him, cups his face when geralt leans down, rests his face atop his head and stares off into space. “ten long, beautiful, wonderful months, my love...”

“i know,” says geralt, closing his eyes. his voice is rough, clogged with emotion; he sinks to his knees, pulls jaskier into his arms, melts into his beloved when he enfolds him in a hug. “i know.”

-

there’s no time to waste in this famous goodbye...

-

they leave at dawn, just as jaskier requested.

geralt stands aside and watches as the bard says his farewell to the gelding he’d taken from a noble years before, his jaw clenched tight.

they mount up on roach, just like the golden days. the mare turns her head to nicker at them, and jaskier, sitting with his arms about geralt’s waist, pats her flank, clicks his tongue.

she walks on, slow and steady; geralt keeps her pace even so that jaskier can look about corvo bianco, the vineyard into which they’d moved a decade ago.

they had renovated and decorated it, made it home...

geralt feels dampness on his shoulder when they finally pass through the gates, when jaskier buries his face against him and breathes in deep.

he suppresses the ache in his own chest.

-

there’s angels landing on the shore...

-

they travel to the edge of the world.

it takes one, two months.

they take their time, roach’s pace always easy, every night spent beneath the stars or within taverns they slept in once upon a time. jaskier performs once or twice, but he sings for geralt the most, on the road; he’s kept filavandrel’s lute in prime condition all these years, and his voice is still hypnotic, still just the same.

they make love under the moonlight, geralt’s hands so gentle, so caring as they rove across his husband’s frame... and he never says it, not aloud, but jaskier knows he’s apologizing with his touch - apologizing for all the years they’d wasted, all the years lost for good.

they fall asleep in eachother’s arms fully sated and wake up coiled together, and it isn’t long before one’s lips find the other’s again.

geralt knows he’ll never forget the feeling of jaskier’s lips against his own, nor the warm and soothing weight of him in his arms...

he knows the image of jaskier’s smile when he sings will be forever engraved within his soul...

he knows that the sound of jaskier’s laughter will haunt the empty halls of corvo bianco when he returns.

he knows all this, and so, now more than ever, as they make their way across the continent, geralt pays attention.

he notices every little laugh line in jaskier’s face, his husband only barely fifty in mortal years, aging slowed by the fae blood within his veins.

just enough to rejuvenate him... not enough to save him.

he notices the nuances in jaskier’s voice, the way he shapes his vowels, the way he says his name.

he notices the way jaskier whispers, begs, pleads for more, the way he’s always breathless when he says “i love you” at the end.

he notices the way jaskier’s fingers dance across the strings of his lute, the way they fidget when they’re empty.

he notices everything, and he loathes himself for wasting the chances to do it before.

-

so lay down with me, let the river run dry...

-

jaskier grows weaker as time wears on.

geralt tries to ignore it at first, tries to deny the way his beautiful, holy little songbird is slowing upon his feet, is losing his breath more quickly.

then, one day, he can’t deny it any longer.

jaskier trips and stumbles on the trail one day - they’ve been walking for a short while, letting roach rest - and he drops to the ground before geralt can catch him by the arm, hitting his knees with a muffled curse -

and then he’s coughing, doubling over, one hand above the damned scar, the other clutching tight at geralt’s arm when the witcher drops at his side.

he coughs, and he coughs, and he coughs, and there are tears in his eyes, and there are tears in geralt’s eyes, too, tears he tries and fails to fight as he pulls jaskier close.

jaskier’s voice is weak when he says his name, and it pains geralt to hear.

-

it’s sunday in this six-day war...

-

for a week or so, geralt dares to hope things may be okay.

jaskier moves with greater ease, laughs brighter, smiles wider.

he says the pain is lessening, and geralt...

geralt prays to a pantheon in which he’s never believed.

he knows his prayers are in vain when jaskier awakens them both one night with yet another fit of coughing, when his husband’s eyes are glassy and dazed in the early dawn.

-

smile, darling, don’t be sad...

-

they reach the valley of flowers as the end of the twelfth month nears.

it’s just as beautiful as it was all those years ago, and yet, geralt finds he can’t bear the sight of it.

they set up camp atop a hill and beneath a tree, overlooking the valley. from here, the sun rises at their front and sets at their back, and the stars shine clear at night.

the little village further ahead is little more than a couple of farms and a mill, and the elves, well... the elves are gone.

the valley is all but empty.

they spend nine days there, in eachother’s arms.

geralt’s lips seldom leave jaskier’s own, save for when his lark breaks into song, heralding each and every dawn.

he hates the way jaskier’s voice has begun to crack, loves the way he sings all the same.

on the evening of the eighth day, jaskier lays cradled to geralt’s chest, a hand above his heart, head beneath his chin.

“i want you to live when i’m gone,” he says, and his voice is soft, just as it had been two months before. “to love.”

geralt says not a word.

his throat clogged with heartache, he rolls them over, draws jaskier into a kiss that feels of longing, swallows his every moan and hopes, prays that he can feel the love pouring forth from his touch.

-

stars are gonna shine tonight...

-

the next morning, geralt knows it will be the last.

he holds jaskier close to his chest from the moment he awakens at dawn, lets his husband rest even though he knows soon he will rest for eternity.

when jaskier rouses, his voice is rough, and his eyes are dazed, and he seems so lost...

but, at the same time, he seems clearer, happier.

he lets geralt sit them up against the trunk of the tree, lets geralt cluck at roach so she comes over to be patted and crooned at until another coughing fit seizes jaskier and she moves away.

they spend the day talking - reminiscing.

the day the met... the night of the banquet... the day on the mountain... the day when geralt tracked him down, begged on bended knee for forgiveness... their first kiss, stolen in a heartbeat while still on a battle’s high... the day geralt sank to bended knee for the second time...

all the lazy mornings spent at corvo bianco...

every song jaskier wrote for his witcher...

every moment they said “i love you.”

as the day wears on, geralt pivots them about the tree so they’ll face the western sky. jaskier declines the offering of food, says he is content now.

geralt holds him close, cradled to his chest, their hands woven tightly together on jaskier’s stomach. he can feel the cool metal of jaskier’s ring, feels his heart clench at the thought that he will soon wear it about his own neck by the medallion.

birds fly overhead, and jaskier’s eyes follow their path as geralt kisses his cheek, his jaw, his neck, over and over again.

“i’ll find you again,” he says, as the sun begins its afternoon descent. “i always will.”

“i know, my love,” says geralt, low, and he closes his eyes. “i couldn’t rid myself of you if i tried.”

jaskier’s answering laugh pains him as much as it heals him.

the sky begins to fade from blue into gold, from gold into violet, and as jaskier’s skin is bathed in the auburn rays, he tips his head back, rests his head upon geralt’s shoulder.

as the sun’s edge dips beneath the flower-paved horizon, jaskier turns his head, tips his chin up, meets geralt for a kiss as tender as the brush of a butterfly’s wings.

as the stars begin to appear, ghostly pale among the sunset, jaskier breaks away, squeezes geralt’s hand, whispers, “i love you, my wolf. i always have.”

as the sky goes dark, geralt holds him close, buries his face in the side of his beloved’s neck, whispers in return, “i love you, too, my beloved. i always will.”

jaskier breathes his last as the moon reaches its brightest.

no one is there to hear geralt cry.

-

tell me where the good men go

before i wash away

walk me down the old brick road

so i can die where i met you

hold me like we’re going home

turn your tears to rain

bury me beautiful

heaven knows how i loved you

“Heaven Knows” - Five For Fighting

#geraskier #gerlion #geralt x jaskier #geralt x dandelion #jaskier x geralt #dandelion x geralt #my fics #i’m so sorry #i said we sad today

[aion-rsa]

Hulu New Releases: April 2021

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

While the first day of spring technically belongs to March, everyone knows that it kicks into high gear in April. To celebrate the changing of the seasons, Hulu is finally bringing back its signature original series for April 2021.

Season 4 of the multiple Emmy award-winning The Handmaid’s Tale premieres on April 28. It’s been awhile since we’ve seen June and her dystopian world. In fact, it’s been so long that our own world decided to endure its own dystopian pandemic in the meantime. Hopefully this series’ return will mean we can keep our political and social collapses on television where they belong.

Aside from The Handmaid’s Tale, Hulu isn’t brining much else to the table in terms of originals this month. Thankfully, the one other original that Hulu has in store for April sounds completely righteous. Sasquatch, the latest docuseries from the Duplass brothers producing team, will cover exactly what the title promises. This three-part series heads off to the Pacific Northwest for a tale about an elicit pot farm and the possibility that three men were viciously murdered by Big Foot on it. Sign us up!

Library titles for Hulu in April 2021 are also pretty thin. But April 1 does feature the arrival Mad Max (1980) and Die Hard (1988). Then April 28 sees the arrival of…well, Arrival (2016). Those aren’t bad streaming options in case the weather in April decides to not be spring-like.

Hulu New Releases – April 2021

April 1 Amy Schumer Learns to Cook: Complete Season 1 (Food Network) Caribbean Life: Complete Seasons 18 & 19 (HGTV) Chopped: Complete Season 44 (Food Network) Chopped Sweets: Complete Season 1 (Food Network) Christina On The Coast: Complete Season 2 (HGTV) Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives: Complete Seasons 34 & 35 (Food Network) Doubling Down with the Derricos: Complete Season 1 (TLC) Extreme Makeover: Home Edition: Complete Season 1 (HGTV) Guy’s Grocery Games: Complete Season 22 (Food Network) Naked and Afraid XL: Complete Season 6 (Discovery) Say Yes to the Dress: Complete Season 19 (TLC) Tournament of Champions: Complete Season 1 (Food Network) Undercover Billionaire: Complete Season 1 (Discovery) UniKitty: Complete Season 3 (Cartoon Network) Vegas Chef Prizefight: Complete Season 1 (Food Network) Worst Cooks in America: Complete Season 18 (Food Network) Higurashi: When They Cry: Season 1, Epsiodes 1-12 (DUBBED) (Funimation) 2012 (2009)    28 Days Later (2003)   A Hologram for the King (2016)         A Low Down Dirty Shame (1994)       A Simple Plan (1998)  The Abyss (1989)        Before We Go (2015)  Bug (2007)      Bulworth (1998)          Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969)  Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter (1974)        Changing Lanes (2002)           Chappaquiddick (2017)           Chato’s Land (1972)    Cheech & Chong’s Still Smokin’ (1983)           Cohen and Tate (1989)           The Color Purple (1985)         The Dead Zone (1983) The Devil’s Double (2011)      Devil in a Blue Dress (1995)    Die Hard (1988)          Die Hard With A Vengeance (1995)   Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (1988)          Dude, Where’s My Car? (2000)          Four Weddings and a Funeral (1994) Frankie & Alice (2014) Friends With Benefits (2011)  Garden State (2004)   The Gift (2000)            Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003)          Guess Who (2005)      Hancock (2008)           The Hunting Party (1971)       In The Mix (2005)        Into the Arms of Strangers: Stories of the Kindertransport (2000)   Lady in a Cage (1964) Larry The Cable Guy: Health Inspector (2006)           Life Of Crime (2014)   Live Free Or Die Hard (2007)  Mad Max (1980)         Madea Goes To Jail (Theatrical Feature) (2009)        The Man Who Could Cheat Death (1959)      The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962)   Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2004)  Monster’s Ball (2001) Motel Hell (1980)        Napoleon Dynamite (2004)    Never Back Down (2008)        New in Town (2009)   Night at the Museum: Battle of the Smithsonian (2009)       The Out-Of-Towners (1999)   The Pawnbroker (1964)          Platoon (1986)            The Polar Express (2004)        The Preacher’s Wife (1996)    The Program (1993)    Ramona and Beezus (2009)    The Replacement Killers (1998)          Rio (2011)       The Sandlot (1993)     Scary Movie 4 (2006)  Sex And The City (2008)          Sex And The City 2 (2010)       Shaft (2000)    Shrek 2 (2002) The Skull (1965)          Sleeping With The Enemy (1991)       Sliver (1993)    So I Married an Axe Murderer (1993) Star Trek: Generations (1994) Step Up Revolution (2012)     The Sum of All Fears (2002)    That Thing You Do! (1996)      The Upside (2017)      Vanilla Sky (2001)       Virtuosity (1995)         Waiting to Exhale (1995)        War (2007)      Warriors of Virtue (1997)       What About Bob? (1991)        Where the Heart Is (2000)      Young Sherlock Holmes (1985)          

April 2 WEWORK: OR THE MAKING AND BREAKING OF A $47 BILLION UNICORN : Documentary Premiere (Hulu Original) Law & Order: Organized Crime: Series Premiere (NBC) Manifest: Season 3 Premiere (NBC) The Moody’s: Season 2 Finale (Fox) Real Housewives of New York City: Complete Season 12 (Bravo)

April 3 Hysterical: Series Premiere (FX) Blair Witch (2016)       

April 5 Girl (2020)       

April 7 Our Last Crusade or the Rise of a New World: Season 1, Epsiodes 1-12 (DUBBED) (Funimation)

April 8 Home Economics: Series Premiere (ABC)

April 9 Everything’s Gonna Be Okay: Season 2 Premiere (Freeform) Rebel: Series Premiere (ABC) The Standard (2020)   Stars Fell on Alabama (2021)

April 10 The Day I Became a God: Season 1, Epsiodes 1-12 (DUBBED) (Funimation) Desierto (2015)           Knuckledust (2020)     

April 12 Paranormal Activity 4 (2012)  Spontaneous (2020)   

April 15        Real Housewives of Beverly Hills: Complete Season 10 (Bravo)

April 16      Fly Like A Girl (2020)   Songbird (2020)

April 17      Modern Persuasion (2020)     Thelma (2017)

April 20   Sasquatch: Documentary Series Premiere (Hulu Original)

April 21  Cruel Summer: Series Premiere (Freeform)

April 22   GRETA THUNBERG: A YEAR TO CHANGE THE WORLD: Documentary Premiere (PBS)

April 23        The Place of No Words (2020)           

April 25       Wild Mountain Thyme (2021)

April 26   The Oscars Red Carpet Show: Special (ABC) The 93rd Oscars: Special (ABC)

April 28   The Handmaid’s Tale: Season 4 Premiere (Hulu Original) Arrival (2016)  

April 30      The Judge (2014)

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Leaving Hulu – April 2021

April 27 Our Idiot Brother (2011)

April 30 50/50 (2011) 9 to 5 (1980) Affliction (1998) Article 99 (1992) Beloved (1998) Bloody Sunday (2002) Blow (2001) Body of Evidence (1993) Changing Lanes (2002) Chato’s Land (1972) Cocktail (1988) Cohen and Tate (1989) Crimes Of The Heart (1987) Damien – Omen II (1978) Devil in a Blue Dress (1995) Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (1988) The Dukes of Hazzard (2005) Escape from Alcatraz (1979) Everything Must Go (2011) Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell (1974) From Hell (2001) G.I. Jane (1997) Garfield (2004) Gargoyles: Wings of Darkness (2004) Happy Tears (2010) The Haunting In Connecticut (2009) The Haunting In Connecticut 2: Ghosts Of Georgia (2013) Hitman’s Run (1999) How Do You Know (2010) The Hunting Party (1971) The January Man (1989) Jennifer 8 (1992) Jumping The Broom (2011) The Last Waltz (1978) Mad Max (1980) Madea Goes To Jail (Theatrical Feature) (2009) Mafia! (Jane Austen’s) (1998) The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962) Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World (2004) Motel Hell (1980) Mousehunt (1997) My Best Friend’S Girl (2008) Never Back Down (2008) Ninja Assassin (2009) The Omen (1976) (1976) Only God Forgives (2013) Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Thief (2009) Platoon (1986) Pretty Woman (1990) The Prince Of Tides (1991) The Replacement Killers (1998) Sands of Iwo Jima (1950) Shaft (2000) The Shootist (1976) Sideways (2004) Strategic Air Command (1955) The Taking Of Pelham 1 2 3 (2009) Teresa’s Tattoo (1994) That Thing You Do! (1996) Two Weeks (2006) Waking Ned Devine (1998) Walking Tall (1973) Warriors of Virtue (1997) What About Bob? (1991) The Whole Nine Yards (2000) Wonder Boys (2000) X-Men Origins: Wolverine (2009) Young Adult (2011)

The post Hulu New Releases: April 2021 appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3wgWtl6

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

[ifindus]

Forest

- for the fourth day of @nordicrareshipsweek ! (Although a bit late)

The fic is also posted on AO3 as the second chapter of my first fic from this week. As mentioned earlier, all my pieces for this week ties in with each other.

Pairing: Norway/Scotland Wordcount: 1 189 words Summary: Scotland is driving Norway up to Aberdeen to catch the ferry north, however things do not go according to plan.

“You didn’t have to do this.” “I know I didn’t.” Green hills, divided by fences made of stone, flashed by the window as the car drove through the landscape. The roads were old and had a few holes too many in them, evident by the constant shaking of the moving vehicle. Occasionally, the strip of dirt that was the road would drift east and the two passengers could see the shore and the vast sea beyond. Everything was grey. The autumn weather had set in for real this time, tearing off a few yellow leaves from the old trees here and there and taking them on a journey through the fields. “I could have taken the train.” “I know.” Scotland gritted his teeth. “For fuck’s sake, can’t you just accept it?” “There are more important things you should be doing than driving me around.” “Aye, probably!” He huffed loudly and clenched his fingers where they gripped the wheel. “But I want to do it. So, just let me.”

Silence filled the car once again as it continued its path down a slope. Both the countries were wearing thick coats over knitted sweaters due to the gradually dropping temperature they had experienced that last few days. The car was quite new, bought only a few years prior to the war’s outbreak and had been intended as Scotland’s official transportation around Edinburgh. This had become even more apparent as they had left the city limits and ventured out on the bumpy dirt road. It had been far from a comfortable ride, and the tense air between them didn’t help the matter. Several hours had passed since they had left the city. They had just gone down a short hill where a grove of trees lined the little stream at the bottom, passing over a sturdy stone bridge, when the car puttered miserably for a few metres before it came to a complete standstill. The two countries sat still for a moment. Norway sighed as he dragged a hand down over his face, rubbing at his temple. “I really should have taken the train…” He mumbled under his breath. Scotland glared over at him and huffed before he scurried out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut behind him. Norway groaned as he followed suit. The biting air was harsh when he stepped out of the car, causing him to rub his gloved hands together to create some warmth. Norway took in the surroundings, tall grass and bushes beneath broad trees, covered in dead leaves, leaning in towards the narrow road. He leant against the side of the car and noted how his breath came out as small clouds. Autumn was slowly becoming winter. Scotland was kneeling in front of the machine, his dark, curly hair the only thing visible from that angle. Norway rolled his eyes at the muttered swearwords coming from that direction. All the songbirds had flown south in preparation for the winter and so the only sounds they could hear was that of a lonely crow in the distance. “What’s wrong with it?” “I don’t fucking know!” The hot-head rose and in anger kicked at the front of the car, the hand crank abandoned by his feet. “It won’t start!” “I can see that.” He sighed when all he got in reply was a yet another glare. “Would you like to keep trying? Or should we start walking?” “Let’s just walk.” Norway turned back around to open the door and fished out both their bags. His own he hoisted over his should while flinging the other over to Scotland. In silence, they begun trotting along the path, leaving the car and the trickle of the stream behind them. Not more than five minutes passed before they were out of the gathering of trees and once more surrounded by farmland. Sheep were small white dots scattered over the hills. The open space coming with an icy breeze. After trekking along for a few kilometres, they finally reached a small town. Or, calling it a town was an overstatement. It was more some sort of a gathering of small houses. Scotland after a while managed to find a farmer who happily agreed to bring two of his horses down over to where the car had broken down. The man and his family also offered them a place to stay for the night and after dropping off their bags there, all three of them rode back for the vehicle. Norway held a tight grip on Scotland’s hips where they travelled on the shared horse. Anywhere else, would not have been appropriate. It took some work and a lot of patience, although not much of the last one from Scotland’s side, but eventually they got the broken-down car all the way over to the man’s farm. By then it was already dark and time for supper. After a quaint meal with the farmer and his family the two nations retreated to a spare bedroom in the attic of the house. The walls were bare and slanted and the only furniture was a metal-frame bed with two mis-matched side tables with pink, crocheted tablecloths. “Which side do you want?” Norway slumped his bag down by the door as Scotland walked in behind him. “It doesn’t matter, I’ll just take right if you’re fine with that?” “Sure.” The two countries were quiet as they stripped down to their undershirts and sat down on each their side of the bed. The pink flowery covers a stark contrast to the grim reality they were facing at the moment. Thankfully, the bed was large enough that they could lay down comfortably without touching the other. Not that either of them didn’t want to, it just was not… appropriate. The only thing they could do was lie beside each other in the darkness of the room, the space between them almost burning. The sound of their breaths filled the room. “How many trees make a forest?” Norway suddenly broke the silence with a quiet murmur. “What?” Scotland furrowed his large brows in confusion. “I don’t know. How many?” “No idea. I was asking you.” He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “How many trees do there have to be before we can call it a forest? Are there any rules to the spacing of them?” “… there’s just somethings you know, I guess? You wouldn’t call a gathering of trees a forest unless it’s large enough to be a forest.” “Then you could almost say that a forest is a feeling.” “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But I’m sure you would know better than me.” “Or we could just have different perceptions of what a forest is.” “Everyone has different perceptions about everything.” “I guess that’s true.” Norway hummed in acknowledgement. There was a short beat of quiet before he spoke up again. “Your people are very kind.” “Aye.” “Friendly.” “Mm.” “And even if you don’t have many forests… it’s a beautiful country.” The only answer he got was a hand softly squeezing his own underneath the covers, where nobody else but them knew.

#nordicrareshipsweek #hetalia #fan fiction #aph norway #aph scotland #hws norway #hws scotland #scotnor #norscot #aph norscot #aph scotnor #hws scotnor #hws norscot #ooof #rip me #i have too much to do but I really want to finish this project

[thepartingglassofthorin]

Of Rememberance

The day was brisk and bright! Songbirds sang as the fillies ran about the pastures, playing with friends and siblings. Not unlike the children of the Farmhouse.

Marlos sat at his table, looking out at his children and grandchildren playing. Not so long ago it seemed, there had only been two little scoundrels he had to watch after. Now there were at least seven, one more on the way, he wondered how on Arda the other families were able to house, feed and raise more than two!

His eyes followed one particular child. Raven locks pulled back into a beautiful braid whipped around as she turned to face her 'enemies', green eyes much too similar to his own sparkled with glee as her nephew ran at her, stick brandished high. As the mock battle continued, Marlos watched, curious to see the outcome. Rutty's skill far surpassed that of her brother's children, her being older than Brodrik by at least four years. Yet the gentle way she fought with them showed her heart, that this wasn't some obligated child's play she was forced to partake in. She thoroughly enjoyed it, and made sure to let her nephews have a few victories.

Marlos thought back at what her blood father had told him, back when Rutty was only toddler. His gaze turned from the scene beyond the window to the papers on the table in front of him. She hadn't found her heart yet, he was sure of it. None of the hands had taken her to fancy, and she hadn't taken a fancy either, as far as he knew...

Letters and invoices, two plates and more then one cup lay across the large table, all within his arm's reach however. His mind's eye scanned through each letter, their plea or request, and which took most importance.

"Have you figured out which ones you'd like to part with?" Marlos' wife, Natalia, sat next to him, scanning the papers in front of her husband. One particular letter sat atop the rest. The lettering was wide and the ink was thick.

Marlos shook his head as Natalia took the letter, reading it's contents.

"War ponies?!" She looked up at her husband, shock etched on her face and dread in the pit of her stomach. "What if it's near-"

Marlos shook his head again. "Not for here love, and they'd be more like pack animals, I should hope." He took her hand as she lowered the letter, rubbing her aging knuckles gently with his calloused thumb. "The Master will explain more when he arrives, I'm sure. He wished to keep much from this, should it fall into his enemy's hands."

The two sat in silence for more then a moment, staring at the letter as if it would burst into flames at any second. Natalia didn't like the idea, sending some poor animal to their door. She knew her husband well, however, and also knew he wouldn't trade lives for gold unlike a few men she had acquainted, even if they were animal's lives.

"Papa!" The door flung open, in rushed all seven children at once, some giggling and others hiding behind sly half smiles. Natalia and Marlos turned to look at their prosperity, the letter forgotten for just a moment.

"We found a little one!" The small crowd parted as two the two youngest children walked forward, their chests puffed out with pride, their hands held forward, clasping the small item within their grasp.

"That looks like more then one, Chandry," Natalia chuckled, holding out her own hands to let the two set their own in hers. The small sweaty fists opened to reveal small sprouting seeds, growing out of acorns. The bright green leaves stood proud and strong, much like the two children who placed them in her hand.

"Would you look at that," She marveled, pulling the children closer. "You can see where they've cracked the shell and everything!" Standing upright, slightly saddened that she wouldn't be able to speak more with Marlos, she gave back the seeds and lead the children back out the door, instructing them how to properly plant their seedlings.

He watched her and the parade of children walk, or waddle, out the door. He followed to shut the door, much more gently then the way it had been opened. The Master took a moment in the doorway to take in the view. On either side of him were open pastures, all the way down the lane until the trees of the forest obscured his vision, dotted with horses, ponies, mules, goats and sheep. The Lane continued up the hill and to the left, eventually connecting with the main road that traveled from the Blue Mountains through the Shire and through Bree, then becoming apart of the Great East Road. About halfway down the lane and to the left, hidden by the hill if you came down from the main road was the farm hand's quarters, connected to the stables.

Marlos stepped off his porch and started his way there, taking a good look at each animal as he passed. More then one hand wished him a good morning as he walked by, he watched as they worked for a moment. He saw the joy that they had in their work, and the gentle care they gave the animals. Content with the care they gave his property, he continued on.

He ducked into the stables, staying close to the wall as one of the hands walked by with milking supplies. Down to the far end, at the last stall, lay a small pony, one that was nearing the end of her life. As such, she had been placed within the spacious stall so as to better tend to her. She was going to throw many more foals, being only five years old when she came into their possession, but an illness had taken most of her zeal, and left her a shell of her excitable self. This pony knew no name, but was loved by all who came within her knicker, and Marlos knew it would be a sad day when her illness finally took her last breath.

The Pony knickered gently and slowly approached the gate, her velvety muzzle meeting Marlos' outstretched hand. He rubbed her face gently.

"Looks like it's just me and you, old one," He said, looking into her eyes. She leaned into his touch, glad to not have children with sharp fingers finding their way into her stall for a change. "Do you mind if I tell you something?" She didn't shy away, so Marlos continued.

"I'm worried," He told her, stroking her neck and rubbing her ears, all the while taking in her condition. "These dwarves are being secretive, and I'm unsure of their reason to come all the way out here, when there are many more liveries suited to their needs within the lands between Bree and the Trollshaws..."

She nickered again, gently tossing her head, as if she was finished with his attention.

Marlos grinned. "Oh, so you don't want to hear my stories," He mocked sweetly. "Then I guess these aren't for you..." He turned away and drew from a bucket on the wall behind him, pulling a sugar cube from to set it on his tongue, all the while watching the pony through a sidelong glance. She stared at him as if to say she would never forgive him. With a quiet chuckle, he conceded and gave her one, which she happily took from him, albeit with much slobber.

Sorrow entered his heart again as he watched her munch her sweet. "I don't know what to do," He mumbled, setting his forehead against hers, as if she would think his answer and he would be able to know it through their touch. In all his seventy three years, he had never been as conflicted as he was now.

"The Master has promised much treasure," He told the lady, gently holding her head and stroking her cheeks. "But if I do give them the ponies, I'm worried that-"

"Worried that what?"

Marlos turned suddenly to see Rutty standing in the hall. She held a brush and fly comb in one hand, and a pitchfork in the other. Marlos had forgotten he had tasked her with the pony's care.

With a rough sigh he pulled away from the animal, giving her a gentle pat on her snout.

"I'm worried about how much attention it could draw here," He told her, stepping away from the stall's gate. He stopped in front of Rutty, taking the brush and comb from her. Together they went to the stall and began to tend to their friend.

"Would it not be a good thin'," She asked, taking some grain and dumping it into the pony's tough as Marlos began to brush out her mane. "Many families in the land have their steeds and working animals, and those that do not have no need. Do we not need the... growth?"

Marlos hesitated with his stroke, another sigh escaped him as he finished. "Do you remember the family legend?"

"The one of the Elf general and his weddin'?" Rutty began to shovel the soiled hay into one corner.

"Correct. Do you also remember the conclusion?"

Rutty stopped, recalling the famed legend. An Elf General and his Bride had tasked the farm with their wedding feast, many great years ago. The Ancestor, his name long forgotten, agreed, and pulled out all the stops. However, the night before the Wedding, which was to be held at dawn, the Bride went missing. The General searched furiously, but to no avail. When he left, disheartened and grieved, his enemies descended upon the farm. They left only the Ancestor's immediate family alive, and one building, supposedly the stable which they stood in now.

"What does that have to do with our business," Rutty asked as she leaned on her pitch fork, her brows drawn together in confusion. Marlos turned to watch her as he explained.

"People of War bring things with them," He began, gently untangling the Pony's mane. Rutty began again, slow enough to hear her Father's words, but not as to prolong her task. "Enemies, more likely then not. Say I were to give these people their wish, fourteen ponies fit for a war. Say they were more then pleased with their performance-"

"They will be," She said, taking slight offense at his words, more then a little on guard at his mention of war.

"Of course they will be." He raised his hands in defense, catching an annoyed look from her as she furiously brought the soiled hay out of the stall. "My hands are the best out there, I have no doubt. In turn, these horses, ponies and mules we've raised are more likely then not the best that a Man can buy this side of Bree."

He began to stroke the pony's side with the brush, his eyes glazed over as he continued. "But if these war hounds go around and tell their other war friends of our high quality horses, more then likely demand would raise for a war animal."

Rutty returned to the stall's gate, her face pale as the realization dawned on her face. "We would not be sellin'-"

"-Animals that would live beyond their expected life time," Marlos finished, stopping his hands atop the pony's spine to better look at Rutty. "We might as well be running a butchery." He sighed and looked down at the Pony's hooves. He stood up and went back towards the door, and in turn towards the supply closet. Rutty was close behind, her task forgotten in her worry.

"Then deny them our ponies," She hissed, fury obvious in her voice. "Tell them we will not have any until the next spring time-"

"That's a down right lie and you know it," He grumbled at her, wondering how to giver her comfort as her heart broke.

"Why did ye even have the idea of givin' them me prizes?!"

Marlos' anger rose, not because his little Rutabaga was being disrespectful, but because she couldn't understand yet. He couldn't help her see, not yet. He inhaled slowly and watched as her face fell.

"My darling, I do not wish to see these beautiful creatures die," He began slowly, knowing each word he spoke could be used to bring Natalia down upon him as well. Rutty opened her mouth to argue, but he held up the awl again, silently asking her to wait. "I do not believe these men to be of ill intent, despite their wish to go to war. I invited them here for two reasons." Rutty's mouth fell open at his words. He invited them?!

"The first is to see what their character is," He began, tending to the pony's hoof as he spoke. "You know I will no sell my animals to people who will not deserve them. You also know how hard it is to tell what someone is like through a letter." Here he looked up at her, finding her scoffing at his remark.

She remembered when Brodrik spoke, through a letter, of his wife to be, and how little Rutty thought of her, at the time.

"They will stay as long as I need them to so that we may test their character."

Rutty opened her mouth again, but Marlos interrupted.

"That I might test their character," He corrected, a sly but playful look at her set her more at ease. He worked on the hoof for a while in silence, Rutty's fingers played in the pony's mane absently, but her mind flew with questions and statements. Of course her father would test them, but that didn't mean she couldn't have a little fun with them either!

"What of the second reason," She asked, twisting the mane together into a rose braid.

Marlos grumbled, then cried out in pain. His hand had slipped and caught on a rougher part of the hoof, ripping it open. The Pony began to stamp as the area lost it's calm atmosphere. Two hands rushed into the stable, having been taking a pipe break nearby.

Once they had taken care of their master and his daughter, they took the task over, being as gentle and loving as Marlos and Rutty had been. The Father and Daughter walked back to the home to better clean up his hand, but Rutty couldn't help but gaze back at the stable. She hoped that the pony wouldn't kick at them, she had done so previously when someone wasn't as gentle, but the loving knickers that called out calmed Rutty's heart. With a sigh of content, she took her father's elbow tightly and strode with him.

"Ohh, you fancy someone within," He asked cautiously, another sly grin on his aged face. Rutty frowned up at him, shaking her head furiously.

"No, much too young," She said through her nose. "I could easily be their great aunt!"

Marlos laughed as they stepped through the door, his hearty laugh echoed through the home as they made their way to the wash sink. Marlos sat down on the chair he had abandoned earlier, while Rutty drew some water. As the bowl filled, she gathered some rags and the jar of salve Natalia kept for deeper cuts, worried she might need it. She ignored Marlos' scoff as she sat next to him, taking the damp rag to his bloody hand. The Patient's face was tight, but whether it was from hidden pain or some other reason, Rutty knew not.

She worked in silence for a good long while, being sure to poke and prod at the wound so nothing was in there that wasn't supposed to be. As she began to apply the salve, Marlos finally spoke.

"The second reason I invited these strangers is because they are dwarves." Rutty's eyes quickly found his and the locked for more then a moment. Her hands stilled in their work, her mouth began to flap as she tried to find words.

"I thought ye said ye did not like-"

"I'm not a racist, Rutty," He warned, giving her look that made her mouth shut. "I might be a bigot at times, but I try not to judge others based on their ancestors." She began to slowly bandage his hand again. "I haven't let my livestock go to the dwarves because I was worried about what they might think of us."

Rutty's brows came together again, but she didn't stop her task this time.

"I was worried they might try to take you away from your Mother and I," He continued, looking at his hand as she thoughtfully wound the bandage. She was almost finished. "Your circumstance is not normal, no matter how you put it. Dwarves usually don't abandon their little ones."

"No one in their right mind would," She grumbled, pulling the knot tight, not noticing Marlos's grimace.

"The dwarf that left you with us was more concerned for your safekeeping then your heritage, and your mother and I thought it was best that you stay with us until you could decide for yourself," He said. His eyes were glazed over as he poured over the memory of that winter night. She watched his face intently, wondering if he would say anything he hadn't before. She knew he wasn't telling her everything, and anytime she would ask Natalia, she would tell her it wasn't her story to tell.

His mind returned from the past and he stared intently at his first child.

"We believe you are that age now. We will not let the dwarves know of your heritage, but from what Netar says- you remember him, don't you?"

"Is he Mum's nephew from the Blue Mountains?"

"Yes, he lives in a settlement filled with dwarves. By his reckoning, you are able the age where they young ones go out and start doing things on their own."

Rutty remembered when Brodrik was of age, she didn't understand why he had to go away to Bree with a few hands, or why he had suddenly grown twice her height in less than four months! Natalia explained it to her after he had left, after her own tears were mostly spent. Although the farm could support them all, it was important for him to decide what he wanted to do, before he became too old for others to apprentice him.

"Why not tell them," She asked. "What if they wanted to teach me?"

"These dwarves are going to war, Rutty, and I wouldn't want you involved if I can avoid it. And I can, and I will," He finished harshly. Rutty's mouth pulled to one side as she thought, her eyes falling away from her father and to the papers on the table. A house cat had settled on them, lazily sleeping away.

Marlos scowled at the cat, shooing him away as he gathered papers.

"Now, they should be arriving tomorrow, and the guest quarters need cleaned up. Would you be able to help Marta with that?" Rutty grumbled, she disliked the guest quarters, it had never sat well with her. Marlos looked at her over the tops of his papers, hiding an amused smile behind them.

"Who all is comin," She asked.

"I'm not sure... He did mention he would have an escort, but he didn't mention how many."

"Sounds like someone is scared," She mumbled under her breath, thankfully Marlos hadn't caught it, or he chose to ignore it.

"He did, however, mention he would be bringing his scribe." Rutty's face perked up at this, Marlos knew letting her know that seemingly minor detail would be the death of him. Rutty had always wanted to know more about her heritage, and rumor said the dwarves were meticulous about keeping lineage records...

"I know what you're thinking," Marlos said, taking his pencil from the table and wagging it at her. "I know how excited you are, and I am too. However, we can not be too careful."

"What?!"

"After we greet our guests, I would like you to watch your nieces and nephews while they are here," He continued, swiping the last of the breakfast crumbs off his papers and off the table.

"Not more babysittin' duty," She whined, scooting her chair back as he moved to grab the broom. Her eyes followed him to the pantry, boring into the back of his skull. "Not now!"

"We will have another chance," He assured her as he went about his task. "I am sure of it. I know we will keep in correspondence after this, He's already said that his bill will need to be a credit."

Rutty had been ready to fly into a rage, defend what she thought was her last chance at learning more about herself to her dying breath, but her father's words calmed her. She moved to stand up and make her way to the guest house, but a firm grip on her shoulder willed her to stay seated in the chair.

Marlos lowered himself to her eye's level, hoping that his hand on her shoulder would help convey the worry digging at the pit of his stomach. He still didn't know what the dwarves might do if they found her. They might drag her back to their settlement, they could condemn her to never enter their eyesight again. He unfortunately didn't know that much about them, never having grown up around them, or their traditions, curse their secrets! Once his little one had come to him, he had tried, in vain, to find more about them. Every hall he went to, barred him access, or informed him they had no such record. He tried to teach her what he did know, but as she grew she seemed to know somewhat more than he did...

"Please, try to stay out of their way," He pleaded.

Rutty frowned. "How do you mean?"

"I mean make sure the children don't-"

"Interrupt yer meetin's, be a noisey lot, the normal," She rambled. Marlos shook his head, she didn't understand her father's worry. It was alright, he would let it be, for now. With a brief smile, Marlos took the dustpan and walked to the window, throwing the contents to the breeze. He paused, the calm scene before him a stark contrast to the torment he felt inside.

"Are ye alright?" Rutty came up on his right side, sneaking under his arm and hugging him tightly. Marlos smiled at her, rubbing her arm as he returned the embrace.

"I know everything will be..."

The next morning was overcast, a very different feeling fell over the farm and it's lands. Closer to midday than dawn, a party of seven came down the lane. Each dwarf carried a weapon, and didn't appear very regal. Marlos knew better however. He kept the dwarrow's name a secret from his family, as the name carried a weight with it, and an outrageous temper.

Thrain, Son of Thror, New King of Durin's Folk slid off the saddle of his aged pony, inspecting the farm and it's buildings with scrutiny, thankfully paying no mind to the large family in front of the larger homestead. His weapon was a large war hammer, still strapped to his pony's side.

"Welcome Master Thrain," Marlos said, taking a step forward with his arms spread wide. He paid no mind to the uneasy ripple that passed through his family. The short dwarrow looked up at the tall man, the scrutinizing gaze turned now on his frame. If this man wasn't so tall, Thrain thought, He could pass for a dwarf! He had broad shoulders, a full head of once bright red hair with a matching trimmed beard, and bright eyes. He wore a green noble man's tunic, bordered at the neck with a lighter colored fabric, if Thrain's past years hadn't been so fabulously well off, he might have mistaken it for a golden trim.

Marlos deeply bowed once he reached an acceptable distance, his right hand over his chest while his left flourished above him. Thrain waited until he was upright again, then bowed to him, a stiff, unaccustomed bow, but that of respect. Thrain's old eyes scanned over the large family at last, and he felt a small bit of relief. Each one smiled, some more bright than the others, but it seemed none of them held him, or his escort, any ill will.

"Thank you for agreeing to meet me on such... terms," Thrain said, stroking his beard as a farm hand gently came up and took his pony's reigns. He had kept much from this man, for fear of disagreement and possible betrayal, but was pleasantly surprised to find a welcoming situation, although it wasn't shown on his face.

Marlos grinned, waving away the old dwarf's stuffy atmosphere. "Come now, I've had a feud or two pass through my land more than once, I understand discretion when there's some to be had."

Thrain harrumphed. "Well, I thank you again." He turned and gestured to his entourage. They all dismounted, hands came and took their steed's reigns as they came to stand by their King. Each one wore a simple tunic, a cloak and hood, and thick, sturdy boots. The style and simple embellishments differed for each person, as did their weapons, but they looked like a very sturdy bunch.

"These are my personal guard," Thrain said, stepping back and gesturing to them. Three puffed their chests out, the first was a younger looking dwarf, his red hair almost rivaled Marlos's hair at one point in life, but now far out shined it. His nose was large, and the small clasps on his beard made his hair stick out in funny directions, but somehow completed the dwarf. He stood tall, his eyes were shining with pride under his thick eyebrows, his cloak was stained, but it had once been white, his hands held behind his back as he rocked back and forth on his feet.

The second dwarf was just a hair shorter then the first, but his hair was more tamed then the first as well. Maybe they were actually the same height... His, correction, her beard was only there on the sides, braided tightly against her jaw and falling down closely to her strong chin, silver beads dangled at the ends. Green eyes held mirth and just a hint of suspicion, darting around to better look at her surroundings. Her hand rested on her sword, hidden just under her green cloak.

The last dwarf had an even larger nose then the first did, but he looked very caring. His red cloak was well taken care of, and he watched the scenery around him, not suspicious or paranoid, simply curious and hopeful. His beard was starting to become silver already, and it had no clasps, beads or ornamentation, it was only forked at the end.

"Gloin, Bragar, and Balin," Thrain finished as the three bowed deeply, Gloin copied Thrain's stiff bow, while Balin and Bragar gave a more cheerful bow.

"At your service," They said, each voice deep and strong.

"This is my scribe, Fundin," Thrain continued, moving down the line. He thankfully missed the excited look Gloin gave when he walked by, else he may have sent the young one home.

Fundin held a messenger's bag close to his side, although the strap was slung across his body. His cloak was also red, although a deeper color than Balin's. His beard was white, and so were his eyebrows. His crown was clear of any hair, safe for a few growing out of a small mole towards the back. If it hadn't been such a long, curling bunch of hairs, Marlos would have missed it entirely. With a quick bow, Fundin reached forward and shook Marlos's hand, a bright, cheery smile on his aged face. "At your service!"

Marlos returned the gesture, quickly being pulled further to the last two dwarves. He could see Thrain's chest swell with pride, standing on their backside.

"These are my heirs, Thorin and Frerin," He said as they bowed, less rigid than Thrain's, and a little more deep, but just as full of respect as Thrain's had been. Thorin's beard was short, as was Frerin's, and these two could have been night and day, their color's were so striking! Thorin's hair was black, and Marlos was sure it would have been shining with blue had it been sunny out. Frerin's hair somehow managed to pull it off, and blew gently in the oncoming breeze.

Marlos felt a strange feeling in his heart then, as he watched these two young princes bow, a sudden sadness that overwhelmed him.

He fell forward suddenly, Frerin and Fundin caught him, Natalia rushed off the porch, not caring if the dwarves could see her underskirts as she ran.

The lady of the house pulled her husband off the two dwarves, Marlo’s held his hand to his head, a throbbing headache had begun, the deepening sorrow still aches in his chest.

”My good man, are you alright,” Fundin asked, adjusting his glasses on his nose, stepping forward and to the side, to better observe him.

Natalia answered for him. “I’m sure he’s quite alright, Master Dwarf,” She hurried. “He hasn’t been very sure on his feet as of late.”

”Must have tripped up on my own big toe,” Marlos joked, finally setting himself aright. He laced his arm around his Wife’s waist, a loving gesture, but frankly he didn’t trust his own two feet right now.

Fundin hummed to himself, tapping his chin as he thought.

”Well, if you insist..."

The night was swiftly come, and Marlos had no more scares of that sort. The pack of dwarves were ushered around the stables, a quick tour around the farm before Thrain politely insisted they prepare for dinner. Three hands lead the troupe to the guest quarters, freshly cleaned and ready for the strangers hopefully short stay.

The toddler grumpily watched the same strangers across his table. No one was normal, and he scowled at them for it. He didn't quite understand why they were there, or why he was stuck in a stuffy shirt. The shoulders were itchy and he couldn’t breathe in it! But Mother said, so away Rolund went with the stuffy, itchy all around awful shirt.

Auna Rutty lifted a spoon of food to his mouth, Rolund reluctantly opened his mouth. This was awful too. Mother had said Auna Rutty would help him eat, which normally wouldn’t have been bad. The problem tonight was Rutty said he wouldn’t make a mess! Not that he would, but no one wanted to let him feed himself, because ‘That was messy.’

Stupid grown ups, stupid guests, stupid stupid stupid! He wanted to run away from the table right that second!

Laughter brought the child's frustrated mind back to the table, he glared at the darker of the two young dwarves. Once he realized he was being watched, he scowled back. Rolund sunk in his seat away from his steely gaze, and also away from Auna Rutty's awaiting spoon of soup.

"Come now," She said, her voice tight with frustration. She lifted the fussy child up and sat him properly in his seat again, having returned the spoon and soup back to the bowl. "Your food is gettin' cold, and I know you have not eaten all day," She said quietly, fixing his collar and tilting his chin up. She smiled at him as her hand took the spoon again, blowing gently at it.

Her mind wandered as her ears followed her Father's conversation at the end of the table. They began to discuss which ponies might be sold out, her eyes glanced up for a moment.

"Ahhh!" Rolund shouted out in surprise more then pain. Hot soup poured down his shirt, and his chin, she had barely missed.

All eyes fell upon Rutty and Rolund as she quickly went to clean her nephew up, her cheeks blushing a deep scarlet. She muttered under her breath some choice words, finally deciding to pick the child up and carry him away. Too much had spilled on his shirt to be presentable in present company.

As she carried the child out with a quick apology towards The Master, Thorin and Frerin cast a curious glance at her speedy exit, then towards each other. As dinner and the business continued, the two Heirs of Durin took up a different conversation.

"Funny how she knows those..." Frerin spun his fork in his hand, twisting his food on the plate as he looked for the right word. "Choice, words...."

"Indeed..." Thorin looked at his own food, finding it not nearly as appetizing, although it truly was delicious, much better then the hardtack they had eaten on the way here.

Silence fell between the two for a moment, wondering how she could know those specific words, especially when they weren't.... kind words that a lady might have know.

"Maybe she heard them from a market's smithy," Frerin suggested, taking another bite of food.

"That must be it," He agreed, tucking into his food again.

The thought nagged at the back of their minds, both knew the other wouldn't leave it be, but they both decided to not argue the topic further. Surely she had simply overheard it?

Thorin looked up at each occupant of the table, none had been disturbed at her words, so they couldn't have known what it was. Her father couldn't have heard, Thrain had still been talking to him when she exclaimed, but he too wasn't perturbed.

The Eldest hummed to himself as he stabbed at his food, something didn't sit well with this visit, but he couldn't tell what it was. Maybe it was just the death of Thror, or maybe he was just tired and saddle sore. He wasn't sure, but it felt like the food in his belly started to churn as his thoughts swirled freely in his mind.

Snow came that night, despite it being the middle of spring. The children went out the next morning, disappointed that their little saplings had been frozen, but excited at the prospect of a snow war! Sides were formed, and forts build up. They stood spectacularly, the snowfall had been deep and would surely delay the dwarves departures a few days.

The two heirs had taken up a set of stones under some trees, the snow was brushed off the tops, and the gentle shade gave comfort to their eyes, the snow beginning to turn to ice as the sun climbed higher into the sky.

"<Look there>," Frerin chided, pointing at the fortress on the left. "<They need to fortify the right tower, it's going to topple at the slightest bombardment...>"

Thorin shook his head, leaning against the trunk of the tree. Couldn't he let them play?

"<Let them be, it's only a game.>" He closed his eyes, settling himself in for a lazy day. Father and the Master were taking an inventory of ponies, what sort of equipment they might need and so on. More then once this morning, Thorin thought he saw the Master's eye twitch in frustration as Thrain attempted to tell him how to run his livery. Thorin snorted quietly at the memory, Frerin took it as a reason to continue his assessment of the snowy battlements, a snort of his own as he turned from his brother's lazy attitude.

"<The right side isn't going to have enough snow to fight with.>" The walls were thick, proving to protect it's occupants, but the ground around was barren, mud becoming icy the closer it was to the walls, being messy the further away it was.

"<You know, you don't need to analyze everything you see,>" Thorin mumbled, wrapping his arms loosely around him, keeping the chilly breeze at bay.

"<You know father would be upset if I didn't put my keen eyes to use,>" Frerin grumbled back. He grimaced, recalling the conversation Thrain had before coming out this way.

Thorin noticed the lack of muttering, he peeked an eye open to find his brother's face blank. He frowned, shutting his eyes again and readjusting, this rock was digging into his tailbone.

"<Bets on who wins?>"

That brought Frerin out of his dark thoughts, his gaze fell on the stalled snow war. They had both finished their castles, now they were gathering enough snow for ammunition. The young one who made a mess last night was nearing the dwarves, gathering as much snow as he could in his bundled arms, a smile bright on his face.

Frerin chuckled, turning to look at Thorin. "<You know all those books Fundin had me read on stratagem, this will be all too easy!>"

Thorin smirked. "<Then place your bet.>"

Frerin turned, his finger finding his chin and giving a thoughtful tap. He talked to himself for a moment, reminding himself what the books had said, pointing subtly at one fort, then the other, comparing strengths and weaknesses, along with the so called teams.

What he didn't notice however, was the child aiming a snowball at him.

WHACK!!!

Frerin reared back, surprised at the sudden attack. Thorin peeked an eye open, assuming the war had begun with a stray snowball, but was baffled to see Frerin wearing it on his face. He wiped the snow off his forehead, looking up just in time to be hit by a second one, this time a muddy snowball. Frerin fell backwards at this one, it was much bigger, and much more messy.

"You wretched person!" The child called, crouching down to gather up another snowball. "How dare you call us funny!"

Thorin sprang to his feet, anger burned in his gaze as he made his way towards the child, hurriedly but now frighteningly so, while Frerin laid on his back in a bit of a daze, the muddy snow clump still on his face. This one hurt.

"You're the funny ones, coming here and having a beard!" The child shouted and threw more snowballs, trying to clear Frerin's rock shield to no avail. At worst, they'd smack the bottom of his boots.

The same lady that had taken the child last night came running up to him, picked him up and gave him a good hard swat on his bottom.

"We will not treat out guests that way, young man," She told him sternly as he began to cry.

Thorin waited where he stood, glaring at the scene before him, partly because of his anger, partly because of the snow.

"Ye will not insult the way they look! It is mean and not fair, maybe they like beards," She said, looking into his eyes as she set him back down. She knelt in front of him, her face drawn to one side in a scowl, she held his small hand in hers. He looked sheepishly at the snow between them, sniffling quietly.

"If ye have a disagreement with someone, ye approach them kindly and respectfully discuss yer problem with them. Nothin' is solved with violence."

Thorin thought about arguing but decided against it.

"Lastly, he was talking about books, not how yer funny lookin'," She said, a little more sternly, and a little more quietly. The boy ducked his head as he began to cry again. She let him cry for a while, until he was finished with his embarrassed tantrum.

Her gaze softened as she looked expectantly at him. The boy stuck his lip out.

"Do I have to Auna Rutty?"

"Yes, it is the right thin' to do, 'specially when ye did wrong."

The Lady stood up, brushed her skirts off and took the boy's hand, who lead the way over to Thorin.

Thorin's gaze remained cold, his arms crossed and he tried to look as intimidating as possible. He's pretty sure it worked as the boy looked again at the Lady, silently pleading for her to relent. She looked at him with a blank stare, waiting for him to finish what he started. With a ragged sigh, he looked back up at the Dwarf Prince, trying to look brave.

"I'm sorry I threw the snowballs at you."

Thorin bounced his head to one side, just a little. "I'm not the one you pelted."

The Lady's mouth fell open as the boy hung his shoulders, having his hopes dashed. "Ye were throwin' them at both?"

"No I wasn't," He said defiantly, stomping his foot.

Thorin stifled a giggle, turning away to 'cough' as the Lady turned her fiery gaze at him.

"Then I guess yer not done," She said as she dropped his hand, setting one on her hip while the other pointed back towards where Thorin had come from. Her voice finally held anger, albeit it sounded more annoyed then furious to Thorin. "Go find the other one and apologize!"

"You don't need to find me, I'm right here," Frerin said, coming up from behind the rocks. His face was covered in mud, snow and blood, the boy yelled out in surprise as the younger prince came over, carefully navigating the slippery terrain with one eye.

"I'm so sorry," Rutty began for the boy, who was now hiding behind her skirts, although he was almost half her height. Once Frerin came all the way over, and Rutty could see exactly how much blood was on his face, she stumbled over her words as she attempted to smooth his hair away, not sure how to best go about tending to a prince!

"Let us take ye to the barn," She mumbled, her eyes wide with worry and anxiety. If Master Thrain had seen his son like this...! She didn't want to finish her thought, so she grabbed Rolund's awaiting hand and led them to the barn's supply room.

Frerin and Thorin followed, both slightly amused at the other's nervousness. The children within the snow war failed to notice the debacle, and didn't mind their supervisor was now attending to other things...

Frerin's wound was thankfully superficial, but it did require bandages, if anything to keep his royal pain in the butukas from picking at it. Thorin waited and watched, leaning against a wall, as Rutty worked her talent, instructing Rolund what to do and what to fetch. He had actually nearly fainted at one point. Thorin remained quiet, while Frerin committed to small talk with the child, when he was available.

Every so often, Rutty would glance at Thorin, as if she was going to ask something, only to turn back to Frerin, Rolund, or the supplies, abandoning her previous thought.

"Now don't pick at it," Rolund commanded, sticking his chest out and wagging a finger at Frerin, who's hand had already drifted upwards to feel it.

Frerin chuckled, tenderly feeling his bandage. "Don't worry little one, I won't."

"Much," Thorin quipped.

Laughter came from the door leading to the barn, terror entered everyone's heart as they recognized the two voices.

Thrain and Marlos walked in, the first stopping dead in his tracks as he looked at his first son, then his second, rage building up from his toes to his hair. The Second felt a different kind of fear enter his heart, one for his daughter and grandson and the state they found themselves in.

"What, happened," Thrain asked through gritted teeth.

Rutty couldn't move, her mind was running faster then a river as she tried to explain how her blood had hurt his. Despite all the thoughts that crossed her mind, she couldn't form a cohesive sentence or spit it out.

Thorin watched as his father fingered the end of a hidden blade up his sleeve, time was running out before the pot would boil over.

"WELL?!"

Rutty jumped, her hand flying to her throat as she swallowed. Rolund hid behind her again, wanting to go and tell the scary dwarf what really happened, but at the same time the child wanted someone to command him to be more nice.

"We were watching the children play in the snow," Thorin began, his arms folded across his chest casually. "To be honest, I don't really know what happened, I just heard Frerin cry out." He gave a pointed look at his brother, who took it up to finish the story.

"Why don't you know what happened," Thrain asked.

"I was trying not to fall asleep," He said with a shrug.

"I slipped over a large rock," Frerin said, rolling his foot for emphasis. "I was going to get up to..." He rolled his hands, trying to emphasis something that Thrain wasn't getting, his fury was making him dense.

Thorin rolled his eyes, dropping his hands as if he was embarrassed. "You tripped and cut your head trying to go take a piss, that's so typical."

"Thorin!"

"Long story short, he's a klutzy ding bat with a small bladder and these two came to his rescue," Thorin finished, trying to appear frustrated, he happened to glance at Rutty, who was mightily confused and wasn't afraid to show it.

Thrain's fury left, his lips were in a straight line, he looked like the tired father of two very irresponsible teenagers, which wasn't far from the truth.

"It's just a scrape, it looks worse then it really is," Frerin added, casting an annoyed glace at his brother.

Marlos stumbled again, his hand flying to his forehead, sorrow and pity filled his soul, and this time he had a more sure feeling of why...

Thrain caught his friend, no longer upset at his offspring, or their so called rescuers.

"It's fine, I just slipped on some dung," He said, righting himself and smiling at everyone in the room. "Rutty, why don't you lead us to the kitchens, I'm sure Master Thrain would like to see his meal."

"Of course," She said, casting a curious glance at the two princes before taking the lead, heading out the door and towards the Guest's house.

As the party left, Rolund turned to his new found friends, if he would ever call them that.

"What was that for? Doncha know its bad to lie?"

Thorin laughed while Frerin grimaced. Rolund pinched his face as Thorin tousled his hair, smacking at the tuft where his hands had been.

" 'Specially to your Da, you're gonna be in big trouble," He added as the two walked outside. He walked to the door and leaned out, a smirk of confidence on his face. He was sure they would apologize now!

"Now who's gonna be in trouble if you tell him we lied," Thorin asked, turning back around and lowering himself to the young lad's eyes. Frerin hissed something at his brother, half under his breath, half through his teeth.

Rolund frowned, seeing the logic in the dwarf's words.

"I think," Thorin began slowly, "That you owe my brother something." He resumed his upright position as he rolled his shoulders, "Then it won't matter what happened to me."

Rolund looked at the older dwarf, Frerin wasn't sure what he was going to do. His face was pinched together, he seemed to be throwing thoughts around in his head. The young boy looked behind him, as if he was planning his escape through the stables. Frerin knew Thorin wouldn't let him escape, but he also knew Thorin wouldn't press it.

The little boy sighed, his shoulders sagging. The argument in his head was done, he had come to his decision. Rolund walked up to Frerin and held out his hand, not meeting his gaze.

"I'm sorry I threw that snowball at you," He mumbled.

The younger dwarf scratched the back of his head, "Sorry there, I couldn't hear you. Could you say that again?"

Rolund frowned, his face getting a light red blush to it. His awaiting hand became stiff with frustration. "I said-"

"Try looking up here lad," Frerin said, his hand moving from his cranium to his bandages. They already had started to itch...

With a loud huff, Rolund finally looked the prince in the eyes and yelled, "I'm sorry I threw that snowball at you!" He grabbed Frerin's other hand, which was held at his waist, shook it vigorously, and ran past the two princes, back towards the battle field, screaming all the way.

The two watched in strange bewilderment.

"What an unusual child," Frerin mumbled over his shoulder, to which Thorin could only nod in agreement.

Fog clung to the roads as Thorin ran up them towards Bag End, despite it being almost eleven in the morning. Two days late! He could hardly believe it! Getting lost wouldn’t save his rear end this time, that wizard would have his head!

When the green door finally appeared through the fog, Thorin couldn’t help but feel relieved. He jumped up the steps three at a time, nearly running into the door.

“Master Baggins,” he shouted, pounding on the door. Desperation was set deep in his voice, he wanted to see his brother again. When no answer came, he looked around for the bell rope, now remembering how upset Bilbo had been when Thorin had originally arrived. Once found, he shook it vigorously, the bell left a painful ringing in his ears.

”Master Baggins, please! Open this door!” Loud and heavy footsteps plodded down the hall, Thorin backed away, happening to cast a glance downwards. Mud covered his boots and lower parts of his pants. His spare hand ran through his hair in an attempt to tame it, the other readjusted his pack slung across his back. He put on a happier face, one that might even let out a smile! The door finally creaked open, only it wasn’t Bilbo Baggins. Standing in the great round door was a similarly round hobbit, his cheeks naturally red, with a small button nose. A robe was thrown hastily over his shoulders, his once bright blonde hair was still sticking up in odd places. The two stared at each other, both flabbergasted as to why the other was standing where they were. “Well? What do you want at this hour,” The hobbit grumbled, his hand coming up to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Thorin furrowed his brows in confusion. “Is this not Bag End?”

“No, this is- Who’s askin’?”

”Where is Master Baggins?”

”He’s away for the time being-“

”Do you know when he’ll be back?” Thorin’s mind was racing, surly they wouldn’t have left without him...

The hobbit’s brows furrowed deep into his own face, aghast at this dwarf’s rudeness. “He didn't say.”

The old King's throat closed up, his stomach dropped as he backed up, his foot nearly missing the step behind him. Pure shock filled from his toes to his beard, had they really left without him? But then who was leading them? Thorin turned away from the great green door, his free hand coming up to thoughtfully tug at his beard, his mind now racing for a different reason.

Master Gamgee stood in the doorway of his employer's home, on loan until he returned from his business venture, staring at this strange sight. He wasn't about to let this strange, grubby dwarf into his friend's home, oh no! He remembered Master Baggin's parting words well, "Should one spoon be missing from my drawers, you'll be paying for it!"

Master Baggins had been upset at something, Master Gamgee wasn't sure what, but with a stern sigh, and quick apology, Bilbo Baggins had set off on his venture, not an adventure, mind you, and left Master Gamgee with his belongings, save a rucksack, walking stick, a few hankies, and some other things for a long journey. Of course, Mrs Gamgee had pipped up at that point, Master Baggins was almost out of their garden, What of payment, she had questioned. Master Gamgee almost made her quiet down, surely living within such a grand burrow and keeping the amenities all in order wouldn't be that hard. Not only were they to live within the spacious building, they were free to use the land with it however they saw fit.

The dwarrowdam that was with the Hobbit at the time smile bright, reached deep into her pocket and pulled out a golden chain, a large soft blue stone set at the end of the chain. She gave it to Mrs Gamgee, who held her hands out and stared at the beautiful craftsmanship as if it might melt like snow through her fingers. "May this be enough to tide ye over until the Master Hobbit returns," She said, a gentle raise of her brow daring the humbled hobbit to ask for more.

Mrs Gamgee nodded, pulling the chain and stone close, ashamed of the way she had burst out.

Master Gamgee came out of his remembrance with a start. "Oh!"

Thorin turned to him, also pulled from his memories.

"Now wait just a moment here, Master Dwarf," He shouted as he ran back into the smial. The door shut with a soft thud, Thorin was growing impatient again. When he returned, he held an envelope, the edges of the face of it were set with a golden ink, Thorin's surname, rightly earned, set in center with a grand flourish. Master Gamgee held it out to him, Thorin took it as if it was laced with poison.

Another headache, very similar to the one he had when he had first woken up in Bree, and then awoken under the starry sky in the forest, throbbed in his mind. Thorin turned from the Smial, almost leaving the Poor Hobbit to watch him wander down the path. He remembered his manners just in time, turning around as he shut the gate behind him.

"Thank you master Hobbit, pray don't tell anyone you've seen me." The hobbit pinched his face up, peering out into the fog.

"Fat chance anyone saw ye, Master Dwarf. Good day." The Hobbit shut the door, it shut with a soft thud again, and was locked with a quiet click. Thorin turned from the gate, finally focusing on the letter. Vague memories pulled at him now, of letters very similar to this bringing what little light could be had to him and his brothers in Moria. But it felt as if it was not his own life he had seen letters as this, far from it. It almost felt like a dream...

He ripped the letter open, still thumping down the path as he made his way back west, headed for what he recalled from before was a Livery. The same grand lettering was found on the parchment within, only this was written in his own stony language.

Thorin slowed further in his progression then, trying to analyze the quill marks. That same feeling, as if he had seen these before in a dream pulled again. He held it close to his face to properly read the penmanship in the dull, foggy daylight.

       My Dearest Husband,

Thorin's heart lurched, husband?! He stopped dead in his tracks, now furiously reading the ink.

       I regret to inform you that we had to continue on without you. There is a livery just up the road that my father's dear friend's children now run. It is reputable, and they rear their foals with care. I have reserved a fine steed for you, quick as they come. Please hurry to catch us up, I fear it will soon 'rain on our parade,' as the Hands used to say. Treat your steed with care, if they fail you, then you must return to Ered Luin. There will be no way for you to catch us up before the Misty Mountains, even if you were lucky enough to find the Lord of Horses.

               See you soon,

                       Armis

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#secret #wife #secret wife #ooooo #thorin #angry thorin #he didn't sign up for this #Thorin Oakenshield #thorin x oc #farmhouse #dreams #second life #fix it fic #fili #kili #Bilbo baggins #the hobbit #hobbit #shire #baggins #shreik #durin #heirs of durin

[springtimebat]

The House on Sugarplum Row

The house on Sugarplum Row is fifty four miles out of town. It stands, surrounded by weeping willows and wildflowers, on an otherwise empty, lonely road. Nowadays the roof is collapsing in on itself and cracks are forming on the kitchen ceiling. Someone has broken into the house and graffiti now stains the basement walls. Still, the house holds at least two families in its rooms at all times, even with its wrinkles beginning to show. The wind seeps through the foundation and the loud stomps of leather boots continue to whistle down the staircases. Women who bring back the dead, man-eating plants and demons from the other place hide together in the house’s walls. There are three floors; a ground floor, first floor, an attic space and the basement, all shifting depending on who you ask. Algae climbs the decaying roof.

The house is lonely. It wants to play.

The Earwickets built the house on Sugarplum Row. Vic Earwicket and his three wives; all that work to fulfil their growing appetites. When Vic’s son was born the earth outside began to shake. Crows gathered on the wired fence. Two years later, an old, wizened owl sat at the nursery window while Vic’s daughter was born. It stood there watching for hours. The girl’s name was Erika. Her brother was called Fricorith.

Erika Earwicket went off with a strange man who lived in the shadows once she turned sixteen. He left her all alone on the forest floor once he grew bored. By the time Erika had turned seventeen, she was buried deep within the ground. Heavy vines mark her resting place. Curled up in the corpse’s arms is a baby made of shadows.

Fricorith Earwicket grew up to be a wanderer. He left the house as soon as he could. The building could never quite get him into its grasp. The house weighed him down. He travelled through the Devil’s Palm, getting lost in all sorts of places. Eventually, Fricorith found himself in a lonely, grey area of the Kendall Woods. There was a farm. He met a young girl there, a girl he’d met a long time ago in a dream. The two got on well. Soon after his arrival, the crops began to die and the sheep ran away. The young girl’s father began to wither too. His hope was stolen by the howling winds. The only thing he owned was a shotgun and some dying land. Two of the shotgun’s bullets ripped through Fricorith’s arm when the farmer found him with his daughter. Fricorith and the girl left the farm that night, to search for a better life. All that was recovered of the farmer was his right ear and his shotgun, emptied of caps.

The dream girl became Dot Earwicket. She bore Fricorith’s twins. She bore the future. When she arrives the house will trap her within the walls. The house on the hill, the house made out of bones, out of skins, will never allow her to leave. Dot is the mother, the matriarch, the bearer of the future. And we are nothing without our roles. When we don’t have our stations in life we grow to become wanderers. Wanderers rot the land and sag the earth. It’s better to be a songbird in a cage, asked to sing for the House on Sugarplum Row.

The House on Sugarplum Row stands, watching and waiting. Every night, rain pours onto the timber roof. Every morning, that same roof dries in the light of the dying sun. The sky around the house is made of patchwork quilt, all bruised purples and blues, pale yellows once the drought arrives in its heavy waves. It holds infinite destinations within its tired walls. There are three floors; a ground floor, first floor, an attic space and the basement, all shifting depending on who you ask. An owl sleeps at the old nursery window. It holds monsters, creations, people of flesh and bone in its sway.

The house on Sugarplum Row is alive and it can see you.

#creative writing #short story #a devil's palm story #fable #horror #haunted house #living house #breathing house #personification #family horror #wordbuilding #fantasy #parallel worlds #linked to trouble with the in laws #crowcore #cryptidcore #weirdcore #oddcore #sequel post #southern gothic