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dragon age: dorian pavus

This is just a friendly game, right...? | Closed

who: Cullen Rutherford (

happiertimes) and Dorian Pavus (

tevinteraltus)
what: Just a friendly game of Chess...?
when: March 6th; Evening
where: the Guard Barracks because Cullen decided to live there (sigh)
warnings: None as of yet, though Dorian's ego should have a disclaimer

Cullen's text had been a pleasant surprise to say the least, though no one need know he was pleased, after months of solitude with no one but strangers from other worlds for company to have more fellows from home arrive. Iona had been first, of course, and the most welcome. He hadn't felt closer to anyone in his memory than he did her, and her presence was a comfort far more than she probably realized. Now, there had been others of course: Anders, the man who'd caused all the ruckus they'd just cleaned up, and Hawke, though not a Hawke he'd known, but those of the Inner Circle, his dearest friend, and now his Commander...well, the Commander of the Inquisitions Forces at any rate? Welcome to be sure.

That he enjoyed the Commander's company was an added bonus, and had come as a pleasant surprise, considering his previous profession and the Imperium's general stance on mages and their own lackluster Templars. He'd never had occasion to share his own beliefs with the commander on the topic, and he actually wondered how he'd feel about Dorian's ideals. Not that this evening, equipped with a serviceable chess set, and a reasonably price full-bodied red wine, was the one on which to find out. This was to be time spent with, at least as far as Dorian was concerned, a friend. He had precious few of them, and while Cullen was a rather tightly-wound spring most days, Dorian still liked him.

There was something painfully appropriate about learning Cullen had taken up residence at the Guard barracks, but he wasn't expecting the sparseness of the facility as he arrived. Not many people lived here, it seemed. That was, somehow, sad. The common room wasn't too difficult to find, as the array was something like the communal housing he shared with Iona and the others on his floor. He'd even made it a point to be on time, which Cullen should appreciate. Dorian's usually the time to be fashionably late.

Dorian's done a fairly decent job of adapting to "modern" style, though his fashion tastes are still a little more eclectic than mainstream. He arrives dressed down at least, and sets the bottle of wine on a table in the common room of the barracks before casting his gaze around and setting the chess set down as well, and casts a look about for the Commander and his host.

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Well, Dorian and Cullen actually have the same goals. Plus it helps that Dorian believes that Tevinter could also use reformation, alongside the Southern Chantry, the Order, the Seekers and the Circle of Magi. The world they know is a mess. Besides, chess partners as entertaining as Mia are hard to come by. And even if Dorian isn't as skilled as Cullen, he's at least a fine conversationalist.

"Yes, mustn't forget the Champion and Varric got conned by the Wardens to letting Corypheus free."

The game is untouched, but the wine is coming in handy. As are the sandwiches. Some decent ham and cheese on thick, fresh bread. Almost like being back home for a brief moment. "I had the pleasure of meeting her a day or so after I arrived. And her reluctance is something she shares with the Inquisitor Lavellan I know. He really didn't like being flung into situations anymore than the rest of us."

Cullen takes a rather uncivilized drink of the wine before sighing and rubbing his forehead momentarily.

"She seems perfectly lovely, Dorian, but I don't know anything about her except a name and her clan." And that he's attracted to her, if he's being honest. "But she knows me. It's....disconcerting to think that literally anyone could've been in her place at the Conclave and to have proof of it shoved in my face."

The wine more than the sandwiches was Dorian's preference, and he was certainly taking his share. He had quite a bit of experience thinking rather intense, well-thought out thoughts with terribly drunk. There was no reason to face this with a great deal of sobriety, either. He found Cullen's jump in logic amusing, though, as it also served to put Dorian's own thoughts into more sharp perspective.

He finished off his glass of wine and refilled before responding, shaking his head as he did so. He honestly didn't care of Cullen hadn't needed a refill yet. He was something of a lush, he realized that.

"Not anyone, Cullen. Don't be so hasty. Perhaps anyone of Clan Lavellan, yes, but there's nothing suggesting just anyone at all could have been tapped as Andraste's Herald. You're over-reacting."

Cullen isn't a stranger to drinking to forget certain things but it isn't his first go to in these situations. He would rather face them head on if it's possible. Like he did with Samson. Besides, Dorian's reputation for being a fan of liquor was never a secret.

"And there's nothing stating that it couldn't have been, Dorian. You and I are both too smart to not have thought about that possibility." It's comforting that the Lavellan clan is a common thread between Iona and Mahanon, but it's not enough. "There were plenty of others at the Conclave that just as easily could have become the Inquisitor versus the people that we know."

He's calm enough now because this isn't the first time he's had this thought. Not even since he first met Iona.

"But tell me what she's like. Vague words don't convey a person."

Yes, of course he'd thought of it. He'd even said as much to Iona when they'd discussed it. He'd chosen, as any sane and Maker-fearing man would, to believe it was a choice, pre-ordained, but...if the true believers were to be believed, perhaps that was part of the selection. That their task had to be accomplished by someone chosen at random, because it was that choice that defined the quest. Dorian wasn't one to wax philosophical, though, at least not aloud, and thus he nodded his agreement. There was no point in arguing, after all. Cullen was right.

"True, and I suppose we should thank the Maker there wasn't only one in the Multiverse capable of standing against Corypheus, assuming Mahanon was also successful."

He took a long pull from his refilled wine glass as he settled back in his chair, relaxing from the tension of a few moment previous, though whether that was a function of the slight change in topic or being halfway through his second glass of wine was anyone's guess.

"What is she like? Would you care to try posing a more vague question? This one is nearly succinct." It was more a delay than anything. Dorian, who never ran out of words, always found himself falling short when tasked with describing the Inquisitor, his greatest and first true friend beyond Felix. He cast his gaze to his half empty glass, idly turning it in his fingers as he began. "She is...fierce, devoted, passionate and...caring. She didn't ask for this burden, but she carries it with a poise and grace that are enviable to say the least. She's a comfort, a steadfast companion and...an inspiration." He looked up from his musing to meet Cullen's gaze, his expression more serious than Cullen has had occasion to see it often. "I can think of none other I'd wish to stand with against oblivion."

Edited (I'm going to blame sleepiness for the rampant typos) 2018-03-28 05:19 (UTC)

Cullen is a devout man and he's never thought to doubt the Maker, even when he was faced with the worst possible situation he could imagine. More than once.

"Let the blade pass through the flesh,
Let my blood touch the ground,
Let my cries touch their hearts.
Let mine be the last sacrifice.

"If only She had been the last sacrifice needed. Yes, Mahanon and the rest of us were successful in defeating Corypheus, but there was no other choice in the matter, was there?"

What glass of wine? It's gone. So gone. And Cullen reaches over to pour himself a healthy glass and sits back in his chair. This game is not happening, but it was only a partial ruse. What Dorian says next is more important. His friend's devotion isn't the least bit surprising, considering he'd known that Dorian was half in love with Mahanon before he'd started seeing the Iron Bull.

"All members of Clan Lavellan must be like that. Of course, being that they are the only Dalish clan that bothered to be invested in any portion of what the Conclave might've meant for them." It's a fact that is a little saddening. "She has an interesting sense of humor."

"Yes. We mortals are a particularly stubborn lot. It's as though some of our own missteps nearly doomed the world." He smiled, though. It was through much hardship they'd made it, they'd seen it through. Not all had made it to the other side breathing, but the world could try to right itself, and maybe it had also put them that much closer to ridding the world of the Darkspawn...or at least making up for some of it.

"Perhaps...and perhaps that is why they were chosen. Who can say?" Cullen's commentary on Iona's sense of humor caught the Altus' attention, though, and he raised an eyebrow before taking another pull from his wine glass.

"Interesting turn of phrase. What did I miss?"

Cullen lets out a soft breath that might be a half-laugh, half-scoff. He is amused, if nothing else.

"I think that's the one thing Corypheus forgot about the living. We don't care for dying anymore than he did. I suppose a thousand years as a demented Darkspawn didn't help."

He sets his half-empty glass down and runs a hand through his hair. "What did you miss? Dorian, I met her quite literally in the middle of the street. She called out to me and then proceeded to flirt with me. I think." No need to mention that he flirted back with a total stranger. "But I found her to be quick witted and charming. Less gruff than the Inquisitor I knew back home. Although, I've noticed that she refuses to call me by my personal name since that first time."

"Corypheus forgot everything about the living. He dreamed of recreating a world he couldn't quite recall."

But Iona was clearly a more important topic for the Commander, a point which Dorian found immensely interesting. There were rumors back home, half-whispers of a sort, but nothing solid. Curiouser and curiouser.

"Iona is certainly both of those things, and thoroughly irrepressible, at least when it counts, though I warn you, she flirts quite a bit. And what not?" He made a questioning motion with his hand. "Flirting is fun." He nodded though, still smiling. "And that bothers you?"

"Yes, well, the point to living is that we have a limited amount of time and to make the most of it without harming one another."

Magic is meant to serve man, Dorian.

And of course Iona is the more interesting topic to talk about. Corypheus is dead.

"Flirting has its place, I admit. Especially with a pretty face behind the remarks." And Iona is that and much, much, much more. "It doesn't bother me, per say, but it seems...odd. It's always Serah Rutherford or Commander. And it seems forced on her end."

"Is that the point? I appreciate the insight." He, of course, believes something similar, and yes, magic is meant to serve man. To Dorian, that means he is to use his gift to protect others, and to produce innovations that would be impossible without magic, a perspective unfortunately not shared by his countrymen.

That he is, Cullen, and Iona, in fact, is very much not.

"Perhaps she means to put you at ease, and alleviate her own discomfort. It's rather...off-putting to possess memories another does not." The latter was spoken a tad pointedly. It hasn't even occurred to him that the events at Redcliffe may not have proceeded in Cullen's version of their universe as they had in his own.

"Well, it's either that or we're all scrambling for an absentee god to pay attention to us by singing a song and hoping the rest of the world gets the memo."

Look, Corypheus died and he should have been dead over a millennium. That's all there is to it. And, well, Iona is an Inquisitor, even if she's not the one that Cullen is familiar with. And they're all stuck here together.

And Dorian's remark isn't missed. Cullen frowns in thought.

"Yes, I can imagine it would be. I heard from...you what transpired in the alternate future. This is strange, but it's not apocalyptic."

"Hasn't that been the directive of the Chantry for eons now?" He's jesting, of course, and he smiles just to make doubly certain the pious Cullen Rutherford gets the hint.

"Well, we sit here as living proof: alternate realities exist. Are we replicas of one another's memories, or projections? That is the question to which I'd like an answer."

"I would hardly call 900 years eons, Dorian, but yes."

Cullen does get the ridiculousness of some of the Revered Mothers and clerics. Roderick was extremely annoying but no less a man of the cloth. It's part of the reason he hadn't let anyone assassinate the man, despite wanting to punch him himself to get him to shut up.

It would've been worse if anyone had done something to him after all.

"I never doubted the fact that alternate realities existed. Perhaps there's a universe where I never joined the Order and remained an ignorant farm boy in Honnleath until the Fifth Blight." It sounds idyllic now that he's spent his entire adult life struggling against something or the other back home. "As for what we are, I wouldn't know where to start. Perhaps we're reflections of one another's reality, the same pieces on a board, rotating around a different king, however still on the same side."

"Well, I've never even seen one hundred years, Cullen. I would."

But that was hardly the point of this little interaction, and what was would require more research than he was prepared to perform just at the moment. "There are boundless possibilities, really, but I'm certain, if there's to be any information found in this place related to it, it would be the library...or perhaps the archives at the Research institute. I'll have a go and let you know what I find."

Still, even that wasn't much of the point, now was it?

"But I would assume, my dear Commander, you didn't call me here to send me in a book-keeping errand."

"Considering the most either of us can claim is thirty years, I think you're overplaying your hand."

But, you know, Cullen is willing to let it go so they can continue on with their actual conversation.

"So, you're telling me that I shouldn't hold my breath while you do research into the matter?" Have a smirk, Dorian. He's only teasing you.

"No, that's not while I called you over here. As much as I respect your talents and your mind, it is your knowledge of Iona Lavellan I wished to speak to you about. I am at a disadvantage with her knowing a great deal about me and I nearly nothing about her, aside from the fact that she is of the Lavellan clan and she's your Inquisitor."

Edited (I forgot which thread this is. My bad.) 2018-04-25 06:31 (UTC)

"That's half the game, Cullen." He smiles at the memory that particular joke calls to mind. Well, it starts as a smile, but it turns into a laugh quickly as he recalls exactly what led up to it. "You never did get the hang of overplaying your own, if I recall. Josephine saw to that."

"One should never hold one's breath when research is involved, Cullen. You can't rush genius." Have a smirk in response, Cullen. Two can play that game.

"Ah, ha." He nods, as though he'd suspected that all along, and why should he let the fine Commander believe any differently? "And how would you have me going about telling you of the lovely lady of clan Lavellan?"

Dorian might be laughing, but Cullen sure isn't. He never wants to think about the run he had to make through The Herald's Rest up to his quarters with nothing to show for it. Luckily when Josephine was done laughing at him, she returned his clothes to him for the steep price of a bottle of Orlesian wine from the Golden Valley.

"I see you still think highly of yourself but I rather happen to like breathing, so I will definitely pass on waiting."

And since he's figured that Dorian might be reading into it more than he really wants, he's not sure that there's any way to salvage it from being taken poorly.

"Anything you can share about her would be nice. Such as the last thing she remembers from Thedas, who else was in your party, her stance with the mages and Templars over who helped seal the Breach, the important details."

To Cullen's supposed jab at his intellect, Dorian only smirks. They both know better than to think if Dorian applies himself, he can't work out just about anything. Perhaps Cullen is a better battlefield and tabletop strategist than the mage, but Dorian is nearly unrivaled in academic and scholarly pursuits, and rather skilled at thaumaturgy, if he does say so himself. Which he does. Quite often.

Contrary to popular belief, Dorian could respect when he wasn't the center of attention or the topic of conversation, though the path theirs had taken quickly colored his smirk with slight apprehension and prompted him to refill his glass.

"Ah, yes. Straight to business. Of course." And he waits until he's taking a healthy pull from that refilled glass before he continues. "How do you recall the assault on Adamant Fortress?"

Edited 2018-05-01 15:57 (UTC)

Cullen is well aware of Dorian's intelligence, but sometimes he wonders if the mage thinks that the only thing Cullen is good for is in regards to warfare. It's true that a great deal of his duties over the years have centered around strategy and fighting, but he's always been inquisitive and able to make the most use of the Chantry's resources to expand his mind.

He just doesn't feel the need to crow about his own achievements like someone else in the room.

"Messy, bloody and a fucking disaster area. Grey Wardens using blood magic because they thought they were all facing the end of their lives at once." He's yet to figure out if King Alistair and his wife have fallen prey to that, but he trusts the man who rules Ferelden to do the best he can for their shared homeland.

Although, the next thought makes him almost angry as he thinks about it. One of the truly few things he'd ever disagreed with Mahanon's decisions over—and in public, no less. "Bloody Venatori mage ripped open a Rift, pulling the Inquisitor, his party, Stroud and Hawke into the Fade bodily. And when they returned, Garrett Hawke was not with them."

His proverbial "crowing" stemmed from a lifetime of his self-worth being derived exclusively from the one thing he refused to participate in. Maybe one day the habit will be broken, but really, only if he ever decides he's not a viable topic of conversations most days. No one should hold their breath on that one.

Dorian's gaze darkened at the Commander's recount. It would seem that yes, things went south rather forcefully regardless of origin world. His expression didn't shift overmuch, only reflecting his own dark memories of the time, and he took a long pull from his wine before nodding.

"Yes, quite." He turned his wine glass between his fingers, shifting his gaze to watch its contents as he continued. "It wasn't a pleasant jaunt in the Fade, you know. Hawke...remained to buy us time to escape." He took a breath, releasing a sigh and not returning his gaze to Cullen. When he spoke again, his voice was soft, distant. Regretful. "She was forced to choose, you know, who would remain. It's...uncomfortable, knowing someone who saved a city sacrificed themselves to save you, and I imagine more so for her. So many are counting on her." He drifted into silence, pulling more words together and finishing that second glass of wine before looking back to the Commander.

"Adamant, more than any other tactical agenda he had yet to face, put into stark relief how much people were relying upon her to succeed. Our foire into the future was a warning, we came back with an itinerary, but that? Adamant showed Iona and us all that Corypheus would have his way, one way or another. Stopping one plot only opened up seven more. Back home, we licked our wounds and plotted as well, and we were successful. Iona? Here? She's still in triage."

Cullen stands up from his seat and starts to pace around the room, arms behind his back as he moves. He is an active person who can be quiet, but it's been difficult over the last year to be still when angry.

"I never thought the trip into the Fade was easy for anyone. I saw what you all looked like when you returned. Cassandra could barely stand and Varric was both so angry he couldn't string two words together and had to be put into a deep sleep so that we could heal his wounds."

He refuses to talk about how Dorian had returned. It had been a near thing. Losing Hawke had been salt in the wounds for so many. Especially since it was Varric who'd had to write the letters to Carver and Merrill about Garrett's fate.

"You're telling me that she's just returned from Adamant? Has she dealt with the Orlesian court yet?"

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This is just a friendly game, right...? | Closed

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