Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

After trudging through the freezing, miserable region of Emprise du Lion for the past several weeks, Dorian wanted nothing more than to get to his private bath and soak in hot water until his bones shook off the seemingly permanent chill — and then some.

But of course that plan was thwarted when the Inquisitor dragged him with her to Josephine’s office for a debriefing on the red lyrium situation, as well as a discussion of plans for the stronghold they’d captured from that sinister choice spirit.  He wasn’t even given a chance to properly scrape the mud from his boots, only taking a moment to give them a brief brush off with magic to dislodge the frozen chunks onto the stones before sullying the ambassador’s carpet.

He probably should have done that upon entering Skyhold, in retrospect.  Dorian didn’t miss the way Commander Cullen tensed at the display of magic or the way his gaze intently focused on him.

Dorian generally tried to keep from using magic in front of the Commander.  Cullen had never done anything to make him think that was strictly necessary, but after their initial meeting he thought it a decent precaution.  He’d never faced a southern templar in close quarters before, and the sharp scent of lyrium along with the distrustful demand for him to leave at once had made Cullen’s feelings about mages — or at least Tevinter ones — inescapably clear, and Dorian would privately admit that for a moment, just for a moment, he’d been afraid.

Later he’d learned a little about why Cullen had such a prejudice against magic, and Dorian found he couldn’t really blame him.  Even without many specifics, as those who seemed to know them were hesitant to discuss the events in detail, the fallen Circle and the chaos of Kirkwall were easily enough to make anyone wary of magic.

While Dorian had once worried he’d be forever under that sort of mistrustful scrutiny, that hadn’t been the case.  He was still watched of course, not only by the Commander but by the Inquisition’s eagle-eyed and far too well-informed Spymaster.  But after Haven fell to Corypheus’ red templars and they’d trudged through the mountains to Skyhold, Cullen had surprised him by asking if he played chess.

Dorian had initially wondered if it was merely another effort to keep watch of him, or maybe to suss out some secret plot the Commander imagined Dorian had, but instead the chess games became a regular and amiable occurrence.

If such games and the delightful conversations that went with them kept up at this rate, Dorian might have to admit that he’d made a proper friend.

The remainder of the debriefing was rather uncomfortable, considering how Dorian kept catching Cullen just…staring at him.  Was that little bit of magic truly so aggravating?  He didn’t appear upset though, especially not with the way he’d avert his gaze when their eyes met.  Anxious is probably the word Dorian was looking for — as if somehow Dorian’s magic had reminded him of something from his fallen Circle or the chaos of Kirkwall.

Then there was an odd moment once Dorian was dismissed, when Cullen’s hand had twitched in his direction as he walked past.  It was almost as if Cullen intended to hold him back for some reason, but his gloved hand fell to his side almost as soon as Dorian caught the movement.

Maybe it would be best to keep out of sight for the time being.  Dorian planned on that for a time anyway, given his need for the longest bath of his life.

He’d already started unbuckling the straps of his armor over his chest when he reached the door to his room, eager to strip off the sweaty, filthy layers and sink into the sweet embrace of the hottest bath his magic could muster.

Dorian froze in the doorway instead.

On his bed sat a package that he certainly hadn’t left there.  It was fairly large, almost as wide as one of Blackwall’s favorite shields but far thicker, and was wrapped in coarse cloth.

Dorian shut the door behind him slowly, casting a quick glance about the room for signs of tampering or someone trying to hide from view.  He hadn’t requisitioned anything recently so far as he could remember.  It wouldn’t be entirely out of the realm of possibility that he’d done so while drunk and since forgotten, but such an event would probably have led to a case of expensive wine or a smaller package with a new silk shirt.

Satisfied that nothing else in the room had been touched, Dorian cautiously approached the unexpected package.  The wrapping was unsophisticated in a charmingly Fereldan sort of way, and appeared to be held shut by a wax seal.

Dorian had just prepared to tear it open when he realized he recognized it.  The seal was the same as that which adorned the short notes he’d receive on occasion from Commander Cullen.

So this, whatever it was, was likely from the Commander, or possibly someone beneath him who also used the same seal.  Truth be told, Dorian didn’t know if the seal Cullen used was exclusive to him at all — he’d never really thought about it, only associated that particular indentation as being related to the Commander.

Was this why Cullen had seemed wary during the meeting?

No reason not to find out, Dorian supposed, breaking it open and unwrapping….

“What the…?” Dorian muttered as the cloth fell away.

The item was indeed large, round, and a fairly robust shade of yellow; and it was quite obviously a wheel of cheese.

“What?”  Dorian shook his head, stepping away from it and staring with confusion.

Why would the Commander — or anyone else, for that matter — send him a huge wheel of cheese?

Other than it being an incredibly bizarre gift to find waiting for him on his bed, there wasn’t anything especially unusual about it.  He’d seen similar cheeses in shops and Skyhold’s own kitchens, but what possible reason was there for it to be here?

Dorian returned to removing his armor, keeping a curious eye on the cheese while he stripped and prepared the bath.  Some of his magical ice missed the bathtub due to his distraction, but he didn’t pay it mind as he focused on melting what had met the mark.

It just…it didn’t make any sense.

He managed to stop staring once he sank into the overly hot water, but couldn’t put it out of his mind.  It could be meant as a sort of joke, or maybe an insult.  Cullen didn’t like Tevinter or mages, and while he was generally friendly with Dorian these days perhaps this was somehow a jab at his identity.  Surely the Commander wouldn’t have had it cursed or tainted.

Would he?

That was assuming it actually was from Cullen.  Dorian truly couldn’t imagine any reason for the Commander to send him a wealth of cheese, of all things.

Despite thinking far too much about the damn thing while attempting to enjoy his bath, Dorian failed to come up with any ideas about the purpose of the cheese or why someone had sent it to him.  First things first, he supposed — he had to determine who sent it.  One of the runners had probably delivered it and could confirm its source, so it shouldn’t prove all that difficult.

It ought to have been easy, at least, except for that many of the runners still didn’t trust Dorian in the way much of the Inner Circle now did.

Jim outright ran away when Dorian approached him.  To be fair, he cast a hasty, “Need to go!” over his shoulder, and he had been holding onto a couple scrolls to deliver, but the man didn’t need to sprint away like Dorian was about to sprout tentacles.

Unless…what if the cheese was tampered with to do exactly that?

That was a terribly stupid thought, really, but nothing else was making logical sense either.

When Dorian heard a familiar chortle as the next runner made a hasty apology and also quickly moved away, the pieces suddenly fell into place.

“Sera,” Dorian sighed exasperatedly as he looked up to see the elf perched on the roof that surrounded the garden.  “I might have known.”

Her grin didn’t fade in the slightest as she leaned forward, legs swinging from her haphazard position at the ledge.  “Known what?” she replied with poorly feigned innocence.

“That you’d orchestrate such a prank.”  Sera covered her mouth, as if that had any effect on hiding her gleeful giggle.  “Although I admit, I fail to see the point of it.  Perhaps you could enlighten me?” Dorian prompted, both feeling a bit silly and also relieved to have found such an obvious answer.

Sera shook her head.  “Pranks don’t need explaining.”

Dorian huffed quietly.  “I see.  I suppose I just need to cut in and see what surprise is waiting for me.  But if I find bees, I’m setting your lucky plaideweave on fire.”

Sera shifted forward, leaping down from the roof and landing lightly on her feet the way only an elf could manage — not that Dorian would ever tell her that.  “Hate to break it to you, but whatever’s riled you wasn’t me.”  Dorian shook his head doubtfully, and Sera almost appeared embarrassed as she confessed, “Sianna didn’t much like the bees in the dummies, so I’m on my best behavior.  For now,” she added with a wink.  “But she never exactly said I had to avoid pranks entirely.  What’s this one you need to cut into?”

Dorian studied her for a long moment.  He remembered how furious Cassandra had been after the bees in the training dummies incident, and perhaps it wasn’t so far-fetched that the Inquisitor would have put her foot down.  Sianna was probably the only one in the Inquisition that Sera would listen to, at any rate.  “A wheel of cheese was left in my room.”

Sera’s grin vanished.  “Just…cheese?  Is it stinky cheese?”

“It’s….”  Dorian mindlessly mimed holding a large wheel, dropping his hands when he realized it likely looked as if he was doing something less innocent.  Why did this sound so stupid to explain?  “It’s a big cheese wheel.”

Glancing toward where the latest runner had disappeared to, Sera shrugged.  “I don’t get it.  Guess it does need explaining.  Want me to find out who sent it?”

“Could you?” Dorian asked eagerly.  “The runners don’t seem to want to be alone with me.  I’d say it must be quite the prank but I’m afraid it’s me they’re running from.”

“Stupid gits.  Never been a nicer Tevinter, I reckon.”  Sera rubbed her hands together and bounced on the balls of her feet.  “Surely Sia wouldn’t mind the threat of a prank, not to aid a friend in need.  Be back in a flash!”

Dorian didn’t even have the chance to thank her or wish her luck before she’d darted off in search of whatever poor runner she’d find first.

Feeling foolish once more, Dorian decided he might as well wait and see what Sera could turn up before deciding his next move.  He settled down in the gazebo where he and Cullen often met to play chess.  To pass the time, he tried to play a match against him in his mind, imagining what trick or sleight of hand might just work the next time they played.

But then his mind settled firmly on Cullen rather than the game.  The seal still meant it could have come from him, and the Commander didn’t seem like the sort to play a prank.  Perhaps that’s why it was such a confusing one — if he was inexperienced, sending such a random, odd gift might be what he would try.  Payback for how Dorian had last snuck his cleric back onto the board for a win he hadn’t earned, perhaps?

It still didn’t seem like Cullen to do something so…childish.  He was always very serious, his energy entirely focused on his work for the Inquisition.  Their chess games were the only time he seemed to allow himself to relax, so far as Dorian could tell.  He still approached the game with genuine care, but when he caught Dorian cheating he’d get this lovely little sparkle in his eyes and the most attractive smirk when he’d counter the efforts.  Dorian was happy to lose every game so long as he got to see the Commander smile like that.

If only he could manage to see such a smile outside of those games.  Perhaps in private, over drinks by a warm fire, the smile in response to a flirtatious tease.

He’d managed to drift into slightly less appropriate thoughts about the handsome man by the time Sera returned to the garden.  She appeared just as perplexed as Dorian had felt upon unwrapping the surprise package.

“It’s from Cully-Wully,” she said with a helpless shrug as she sat cross-legged next to Dorian’s chair.  “No idea why.  Doesn’t make much sense as a prank.”

“Unless his aim was to confuse me,” Dorian muttered.  “Thank you for that, at least.”

“Anytime!” Sera replied cheerfully, her own confusion vanishing in the blink of an eye.  “Maybe he thought you…I don’t know, do you like cheese?  Stupid question, who doesn’t,” she added with a giggle.  “Good thing is, you know he’ll tell you, yeah?  Not the fibbing sort.”

Sera’s assessment was accurate, but Dorian rolled his eyes at that idea.  “Hello Commander, so happy to be back in this drafty castle and away from that icy, red-tinged nightmare — oh, by the way, why did you give me a giant wheel of cheese?”

Sera nodded without hesitation, as if there was nothing whatsoever unusual about such a question.  “Yep, exactly like that.”

Dorian sighed.  Of course he couldn’t simply ask the Commander such a thing.  If it was meant as an insult, he’d just be revealing his ignorance; if it was a genuine gift, that would be insulting Cullen in turn.  And if it was somehow tainted — not that Cullen would, surely — it would only alert the Commander that his scheme had failed, providing him time to plan another.

“Sera?” Sianna’s voice suddenly cut through the crisp air.

“Uh oh,” Sera gasped.  She had vanished before the Inquisitor had time to cross the garden.

“Dorian, where did she run off to?” Sianna asked exasperatedly.  “And please tell me you’re not the reason Jim is under the impression he’s going to find snakes in his underwear.”

Dorian barely contained a snort of amusement at Sera’s interrogation tactics.  “I’m not sure where she went, but don’t be hard on her.  She was just doing me a favor.”

“A favor involving threatening our couriers?”

“Merely asking him a question,” Dorian deflected.

“Hmm.”  The elf’s eyes narrowed at him suspiciously.  “I’m surprised you’d encourage her.”

“I’ve learned it’s best to be on her good side, Inquisitor,” Dorian replied.  “I haven’t found any creatures in my unmentionables in months.  Not ones that didn’t get there on their own, at any rate,” he added, shuddering at memories of the Fallow Mire.

Sianna’s stern expression cracked a little, her lips tugging into an unwitting smile.  “Fair point.  But I should ensure Jim doesn’t have any unwelcome surprises — I’ll see you later.”

Dorian watched her go, briefly considering asking her what the cheese might have meant.  But she was from a small clan in the Free Marches, and if it held any sort of cultural significance —.

The Free Marches.  Of course, Cullen might be from Ferelden, but he’d lived in Kirkwall for most of his adult life.

Dorian knew exactly who to ask.

Chapter Text

“Could you say that again?”

Dorian crossed his arms over his chest.  “I only asked if you knew why the Commander would send someone — me, specifically — a large wheel of cheese.”

Varric stared up at him in silence, his fingers absentmindedly twirling his quill.  “That’s what I thought you said,” he muttered finally.  “Not that it makes any more sense the second time.”

“So that wasn’t…some Kirkwall tradition?”

“A tradition for…?”  Varric wriggled his eyebrows.  “A token of affection from a secret admirer?”

Dorian’s heart skipped a beat.  “No!” he denied, a little too loudly judging by how the twittering nobles on the other side of the hall suddenly fell silent.  “No,” he repeated more calmly.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Commander Cullen and I are not…whatever it is you’re implying.  It’s only that I can’t figure out the significance.”

“You could ask him,” Varric astutely pointed out.

“I don’t want to embarrass him,” Dorian excused.  “Whatever it is, clearly I’m meant to understand, which is why I’m asking you.  You knew him in Kirkwall.”

“In passing, yes,” Varric agreed.  “But we weren’t chummy, and I’m sorry to disappoint you but there was no local tradition I heard of involving the gifting of cheese.”  With a hearty chuckle, Varric added, “That sounds far more like a Fereldan thing anyway.  I’m sure Curly will be happy to explain.”

Dorian groaned softly.  “I do not want to appear —.”

“Eager?”

“Ignorant,” Dorian corrected.

“Maybe you’re just afraid of what he might say,” Varric replied with an annoyingly knowing smirk.

“I’m not afraid of anything, much less of our stoic Commander,” Dorian dismissed coolly.

“Of course not,” Varric agreed, dipping his quill and starting on a fresh parchment.  “You’re a fearless and dangerous mage from the villainous North.  Nothing, not even the largest cheese wheel in the world, could throw you off balance.”  Varric cast him a wink.  “When you find out, do share.  I could use more authentic traditions in my latest work.”

“And what work would that be?” Dorian inquired.

“An adventure-filled romance between two people from opposite worlds,” Varric explained vaguely before adding, “A former templar and a noble mage.”

Dorian had the urge to smack the dwarf over the head, but he merely scoffed as he turned to leave.  “What an absurd notion.”

“In times such as these, I believe it’ll prove a welcome one,” Varric countered confidently.  Dorian pretended he didn’t hear and hoped no one could tell the way his heart was racing.  “Besides, it was your idea.  I haven’t forgotten our bet.”

A stupid bet that was, too.  In his first weeks with the Inquisition, Dorian had drunkenly gambled that he’d be able to seduce the handsome but hostile Commander.  He’d given up on that a long time before now, but it seemed he’d have to pay eventually as Varric wasn’t one to forget such things.

But the present dilemma remained.  Even if it was a friendly gesture, it was in no way a romantic one.  Maker’s sake, it was just cheese.  Not to mention Cullen had never taken the bait when Dorian flirted with him.  The man clearly wasn’t interested in that manner, and even if he was, he wouldn’t be indicating it with such a gift.

Dorian should ask someone with more sense, someone who didn’t see the world through the eyes of a storyteller and who knew Cullen better.

“Is that meant to be some sort of joke?” Cassandra asked, her mouth drawn in a severe line.

“I’m afraid not.”  Maybe going to the Seeker had been a mistake.  Cassandra knew Cullen well, but she wasn’t Fereldan and had little patience for stupid inquiries.  Judging by her response, he wasn’t going to find any sort of useful answer here.

“No, I have no idea why Commander Cullen would send you cheese.”

Dorian nodded his understanding.  “Thank you.  I’ll let you —.”

“Wait.”  Cassandra sheathed her blade with such aggressive force it was a surprise her sword belt didn’t rip clean off.  “What are your intentions with Cullen?”

“My…intentions?  I’m not the one who —.”

“Do not think your attention has escaped me.  You are always watching him.  I thought it was because you recognized him as a threat, but of late you’ve been claiming his time, distracting him.”

Distracting him?

“He enjoys a good chess game, as do I,” Dorian replied, but despite the chilly air he felt his cheeks growing hot.

“It’s more than that.”  Cassandra’s frown was no less severe when she added, “Cullen isn’t like you.”

“Considering I’m a Tevinter mage and he’s a Fereldan templar, that hasn’t escaped my notice,” Dorian said, his throat tightening at what he suspected was the real implication here.

Cassandra wasn’t blinking as she stared at him like she intended to separate his head from his shoulders.  “The way you watch him, the pretty words you fling about without care — maybe you merely aim to get a reaction, or perhaps you’re hoping for a—a roll in the hay.”  Cassandra’s cheeks darkened a touch at the accusation, and Dorian hoped his own discomfort didn’t show.

“I beg your pardon?  A roll in the hay?” Dorian gasped, trying to pretend it was the idea of such a filthy encounter that shocked him and not the way Cassandra could apparently read him like an open book.

“But he isn’t like the nobles that run in your Circles, nor is he the sort to look for cheap thrills.”

Dorian hated how accurately cheap thrills applied to much of his history, but he knew Cullen better than to expect any such thing from him.  “Cassandra, I’m not —.”

“If your intentions are innocent, I’d advise you to stop playing games with him as if he’s some potential fling.  If your intentions are…not, I’d also ask that you stop toying with him.  While you’re having your fun, he takes words and actions to heart.  And he’s been through enough.”

“I’m not playing games,” Dorian said quickly.  “Well, other than chess,” he added, careful to keep his tone flippant.  “Cullen is…I respect the Commander, Cassandra, and I enjoy his company.  And to my knowledge, he feels the same.  There’s nothing more to it.”

“Good.”  She drew her sword again, temporarily holding it between them with a glare that was most certainly a threat.  “Then this conversation is over,” she dismissed as she turned back to the training dummies.

“Thank you for your input,” Dorian muttered as he stepped away, wary of turning his back until he was well out of reach of any potential attack.

The notion was ridiculous, of course.  If Cullen did take Dorian’s charming flirtations to heart, he would have reacted far differently all this time rather than just letting the compliments and innuendos drift in one ear then out the other.  He’d have reciprocated or warned Dorian off, not simply allowed Dorian to continue as he pleased.

In their early games, sometimes Dorian thought he caught a hint of a blush, but that was all.  It hadn’t taken long for him to realize Cullen wasn’t interested, but as it didn’t appear to bother him, Dorian hadn’t considered stopping.  Maybe he should.  Perhaps he was missing signs that the Commander was uncomfortable with it.

If Dorian was going to ask Cullen about the cheese wheel, he supposed it wouldn’t be much more awful to determine whether he’d accidentally been causing Cullen discomfort.

Not that he was desperate enough to ask the Commander directly just yet.  There was one potential, more dangerous intention that he needed to check on first.

This time Dorian brought the cheese with him, which felt more ridiculous than anything else thus far but he couldn’t ask another mage to check that he hadn’t missed some sign of tainting without the cheese in question.

While he felt he knew Cullen well enough to be certain the man wouldn’t try anything so underhanded, if Cassandra was correct and he did take Dorian’s attentions to heart and was irritated by them — and of course he would be, considering his open hatred of nobility along with mages in general — the cheese could have been an attempt to push Dorian away.

Besides, Solas had all sorts of random knowledge from his dreaming obsession.  For all Dorian knew, the apostate would have the answer to this mystery.

Dorian dropped the cheese onto Solas’ desk with a startlingly loud thunk.

The elf leaned over the edge of the scaffolding from where he’d been working on the ongoing mural, his eyes narrowing.  Solas was evidently more than a little agitated by Dorian’s interruption, but he climbed down to meet him a few moments later without protest.

Solas stepped up to the desk and lifted the cheese a little in order to tug out a book from beneath.  “Why are you here?” he asked curtly, brushing off the book and checking the spine as he shut it.

“I was hoping to prevail upon you for a second opinion.”

“And you want this second opinion on…cheese?” Solas inquired dubiously.  “I believe Lady Vivienne would provide the sort of judgement you’re seeking.”

“It’s not about cheese, it’s about…well, it is cheese, but I’m not asking for you to share in a tasting,” Dorian replied, trying to figure out how best to request this without sounding like a paranoid fool.  “This was delivered to me without a note or explanation, and therefore….” 

Dorian trailed off, hoping that perhaps he wouldn’t need to spell it out plainly.  Solas knew the dangers that existed for someone with their power in a land where magic was often equated with evil.  He was an apostate, after all, not to mention he’d helped Dorian within his first week with the Inquisition when someone had snuck an unfamiliar strain of magebane into Dorian’s wine.

“You believe it could be tainted,” Solas guessed, tugging back the cloth further while pulling a thin blade from his belt.  “That should be easy enough to discern.  Can I trust you have tracked down the sender?”

Dorian chewed his tongue as Solas trimmed off a portion of the wax coating and dug out a small piece.  “Commander Cullen, if the delivery boy is to be believed.”

Solas’ eyes flicked up, his eyebrow arched in disbelief.  “You are joking.”

“I am not.”

The elf appraised him a while longer before focusing on the bit of cheese he’d pried from the wheel.  Magic curled about his fingertips, thoroughly coating the cheese in a spectrum of green and violet.  Once the magic faded away, Solas popped it into his mouth without hesitation.

“An excellent sample, if a tad mild for my taste,” Solas said as he wiped remnants from the blade.  “If you have done something so awful to the Commander as to expect retribution, this is not the means.”

“If I — I haven’t done anything to him!”

“Then I wonder why you would think him the sort to attempt to poison you,” Solas commented as he headed back for the scaffolding.  “If that was all, I would prefer to use the paint I have before it dries.”

“An exciting life you lead,” Dorian grumbled as he rewrapped the cheese wheel.  “Do you have any idea why he would give me this?”

Solas sighed ever so softly as he released his hold on the ladder and turned to face him.  “I cannot read his mind and have no desire to attempt such.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Dorian snapped.  “I mean…is there some sort of Fereldan custom that involves such a gift?  A message it’s meant to convey?”

Solas glanced between him and the maddening wheel.  “Maybe he thinks you are hungry.  Or that you could put on some weight — you do complain of the cold incessantly,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.  “And I am certain you do not need me to tell you how to get your answer.”

“No, I don’t,” Dorian admitted, although he wasn’t ready for such a desperate move just yet.

He need not have bothered replying as Solas ignored him and returned to his painting.

Dorian had intended to take the damnable cheese straight back to his room, but Madame de Fer had resumed her frequent residence on the balcony through which he unfortunately had to travel.

“My my, what a curious sight.”

“Don’t tell me Orlais doesn’t have cheese,” Dorian gasped with exaggerated horror.

Vivienne laughed in her practiced, charming way.  It was in the same sort of manner with which Dorian was used to laughing at parties, as a matter of fact.  “Orlesians understand cheese in a way Fereldans can only dream of, darling.  Although I do not care to imagine why you would need so much.”

“It’s not — well, it is mine, but I didn’t choose this.”  Dorian leaned against the railing, using the beam to remove some of the strain from the heavy wheel.  “I might as well ask:  do you have any idea why someone would gift me with such a thing?”

“A gift?  From one of the more barbaric elements, I trust?”

Dorian snorted.  “I dare you to call the Commander barbaric to his face.”

Vivienne’s brow shot up, her curiosity evidently piqued.  “Our good Commander gave you that?  Overcompensating for something, perhaps?” she added, looking at the sizable package with mild amusement.  “Surely it’s one of the local varieties; he’d never be able to afford one of that size in Val Royeaux.  But I’m afraid I have no idea what he could possibly mean by such an offering.”

“I thought not.  Thank you anyway, Madame.”

“Anytime, my dear.  And if you ever want to experience cheese properly, do let me know.”  Dorian wasn’t sure whether she was teasing him or not, and even less certain when she added, “There is the most excellent spa in Halamshiral that always finds a way to fit me in.  The relaxation would do you good.”

Dorian had half a mind to ask what in the world she was talking about — what possible connection was there between a spa and cheese? — but thought better of it and nodded his farewell instead.

He already had one cheesy mystery on his hands, and he was in no mood for another.

The ungainly cheese wheel was starting to be quite the burden on Dorian’s muscles as well as his mind, but he’d just barely managed to set it back onto the bed in time.

“Creamy and light, as the lilt of his voice; or would he prefer sharp and dark, like his eyes in the storm of battle?”

“Kaffas, Cole!” Dorian swore, his heart nearly leaping from his chest thanks to his surprise guest.  “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting, aching, why does the wait hurt so much?” Cole said quietly from where he sat atop Dorian’s wardrobe.

“I’m sorry I made you wait,” Dorian replied, frowning worriedly.  “Are you all right?”

“Restless, the longer the wait, the worse the response.”

Dorian approached the spirit cautiously.  “Cole, I’m here now, tell me how I can help.”

“Heart races at his smile, throat tight when words paint such beautiful dreams.”  That didn’t sound quite like Cole, not that he ever really made much sense, but Dorian had not managed to interrupt before the spirit continued, “Fear when he’s away — what if it goes wrong, what if he doesn’t come back and he never knew?”

Dorian’s brow furrowed.  “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean.  Please, tell me as…plainly as you can, what do you need?”

“It isn’t me who needs.  I feel the need.  The pain.  You don’t want him to be in pain.”

“No, of course I — who?” Dorian barely caught himself.  He didn’t know who Cole was talking about, it was just that Cullen had been on his mind, and how wouldn’t he be after giving him such a mystery to unravel.  But of course Dorian didn’t want him to be in pain.

Cole smiled.  “You know.”

And on that exasperatingly vague note, Cole vanished.

Chapter Text

“Ah ha, here we go,” Dorian muttered, tugging the surprisingly large tome from the library shelf and taking it to his alcove.  This should have been his first strategy, come to think of it.  Knowledge always ended up written down somewhere, and hopefully this More Than Mabari:  The Cultures and Traditions of Ferelden would give him the answers he sought.

Dorian had a decent background on the history of Ferelden, but was woefully ignorant of pretty much anything to do with their culture.  It seemed so straightforward on the surface, but this book quickly made it clear that the traditions of one city or even small farming town might be incredibly different from the one a day’s ride away.  Lingering superstitions based on Avvar beliefs, influences of the Chasind in the far south, persistent Orlesian cultural idiosyncrasies pressed onto some previously occupied territories — all of it was woven in the intricate thread of this outwardly simple and stubborn country.

Cheese made more than one appearance in the text, surprisingly enough.  Firstly, a love of cheese appeared to be fairly common throughout Ferelden, although different types were popular depending on the specific region.  Secondly, vexing and bewildering as this was, there was no one tradition associated with the dairy product.

Gifting cheese made from the milk of goats, for example, was evidently a traditional manner of showing support to a person or family in mourning in parts of the Hinterlands.  Conversely, in Amaranthine giving someone a wheel of cheese was often seen as a slight, an insult indicating that the recipient was incapable of providing for themselves or their household.  South Reach had an odd saying that marriages are prepared with a cheese shared.  In Redcliffe, there was an expectation that a groom would provide the family of his new bride with a cheese wheel as part of a dowry, with the size of the wheel being some sort of indicator of how many children he believed he could support.  Apparently that tradition had once gone so far as to have the cheese wheel being gifted to the future bride as the proposal.

Unfortunately, none of this information was helpful in solving this particular mystery.  Dorian was not mourning anything (unless he counted his entire country for how it seemed willing to follow Corypheus into the Void), he clearly did not have trouble providing for himself (or he wouldn’t so long as his father didn’t entirely disown him), and he was not a young lady due to be married nor part of a family with such an event upcoming (whatever his parents tried to force him into).

And obviously Cullen wasn’t proposing to him, a man, one for whom he’d shown no particular signs of interest aside from their chess games and the occasional drink.

Although…the book provided other interesting information.  It seemed that relationships between men weren’t looked down upon in Ferelden.  There was generally an expectation of it being discreet among the nobility, but if this text could be believed then the majority of Fereldans didn’t particularly care.  Marriage wasn’t even out of the question, depending on the region.  In Denerim and north toward Amaranthine, for example, ritual marriages between men were not sanctioned by the Chantry, but there was an accepted practice of common law marriage where the Maker’s approval was assumed after a couple of any makeup lived together for at least three years.  Then on the other side of Ferelden, near the Frostbacks and south of Lake Calenhad, marriage between two men or two women was little different than that between a man and a woman.

Not that it especially mattered when Dorian had no idea which area Cullen was from, nor which traditions he might have taken as his own.  He did know Cullen spent time in Kinloch Hold at the north end of Lake Calenhad, but would he follow the traditions of wherever he had been before joining the Templar Order, that of the area of the Circle Tower, or that of Kirkwall?

Dorian abruptly slammed the book shut, shaking away the ridiculous notions about marriage and romance.  It wasn’t like that at all, not with Cullen, no matter how stunningly handsome Dorian found him or how much he wished to know the man under the armor more intimately.

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to know more about where Cullen grew up.  He could understand him better, and maybe that would give him a clue as to the purpose of the gifted cheese.

He didn’t dare bother Cassandra again, but she wouldn’t be the only one close enough to Cullen to know where he was from.

Dorian took a deep breath before heading up the stairs he so rarely ascended.  Leliana’s perch at the top of the tower was a place few were particularly comfortable going.  Add the fear and respect their Spymaster commanded to the annoying smell and squawking of her birds and it was downright unpleasant.

“Ser Pavus,” Leliana greeted without turning around from where she knelt before her little statue of Andraste in prayer.  The woman must have some sly mirror set up somewhere, unless…surely she can’t have identified him based on his footfalls.  “One moment.”

Dorian lingered near her desk, a hand on the chair but not sitting without invitation.  Despite his best efforts, his eyes focused on the papers before him, instinctively trying to decipher what little he could read upside down.

An unpleasant lurch jolted his insides when he noticed his name on one of them.

“Now, what are you here for?” Leliana’s deceptively sweet voice asked from startlingly close.

Dorian cleared his throat and tried to pretend he hadn’t been snooping.  The little smirk proved she knew exactly what he’d been doing.  “I apologize for the interruption,” Dorian said, almost managing to keep any nerves from his tone.  “I have a small question for you, if I may.”

“No, I do not know why Cullen sent you a cheese wheel.”

Of course she would know about the odd gift, but it was still a little alarming for her to be so direct.  “I — I mean yes, that is a question I have, but that’s not why I’m here.”

Leliana arched an eyebrow.  “No?”

“It’s a silly question,” Dorian said with a flippant wave of his hand.  “Related to his gift, of course, but in the sense of returning it,” he lied, coming up with an excuse as best he could on the spot.  “I was thinking of getting him something that might remind him of home, but I —.”

“Do not know where home is,” Leliana interrupted.  “That is not a simple question.  The Commander has been through much more than you know, and to my knowledge he doesn’t think of anywhere that way.”

“Oh,” was all Dorian could think of in reply.  He couldn’t exactly press for Cullen’s place of birth with the story he’d concocted.  He should have thought that through before coming up here, really.

“But what I can tell you is that he was from Honnleath.”

Dorian had pored over maps long enough to immediately recognize that village as being deep in the south, west of Lake Calenhad.

He gulped.

“Thank you.”

“As for the cheese, I could look into it for you.  For a price.”  Leliana smiled and it was sharp like her daggers.  “Information for information?”

Dorian swallowed hard again.  “I’m not sure what I could provide that you don’t have access to already.”

“There are some lingering questions I have about you, for one,” she said sweetly.

Dorian chuckled as innocently as he could manage.  “Not just now.  Maybe later.”

Leliana’s smile remained beautifully deadly.  “The offer stands.”

Dorian valiantly did not scamper away before she could press any further, instead maintaining a facade of calm as he descended down the tower.  He had the horrid idea he knew what she was after and he did not want to think about what occurred between him and his father.

Forcing his attention back to the matter at hand, Dorian mulled over what this little bit of background information about the Commander might mean.

Honnleath had very little mention in the book, but it was in the general area of traditions involving cheese as dowries.

And the area where marriage between men was acceptable.

But as that clearly wasn’t the answer, Dorian was running low on options.

Josephine knew more about everything that happened within the Inquisition than anyone, aside from Leliana, and was the main negotiator and organizer of all the supplies that came into Skyhold.  Therefore, it came as little surprise to find that she had been the one who procured that particular wheel of cheese.

“I do hope it’s to your liking,” Josephine said with a kind smile, still scribbling away at whatever letter she was working on.  “The Commander was quite indecisive about it, but I believe he settled on an exquisite choice.”

“It’s…yes, it’s perfectly fine, but I was wondering if you knew why Cullen would send me such a thing.”

The quill came to a halt as Josephine’s brow furrowed.  “I…no, I’m afraid I have no idea.  He only said he wished to find a suitable cheese to give you.”  A grin briefly tugged at her lips.  “He was rather particular.”

Dorian was baffled as to how this request didn’t trigger any sort of conversation about the reasons for wanting to select such a gift.  He’d certainly have been curious and inquired further.  “He didn’t say…anything about a reason?”

“I can only assume he believed you would appreciate it.  A cheese wheel is a most thoughtful gift.”

“Thoughtful?” Dorian echoed with confusion.

“Indeed.  Cheese is versatile, a valuable commodity.  It is not only a staple, but one that is commonly used for trade and diplomacy.”  Josephine sat back in her chair, dark eyes a bit wide as she thought.  “It can symbolize wealth, generosity, friendship.  Or something more.”  There was an oddly unsettling sparkle in her gaze as she failed to elaborate on this mysterious more.

“Something…more?” Dorian hesitantly prompted, feeling heat rising in his cheeks as the ambassador’s smile brightened.

“Such a gift may be a token of affection.”

Dorian tried to very quickly and discreetly shove his heart back into the right place in his chest.  “Well, obviously that can’t be it,” he dismissed with a short chuckle.

Josephine’s smile faded a touch.  “Why not?  You have a lot in common.”

“We don’t,” Dorian denied reflexively.  They really didn’t, and it made no sense for Josephine to claim otherwise.  What could a pariah of Tevinter possibly share with a southern ex-templar?  “We’re as different as night and day.”

“You come from drastically different backgrounds, that is true,” Josephine acquiesced.  “But you also both came here, to the Inquisition, to serve a common goal.  You are both good men, honorable warriors.  Not to mention you evidently enjoy your time together,” she added with a small smile.  “I may not know what the Commander’s intentions are, but it is clear that he cares about you.  And you also care for him, whether you admit it or not.”

Being in the south was clearly causing Dorian to lose his touch.  He shouldn’t be nearly so easy to read.  “I…he’s a good friend,” Dorian foolishly admitted.

“Then might I suggest you share the cheese with him?  Maybe then you will find out what it means to him.”  Josephine leaned over her papers again and returned to writing.  “Or what you mean to him,” she added just as Dorian turned to leave.

Ridiculous.  Dorian didn’t mean anything to Cullen.  Nothing so much as the ambassador implied, at least.

She was right about one thing, though.  He really ought to take the gift to Cullen and confront him about it himself.  It might be horribly embarrassing, and he hoped to avoid insulting Cullen through his lack of understanding, but in the end it was always going to come to that.

Now if only he had the courage to actually do so.

Dorian was on his third cup of what he might charitably call ale before Bull took notice.

“Something on your mind?” the Qunari asked, a heavy hand falling onto Dorian’s shoulder.  “Or something you need out of it?”

“Nothing you can help with,” Dorian grumbled, glaring into the last dregs in his cup.

The Iron Bull hummed thoughtfully.  “If someone is causing you trouble again….”

“It’s not like that,” Dorian said quickly, a touch panicked by the idea of what Bull might do should he assume the worst about what was bothering him.

After all, next to Leliana and Josephine, Bull knew the most about what went on in Skyhold.  He’d probably already heard about Dorian’s inquiries and the damn gift and had his own theories about the purpose.  With the assumption that someone was causing Dorian trouble, Bull clearly assumed some sort of nefarious purpose.  If he thought Dorian was hurt or uncomfortable with Cullen’s gift, it was possible he would do something stupid or wholly embarrassing in an attempt to solve it.

He meant well, or so Dorian assumed, but it was difficult being friends with a Qunari agent.

Bull proved Dorian’s concerns entirely correct as he leaned in to say, “I could confront the Commander for you.”

“No,” Dorian said firmly before downing the remainder of his drink.  “This is personal, Bull.  I’ll handle it.”

Bull eyed the empty cup.  “Assuming you can walk.”

“Leave him be,” a gruff voice interrupted from a nearby table.  “Sometimes a drink is what a man needs.”

“Exactly,” Dorian agreed as he tried to wave down a passing barmaid.  The woman seemed a little too distracted by Bull to notice.  “Thank you, Blackwall.”

Bull leaned back in his chair.  “Maybe it’s a challenge,” he suggested before taking a deep swig of his own drink.

Dorian didn’t bother dignifying that particular explanation with a response.  It was a ludicrous thought; cheese wasn’t a challenge to anything except Dorian’s investigative prowess and sanity.

“A challenge?” Blackwall suddenly repeated, much to Dorian’s annoyance.  “To do what?  See if he can eat it in one go?”

With a hearty laugh, Bull was suddenly in Dorian’s space again as he leaned to better converse with Blackwall.  “Why not?”

“I don’t know of any sport involving the consumption of cheese,” Blackwall retorted.

“How much of it have you eaten, Dorian?” Bull asked with a little prod to Dorian’s shoulder.

Dorian signed.  “None.”

“Not doing so well on that challenge,” the Qunari muttered, seeming almost disappointed.  Dorian let out a sigh of relief when Bull seemed to return his attention to his own drink — as well as the barmaid who was remarkably intent on keeping the brute’s cup full.

But then the redhead was called away by a rather rowdy bunch of new recruits in the corner, and Dorian found Bull leaning in far too close again.

“I wouldn’t have thought size would be a problem for you,” he teased in a loud whisper.

Blackwall spat a mouthful of ale back into his cup as Dorian exclaimed, “Kaffas, Bull!”

Bull’s eye widened with some alarm, which alerted Dorian to the wisp of smoke that had unwittingly risen from his fingers.  “I was only joking.”

“Quite the thing to joke about,” Blackwall said before clearing his throat.

Dorian clenched his hand into a fist, willing the touch of stray magic back under control.  It would certainly do no good to start flinging magic about the tavern.  “Instead of whatever it is you’re searching for, Bull, why don’t you just ask plainly?”  Because there had to be some reasoning behind Bull’s teasing.  He was looking for a weakness, or a hint of what Dorian thought the cheese might mean or…something.  “Or better yet, don’t.  I did not come here to discuss cheese, and unless you have some insight into our Commander to offer, leave it.”

Bull thought on that for too long a moment, and Dorian prepared himself for whatever meddlesome inquiry or unseemly tease might come next; but the brute’s expression softened as he nodded.  “Leaving it.”

Dorian was able to get one more drink from the barmaid before she and Bull slipped away.  He figured he could enjoy that last drink in relative silence, his thoughts pleasantly dulled by the ale and distracted by the general buzz of activity in the tavern.

Leave it to a Warden to strike while he was off-guard.

“Not to pry, but are you all right?”

“Perfectly,” Dorian replied curtly.

“It’s only…I don’t mean to meddle—.”

Dorian shot him a look that would have been sufficiently scathing had he not been so deep in his cups.

“—but you do seem worked up about this,” Blackwall continued unabated.  “More than a wheel of cheese is worth, I dare say.”

Dorian stared into his cup simply to keep from letting Blackwall read anything else in his gaze.  “It’s…a mystery I’ve failed to solve, that’s all.”

Blackwall hummed with a distinct hint of doubt.  “And after asking half the Inquisition for input.  But Dorian, I think you know who you need to talk to.”

Dorian scoffed halfheartedly in reply.

“Whatever it is you’re hoping it means, you won’t find at the bottom of that cup.”

Dorian had some flippant remark about what sorts of wisdom could be found exactly there, but then made the mistake of looking at Blackwall.  There was absolutely nothing judgmental, teasing, or even concerned in his expression.

He was looking at Dorian with understanding and sympathy, complete with a warm smile touching his eyes as if he knew exactly what some foolish little part of Dorian dared to hope.

And there was no denying that the bastard was entirely correct.

“I know.”  Dorian finished the last of his drink and slid off the barstool.

Chapter Text

For most civilized people it was far too late to meet for anything besides drinks, gambling, or sex, yet Dorian was entirely unsurprised to see the Commander’s tower thoroughly aglow with candlelight  Despite having a host of lieutenants, agents, and runners to support him, somehow Cullen always had more to do.

Providing their overworked Commander with a late night interruption wasn’t entirely unusual.  Dorian occasionally popped by with a bottle of wine or an offer for a late game.  Cullen usually had some excuse about requisitions or reports that he’d use to dismiss him, yet it never took much of a push to get him to cave into taking a break.  Once, after playing a few hands of Wicked Grace and sharing a surprisingly spicy bottle of wine (where did Sianna keep finding these peculiar vintages?), Cullen had even abandoned any further work and ascended the ladder as Dorian was leaving.

Dorian grinned a little, remembering how he’d lingered in the doorway just to take advantage of the view.

But this wasn’t like those times.  Dorian had no gift in hand nor mind for a game.  He’d already been drinking, and worse, was entirely on edge due to the incomprehensible gift.  What if it turned out to be a tease or a slight?  Dorian could not risk allowing his magic to act out of his control, even the smallest wisp like had happened when Bull needled him.  The wise choice would be to continue his intended journey and return to his room.

Besides, while Dorian had to recognize that he’d truly exhausted his options, he had no idea how to ask.

And yet Dorian had barely finished mentally listing the reasons he truly shouldn’t confront Cullen now by the time he found himself standing outside Cullen’s office.

He did at least have the wherewithal to keep from knocking.  Instead, Dorian leaned against the stones of the tower and half-heartedly tried to convince himself to leave immediately.  It was freezing after all, and he had no reason to be standing here without any intention of going inside the tower.

But Dorian also knew he’d never get any real rest while he allowed the infernal cheese to remain such a frustrating mystery.  Unfortunately, it seemed there was only one option when it came to satisfying that curiosity.

As some last ditch effort to convince himself it would be better to wait until he was more composed, Dorian tilted an ear toward the door and hoped to hear no sign of life.  Perhaps Cullen had fallen asleep at his desk, or forgotten to douse the flames, or….

Of course Cullen was in a meeting.

Dorian huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he thought about what poor sods might have been pulled into a meeting when they would be wanting to do just about anything else.

He jumped away from the door when it suddenly creaked open.  A young soldier with a remarkably bleary gaze nodded to him before looking back toward the room and announcing, “Ser Pavus to see you, Commander.”

“I can return tomorrow,” Dorian hastily said as he slipped a pace back, hugging his arms over his chest against the cold.  “Nothing urgent.”  The tired lad almost appeared heartbroken by the offer, likely hoping that Dorian’s surprise visit would bring an end to whatever work he’d been pulled into at this hour.

Someone loudly cleared their throat from within before Cullen stepped into view.

“Ser Pavus,” he greeted with a slightly stiff nod.  “We’ll only be a few minutes.”  The Commander started to turn away, but first those warm amber eyes drifted up and down Dorian’s body.

Maybe.  Dorian didn’t think that could be right, yet he still felt the heat of it.

“And come inside.  It’s a little chilly tonight.”

Dorian almost grinned at the blatant underestimation of a winter’s night in the Frostbacks, but his nerves held it back.

If he accepted the offer, he would have to ask, and he lacked any sort of plan.

As he’d been found out, he couldn’t really refuse.  Walking away now would only make it seem like he was eavesdropping on whatever conversation he’d stumbled upon, or raise questions as to why he’d apparently hoped to find Cullen alone without witnesses at this late hour.  Dorian slowly followed the soldier back into the room, trying to be casual in spite of the anxiety gnawing at his insides.

Even with the tower barely being warmer than the outside, the embrace of what heat it did provide was very welcome.  He had a few minutes, as Cullen had indicated.  Surely once Dorian wasn’t shivering from the chill, he’d be able to form a plan.

Cullen returned to stand over his desk, but his gaze remained on Dorian.

It took a long moment before Dorian realized that was likely because he was watching Cullen so intently, and Dorian managed a friendly smile before wandering over to Cullen’s bookshelves and pretending to examine the contents.

Thankfully, Cullen took that as a cue to return to his work, which meant the eyes he felt at his back must have been from the other soldiers when the Commander continued outlining plans to rebuild a bridge in the Exalted Plains.

A bridge.  That’s what had him working in the middle of the night.  Dorian ran a finger over the spine of a book bound in red leather as he bit back a grin.  Cullen truly needed to learn to relax and use his nights for more appropriate business.  Sleeping, for a start, followed by the all important diversions of drinking and sex.

While Cullen certainly indulged in the occasional drink, Dorian wondered if he ever made time to satisfy his most base urges.  Southern templars didn’t take vows of chastity, did they?

Shaking himself mentally, Dorian abruptly recalled that he only had until Cullen was satisfied by the plans for this unimportant bridge to determine how to approach the topic of the damned cheese.  This was very much not the time to be contemplating the sexual escapades templars did or did not partake in.

Entirely uninterested in the topic of the meeting and apparently unable to focus on the reason for his impromptu visit as of yet, Dorian tried to distract from his nerves by pulling out a random text from the shelf.  It turned out to be In Pursuit of Knowledge: The Travels of a Chantry Scholar.

Cullen paused to clear his throat.  Dorian distractedly hoped the late nights weren’t causing him to come down with something.

When Dorian opened the book, it fell to a page marked with a small scrap of parchment that appeared to be torn from an old missive.  Cullen must have been reading the book recently, or had marked a point of interest.

Then Dorian managed to focus on the actual text, and his heart sank.

The Imperium is little more than a dilapidated old slattern, crouching in the far north of Thedas, drunkenly cursing at passersby to recall her faded beauty.

The Commander had marked the chapter about Dorian’s homeland.  An incredibly unfavorable chapter, at that.  Brother Genitivi did not stop at calling the formerly widespread empire a battered, elderly harlot either, displaying a hatred of the Imperium that surprised Dorian despite all the stories and tall tales he’d heard since coming to Ferelden.

It wasn’t that Genitivi did not offer anything accurate — in fact, that so much was rooted in truth only made Dorian’s stomach twist into a painful knot — but everything was painted in a purely negative light, and if Cullen read this, and read it repeatedly considering how easily the book had fallen to these pages….

Needless to say, it wasn’t difficult to imagine what he thought of Dorian.

Dorian shut the book a bit too forcefully, causing the conversation behind him to abruptly cease.  He pretended not to notice, replacing the book on the shelf and feigning that he was just idly looking for something to pass the time.  Thankfully, the discussion soon resumed and no one mentioned Dorian at all.

But his heart was aching, and he now worried all the ale might come back up.  Dorian already knew that Cullen did not like Tevinter and did not trust its people, especially mages, despite how the two had come to find camaraderie over the chess board.  But maybe it was worse than Dorian believed; perhaps Cullen only acted friendly with Dorian in order to keep an eye on him, to test and see if he was as horrible as the rest of his country.

The cheese may not have been tainted, but surely it was part of that sort of plot.  Perhaps it was to see how Dorian would react, which if so he hoped word of his search for clues somehow missed Cullen’s ears, or maybe it was a simple insult after all.

He shouldn’t have come, but he couldn’t very well leave now.

Dorian only realized the pulse of his blood thundering in his ears wasn’t blocking out the remainder of the meeting when he heard a door slam shut.

And then it was silent.

Dorian straightened up from where he’d been staring blankly at the title of another book without reading it.  He still heard nothing and did not quite dare to turn around.  It did not seem likely that Cullen had slipped out with the other soldiers, so this conversation could not be avoided and here Dorian stood like an idiot wishing that it could.

“What…how can I help you, Dorian?” Cullen said to finally break the silence.

Dorian tried to take as quiet a deep breath as possible to steady himself.  He could take whatever the Commander threw his way.  He may be out of practice, having been in the south for so long, but this was a good reminder of why he had to keep up his guard.  He did not belong here.  This would hurt, but that was really because he’d almost considered Cullen a friend.

He hadn’t meant to reveal any of these thoughts when he spoke, but this was why Dorian should have gone to his room after leaving the tavern.  “Oh, I simply thought we needed to clear the air.”

At least he hadn’t turned around yet so he could freely wince at the bitterness in his tone.  Another deep breath then, and finally Dorian turned to face Cullen.  The Commander was standing behind his desk, which remained littered with documents, maps, and schematics.  His lips were parted like he intended to reply, but thus far he simply stared at Dorian with his brow knitted.

“I admit, you’ve stumped me, Commander,” Dorian added, thankfully controlling himself this time so the words could nearly pass as flirtatious.  “Few men could claim that.  Congratulations.”

Dorian’s next comment, a more direct and thought through question about the cheese wheel, died in his throat when Cullen swept his tongue between his lips and anxiously averted his gaze.  Dorian quickly checked that no errant magic had slipped from his control.  Fortunately not, unlike the words that had already so carelessly escaped him.  The south and its awful ale really were ruining him.

“That wasn’t my intention,” Cullen said quietly, his eyes downturned toward the desk.  “I only…I don’t know how it works in Tevinter, but if I gave offense I apologize.”  Cullen finally raised his gaze again, but only to stare past Dorian at the bookshelf behind him.

“If Brother Genitivi is your source I can hardly be surprised.”  Dorian bit his tongue so harshly he was surprised he didn’t taste blood.  The response came to him as easy as breathing, yet he had no idea what this — or Cullen’s apology — was all about.

A flush rose up Cullen’s neck.  “I had hoped that wasn’t what you were reading,” he muttered.  “But there are so few available sources on Tevinter here.”

“And all the south holds the same impression,” Dorian said, trying to do so apologetically.  “I cannot blame you for sharing it, Commander.”

“Sharing — no, that isn’t what I —.”  Cullen grimaced at what was obviously going to be a lie.  He reached up to rub the back of his increasingly red neck.  “We need not speak of it.  I understand.”

Dorian felt a glimmer of satisfaction at that before he realized that Cullen’s reply made no sense at all.  It was not as if they could just remove Tevinter from conversation forever.  Not only was it a common topic over chess (assuming that was a pastime that they would continue, anyway), but they were currently at war with an ancient Magister and his cult of followers, which included current Magisters among other Tevinters.

“Outside the War Room at least,” Dorian conceded.

Cullen didn’t react at first, and Dorian wondered if Cullen had even heard him.  Then Cullen slowly blinked, then looked back at Dorian with a small pout of confusion that was vaguely reminiscent of a sad puppy.  “What…why did you come here, Dorian?”

Is that not what they’d been talking about already?

“The cheese,” Dorian admitted plainly.

Cullen nodded, like he’d been expecting that.  “And this is your reply,” he intoned in a manner that left Dorian with the distinct impression he was focusing on keeping the words as unemotional as possible.  “I told you, we need not speak of it.”

This may not have been about Tevinter after all and Dorian was possibly more clueless than he’d realized.  The cheese wheel sounded as if it was meant to convey a message, one he’d entirely failed to interpret.  Yet if it wasn’t an insult or some sly test of his character, what could it be?

“If I have made our friendship uncomfortable I-I understand,” Cullen stammered.  “I shouldn’t have — but I have and for what it’s worth, I am sorry.”  He shuffled the papers about a bit into somewhat disorganized stacks.  He kept his head bowed and somewhat turned away.

Dorian should go.  Cullen’s avoidance was indicating it was time for him to leave.

But he still had no answers.  He had tried and failed spectacularly to understand what Cullen’s gift meant.  And Cullen’s reference to their friendship…he hadn’t even considered that Cullen might truly think of him as a friend, and now Dorian felt horribly like he’d managed to ruin that as well.

Overstaying his welcome was hardly going to fix anything.

“Goodnight, Commander.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before diving back into the cold.

Chapter Text

Dorian cursed himself, the ale, and the cheese most thoroughly by the time he made it back to his room.  He didn’t have the heart to curse Cullen.  Whatever this was about, it seemed evident that it was somehow Dorian’s failings behind it.

Perhaps he would be able to sort out exactly who to truly blame in the morning.  He still felt a little queasy, and the alcohol couldn’t have been helping him think rationally.

And yet there it was.

The damn cheese wheel.  Sitting so innocently where he’d left it on the bed.

Cullen hadn’t seemed surprised at his annoyance during the unhelpful conversation.  That seemed to imply that Dorian’s impression was correct, that it was somehow a slight.  And yet he also appeared to have expected some sort of reply; that must imply that there was more than one possible response.

Unless replying at all was the reply?

It made no sense.  How did no one have any idea of what it could mean when the Commander was so certain Dorian would understand that intended meaning?  This was a cruel joke and Dorian half-wondered if everyone was involved.

Dorian swore as his fingers got tangled up in his buckles.  Disrobing should have been easy despite all the straps and alcohol, but his fingers were shaking from the cold.

And his eyes were fixed on the cheese.

Going to talk about it had only made things worse, so far as Dorian could tell.

He was tugging on a warmer robe to wear over his leathers before he’d realized what he was doing.  It was stupid, and it was certain to be more disastrous than the situation already was, but Dorian had proven he couldn’t leave it a mystery.

Dorian ignored the odd looks from the few Inquisition agents that were out and about at whatever hour of the night it was by now, clutching the wheel under one arm and striding with purpose toward Cullen’s tower.

It remained well lit, but even if it wasn’t Dorian likely wouldn’t have turned back.  He was going to get his answer.  Being pushy and blunt surely wouldn’t make much more of an arse of himself than he had already managed.

He did restrain himself enough to knock rather than trying to push his way in.  There was a long pause, during which Dorian had already pressed a hand to the door with the intent to open it.

If Cullen had gone to bed already….

But then there was that tell-tale clearing of the throat, and Cullen’s voice invited him, “Enter.”

The Commander was seated at his desk, his eyes downcast toward the papers scattered before him.  He set his quill aside in a fashion that seemed distinctly prepared, as if he’d only been pretending to sign one of those reports in front of him, before he looked up.

Cullen’s eyes were quite red.  And of course they would be, assuredly weary from poring over too many reports and plans and taking no account of his own health.  The Commander really ought to take better care of himself.

Cullen stood up quickly, steadying himself with a hand on his desk.  His mouth was open in silence as he looked from Dorian’s face down to the cheese under his arm.  “Dorian,” he said softly.  “I…what are you doing here?”

“I think you could hazard a guess,” Dorian replied as he shut the door behind him.  He boldly stepped up to the desk and dropped the cheese onto it with a satisfyingly loud thud.  “I came here because, for the life of me, I cannot fathom why you sent me such a gift,” he said with a dramatic motion to the cheese.

“I…I would think that obvious,” Cullen muttered, seeming oddly shy.  Perhaps it was the low light of the office, but Dorian swore his cheeks were darkening.  “Forgive me, I fear I don’t have your talent with words.”

“You could try explaining it plainly,” Dorian suggested, trying to suppress his irritation.  Cullen seemed to steady himself, taking a few deep breaths but failing to provide any reasoning for long enough that Dorian continued, “Why cheese?”

Cullen tilted his head, appearing curiously confused by the question.  “Why…oh,” he sighed, his gaze dropping to look at the wheel of cheese that was currently crushing a few scrolls.  “You really don’t know.”

Dorian scoffed, “No, I don’t.”

Cullen winced, but there was a spark of something else brighter in his expression when he looked back to Dorian.  Just a glint, similar to that he’d get sometimes when deflecting Dorian’s flirtations while decimating him at chess.  It was entirely too attractive.

“I do know cheese is a favorite down here, and it could be considered useful and even delicious, but whatever reply you believe I’ve given is not in response to a message I never managed to translate,” Dorian said, the words spilling out too fast for him to give any proper consideration to them.

The smallest twitch of Cullen’s lips was all Dorian could catch before Cullen put a hand over his mouth, appearing to try and stifle a laugh.  Dorian truly wished he’d managed to leash his tongue or have the wisdom to stay away that evening.  This was all Ferelden’s fault.  And its earthy ale.  And handsome ex-templars.

“So…yes, I am here to ask your intentions,” Dorian finished, feeling more than a little idiotic but somehow he was flustered.

By Cullen.

Cullen was smiling when he pulled his hand away from his mouth.  A small smile, but one that tugged at the scar over his lip and lit his eyes beautifully in the candlelight and it was most distracting.

“So?” Dorian said again, stupidly, but hoping Cullen would at least deign to let him in on the joke.

“I was so certain you knew,” Cullen replied shakily.  He was still smiling, but the nerves were more than apparent as his smile trembled a touch.  “Leliana said you were…well, she thought you’d put it together.  And goaded me a fair bit about it, mind.  I’m sure our ambassador will have some choice words for me later too.”  Cullen coughed, seeming to realize he was rambling about something Dorian still didn’t understand.  “It was meant to…I was merely…I am not experienced with this.”

Cullen’s hand was busy viciously rubbing at his neck as the Commander kept decidedly not clearing the air.

“With answering questions?” Dorian teased.  “Need I remind you what organization you’re helping run here?”

With an anxious chuckle, Cullen straightened his back and rolled his shoulders.  Dorian distractedly thought how he really should stand like that more often.  It made him a bit taller than Dorian and far more commanding and confident.  Clearly that was his intent as Cullen seemed to steady, finally prepared to shed light on this confounding mystery.

“With courting.”

The words did not register properly, which was fine as Dorian would have bet his family fortune that he’d misheard them anyway.

“Pardon?” Dorian replied, silently cursing the way his voice seemed to jump an octave.

Cullen gulped, the momentary confidence evaporating before he bent down to pull something from his desk drawer.  “My…my sister has been insisting…she told me about how it’s done back home,” Cullen said, holding up the letter with a trembling hand as if Dorian would be able to read it despite the distance.  “For months Mia’s been on me about how I need to get on with it.”

“Get on with…?” Dorian nudged.

“You,” Cullen answered before his cheeks began looking as red as his neck.  “I mean, she’s been all in my business since I finally wrote to her and I told her about you — too much about you, apparently — as she finally threatened to write to you herself if I didn’t at least ask, and…thus the cheese.”

None of that made any logical sense either, but something dangerous was growing in Dorian’s chest as his heart raced.  It felt horribly like hope.  “Thus the cheese?” he repeated.  “To…?”

Eyes focusing on the letter in his hand as if reading from it, Cullen replied, “It’s a traditional gift to declare an intention to…court.”  He cleared his throat, fumbling with the drawer as he reached to replace the letter.  “If the receiver is amenable, of course,” Cullen added in a nervous rush.

Still entirely certain he was misunderstanding the most important word, Dorian repeated, “Court?”

Cullen would surely collapse if any more blood rushed to his face.  “I — yes.”

Dorian exhaled heavily and was far too close to requiring a chair to fall into himself.  Court?  Cullen couldn’t possibly mean that.  Men didn’t do that together.  Building a relationship was for the schemes of nobility or the passions of youthful commoners, both meant to lead to marriage and children.

“I know it doesn’t really hold the same meaning…that is, I don’t assume you require me to provide.  Which is part of what the cheese is meant to show, that I am willing and able to provide for the future if…Maker this was foolish of me,” Cullen trailed off, raising a hand over his eyes.

Or maybe…where two men could be together without shame, perhaps men did do that.

“I’ve never been courted,” Dorian admitted breathlessly.  Certainly he’d had a fair share of affairs and trysts, but never with anyone who wanted anything more.  That’s how it worked.  It was just sex.

Cullen gave a small, awkward cough.  “I uh, yes, I suppose you’ve done the courting.”

Dorian shook his head, almost laughing in his disbelief.  There was a time with that one young man in his youth when, perhaps, Dorian had tricked himself into thinking they could become something like that one day.  But no, he’d never thought of that somewhat lengthier affair as anything akin to courting.  He’d not even appropriately courted the woman his parents were so determined for him to marry.

What did one even do for that?  Dorian never had a reason to wonder before.  “I have to confess, I….”  Trailing off, Dorian tried to figure out some way to ask that didn’t make him sound a complete fool.  “I don’t understand what you want.  With me.”  He did his best to smile instead of wince.  “I’m not sure what your proposal entails,” he tried again.

Cullen momentarily looked more bewildered than Dorian felt, but suddenly his eyes widened.  “Oh, I — of course, I’m sure this is done formally in some contract or…I’m not a noble,” Cullen said, and there went his hand to the back of his neck again.  Dorian had never seen him so uncertain before.  “Is…is that a problem?”

“If you lost a few inches, gained a few curves, and were named Livia Heradanus, a formal contract might indeed be in order,” Dorian replied.  Cullen still seemed uncharacteristically nervous, reminding Dorian that he hadn’t answered his question.  “No, of course not.  Unless…does that bother you?  That I’m…if it helps, I’m rather likely to be disowned,” Dorian said with far too anxious a chuckle.

Cullen looked at him intently, seeming unsure whether Dorian was joking.  “It doesn’t bother me,” he said seriously.

He sounded so earnest that Dorian almost believed him.  “But this still leaves me woefully uneducated about your expectations.”

Cullen thought for a long moment, his lips curving into a frown.  “I have none.  I only wish for the chance to know you better.  To be closer.  If that was what you wanted, too.”

That could have described their friendship already — couldn’t it?  It wasn’t as if Cullen was making his intentions plain, what with the cheese wheel, roundabout responses, and complete lack of sexual suggestions.  If he was interested, surely Cullen would have responded to his flirtations months ago, or privately cornered him with a demand to make good on his innuendos or….

Or maybe Dorian needed to stop thinking that Cullen was like any of the men he’d been with back home.  Those sorts of men would never have made an offer to court him.

But Cullen had.  Apparently.  In the most obscure and infuriating manner possible.

Dorian nearly laughed again at the absurdity.  How could such a barbarian be so devastatingly charming?

“It seems I may have offended you, Commander,” Dorian offered with a small smile.  “But I fear I don’t know the proper reply to a wheel of cheese.”

Cullen shifted his weight.  “Traditionally, you would return it if such affections are unwanted.  Not that I expect you to,” Cullen added quickly, and then with an adorable little wrinkle of his nose he continued, “That is to say, consider it a gift.  No need to return it.”

Dorian glanced above them, fingers going to his chin as he hummed in a show of intense thought.  It was purposefully exaggerated, an act, a way to save face while he struggled with a curiously strong feeling of heartache at how Cullen told him how to say no first.  Perhaps it was little wonder that Cullen had appeared fairly calm when he believed himself rejected earlier; he’d already assumed Dorian’s reply as inevitable.

But when Dorian looked back at Cullen — the beautiful, ridiculous bastard laying siege on his heart entirely without prior warning — he couldn’t help but think that he really needed to learn the opposite form of response.

Dorian moved to the side of Cullen’s desk, cocking his hip against it.  He could pretend it was a show of confidence and not an attempt to steady himself.  “And if I were amenable?”

Cullen swallowed hard.  “You’d…slice it.  For each of us to eat.”

“I’d share it?” Dorian rephrased.  “I see.”  He couldn’t possibly do this now, here, with a stomach full of ale and shivering in the night.  However it was done in the south, he had standards, and those required this first stray into chasing a fairy tale be an appropriate memory.  “Thank you for this little look into Honnleath.”

Some part of Dorian that remembered the vipers’ nest of home meant to search for proof of Cullen’s affections in his responding expression, but again the Commander surprised him with a look of embarrassed amusement.

“I believe we’ve both been played for fools by our Spymaster,” Cullen murmured.  “As she knows full well my siblings now live in South Reach.”

What was that ridiculous saying?  That marriages are prepared with a cheese shared?

Leliana must have known the answer all along.  “She told me she didn’t know why you sent it,” Dorian said with a sigh.  Were it anyone else, Dorian would have half a mind to storm into her tower and tell her off for deliberately leaving him in the dark.

“Based on her teasing, I suspect that is technically the truth,” Cullen replied sheepishly.

“She doesn’t trust me,” Dorian guessed.  “And believes that you shouldn’t either.”

“I don’t care.”  Cullen said it with such conviction that the words sent a pleasurable shiver up Dorian’s spine.

“Evidently.”  Dorian smiled, reaching to fix the wrapping of the cheese wheel to better cover it.  Satisfied that he had his answer and with a heart far too full of eagerness to accept, Dorian picked up the gift.  “It’s late, Commander.  We should get some rest.”

The disappointment in those warm eyes as Cullen’s face fell was too much to bear, but it did assuage the lingering fear that this was some sort of plot after all.

Dorian was from Tevinter; surely his skepticism could be forgiven.

“Would you be available for a ride tomorrow?” Dorian asked as he backed toward the door.  “In the afternoon, after you’re done striking terror into the hearts of our latest recruits?”

Cullen studied him carefully, a look Dorian was quite used to receiving while dueling over the chessboard.  “Yes,” he finally answered with a stiff nod.

“Wonderful.”  Dorian bowed as he opened the door.  “Come…hungry, Commander,” Dorian requested with a wink.

Dorian didn’t head back immediately, instead leaning against the closed door and taking steadying breaths of harsh, cold air.  He didn’t quite believe what had just happened, not even by the time the chill forced him to retreat back to his room and beneath a bundle of blankets.

He fell asleep with a smile all the same.

Chapter Text

When Dorian awoke the next morning, it didn’t take long to realize why there were butterflies in his stomach.  He glanced over at his dresser, grinning at the sight of the wheel of cheese.

Anticipation being the cause of an early awakening was certainly a pleasant change.

Cullen would be busy drilling and barking at recruits all morning, leaving Dorian plenty of time to prepare.  Dorian never left his room without appropriate preening, but this morning he spent a good deal of extra time in the bath and then with his mirror.  His mustache ended up with a bit of extra shine from the pampering, perfectly cleaned and then shaped.  He was a bit generous with the kohl around his eyes, carefully crafting small, sharp points at the edges to accentuate them.  His body still gleamed with the oil applied after his bath while he donned his finest robes, an outfit he’d had no cause to wear since his journey south.

Turning about before the mirror, he examined himself with great care.  The robes still fit him perfectly, the gold pattern threaded about the hem shimmering as it caught the light.  He’d boldly forgone his smallclothes, knowing this outfit in particular flattered his form without extra bulk added beneath.  Dorian even bent over while eyeing his reflection, checking that the robes clung to his arse as enticingly as he remembered.

He felt a bit foolish after that, considering Cullen wasn’t like anyone he’d seduced before.  Seduction probably wasn’t the right word at all, but Dorian didn’t know another way to go about this.

Cutting the smallest piece of the cheese where Solas had already tried a bite, Dorian gave it a careful taste.  It was smooth and surprisingly flavorful, although Dorian agreed with Solas that it could have used a touch more sharpness.  However, being slightly milder meant it would pair wonderfully with quite a variety of foods, which made it rather perfect for Dorian’s plans.

Dorian put on a warmer outer robe before leaving his room.  His beauty was meant for one man today, and this sort of showing might have garnered him attention he wasn’t seeking.

He took the long route to the kitchens for the sole purpose of lingering near the sparring ring.  It was a most excellent choice on his part, as he got to enjoy watching Cullen thoroughly trounce a few mouthy recruits that made the mistake of assuming they already knew all they needed.

Cullen brought all four to the ground with nothing but his shield.  He held off lecturing the fools further to take a drink of water before catching sight of Dorian.  He was flushed from the exertion, but Dorian wondered if that extra red in his cheeks was due to realizing his audience.

The Commander didn’t allow Dorian to distract him for long, quickly returning to shouting at the recruits about the danger of underestimating an opponent and how a shield can be just as much a weapon as a blade in the right hands.

No one talked back this time, most of the recruits standing at attention and riveted by every word.  The four he’d humiliated kept their eyes on their boots.

Cullen was simply magnificent.

Dorian tore himself away with the knowledge that he still had to finish preparations for that afternoon.  Even while negotiating with the cook for some items to pair with the cheese, Dorian found himself thinking of Cullen back at the sparring ring.

Would he come meet Dorian in full armor, muscles sore from training and with the manly scent of sweat about him?  Perhaps he would come fresh from Skyhold’s communal bath, hair damp and skin cleaned of any dirt or scuffs from sparring.  Maybe he would change into something more casual, as Dorian had witnessed on exceedingly rare occasion, with those black leather trousers that were enough to fuel late night fantasies.

Dorian was almost thankful when the cook argued with him about the cookies he requested, as it forced him to set aside the thoughts that were all too quickly escalating.

The wine was next, and for this he had a surprise encounter with Sianna when she happened upon him appropriating the most expensive bottle he could find in the cellars.

“We do have a tavern, you know,” she teased as she searched for one herself.

“But why settle when there’s such an excellent private collection at my disposal?” Dorian replied, coyly hiding a bottle behind his back.

Sianna laughed brightly.  “My private collection.  But if you’re stealing from the Inquisitor, I trust you have a good reason for it.”  She looked him up and down, an eyebrow arching as if intrigued.  “You’re pretty today,” she said suddenly.

“I’m pretty every day, thank you,” Dorian countered lightheartedly.

She hummed and returned to reading through the labels.  “Would this have anything to do with why Cullen requested to postpone our meeting this afternoon?”

Dorian’s jaw dropped, although he managed to smooth his expression in the brief instant before Sianna grinned at him.

“If so, thank you.  Sera thinks a free afternoon will be an excellent respite for me.”  Her ears were distinctly pink when she added, “She promises it will be a most enjoyable distraction.”

“When it comes to Sera, that could mean anything,” Dorian said, grinning at Sianna’s responding giggle.

“True,” Sianna admitted as she settled on a bottle.  “But I trust Cullen has an equally enjoyable day ahead of him,” she added before leaving Dorian to his pilfering.

All preparations settled, Dorian headed back toward his room to check his appearance again.  He didn’t think it was needed, but as the hours went by he found himself growing oddly nervous, his stomach fluttering and heart racing.  It was like he was a teenager again, back when he was first dipping his toe into scandal and learning the joys and heartache that came with it.

He had no idea what to expect, really.  When he tried to consider how the day may go, Dorian found that he defaulted to how it would be to steal away for a tryst in Tevinter, finding somewhere secluded for the sole purpose of a good fuck before returning to whatever party or event he was meant to be mingling at.

Not that he was entirely certain intimacy wasn’t in the cards for that day.  And he surely couldn’t be blamed for such desires, not when faced with such a man as Cullen.

He barely managed to duck into the shadows in time when he realized the argument he was hearing echoing in the nearby corridor was about him.

“—with Dorian today.  Time to pay up,” Bull’s gruff voice was saying.

“I’m not handing over a single coin until I see proof,” Varric replied.  “A nighttime visit to Curly’s tower does not qualify.”

Dorian swallowed with difficulty, slipping down the hall a bit to better hear.

“But Dorian preparing for a rendezvous does.”

Dorian gaped indignantly at the realization that Blackwall was also in on whatever ridiculous bet was being discussed.

“And where did you hear that?”

“Sera.”

“Who heard it from…?”

“The Inquisitor,” Blackwall answered irritably.

Varric chuckled.  “Ah ha!  She has the most riding on this, and I will not be fooled by her word.”

The Inquisitor was a part of this?  No wonder she had been so amiable when she caught him in her personal wine stash.

“Pay up, Varric,” a new voice interrupted.  Dorian immediately retreated a few paces at the Spymaster’s cool tone.  “The Commander cleared his schedule this afternoon.  I don’t need to tell you what for.”

Dorian would appreciate knowing exactly what for.  While he might have plans and fantasies, Dorian entirely lacked the insight Leliana apparently had into Cullen’s expectations.

Varric grumbled and there was little but the clinking of coins for a bit.  “Curly with a mage,” he said with disbelief.  “This was meant to be a safe bet.”

“You underestimated Dorian’s charms,” the Iron Bull said.  “Don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“No no, I should have known better,” Varric replied with a sigh.  “I was already writing a book about them.”

At this fresh reminder that he could expect to turn up as a caricature in some future, smutty book, Dorian groaned before he could stop himself.  He hadn’t the chance to retreat from view before Bull and Leliana had rounded the corner.

“Proud of yourselves, are you?” Dorian said with false confidence.  “Betting on the Commander’s social life?”

Varric came round next, a remarkably pleased grin on his face.  “I suppose soon I’ll owe you too, Sparkler.”

Dorian’s stomach dropped as he abruptly recalled his drunken wager back in Haven.

“What was it….”  Varric feigned being deep in thought.

“An ill-considered jest,” Dorian tried to interrupt.

“Five sovereigns that you would bed him before the war was over?” Varric continued, entirely ignoring Dorian’s desperation to keep the terms unspoken.

Leliana arched an eyebrow, looking at Dorian with an expression that left him feeling like a prisoner in one of Skyhold’s cells.  “I wonder how Cullen would feel if he knew.”  It wasn’t an idle thought; it was a threat.

“This isn’t about that!” Dorian protested earnestly.  If his own drunken over-confidence ruined a chance to find out what this could be with the Commander, Dorian would never forgive himself.  “You can consider the bet off, Varric.  I was never serious and you know it.”

“No no, if you earn it the coin is yours, fair and square.”

“Kaffas, this isn’t — this doesn’t concern any of you!”

“What doesn’t?”

It was like a block of ice had been shoved down the back of his robes.  “Commander!” Dorian said far too loudly as he turned to face him.

Anything else died in his throat.

Cullen had indeed bathed and Dorian suddenly understood the nickname.  His hair remained damp, and instead of being styled in the fashion Dorian had become accustomed to, the locks curled haphazardly against his forehead and around his ears.

Whoever had encouraged him to straighten it should be severely punished.

He was also wearing the leather trousers, which were even tighter than Dorian recalled, and a plain but handsome tunic that was unlaced low enough to reveal a tease of chest hair.  His boots looked brand new, polished to a shine and fitting beautifully about his calves.

“What do you think, Sparkler?”

Dorian gulped, embarrassed to realize how long he’d been staring at the beautiful man — and with an intent audience.  “Ready for a ride, Commander?”  It came out far more suggestively than intended, instinct taking over where Dorian was otherwise dumbfounded by the absolute vision standing before him.

Varric snickered, but was silenced by whichever kind soul helpfully gave him an audible smack.

A slow smile graced Cullen’s lips as he nodded.  “Yes,” he replied simply.  Dorian couldn’t help but swallow again at the knowing sparkle in his eyes.

“I need to grab one more thing,” Dorian admitted, abruptly recalling that while everything else had been sent to the stables for them, the wheel of cheese remained in his room.  “Walk with me?” he offered, loath to leave the Commander with this group who might very well make this all out to be about a stupid bet.

Cullen nodded again, standing to the side and motioning for Dorian to take the lead.

“I will need to speak with you about a matter later, Commander,” Leliana said suddenly.

When Dorian glanced back, she was looking at him, not Cullen.

“I trust it can wait for tomorrow?” Cullen replied.

Leliana hadn’t even replied before Varric was pulling out his coin pouch.  “Whenever suits you,” Leliana said, sharp eyes dropping to watch as Varric examined the contents.

“Thank you.”  Cullen did not wait for Dorian this time as he walked away from the group, which fortunately meant he probably missed it when Varric sighed and tossed the pouch to Dorian.

Dorian pocketed it, praying that no one would say another word before he could try and explain himself to Cullen later.  That wasn’t a conversation to look forward to, but better coming from him than Leliana.

“I need just one moment,” Dorian excused when they reached his room.  “I won’t be long, I promise.”

“You don’t need to hide it,” Cullen responded even as Dorian slipped through the door.

Dorian froze, one foot still outside while already beginning to shut the door behind him.  “Pardon?”

“The coin,” Cullen said with an adorably shy smile.  “Varric’s being a bit presumptuous, isn’t he?”

“Is he?” Dorian breathed reflexively, tossing the coin pouch in the general direction of his bed.  Judging by the clattering, it missed the mark.  “I do apologize Commander, this was before we…you know, before I got to know you.  It was a remark made in a drunken moment, is all,” Dorian tried to excuse.  “Can hardly believe the bastard remembered.”

“Ah.”  Cullen looked down at his boots and took a deep breath.  Dorian forgot that he was meaning to duck inside, instead waiting anxiously for whatever Cullen might be about to reveal next.  “That may be my fault.  I uh…might have asked him if that gamble remained on the table.”

Whatever Dorian might have expected Cullen to say, that wasn’t it.  “How did you even know about it?” Dorian couldn’t help but inquire.

“Sera,” Cullen replied easily.  “She thought I could use the warning.  Back before she got to know you, I suppose,” he added with amusement.

Sera had made the habit of hanging around the tavern at all hours.  In those early days, she and Dorian had butted heads at every encounter, so perhaps he couldn’t be surprised.  “I see.  Again, I—.”

“I know, it was nothing then,” Cullen interrupted kindly, a light flush blossoming over his cheeks.  “You didn’t know me.”

“At least you can’t deny I have good taste,” Dorian tried to joke.  “Forgive me for another minute, I need to fetch something.”

Cullen nodded and leaned against the stone wall beside the door.  “I can wait.”

Dorian barely had the mind to return the nod before slipping inside his room and shutting the door behind him.

Cullen already knew.  He’d known about Dorian’s attraction since Haven and never once made a move.

Unless…could chess have been that move?

Dorian quickly looked over his appearance.  He wasn’t nearly so fetching wearing the outer robe, but it seemed prudent to keep the warmer garment with him for the ride.

But then there was the real reason he had to return to his room. 

He hadn’t anticipated having Cullen with him.  Dorian had intended to slip the cheese wheel into a pack with the other food without Cullen being there to observe.  Carrying around the ungainly thing wasn’t going to do Dorian any favors in the Commander’s eyes, and he’d had more than enough embarrassment already.

With a swift slice of magic, Dorian carved out two generous portions of the cheese along with cutting off some of the wrapping it had arrived in.  Glancing at the door, Dorian anxiously listened for signs that Cullen had felt the use of magic before he carefully wrapped up the cheese and tucked it in his robes.  He could slip it into the pack once they got to their horses.

Dorian forced a few deep breaths, abruptly realizing how stifling the air seemed.  How silly was this, being nervous at the idea of spending time with Cullen when the two had been doing that for months; how stupid his heart was for pounding in his chest as if preparing for battle; and how ridiculous was it that Cullen knew about Dorian’s drunken bet and still wanted to….

To court him.

With a little laugh, Dorian supposed it was no less ludicrous than his intentions for the cheese in his pocket.  The south really was ruining him — not that he particularly minded.

Chapter Text

Dorian couldn’t help but take one more look in the mirror to confirm that yes, he looked rather beautiful, followed by a couple fresh dabs of scented oil at choice points on his neck and wrists.

“Ready, Commander?” Dorian said once he opened the door.

“Are you?” Cullen replied with quiet confidence, the unspoken promises in his tone enough to make Dorian’s blood run hot.

The packs were prepared and waiting for them as planned, filled with both blankets and the food he’d selected.

Cullen eyed the packs curiously.  “You never said where we were going.”

“I did say come hungry, no?”  Dorian grinned as he stepped up to mount the lovely black horse Master Dennet had kindly permitted him to use.  He’d barely gotten his foot in the stirrup, preparing to leap on as gracefully as he could manage, when he felt hands at his waist.

Dorian did not even have a chance to glance behind him before Cullen was helping him onto the horse with the sort of ease one might expect of handling a child.  Dorian hardly had the presence of mind to appropriately swing his leg over, entirely too focused on the strong hands that gripped him.

He knew Cullen was a warrior and had admired his form on countless occasions, but the casual show of physical prowess made him exceedingly weak at the knees.  Maker, the Commander could manhandle him in any way he liked.  “Thank you,” Dorian somehow managed, although it was so quiet Cullen may not have heard as he went to mount his own horse.

“Lead on,” Cullen prompted, reminding Dorian that he’d still not shared their destination.

“Certainly!  It isn’t far,” Dorian assured him before urging the horse onward.  He purposefully avoided looking toward the training dummies as they passed, all too certain he could feel Cassandra glaring at him.

Cullen didn’t press for more information as they started down the well worn path out of Skyhold.  In fact, he didn’t really say much the entire journey even once Dorian urged the horses to the left of the trail, although the way he was looking around felt like he was mapping the terrain in his head.

They’d almost arrived when Cullen urged his horse to a stop, curiously glancing behind him.  “Isn’t Skyhold over that ridge?” he inquired bewilderedly.  “We’ve gone in a circle, haven’t we?”

Dorian nodded toward the row of trees blocking the view.  “Indeed.  Unfortunately, the quick way down would involve a fair amount of magic and no small risk.”  Dorian slid from his horse with less grace than he’d hoped, falling into a nearby tree.  Thank goodness he’d thought to keep on the extra robe.  “The horses can stay here.”

Cullen’s eyes narrowed with mild suspicion, but he dismounted cleanly before stroking the creature’s neck and whispering to it.

“You’re not going to…?” Dorian said with some confusion, halfway through tying reins to a sturdy enough branch.

“She’ll stay.”  Cullen grabbed up both packs, his brow knitting as he briefly appeared to weigh them (and flex his muscles rather deliciously in the process).

The wheel.  He’d realized it wasn’t there.

Dorian didn’t allow Cullen a chance to question, putting a hand to his elbow and guiding him the short way to where he’d been leading them.

It was quite the excellent spot, in Dorian’s humble opinion.  Something about the way the morning sun struck the cliffside clearing kept snow from building up despite the nearby white peaks and encouraged the lush greenery that rivaled Skyhold’s garden.  Dorian was reasonably certain there was ancient magical energy involved as well, likely a sort of leak from that which kept Skyhold itself from becoming buried.

And the view was simply incredible.  Not only could one see the distant encampment of pilgrims and soldiers in the valley below, but it seemed half of Ferelden was laid out before them.  Lake Calenhad itself made up part of the horizon, the waters tucked away between two low mountain peaks.

“Maker,” Cullen breathed with awe, dropping both packs on the ground beside him.  “Is that…this isn’t possible.”

“The legendary lake,” Dorian confirmed, busying himself with setting up a proper picnic for the two of them.

Some sweet food, overly alcoholic wine, a picturesque view — this bit he’d done before.  Rarely from this side of things, but he had enough experience to recognize it worked wonders with the more romantic type.

Dorian inwardly chastised himself for daring to think of this as just some other illicit liaison.  He was not here to seduce Cullen into some fleeting promiscuity.

He wasn’t certain what exactly he was here for, aside from Cullen himself.  The thought made something flutter in his chest.  It was an entirely different sort of excitement than anything he’d become accustomed to in adulthood, almost as if Dorian had suddenly become an inexperienced teenager again.

“How did you find this place?” Cullen asked somewhat breathlessly, engrossed in the world spread before him.

Dorian bit back a small grimace at the memory as he shrugged off the outer robe.  “Bit of a slip, actually.  Gatsi roped me into helping evaluate the integrity of the damaged wall behind the stables.  Seems the knot holding my line wasn’t tied properly, and I had a rather undignified journey down the fortress.”

“You —.”  Cullen’s jaw dropped as he spun around to face him just as Dorian finished assuring his hair hadn’t become unruly on the ride.  Dorian shifted to stand in a slightly more flattering position than being caught preening and was gratified by the way Cullen’s gaze warmed instantly, sweeping appreciatively over him and the exquisite robes.  “You fell?” Cullen said worriedly as he seemed to abruptly recall his alarm.

“Evidently there’s a bit of a bottleneck shortly below the foundation that funnels nicely to here.”  Dorian might have been blushing from embarrassment as he smoothed down his mustache.  “It could have gone better, but I’m well able to handle myself in a crisis.”

“Were you hurt?” Cullen asked, now looking up toward the ridge behind which Skyhold hid.

“Broken wrist,” Dorian admitted.  “Timing the landing was difficult when I wasn’t sure of where the fall would end.”

“A broken — what?” Cullen gasped with horror.   “I never heard about this.”

“Probably because I didn’t tell anyone.”  Dorian lifted a shoulder in a small shrug when Cullen gaped at him.  “Unless you count Solas.  He helped with it.”

“You shouldn’t have been pushed to do work so…so dangerous!”  Cullen actually sounded angry, which was almost sweet once Dorian recognized that the ire wasn’t aimed at himself.  Maker save poor Gatsi should Cullen choose to reprimand him about the incident.

“The Inquisitor would have something to say about that,” Dorian replied lightly.  Cullen’s irritation calmed somewhat, as of course the Commander would understand that working with the Inquisition was inherently going to lead Dorian — or anyone — into precarious situations.  “No permanent harm done.  Now get rid of that worried brow and come sit with me.”

Dorian had a seat on the blankets he’d laid out, intentionally exposing a bit of bare leg through the slit in the robes that went higher than his boot.  He pretended not to notice the way Cullen was eyeing him as he set out the bread, apples, olives, some assorted berries, and finally the cookies.  He was starting to get nervous when Cullen still hadn’t joined him by the time he’d poured the wine into the metal mugs.

Cullen was indeed staring at him when Dorian finally looked up.  “Appreciating the view, Commander?” Dorian prompted with a coy smile.

Clearing his throat, Cullen immediately lowered his gaze and carefully sat down at the edge of the blanket, too far away for Dorian’s liking.

“Commander?” Dorian said anxiously, holding out one of the mugs of wine.

Cullen accepted it blindly before taking a much larger gulp of it than Dorian would have expected.  He’d taken three before he lowered the drink.  “It’s quite good,” he said quietly, staring into it.

“I believe it’s the perfect — oh kaffas,” Dorian swore under his breath, rolling over to reach for his discarded outer robe as he suddenly realized he’d managed to forget about the cheese.  The pocket refused to cooperate at first, and after some fumbling Dorian felt quite the fool when he tried to return to his carefully composed position.  “I thought it would pair beautifully with your message,” he said sheepishly, offering it to Cullen.

Cullen set down the wine, staring at the small package as if he couldn’t quite believe what was inside yet.  He accepted the cheese with trembling hands, carefully unwrapping it to reveal the two slices.

“Traditionally, it’s meant to share, yes?” Dorian purred, feigning confidence while his heart raced.

When Cullen smiled at him, Dorian could only think of how his eyes had never been so beautiful as they were when the Commander was truly happy.

His heart leapt at the idea.  It hardly seemed possible for Dorian to be the source of that joy.

Cullen handed over one slice, holding the other to his lips.  “If you wish,” he replied quietly, even shyly as if this cheese business wasn’t his doing.

Dorian didn’t answer with words, finally taking a proper bite of what had been such an infuriating, wonderful gift.  Cullen beamed brighter than the sun as he followed suit.

Uncertain what might come next, Dorian took a sip of wine.  That might have been a mistake, as he wasn’t prepared for his hand to shake a bit from the nerves.  He hastily wiped away a bit that threatened to dribble down his chin, feeling quite silly for having such anxiety.

Cullen’s smile grew, if that was possible, as he shifted to sit closer to Dorian.  “You are….”  Cullen trailed off with a sigh, warm amber eyes drinking him in from head to toe.  “I did warn you I wasn’t good at this,” he said instead of whatever thought had caught on his tongue, reaching to take a small handful of berries.

“And I believe I told you,” Dorian replied, popping an olive into his mouth to give himself the shortest moment to compose the words.  “I’ve never done this courting thing before either.  I suppose we will have to muddle through together.”

Cullen leaned a little closer, using the excuse of reaching for the bread to do so.  Tearing off a piece, he offered some to Dorian first.

Their fingers touched when Dorian accepted it.

They ate for a short while in a silence that was somehow both incredibly nerve-racking and increasingly familiar.  It wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared drinks or a meal before, and sometimes they would play chess in silence until Dorian was caught cheating or Cullen asked a random question about Tevinter.

But this should feel different, and not merely for the picturesque view.

When fingers accidentally touched again, they were both reaching for one of those sugar cookies.  Dorian retreated, allowing Cullen the first one.  He was delighted to see how much Cullen enjoyed it, complete with a small moan of satisfaction.

And then Cullen licked some excess sugar from his thumb, his eyes locking back onto Dorian.

Where Dorian would have expected Cullen to flush and turn away, instead the Commander met Dorian’s gaze unblinkingly, purposefully, as his tongue darted to swipe away more of the sugar.  There was no question of extra heat in that gaze.

With any other partner, Dorian would anticipate being devoured next.  Even with unknown expectations, there was a thrill to feeling cornered by a hunter who had not yet determined when to pounce on his prey.

Clearing his throat, Cullen wiped away the remainder of the sugar on the blanket, the expected shyness bringing a rather abrupt shift in the color of his cheeks.  But he didn’t look away.

“In the spirit of muddling,” Cullen began, his voice oddly subdued while his gaze dropped to Dorian’s lips, “would it be inappropriate if I kissed you now?”

Ah, perhaps the hunter was prepared to pounce after all.

Dorian let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.  “The Commander of the Inquisition’s forces fraternizing with a subordinate?  Possibly.  But don’t let that stop you.”

“Subordinate?” Cullen questioned with a smile, a strong hand reaching to cup Dorian’s jaw.  “I can’t imagine anyone ordering you about.”

“Can’t you?” Dorian countered with a bold wink.  The less than subtle hint didn’t receive a direct reply, but Cullen’s smile broadened as he brushed his slightly damp thumb over Dorian’s lips, following the flow of his mustache.

“You are so beautiful,” Cullen whispered reverently before leaning closer.  He paused for a moment, lips so close Dorian could already taste them.  “I….”

The hesitation was too much for Dorian’s patience, his blood already hot from the anticipation.  “You’ve got excellent taste, my dear Commander,” he purred, ensuring he brushed his lips ever so gently against Cullen’s.

And then Cullen was kissing him, properly, with far more hunger than Dorian was prepared for — but he couldn’t be more pleased as Cullen pulled him closer, lips sliding eagerly against his, tongue swiping teasingly into his mouth.  Cullen hadn’t shaved, which at first felt a bit odd compared to the smooth, pampered faces of nobles and those who aspired to join their ranks, but soon the scratch of stubble was yet another delightfully overwhelming sensation.

It was only when Cullen finally pulled back that Dorian realized the little desperate sound he heard was coming from his own throat.  He bit the inside of his cheek, embarrassed by how easily Cullen had stripped his pride yet craving to know just how much he could lose himself in this man.  Maker, he was even trembling, which Cullen must be aware of with how his hand remained at Dorian’s neck.

“Was…was that all right?” Cullen asked, entirely ridiculously in Dorian’s view.

“It’s only not if you never do it again,” Dorian replied with a short, astonished laugh.  “Not good at this, he says,” he added under his breath, reaching up to run a hand through Cullen’s hair.  The curls truly suited him, he considered dreamily, enjoying the unexpected softness under his fingers.

“But you’re…are you cold?”  Cullen’s fingers slipped a touch under Dorian’s collar.  “You’re shaking.”

Dorian made the first move this time, closing the gap without saying a word.  The kiss was a bit less hungry this time, sweeter, but no less breathtaking.  “I have ways of keeping warm,” Dorian murmured against Cullen’s lips, not quite ready to entirely pull back.  “And they so nicely coincide with my traditional method of saying yes.”

Cullen chuckled again, his cheeks wonderfully flushed.  “Oh really?” he said as he leaned away and reached for the cheese once more.  Dorian pouted a little at the loss, but somehow watching a man take a bite of cheese had never been so enticing.  “Perhaps you should demonstrate.”

Dorian waited for a beat, his eyes widening slightly in a search for proof of the invitation.  Cullen briefly dropped his gaze, his throat working hard to swallow before he looked back up at Dorian and, as if reading Dorian’s hesitation clearly, tilted his chin in a small nod.

“With pleasure, Commander.”

Cullen held up a hand, fingers pressing against Dorian’s lips to keep him back.  For the shortest moment, Dorian’s chest twisted in panic.  Somehow he was certain to have done wrong, misread, or —.

“I think it would be appropriate to call me Cullen now.”  He slowly dropped his hand, moving to lay back further on the blanket.  “Would it not?” he added with an anxious smile that was far too adorable and set Dorian’s heart racing anew.

With a sigh — of relief or joy he didn’t dare say — Dorian leaned beside him, a hand drifting down from the soft curls, over the delightfully stubbled jaw, and down to the expansive chest.  “Cullen,” Dorian said softly.

Cullen’s chest rose and fell rapidly beneath his hand, his breath coming a little faster as he gazed up at Dorian expectantly.

“My dear Cullen,” Dorian purred before kissing him again.

It wasn’t cheating to place a bet on a certainty.  Varric simply had a knack for these things.  Usually.  He also needed to make up for his severely lightened coin purse, but he’d written enough romances to recognize it was just a matter of time.

Still, he would be grateful for some proof before the others started demanding their winnings.  The masquerade deadline was fast approaching.

He eyed the elves across the hall.  The Inquisitor appeared to be berating Sera for the lewd graffiti she’d added to a pair of banners.  Sera, for her part, was doing her best to quiet her cackling.

“Sera, this is serious!” Sianna said, clapping a hand over her own mouth too late to hide her grin.  “Josie has enough on her plate without needing to smooth things over with the visiting Sisters.”

“It was an ode to you, Shiny!” Sera tried to explain.  “See those freckles, there —.”

“Sera!”

Sianna blushed, dramatically so with her ears turning bright red as she glanced about as if suddenly realizing that this conversation was no longer private.  She caught Varric’s eye, shook her head, then tugged Sera along behind her toward her quarters.

Varric smiled to himself as he added another note to his manuscript.  Oh yes, it was a sure thing.  Sianna didn’t pull just anyone into her quarters for a dressing down.

“Oh, don’t look so smug,” Bull said gruffly.  “You haven’t won yet.”

“I didn’t say I had,” Varric muttered, striking out a line he’d just written.  Really, ready for a ride, no one would say that without intending the innuendo.  Which perhaps Sparkler had, but with how mortified he’d seemed about the wager surely it had to be a slip of the tongue.  “But I think we both know you’re going to owe me long before we make it to the Winter Palace.”

Dorian clucked his tongue disapprovingly from across the table, as if he had any right to look down on such gambling.

“Oh, like you didn’t bet on taking —.”  Bull caught himself just in time as the Commander closed in on them.  He wasn’t wearing his armor, a recent habit that the Qunari clearly had not become accustomed to yet.

“Josephine is in quite the state, but at least there weren’t any bee stings to deal with this time,” Cullen sighed.  “Apologies for the delay.”

Dorian snorted into his cup.  “You can hardly be blamed for Sera showing her appreciation of our leader’s…assets, in a distinctly Sera-like fashion.”

Cullen’s cheeks went a touch pink.  “Those were meant to be…?”  Cullen cleared his throat.  “In any case, the Sisters were mortified.  Seems whatever tongue-lashing Sera gets is well deserved.”

Dorian laughed heartily, and Varric couldn’t help but join in.

Poor Curly frowned, evidently confused at the mirth.  “I hardly think defacing the Chantry’s symbols with — like that can be tolerated.”

“There was no harm done that our ambassador couldn’t fix,” Dorian said with a smile.  “Now come, sit.  We’ll be off once I’m finished with this entirely unmysterious cheese,” he added, popping a bit into his mouth.

Cullen bit back a smile as he sat beside him.  Dorian held up some of the cheese, some fancy sort brought in from Orlais, and Cullen’s gaze was so openly affectionate as he took it into his mouth — magical fingers briefly included — that it was almost stomach-churning.

“Endlessly subtle,” Bull muttered.

“Yes, your observational skills are legendary,” Dorian commented, attention still focused on his Commander.

It was rather sweet, though.  Varric jotted down a note to add some feeding by hand to the chapter with the romantic date.

By the time Dorian finished indulging in the cheese and wine, appearing to take his time just to get Cullen back for his being late for their chess game, the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters had opened again.  Sianna didn’t appear, but Sera stepped into the hall, wiping her mouth as she scanned the room.

“Fuck it,” Bull grunted, reaching into his pocket.

Cullen looked from Bull to Sera, who seemed to be debating whether to come join them.  “Still betting on this sort of thing, are we?”

“Not I!” Dorian said cheerfully.

“This time,” Cullen murmured, stretching his back as he stood.  “I am surprised, considering your winning streak,” he added before leaning down and pressing a kiss to Dorian’s forehead.

Dorian beamed, distinctly avoiding looking at anyone at the table.  “The gardens then, amatus?”

“After you, love.”

In retrospect, betting against the templar and the Tevinter was incredibly foolish.  But after everything from Kirkwall, Varric hadn’t been able to imagine a world where Knight-Captain Cullen would come to trust a Tevinter mage — much less become involved with one.

He was happy to be proven wrong.  He’d never seen Curly so relaxed, or healthy in all honesty.

They were hardly out of earshot before Bull shifted closer to Varric, handing over one less coin than he’d wagered.  “Cullen knew about the bet?”

“Thanks to Buttercup,” Varric confirmed, raising an eyebrow at the coins but accepting them without complaint.

“He needed the warning,” Sera added as she sat on the table rather than either of the recently vacated chairs.  “I know that look — Dorian was determined to climb that jackboot from the moment he saw him.”

“He wanted more than the boot,” Cole commented.  Sera swore at the young man’s sudden appearance in Dorian’s empty seat, while Bull cast him an only slightly suspicious glare.

After waiting for Cole to elaborate, or perhaps hoping he didn’t, Bull turned back to Sera with a somewhat reluctant smile.  “So that look you get when the Inquisitor —.”

“Different parts, Bull,” Sera interrupted, but she grinned at Sianna as the Inquisitor left her quarters.  Her hair seemed less tidy than before, and her cheeks far redder.  “Besides, Shiny isn’t nearly so thick.”

Shoving another coin Varric’s way, Bull somehow managed to keep his expression neutral and asked, “Which one do you think is thicker, the Commander or the Vint?”

“You really want to lose another bet so soon?” Varric teased.

“I know which one is,” Cole interjected brightly.

Sera put her hands over her ears.  “Nope, keep that to yourself, not thinking about that.  Think of tits!  Yeah, shiny tits.”

Varric snorted, submitting to the temptation to write this all down for later use.