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“You do realize Dorian’s going to be hurt that you asked me for help with this and not him, right?” Bull jogged alongside Cullen around the track in the nearby park in the early morning's sunlight. They’d been running partners for a couple years now – almost since Dorian had introduced them. Neither had been successful yet in getting Dorian to come running with them, but for once it came in handy.
Cullen sighed, slowing to barely a trot before stopping altogether, stooping over a little, hands on his knees. His t-shirt was drenched with sweat, hair flopping down over his eyebrows, nearly reaching his eyes thanks to sweat as well. “I know.” He hated hiding things from his best friend, and asking Bull to keep something hidden from his husband, but it was one time it seemed necessary. “But you know he’d never have been able to keep the secret for this long.”
Bull came to a stop next to him, laughing. As much as he loved his husband, he knew Cullen was right. It wasn’t that Dorian was bad at keeping secrets, exactly. It was more that Dorian was really happy that Cullen had found someone he cared about so much, and that seemed to care about him in return. And he would go overboard; he wouldn’t be able to help himself. “Yeah, I know.” He pulled a bandana from his back pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “As far as he, or anyone else, is concerned, it’ll be another normal game night.”
“I appreciate it.” Cullen raked his fingers through his hair, trying to get it out of his face. There was one wavy bit that absolutely refused to cooperate. “I think Cassandra knows something is going on.” He checked his watch; still plenty of time before he had to be at work. “Up for another couple laps?”
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“What is everybody doing?” Cullen glanced around the table before turning his attention back to something behind the screen. “We know Antony is, rather futilely, slamming his shoulder into the door that suddenly slammed shut; but what about the rest of you?”
“I plop myself down in one corner and start scribbling …. Wait a second! When did you get glasses?” Sera had been trying to figure out what was different about Cullen all evening, and it finally just hit her. In all the time that she’d been gaming with the group, she’d never seen him wearing glasses.
Cullen looked up from the board separating him from the rest of the table. “Ah, I … someone misplaced my contacts.” He caught a hint of a smile from Regan before shrugging. “Apparently this person feels I look more … intelligent while wearing them, and I didn’t have the heart to argue with her.” He looked over at the pile of miniatures he had collected for the current adventure and bit back a smile. He just had to get things moving again. “So, Breeches is just … sitting there, writing or drawing something?”
“Well, whoever they were, remind me to thank them. They were absolutely correct.” Dorian rested his forearms on the table and took a critical look at his best friend’s new accessory. “How long have you had those? Why do I not remember you ever wearing those before?”
Cullen rolled his eyes. “Five years.” He did his best to keep from glaring at everyone watching him. Why they were so fascinated by his wearing glasses, he didn’t know. “I honestly prefer contacts; that way I don’t have to worry about them falling off when chasing someone.” There was a quick breath to refocus before he glanced at the pad of paper next to him. “Sera, you said Breeches was essentially sitting down drawing or writing, correct? What is everyone else doing?”
“Don’t change the subject, Curly.” Varric strolled in from the kitchen with a bottle of ale and hopped back into his seat. “You show up with new eyewear and you don’t expect us to comment?” He took a swig from the bottle and scribbled a note to himself.
Regan could make out a few words as Varric’s pen flew across the paper; something about a new hero – a curly-haired blond with wire-rimmed glasses, handsome and brave. “Come on, guys. They’re just glasses.” She reached over and gave Cullen’s hand a squeeze. “And I didn’t lose the contacts on purpose. They’re just … misplaced.” There was a brief pause when she caught Dorian’s eye and winked, then tried to help Cullen regain control. “Faelor starts checking the room for a secret switch or lever or something to try and open that stupid door. ‘Antony, stop that. You’ll just hurt yourself.’.”
“He turns to Faelor and shrugs. ‘We need to get out of here and find that chest.’ He looks worried, and goes back to trying to shoulder the door open.” A look of relief passed over Cullen’s face; at least someone was trying to get back to the game. Now, he just had to get the rest of them to focus. He was nervous enough as it was. “OK; roll to search the room. So, we know what Antony, Faelor, and Breeches are doing. Who else is doing something?”
“I think you’re right in not wearing them at work.” Cassandra checked her watch; they’d been talking about Cullen’s glasses for what felt like the better part of a half-hour instead of playing. With as late as these games tended to run, that was time poorly spent in her opinion, but she couldn’t help but throw her two cents in. “Though maybe a lighter frame would suit your face better?”
It was all Cullen could do to keep from banging his head against the table. As it was, he couldn’t stop a frustrated sigh from escaping. “Maker’s breath!” What did he have to do? He looked over at Bull and sighed. “Go ahead; make a comment. Everyone else has had a turn.”
Bull just shook his head and laughed. “Nah. I’m good.” He looked at the board and frowned. “I go over and give Antony a hand with that door.” Cullen wearing glasses wasn’t that much of a surprise. He’d noticed a glasses case on a shelf at Cullen’s apartment one evening when he and Dorian had come over for dinner. “It’s kind of obvious that Amnon is really not happy about being stuck in this room. ‘Cerastes, next time Corwin or Faelor tell you not to touch something, maybe listen?’.”
Dorian waved his hand dismissively, easily and almost immediately dropping back into the voice he’d been using for his necromancer. “I make a show of ignoring Amnon and busy myself checking the bodies of the creatures that attacked us. I have enough vials to collect quite a bit of blood and … other liquids and I want to see if there are any other usable bits.”
Finally. Cullen checked the notes behind his screen. “Roll an investigation check.” Now, he just had to get them out of this room and to the room with the chest. Maker’s breath; why was he so nervous?
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“The group finally makes it to the door to what you can only assume is the last room in the corridor. It’s a plain-looking wooden door, though the décor around the lock seems a bit more ornate than previous doors.” Cullen tried not to fidget. Things were finally progressing and he was getting more nervous. A part of him wondered if he shouldn’t just wait until later. But he really didn’t want to wait. “Antony takes a step toward the door.”
Regan reached out to grab at Cullen’s arm before covering her face with her other hand and laughing. “Sorry. Meant to say that I … Faelor … reaches out to grab Antony. ‘Don’t touch anything. We need to check for traps first.’. And … I tell Corwin to start checking for traps. I do the same, after asking Amnon to keep people away from that door.” She rolled the necessary die for her search and sighed. “At least it isn’t a nat 1. Please tell me you did better, Varric?”
Varric looked over at his die again and shrugged. “Was there ever any doubt? Twenty-seven.”
Cullen let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding and nodded. “The door is trapped.” He waited for Varric to roll to disarm the trap then had Antony guide the group into the room. “There isn’t much in this room. You see a table against the far wall, covered with glass bottles and wooden boxes. You can tell most of the bottles that are visible have some sort of liquid in them. The other walls are fairly bare – a few candles on stands, a couple tapestries that look very ratty … and a wooden chest. After only taking a few steps into the room, Antony stops and looks back at Faelor and Corwin. ‘Should we check the room?’.”
Cassandra nodded, glancing around the table. “Everyone ok, health-wise? Anyone need healing?” She knew she wouldn’t be much use searching the room; every investigation attempt she’d made this campaign had resulted in extremely low rolls. “It’s about the only helpful thing I can do right now.”
Regan and Varric made their investigation rolls while Cassandra’s cleric took care of healing the others, both rolling high enough to feel confident about their results.
“Twenty-eight.”
“Natural Twenty!” Regan yelped with glee. It’d been a while since she’d managed to hit such a good role. “So that makes … thirty-two.”
“After scouring the room, you both feel certain that the room, itself, is trap free. Faelor, you even manages to find a hidden cache of gold tucked behind the chest.” Cullen did his best to turn her attention to the chest in the room, with seemingly little luck. It took several minutes and a few more not-so-subtle hints before anyone actually made an attempt to open it.
“I’m … going to check that chest for traps.” Varric cracked his knuckles and made a show of wiggling his fingers in a manner that Regan couldn’t help but picture his character in motion as well. The die rolled and he pursed his lips. “Fifteen.” He was not confident in his roll this go ‘round. Cullen’s response that the chest didn’t seem to be trapped did nothing to lessen his concern and it showed in the hesitant way he rolled to unlock the chest. “Well, that’s better at least – twenty-two.”
Cullen pursed his lips and scanned the notes he kept behind the screen. Why had Varric decided to open the chest? Why had he rolled so poorly when checking for traps? He supposed he could always disregard the roll and pretend that the fifteen was high enough to detect the traps, but he knew someone at the table would be able to see through him and call him out. “You hear something click inside the lock, followed by a loud bang near the door you came in. When you turn around, you see a creature with the body of a large man – think Bull’s size, with the head of a druffalo. I need everyone to tell me where they are, and roll for initiative.”
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“I charge at the thing, doing my damnedest to make it look at me, not Antony. ‘You keep your hooves away from him!’ And, I attack.” Regan tossed her dice across the table. “A … twenty-three and a … ugh, an eighteen.”
A quick nod and the sound of dice rolling behind the screen were her only answers for a moment while he added up the totals. “The minotaur roars in frustration when Faelor’s first dagger slices its arm, dragging its attention away from the dazed fighter. A beefy hand swings around and knocks the half-elf away before the second can make contact. Antony regains his senses just in time to watch in horror as she goes flying.” Cullen moved Regan’s figure to lean on the miniature of the chest. “You, Regan, take fifteen points of damage, and come to rest prone next to the chest.”
“Oh-kay. I’m not unconscious, but I’m really close. Let’s just say I’m knocked very loopy, leaning on the chest.” Regan marked off the number on her sheet and scribbled down a single digit in its place. One more hit and she was out.
He tosses s few dice behind the screen. “Antony hits with a twenty-two, and does twelve points of damage before running in Faelor’s direction to check on her.” He checked the initiative order and looks at Cassandra. “Aratur’s up.”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Roll for damage.”
Cassandra let the dice fall from her hand and did some quick math in her head. “Thirty-five.”
Cullen checked the creature’s stats and grinned. “Good job. Your war axe comes down with enough force to slice through the creature’s skull. It lets out a choked off scream and drops to the floor.”
“I see Antony’s made it over to check on Faelor, so I’ll head over to Cerastes and Amnon to make sure they’re OK.” Cassandra looked over at Sera and Varric, “I am more than somewhat surprised that Corwin and Breeches were able to avoid taking too much damage.”
“Breeches, anyway,” Varric muttered, looking at his character sheet. “I’m much lower than it actually looks.”
Sera laughed. “I’ll take that as a hint, Varric. Breeches trots over to the cranky gnome to see what she can do to help him.”
Cullen looks around the table and sighs softly, ducking behind the screen for a moment. There would never be a better time, if he was going to have all his planning be worth it. He let the others discuss what they were doing and have faint conversations and looked over at Regan. “I … Antony gives Faelor a healing potion, restoring … thirty hit points. He waits until she’s up on her feet before saying anything. ‘Are you OK?’.” Maker help him; how could he get her to be the one to open the chest?
Regan grinned at Cullen and nodded. “Faelor gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. ‘Thanks, Antony. I needed that.’ I kick at the chest that started this whole ordeal. ‘Might as well see what was so important they had to set that trap.’ And I reach down to actually open the stupid chest.”
Cullen nodded, ducking behind the screen one more time. “Antony reaches out to stop you, his hand landing on your arm just before you lift the lid of the chest. ‘Um, Faelor; before … before you open that … thing, I ….” It was strange. He’d introduced Antony into this quest-line to act as the guide; he hadn’t planned on the character being anything more than an extra sword for some more complicated battles and a way to keep the quest on track. But, much like his relationship with Regan, a relationship between the characters took him by surprise. “He clears his throat, looking away for a second before trying again. ‘I … you didn’t have to risk your neck to distract him, but thank you.’
‘Of course I did, Antony. I wouldn’t -.’
“He cuts her off swiftly, grabbing her face in his hands and kissing her before taking a step back. ‘No, you didn’t, but … I’m glad you did. Just … be careful; I don’t know what I’d do if ….’ He lets his words drop off and takes a step back, waiting to see what she does.”
Regan coughed softly, trying to ignore the surprised tittering suddenly coming from the rest of the table. She hadn’t been expecting something like that. “Faelor is … well, she’s pretty much stunned. And blushing. A lot.” She cleared her throat and caught Cullen’s eye briefly, noticing that there was a hint of pink coloring his cheeks as well.
Bull cleared his throat before she could do anything else. “I walk over to the pair of them; well, I limp over, anyway. ‘Save it for later, you two. We have a gem to find.’ I point toward the chest, now that Corwin’s managed to spring what I can only hope is the only trap on the stupid thing.”
Regan nodded, looking back toward Cullen. “Right; I open the chest, carefully, after looking over to make sure Antony is nearby. I’m trying to ignore the fact that my cheeks and ears are burning up and can only hope he’s similarly afflicted.”
“I … um, I’ll be right back; I need … to get something from my bag.” Cullen handed Bull several slips of paper before shoving back from the table. “Here’s what you find.” He could feel her eyes follow him until Bull started reading off the list of items, drawing everyone’s attention as they divvied out the spoils.
“ ‘Let’s see. There’s five-hundred gold, four-hundred silver.’.”
Cullen’s hand closed on the small wooden box he’d tucked into a zippered pouch inside his backpack and exhaled.
“ ‘Corwin, I think this is right up your alley – a rare elven short bow.’.”
He continued miming looking through his bag, just in case she was still watching him. He just had to wait a little longer.
“ ‘Ugh; nothing I can really use, but Cerastes, this looks like something you’d toy around with.’. I throw the amulet over to him, carefully since I know he can’t catch worth a darn. ‘There’s the gem we were sent to find. Here, Faelor; you’re less likely to lose it than I am. And … a small wooden box with an inscription in … Elvish.’ I know I can’t read it, so I look for someone who can.”
Regan reaches for the slip of paper. “Faelor can read Elvish, so I move closer to the chest to see what Amnon is looking at. I study the script, trying to remember all those conversational elvish classes I’d been forced to take. ‘Will you ma … what is this word again? Make? No; march? No, not that either. Marry -…? Yes'; marry. Will you marry -’.”
Cullen took a deep breath and moved quickly, and surprisingly quietly, to Regan’s side, dropping to one knee as she read the slip of paper. He made a mental note to thank Bull for keeping her attention so thoroughly, since she didn’t even notice his presence until Bull pointed him out. A shaky hand held the small wooden box up as she turned to look at him, wide-eyed. “Regan, I ….” A cough was needed to clear his throat; it wouldn’t do to sound like a nervous nug. “Regan, I … I never expected to find someone who loved me despite my faults and flaws. I have treasured every moment we’ve spent together, even the fights and arguments. I don’t want to imagine my life without you in it, and honestly, my sisters would never forgive me if I didn’t ask soon. Will you, Regan Trevelyan, do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Dorian stared a moment, then whipped his head around to glare at Bull. “You knew,” he hissed, looking hurt. “You knew and you didn’t tell me!” Bull's apologetic shrug did little to ease the sting.
The lid was lifted slowly, and there was suddenly a beautiful silver ring, a pair of hands holding a small heart-shaped amethyst. There was a moment’s pause where she couldn’t speak; could barely even think. Had she heard correctly? This wasn’t his character’s action, right? No, he wasn’t in his official DM’ing chair. He was in front of her, on one knee, just watching her, holding that small box out to her. The chattering around them faded until it was simply white noise. All that existed was Cullen. “I … Maker’s wooly slippers, yes; I accept.”
