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When the dead hare turns up, neatly presented- already gutted, bled and prepped- and waiting for him in his favourite reading spot, Dorian forces himself not to sigh.
There is no surprise in this. He is a Tevinter mage and perhaps more unwelcome this far south than his proclivities had made him at home. That he doesn't practice blood magic or sacrifice small children is of little value when people hiss 'magister' and hurry away. He had thought he had assuaged most people's fears since his arrival. The Inquisitor's support had helped but Dorian liked to think he had changed more than a few minds about tarring all Vint's with the same fear.
Apparently not.
He takes offence at the message though; the small hair perfect from their rather tough surroundings and sending the clearest message. Coward. Dorian stares down at it and wonders what this person must see when they look at him for Dorian thinks many things of himself but a coward is not one of them.
He sniffs disdainfully as he lifts the offering. There has been no small amount of care employed in the dressing of the hare, it'd be an immaculate presentation if not for it's intention. Whoever has done this knows enough of Teveniter culture to catch Dorian unawares and actually offend him.
He would almost applaud them if not for the obvious, he thinks as he opens the window he curls up beside to read and tosses the corpse out of it. Let it feed the birds and rats and whatever else lurks down the mountainside. Dorian has better things to do than concern himself with snide southerners who learn his culture only to wound him.
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"-and really, what was he thinking wearing that to the-..." Dorian swallowed, thrown from his sentence as his eye caught the glimmer of something under his favourite pillow in his room.
The sweet lady Lavellan gave a soft sigh of a laugh, "Something sparkly caught your eye, Dorian?" She teased.
Dorian moved the pillow from his bed and looked down at the necklace hidden beneath it. "This is just petty, now." Dorian snapped, lifting the necklace as though it were covered in feces.
Lavellan frowned as she stepped closer. "Petty? Dorian, they look lovely..." She reached out to touch it, the sparkling yellow and green gems set in a white metal she didn't know. Dorian let her take it and waved his hand as though it were now tainted.
"My lovely lady, you are not well versed in Tevinter court, are you?" Lavellan raised a brow at him and he snorted, "Nor any court." He added, smirking as her nose wrinkled at him. "In Tevinter, I sent each of the lovely, vapid young women my parents tried to match me with one of these."
"So it's... common Tevinter jewellery?" She hazards.
"Not at all. Actually quite pricey sometimes, depending on the cut of the gems." Dorian sighed and indicated the decoration the gems lay in, a curling pattern like a green and yellow shaded snake curled around a throat. "Its the pattern- the message that is imparted. My mother was so furious when she found out, forbade any jeweller to sell me one to chase off the young ladies."
Lavellan cocked her head. "What message? I am getting the impression this is quite offensive now."
"It is. How would the lovely Fereldans put it? 'Fuck you'? 'I wish you dead'? 'I wish nothing but disdain upon you and yours and I am willing to spend no small sum to make sure you know that'?"
Lavellan lowered the necklace slowly to rest on the bed. "You would spend so much on what you could just say to someone?"
"Like I said; Tevinter culture."
She nodded slowly, so easily accepting of his word- or anyone's- on a culture she does not know but makes every effort to try and respect. Dorian found it admirable when so many were not as accepting of her dalish culture. "So... this would be very offensive then."
"Yes."
"Not a... sign of courtship?"
Dorian barked a laugh and held his chest in an effort to quiet the outburst of amusement. "By the Maker, no!"
Lavellan gave a soft, awkward laugh in return to his outright declaration. "Right, yes. Of course not."
Dorian shook his head. "Any courting gifts you, my dear Lavellan, receive from anyone or are left- let me just check they're good enough, alright?" He patted her shoulder as she pushed at his chest and huffed that she would know a courting gift when she saw one.
Dorian decides to wear the necklace.
For one day, he strides all over Skyhold and lets every person see him wearing the hateful gift. He has no clues as to who the person- or indeed persons- might be who seem to despise him so greatly but he makes sure he sees as many as he can to get the message across in return; he doesn't care.
He came to Skyhold to help and try and save the world- he lives in it after all and he would sort of like to continue living in it. He won't let some disgruntled noble, petty servants, ignorant soldiers or whomever it might be try and scare him off. If this is the worst they can do, then Dorian isn't even concerned. He's had worse just trying to make it through a party at home in Tevinter.
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"That necklace..." Cullen says slowly, words catching as they often do when the sweet Commander struggles with what it is he wants to say. "You... like it?"
"Maker, no!" Dorian chuckles, moving his rook into position.
Cullen's eyes widen in alarm and he leans towards the board and Dorian as if he can help. So eager to help, any way he can. Dorian thinks he should just smash Cullen and Lavellan's faces together and give them a clue, as even between them they don't have one. "You... hate it? Dorian, if you hate it so much, why are you wearing it?" He fidgets and looks so distinctly uncomfortable Dorian feels the need to reassure him, though he's no idea for what.
"I don't hate it, I am simply not bothered by it." Dorian shrugs. "Their message was clear and so is mine: I'm not going anywhere and I certainly won't be swayed by someone who's made a half - hearted effort to learn my culture."
Cullen flinched as though Dorian had struck him, his face falling so fast and then slamming down under grim acceptance. He nodded and clenched his hands a few times before trying to sit back in his chair. "Y-yes... of course." He moved a pawn without looking properly as he added. "You deserve nuch better than anyone here can give you."
Dorian noted Cullen's move had lost the man the game and wondered what had thrown Cullen off so much. Normally even idle conversation Dorian would use to distract him won't do much. "Worry not, Commander." Dorian said with an easy shake of his head, "I doubt there are any here who could top this insult in such a specific manner. Well, perhaps trying to outright murder me?" He laughed at the horrified look on Cullen's face and moved his queen into position. "Oh don't look so shocked! I am well aware of the dislike my Tevinter status garners and I am still not worried." He stood and folded his arms as he haughtily looked down at Cullen. "But that is the game commander and I have won."
Cullen's eyes flicked down to the board and he startled as he saw how disastrously he had lost. "So you have." He murmured. He looked up, up the long line of Dorian's body stood over him and he nodded. "Well done."
Dorian laughed again, he laughed so easily around Cullen. "When you can next drag yourself from those reports, drinks are on you."
Cullen nodded, though he seemed preoccupied. That in itself was no great change so Dorian took his leave.
He set the necklace down on his desk and wondered if he should keep it. Most of these Fereldans had no clue what the message truly was, perhaps he could use it to flirt his way out of trouble at a later date, he just hoped the gifter had seen him today and knew he was not cowed.
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"He made his rejection very clear." Cullen said, his jaw set as Lavellan leaned towards him in counsel and comfort.
"Cullen, no, the message was wrong. He misread and the gifts were apparently offensive in Tevinter." She assured him, trying to calm him as she squeezed his arm.
"'Gifts'? Oh no... the hare. Oh Maker, did I insult his ancestors with that one?!" He dragged a hand over his face and Lavellan winced.
"We talked over some wine last night. Apparently gifting a hare- a fast, nimble but frightened creature- to someone in Tevinter implies you liken them to it and a hare is percieved as a cowardly animal." Cullen groaned, slumped over his desk and buried his face in his hands as willed the ground to swallow him whole.
"The hare was your idea!" He accused.
"For the Dalish, receiving a gift from a hunt is a worthy courting present." She frowned.
Cullen sighed. "I know, I'm sorry. I did not mean to insult your culture either. I'm doing that a lot lately."
"Don't let it dishearten you. So he misinterpreted your attempts so far? Make it clearer. Simpler." She tapped her chin. "Flowers? I think that's a sweet gesture all over Thedas."
Cullen thought for a moment before nodding slowly. "Alright. Flowers. Can't be too hard."
------
Dorian looked up from his reading and was surprised to see Cullen there, hovering near the little alcove and window he had claimed as his own. The Commander is ususally a distinctive sound; the clink of his armour, the thud of his boots, the huff of a sigh twisting his mouth. Dorian's used to that. What stands before Dorian is not that Cullen. This Cullen is wearing a linen shirt- plain, but nice- simple trousers and boots. By all accounts he looks naked, missing his armour and fur. Dorian smiles at him before spying the bouquet he is clutching in his hand in a death grip. There is a tag hanging from them that reads 'for Lord Dorian' and Dorian's smile drops.
As part of his training for court, Dorian's mother had taught him the language of flowers. It was something that had been quite popular in Tevinter, smiles and gifts belying intent that could be read from the vase. Or the button hole. Or the hair. Adorning one's self with nature sent the perfect message of wealth and power. The more rare the flower and the more precise it's meaning- the more of a message you sent. It had been more for the ladies of court and more for people courting but Dorian had learned it, amused himself with complex messages arranged in bouquet to be delivered to people who annoyed him.
His mind ticks off each flower in the bouquet: striped carnations, rhododendrons, snapdragons, yellow carnations, larkspur, anemone...
"Someone must really, really hate me." Dorian breathes, more surprised by the Tevinter style cattiness.
"W-what?" Cullen blinks.
Dorian stands and approaches Cullen and the cruel bouquet. "Where did you find this? Was it left for me somewhere? You didn't have to bring it to me." Dorian wants to take it from Cullen and burn it to ashes but th death grip the Commander has on the flowers is immovable.
"Hate you?" Cullen prompts. "Why would... They're flowers, Dorian." Cullen almost pleads. "Everyone liks flowers."
Dorian lists the flowers off again; "The carnations are for disdain and refusal, the general theme of the gifts so far, larkspur for haughtiness which I believe everyone in this keep believes me of. Snapdragons for presumptuousness, no doubt my joining the inquisition and daring to pretend I am not a blood mage Magister earned that one. The rhododendrons and anemones have me wondering if they might outright attack me soon; beware, anticipation and forsaken." Dorian waved his hand dismissively. "I am surprised they're persisting with this dramatic flare. I didn't think anyone this far south would dally so much, I had better watch for a dagger in my back at this point." Dorian sighed.
Cullen dropped the bouquet on reflex. "Maker, what..." He stared at the flowers as though they were diseased and rotting. "No, no! That isn't right!"
Dorian shrugged. "It is a common misconception that I am here for no good reasons. I am used to it." He smirked. "Besides, its amusing. All this struggling to insult and demean me. It lacks any of the finesse I was raised with."
Cullen was suddenly upon him, gripping his shoulders and eyes wide with determination. Dorian stared back in alarm, his back colliding with a bookcase as Cullen bore him against it.
"No! None of that is true. No one will harm you here- everyone adores you! Maker, the sculler maids won't shut up about yout charms. You've won everyone over and you should be proud of the way you have opened so many eyes to the possibility of good in Tevinter. These gifts weren't... they weren't that. They weren't meant to make you think that." Cullen seemed to run out of steam as his grip loosened a fraction, face colouring red and the man visibly forced himself to push on. "They were c-courting gifts."
"Courting gifts?!" Dorian repeated incredulously.
"F-from m-me." Cullen bit out, and the honest vulnerability looked like it pained him.
Dorian blinked. His mouth parted and he inhaled as if he were about to speak. Then he blinked again. "Uh..." He blinked again, scrunched up his eyes, inhaled and hazarded, "Sorry. Can you... run that by me one more time?" He definitely did not choke. No, he was just a little parched. "Is this a joke?"
Cullen made a strangled noise. "Maker, no! This is not a joke! I've been trying to court you but Lavellan told me to give you a hare- Dalish culture and my first mistake- but then the necklace was recommended by the shop vendor in the courtyard. It's Tevinter jewellery so I thought you would like something from home. The f-flowers... that was supposed to be straight forward." Cullen's gaze had dropped to the floor. "I got it right when I was seven, I gave a girl some white flowers and it worked. I didn't know they had meanings. I just.. " Cullen stepped back, on the retreat now. He had exhausted all of his determination and Dorian could see him switching tactics to salvage what dignity he could, rubbing at his neck awkwardly. "My apologies, Dorian. I shall desist."
Dorian caught Cullen's arm before the Commander could flee entirely, pulling him back round. "In Tevinter, when one is trying to court someone, they get them a gift that shows they know them. It is usually a grand gesture between the parents of the houses that are to join, as seldom is the match of choice, but all the same. The sentiment is there. Perhaps... perhaps I could forget this mishap. If you get something like that." Dorian is smiling softly, a hopeful expression and daring in his eyes. Cullen is surprised Dorian does not doubt him more, what with the disaster of his failed courting and that this is the first time Cullen has ever been inclined to a man. But Dorian believes enough to let him try again and that is enough.
"Anything. Name it." Cullen vows, so earnest and set that Dorian's smile widens and he steps closer. Cullen is painfully aware of how little bulk he has without his armour, how little there is between them when Dorian steps so easily into his space.
"That's the game, Commander. You have to find the right gift." Dorian inclines his head. "And I shall do the same."
"Cullen."
"I'm sorry?"
"My name. You can use it, if you like. I'd like you to." Cullen's face is still flushed red and his scarred lip twists up in a wry, shy smile. How the man can be such a hulking warrior and yet as endearing as a puppy is beyond Dorian.
"Cullen it is then." Dorian smiles. "You know, I have a book here..." He trails off and rummages in a disorganised pile of books before pressing one to Cullen's hands.
Cullen looks at the slim tome. "'A Complete and Comprehensive Guide to the Language of Flora'?"
Dorian smirks. "If you wanted to try the flowers again, you might want to make sure the message is right."
Dorian's laughter follows Cullen as the man nods, face flushed in excitement, and he is off down the stairs to set about his task. A man that requires just a nudge to find the right direction, Dorian is pleasantly amused to find his bedroom full to bursting of vase upon vase of pink carnations, pansies, passion flowers, sunflowers, pink tulips, red tulips, violets and apple blossoms.
The message is loud and perhaps inelegant but Dorian loves it. It is a start, though Dorian is not so easily wounded that he does not remember the failed attempts without fondness and endearing.
He sends in return only two flowers, twined together and in a tall vase that he sets on Cullen's desk. Dorian lacks confidence in this so he waits and peers into the room through a crack, watches Cullen leaf through his book when he spies the flowers. When he finds the right pages and the message is determined, Cullen sits back and smiles.
Dorian tells himself that this is all foolishness, that Cullen will realise he isn't interested in men at all and it is a passing fancy. He tells himself the way his stomach clenches in anticipation and excitement isn't what he knows it is.
His flowers speak for him, however, a black eyed susan and a red rose. Gentle encouragement and the promise of returned feelings. Dorian tells himself the pounding of his heart isn't what it seems but one look at Cullen's giddy smile and he knows it is.
This is foolish and silly and everything Dorian never dared to let himself want.