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Dorian woke up shivering. He would never get used to this horrible Southern weather but at least now he had his very own handsome bed warmer. “It’s cold” he whined, nuzzling closer to Cullen, hiding his face in the back of the man’s neck, pressing a line of soft kisses against his skin.
“Well, maybe if you would wear clothing that covered more than half of you it wouldn’t be quite as bad.” Dorian had been hoping for more sympathy for his plight but the commander’s voice was thick with laughter and sleep, he was clearly not taking this as seriously as he should be.
“It’s the height of fashion, not that you would know anything about that. And you can’t tell me you don’t like the view,” he pouted.
The commander chuckled drowsily and rolled over, wrapping his arms around the mage and pulling him towards him, tucking the smaller man into his chest. “I'm not denying it. Better?”
“Mmmhmm” Dorian mumbled, sighing happily. “But now I’m hungry.” He turned his head slightly to catch the man’s eye, a hopeful expression on his face.
“You’re impossible.” Cullen raised himself up on one elbow, leaned over him and brushed a quick kiss across his lips. “And it’s your turn to make the kitchen run anyway, I’ve taken the last three.”
“But it’s freezing! I’ll perish before I make it five feet out the door! Where will you find yourself another brilliant Tevinter mage so easily seduced by your barbaric charms?” Dorian punctuated his point by running his icy fingers up and down the man's chest.
“I’m sure I’ll manage.” The commander rolled his eyes and lay back down pulling the quilt over his head, face down against the pillow. “Wear a cloak. I have faith you’ll survive this somehow.”
Dorian grumbled but sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled on his boots, it was too cold to risk changing clothes entirely so he kept his bedclothes on and stomped, rather melodramatically, Cullen thought to himself with a grin as he slipped back into sleep again, down the ladder.
He stumbled on the last rung, tripping over the hem of his pants. He cast a forlorn glance at his cloak, it really wasn't made for anything beyond a light summer breeze, and then he had a thought. “Since you’re making me go out in this frozen hellscape I’m stealing your dead animal, Commander” he called over his shoulder as he whisked Cullen’s cloak around his shoulders and walked swiftly out the door, not waiting for a reply.
As he walked across the battlements to the courtyard Dorian began to see what Cullen liked about his attire, not that he would ever tell the man that. He was warm, possibly for the first time since Maker only knew when, probably since he left everything and sailed down South. He paused a moment, laid his palm across the ramparts, his fingertips drumming against the cold stone, while he buried his face in the surprisingly soft fur and took in a deep breath. Far from the dreadful musk he’d imagined the fur was surprisingly clean - he took in another breath and smelled soap, crisp and cool, the bitterness of elfroot, woodfire and ink and just barely a tiny tinge of something sweet. He couldn’t quite place it - something green and slightly floral, unfamiliar but somehow still like home. It was intoxicating, he took in one breath after another, drinking the scent deep into his lungs.
Cold hands but a cold heart no longer. The look on his face, he hurts but this touching, needing, loving, helps. Watching, waiting, wondering, will he want me tomorrow?
Dorian whirled around, searching for the source of the intrusion. He caught a quick glimpse of a hat and then it was gone, as quickly as it had appeared. “Cole! What have I told you about suddenly appearing out of nowhere like that?” There was nothing but silence but apparently the boy hadn’t yet remembered how to reliably make people forget even if he could still disconcertingly disappear before one’s very eyes.
“He did” he whispered in answer to the empty corridor, then continued onward, through the tavern. He walked quietly, loathe to wake up anyone lucky enough not to be conscious at this Maker-forsaken hour. The sun was just barely peeking over the mountains, spreading layers of pink and orange across the horizon. He tiptoed past the room he knew was Bull’s, imagining the warrior sound asleep and snoring in the bed nearly split in half with an axe until he walked into a broad, muscled chest that could only belong to one Qunari mercenary.
“Hey, little ‘Vint” Dorian jumped what must have been a foot in the air and whirled around as strong hands clasped against his shoulders. “Didn’t think you ever got up before noon.”
“Yes, well. I, ah… I had business to attend to…”
“I see you’re taking a few tips from the Commander? Actually making an effort not to freeze?” Bull rumbled, tangling his fingers between the strands of fur at Dorian’s neck. The mage gulped and looked away from Bull who was studying him intently. Oh, for years of Ben-Hassrath training, he thought, trying to keep his face as neutral as possible. Bull’s fingers moved lower, pushing the soft collar away from his neck. He stopped suddenly then a large, calloused thumb rubbed a small circle at a very particular, slightly tender spot. Fasta vass! he whispered, remembering the night before. Cullen kissing him over and over, his teeth grazing at his neck until pain mixed with pleasure, owning him, claiming him. “Oh, good for you!” Bull crowed, apparently unaware of how quiet the tavern was at this time of day. Dorian could feel his face reddening, the color spreading all the way up to his ears, as he turned and dashed down the stairs. Behind him he suddenly heard a high shriek of laughter. “Got yourself a jackboot, eh? Good to grow into, innit. Just don’t get into a fight over who has the better hair, right?” Despite himself he looked upwards. Sera. Or at least, what he thought was Sera, given that all he could see was a mess of tangled, straw-colored hair and a pair of very long ears as she hung halfway over the railing, nearly tumbling off onto the floor below all the while cackling loudly.
What were they all doing awake? At this hour of morning Skyhold was normally deserted save for a few disgruntled runners, Leliana’s crows and the servants. He supposed though that he hadn’t really been in the tavern at this time of day before, perhaps it was always like this. People who lived in and right above taverns could hardly be expected to be civilized.
As he opened the door he looked around furtively, relieved to find that the courtyard appeared blessedly empty. On walking out the door and turning the corner however he nearly ran smack into Josephine who had two strangers with her. Noble allies, he thought. Definitely not Fereldan from the look of their finery. Nor Orlesian - not quite as gaudily ornate and, more importantly, no masks. The ambassador’s eyes lit upon him, not quite at his face, definitely a few inches lower. It was difficult to tell with her but he thought he saw her eyes flicker ever so slightly and her smile deepen.
“Lord Pavus. Might I introduce Lord Dario and Lady Giuliana? They have just arrived in from Antiva, I thought to show them our fortifications.” He bowed awkwardly, all too aware of how inelegantly attired he was.
“Charmed, I’m sure. I trust you had a pleasant journey?” Not waiting for a response he turned to Josephine and nodded, “If you will excuse me, my lady?”
He nearly ran the rest of the way across the courtyard but settled for a quick walk instead, not wanting to attract anymore unwanted attention. Cassandra was across the way, swinging her sword at one of the practice dummies. She seemed completely oblivious as to his presence for which he was incredibly grateful. Surely there was no one in the main castle, it was barely past dawn. He took the stairs slowly, pausing between flights to take in the crisp morning air. Now that he wasn’t shivering it was almost enjoyable, certainly refreshing. Renewed he took the rest of the stairs up and into the castle, striding quickly across the Great Hall.
“Hey there, Sparkler,” Dorian choked back a yell that turned into a strangled sound caught in the back of his throat, his heart pounding quickly against his ribs.
“Vishante kaffas! Don’t... sneak up on people like that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”
“Dwarves don’t normally get accused of ‘sneaking up on people’, we’re not exactly known for being stealthy. Fun night?”
“I… don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, of course you don’t.” Varric smirked and sat back down to his letters, the quill resting against the parchment for a moment before he began to write. His hand was strangely delicate, Dorian thought. Not what he would have expected of a dwarf. Not that anything about Varric was what he would have expected, dwarf or otherwise.
Dorian had turned away when he heard Varric’s voice again, calling from behind him.
“Tell Curly I’m glad he’s doing something to fix his case of serious-face; I was starting to think it would be fatal. I’m sure you’ll see him before I do.” He swore he could hear the dwarf winking at him.
In the kitchens the cook was in a sour mood, more so than usual, slamming pots around and cutting vegetables menacingly. It took all the charm he could muster and the promise of a bottle of brandy to be delivered later this afternoon but finally he was sent off with a tray full of breads and the tiny, decorated cakes Cullen was so fond of.
He took the back way out of the kitchen, crossing the battlements would take longer but he would be less likely to run into anyone on his way back to bed save an errant soldier heading to the training grounds or one of Leliana’s scouts. The wind had picked up and he started to regret his choice as the frosty air nipped at his face and hands.
As he climbed the short flight of stairs to the corridor that would lead him back to Cullen’s office he saw Cassandra walking towards him. He groaned, wondering what she was doing here? Didn’t she have people to interrogate? Training dummies to stab? She eyed him suspiciously as she came closer, coming to a stop, resting her elbow on the ramparts and leaning back against the stone.
“Your quarters are not this way, Dorian. What are…” A strong breeze ruffled the fur at his neck, exposing the mark and her eyes flickered downwards briefly. Her face flushed, now that was not something the mage had ever expected to see. “Nevermind. I suppose I do not want to know.” She walked off too swiftly for subtlety, tossing a quick look over her shoulder and reddening deeper when he caught her eye.
Back in Cullen’s office he threw the cloak off Cullen's chair and placed the tray gently down on the desk, plucking up one of the small cakes he’d weaseled out of the cook and took a bite. “Oh sweet Maker, this is fabulous” he mumbled through a mouthful of sugared violets.
“Are you eating my cakes?” Cullen was halfway down the ladder now and coming closer, he threw Dorian a look of mock betrayal. “I thought you didn’t like sweets” he said as he investigated the offerings laid out on the tray. Dorian’s fingers nimbly snatched up another cake and, taking advantage of his teasing, popped it into the man’s mouth, smirking at the soft noise of pleasure Cullen made. Fereldans! he thought, so easily won.
“What can I say except that you are a very bad influence in more ways than one.” Dorian laughed, a rich, ringing tone that rippled through the room, warming everything it touched. He leaned into the man’s chest. “Incidentally you are never getting your cloak back. It’s still terribly unfashionable but I've decided that I’m keeping it. And… well. Let's just say that everyone who's anyone might know about us now. Leliana wasn't outside but I imagine she was aware already, all of the birds you know. I had rather assumed it was too early for anyone to be awake but I had forgotten how uncivilized you southerners are. By now I’m sure they’re gossiping in every corner of Skyhold.”
“Let them talk” the man said, mumbling through the end of a mouthful of cake. “At least there is something for them to gossip about. I may not relish my personal business becoming gossip fodder but I wouldn’t trade this for any amount of privacy.” Swallowing hard he grabbed onto Dorian's hips, pulling him into a long, deep kiss.