Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Conrad sat between Cullen and Cassandra, Dorian a few people away. Mother Giselle’s calm voice filled the small chantry, preaching on Andraste’s love and the Maker’s grace. Incense permeated the air, and he knew without looking that every soul in the room was focussed purely on her message of strength through tribulation. Cassandra’s face would be fierce, Cullen’s determined, Dorian’s troubled. He wondered, briefly, what Mother Giselle would read on his.
The sermon ended, and the congregation rose as one and knelt, Dorian on his right knee, instead of the left.

"O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights
Set my heart against the temptation of the wicked
Make me to rest in the warmest places.

O Creator, see me kneel:
For I walk only where You would bid me
Stand only in place You have blessed
Sing only the words you have placed in my throat.

My Maker, know my heart
Lift me from a life of sorrow
Take me from a world of pain
Judge me worthy of Your endless pride.

My Creator, judge me whole:
Find me well within Your grace
Touch me with fire that I be cleansed
Tell me that I have sung to Your approval.

O Maker, hear my cry:
Seat me by Your side in death
Make me one within Your glory
And let the world once more see Your favour.

For You are the fire at the heart of the world
And comfort is only Yours to give."

As he chanted, Conrad felt at peace. He was Andraste’s chosen. Her Herald. Through Her will, he would conquer Corypheus and see the world put to rights. Fleetingly, Conrad felt his doubts, his failures, the weight of his task lifted from his shoulders. He was but a tool, wielded by the Maker’s Bride. Duty and honour commanded he did not fight her Will.

The service came to a close, as Mother Giselle spoke the benediction. The congregation left the chantry, some thoughtful, others filled with purpose. Cassandra and Cullen made for the training grounds, to beat some skill into raw recruits, Dorian returning to his niche in the library to continue his research. Conrad strode across the hall, intent on returning to Bull as fast as he could, before the world interrupted them.
Too late.
“Your Grace, if I might have a word?”
Duty before pleasure. Conrad halted mid step and swung to face the speaker.
“How may I help?”

Chapter Text

Conrad eyed the not-insignificant hole in his window with increasing dislike. The wind howled in off the Frostbacks, negating the roaring fire and plush blankets piled on his oversized bed and making it impossible to sleep. Grumbling, he rolled the thickest, threw it over his shoulder and stomped down the interminable stairs. Thankfully, the Great Hall was empty at this hour, braziers burning low and candles snuffed. Crossing through Madame de Fer’s lair, he braved the gantry above the Chantry garden, wind tossing his hair back into his face and causing goosebumps to creep up his arms.
He came to a halt in front of Dorian’s door and knocked loudly.
A gleam of magelight appeared as the door slowly creaked open, and Dorian’s mussed, sleepy face appeared. “Conrad, what in blazes are you doing? It’s cold, not to mention the middle of the night.”
“There’s a hole in my window.”
“There’s a what in your where? Come inside so I can close the blighted door.”
Conrad stepped inside and tossed his blanket on Dorian’s bed.
“There’s a hole in my window,” he repeated, “I put my sword through it this morning.”
“Dare I ask what you were doing flinging that oversized hunk of metal around in your quarters?”
Conrad shifted from foot to foot and rubbed at a large scab on his bicep.
“There was a spider. I hate spiders.”
“Yes, alright, so you broke your window trying to behead a spider- you do know a slipper works just as well? And you didn’t tell Josephine, obviously, or it would be fixed, and now you’re here, in my room, at whatever Maker-damned time of the night this is?”
“Bull’s away with the Chargers.”
“I know that, but why me? Why wake me up?”
Conrad took a deep breath and recited “Varric kicks, Sera sleeps on a bench, Cassandra would have kittens, aside from the fact that she lurks in the smithy on a bedroll, Blackwall sleeps in the barn, Cole doesn’t have a bed because he doesn’t sleep, Cullen barely sleeps as it is, and can you imagine what would be left of me if I woke Solas or Vivienne? That leaves you. With stone walls, and a bed. And. And. You hate the cold as much as I do. I brought an extra blanket and body heat.”
Dorian appears to have been hit in the face with a fish. Clearly, too many words too late at night.
He scratches his bare chest absentmindedly.
“Mother Giselle will have a cow; you do know that? I would have thought you were too devout to do anything to upset her.”
“Devout, Dorian. Not dead. I upset her already when I didn’t boot you out.” A sly smirk appears, pulling the corner of his mouth up “a little more upset won’t kill her.”
Dorian sighs, defeated. “Get in, then. At the very least, they won’t know where to find you in the morning. We can sleep until noon and drink the day away.”
Conrad nods “I’ll come back right after morning service.”
“Oh, Maker, there is no hope.”