AN: I am a lying liar who said I'd chill out posting here. I figured it made sense to put Swan Song-verse stories here! Also I am a liar. Swan Song isn't required reading to have a good time with this story, but it is recommended. Hope you enjoy anyway!

His son was silent on the walk over to the new townhouse. It was new to him, not to Terrance; the apartment had been his for a little over four months, but Kieran hadn't wanted to see it even over video call. Now, his son had little choice.

Terrance unlocked the door with his good hand, dropping Kieran's bag to do so.

"Dad," Kieran complained, gesturing to the duffel in the dirt.

"I got my arm in a sling," Terrance replied, a little more snappishly than he meant. Kieran's lips went tight, an expression so like his mother's that Terrance felt guilt nibbling at the corners of his stomach. "I'm sorry, Kier. Look, the door's open now."

Kieran picked up his bag, again in silence, and walked inside with his shoulders back and head held high. The guilt gnawed more vigorously now—Kieran's straight back always made Terrance think the kid was about to cry.

"Your room's to the left," Terrance called, and Kieran trudged obediently to the left. Silent.

He didn't say much even on a good day, but today was certainly not one of those. Today was Kieran's first day in a new city, and tomorrow would be a new school. Today was the day the divorce had gone through. Today was the day his mother had dropped him off at the airport with no promise of when she'd be back. And Terrance had dumped his bag at the door of his new home as if he wasn't welcome.

School did not take to Kieran, or maybe Kieran didn't take to school. He wasn't bullied, at least according to him, but he wasn't making friends. The other kids weren't smart enough or interesting enough or had nothing in common with him; his teachers at Back to School Night told Terrance that Kieran had "such potential" that was "going to waste" with his solitude and unwillingness to speak up unless called on.

"Did you learn anything fun today?" Terrance asked him one night over a tense dinner. Kieran only fixed him with a cold stare. Terrance foolishly tried again. "Did anything stand out?"

"I preferred it when Mom homeschooled me," Kieran said, and returned to staring at his broccoli.

They chewed in uncomfortable silence, but after a few moments, Terrance tried for one final time. "What did you like best about Mom's homeschooling?"

"I'm not a little kid, Dad," the twelve-year-old said.

"I'm not—" Terrance protested, but Kieran shook his head and he shut up.

"You are. It's okay, though. It's been a while." Kieran stood, taking his plate with him. "I'm done."

Terrance set his fork down and exhaled after Kieran went into the kitchen, a long sigh to dispel all his frustration. Kieran, for all his precociousness, was right. It had been a while. He and Morrigan had done their equal part of raising Kieran in the early days of their relationship, when getting married had seemed like the proper thing to do for their kid. But when Terrance had been traded to the Kirkwall Dragons and Morrigan had elected to stay in Ferelden with their son, he'd missed out on Kieran getting older, turning into more of a real person. Baby Kieran was all he remembered.

Kieran scuttled out of the kitchen and reached for Terrance's plate to clear. "Thanks," Terrance said, surprised. Kieran nodded, a quick jerk of his head, and slid back to the kitchen sink.

He moved with such grace, like his mom always had. Terrance, for his part, only knew how to move when he was on the ice with a stick in his hands and fifteen pounds of protective gear on his body. Kieran poked his head back into the family room. "I'm leaving the rest for you. I'm going to do my homework."

"Thanks." He rose and headed into the kitchen to finish doing the dishes. The heavy steaming pot was on the drying rack already. Terrance glanced over his shoulder, but Kieran was long gone. His wrist twinged, as if relieved to not have to wash such a heavy pot himself.

The guidance counselor had suggested Kieran take up community service or an after-school activity, he remembered. Maybe that wasn't such a terrible idea after all.

"I want to go to this one." Terrance made an inquisitive noise from his seat at the computer. He sensed rather than heard his son scamper up to the desk, the hairs on his arms prickling.

One of the many pamphlets Terrance had brought home was shoved into his sight on the desk. By the time he registered the sight of the photos of kids in leotards, Kieran had already retreated to his room. "Kier," Terrance called, standing from the office chair. Nothing. "Kieran, I'm not done talking to you." He heard a creak, like Kieran had taken a cautious step forward. "Kieran, I'm glad to sign you up for this one. Just—just come talk to me."

Kieran's black head poked out of the doorway, and when he caught sight of his father's expression, the rest of him followed suit, slinking into the hallway. "You're not—you're okay with it? It's really okay?"

"Of course I am," Terrance replied, baffled. "Why wouldn't I?"

His son's eyes slid away, towards the framed jersey on the wall, then flicked back to meet him. "I dunno. Thanks, Dad." He began inching back towards his room.

"Kier, hold on a sec, okay?" Terrance fixed his gaze on Kieran with the same intensity that he had uncooperative refs; "marked by the Inquisitor," the guys used to joke after a game.

"I was gonna do my homework."

But of course his son would be immune.

"Kieran, you know I want you to be happy, right?"

Kieran looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, or better yet, escape to his room and lock the door, maybe banishing his father to another dimension for good measure. Not today, kid. "Yeah, Dad."

"I'm gonna support you in anything, whatever you set your mind to. As long as it's legal." He cracked a smile, but Kieran just gave him that curious steady stare so typical of him. "You don't have to be afraid of me—I dunno—disapproving, or not standing by you."

"Yeah, I know."

"If that means doing dance, then I'm a big fan." Terrance shook the pamphlet with emphasis. "If that means doing hockey, I'm still a fan. Whatever you set your mind to—"

"I know, Dad. Thanks. Can I go do my homework now?"

Terrance nodded, a few times more than he needed to perhaps. When he heard Kieran's desk chair creak, he settled back at his own desk and begin filling out the paperwork for the after-school dance program.

"So?"

"So, what?"

"You know what I mean, Kieran."

"Oh, the dance class. Yeah, it was really fun."

"Fun?"

"Mhm. The instructor's really nice."

Kieran certainly seemed to smile more easily now, more forthcoming in conversation. He'd even made a few friends who took part in the same program—Connor, a grade above him, seemed to be his closest ally. None yet in Kieran's class itself, but it had only been a month since the first class of the year. There was time for that yet, and at least Terrance wasn't getting such worrying emails from the teacher about his son's reclusiveness anymore.

All this, it seemed, he owed to the delightful instructor, whom he'd yet to meet. Kieran couldn't seem to shut up about him, or rather, he was more talkative when the subject of the program was brought up.

"He has fire in him, you know. Kind of wakes everyone up, like he's waking the dead," Kieran said with one of his small smiles.

"The dead? People don't pay attention?"

"Some of us do. But a lot of kids don't want to be there, I don't think. At the end of the afternoon, everyone's into it, though." He paused. "For the most part."

That made Terrance go on alert. "There a kid you don't like? There someone you need me to talk to?"

Kieran's eyebrows shot straight up. Terrance flinched, angry at his own anger, his protectiveness that he didn't know he'd had, but to his surprise and great relief, his son laughed.

So it was really due to Kieran's continuous cryptic half-answers about the program that made Terrance decide to actually attend one of the classes.

The instructor, as it turned out, was striking, to say the least. Terrance didn't know the last time he'd seen such a perfectly groomed mustache, if ever, and certainly not on such a young man. He couldn't be thirty, and, judging by the smoothness of his face, hadn't had a kid at eighteen or gotten in fights on the ice.

Terrance had no idea what he'd expected. Kieran focused on the self, not the looks, of the people he judged worthy of talking about. His son wouldn't have mentioned how handsome Dorian Pavus was, wouldn't've said the instructor clearly knew so. Terrance was one of a handful of watchful parents slightly sweaty from running to the athletic center studio after a day in the office, and Dorian seemed to glow under the scrutiny of so many suit-garbed audience members. He'd cast a quick look Terrance's way—the newest attendee to impress—and then had focused all his attention on the kids.

Whatever Dorian was telling them to do, most of them seemed into it. A couple kids dragged their feet or shambled in the back of the group of fourteen, but Dorian kept an alert eye on them all. Kieran, whose eyes had slid to the door upon his father's entrance and then darted back to Dorian, hardly needed instruction, at least in Terrance's ignorant opinion. Dorian stretched out a long, brown arm and clicked his remote, and as soon as his "One, two, three, and—!" ended and the synths and drums picked up, Kieran slunk into liquid action.

Some of the kids, bless their hearts, stopped moving in the first ten seconds, looked about themselves in confusion, and continued dancing with their heads turning to keep an eye on everyone else's movements. An older redhead boy near Kieran improvised when Dorian was demonstrating correct footwork in front of a student, not looking at him. And Kieran, with fluid grace and closed eyes, sliding one way as the awkward gait of his preteen body curved into softer motions, spinning the other way like a puck across the ice…

Kieran didn't look like Morrigan at all. Definitely not like stocky, lumbering Terrance, but also not like Morrigan, not her sharp angles and spiky dancing, not like her lightning crackling down to earth to set it ablaze. Kieran was all frost melting on a grassy slope, icy water trickling downhill.

Terrance blinked and shook his head. He was falling asleep in this metal folding chair, thinking abstract dream-thoughts. He turned his attention back to the instructor, hoping the man could "wake the dead" as Kieran had suggested, but to his surprise, Dorian clicked off the music and began guiding the kids in stretching. Terrance glanced at his watch, tired eyes struggling to read the clock face, and by the time he'd deduced it was indeed time to go home, the instructor was striding towards him. He'd barely broken a sweat.

"I'm glad my class riveted you so," the instructor said with a grin.

"I've had a long day," Terrance defended himself with instant heat. Dorian raised a black eyebrow. His bad wrist twitched, and he used the other hand to rub the back of his neck. "Sorry. Long day, like I said. You do good work with the kids."

"And which 'kid' are you proud to be parent of?"

"Kieran," he answered with a nod in the boy's direction. Kieran was chatting to another student, the redheaded improviser, with more animation than he ever showed at home.

Dorian nodded his own head approvingly. "Kieran shows real promise, Mr. Wilde," he said.

"It's Lavellan. I'm Terrance Lavellan. Kieran has his mother's last name."

"Terrance Lavellan," Dorian mused, rubbing his chin. A bracelet flashed on his wrist, momentarily catching Terrance's eye. "Terrance Lavellan. I'm sure I've heard that name somewhere."

Terrance flicked his gaze back up to Dorian's face and grimaced. "Formerly of the Kirkwall Dragons." At Dorian's blank look, he tried again. "Hockey. Professional hockey."

Dorian snorted. "That certainly doesn't explain why I've heard your name before, but I suppose sports headlines do occasionally seep into my handsome skull." Terrance didn't know how to respond to such a comment, but Dorian shook his head and extended a hand. "My apologies. I'm being terribly rude and haven't properly introduced myself. Dorian Pavus."

Terrance took the proffered hand and shook it.

"Strong handshake," Dorian said with a wink.

"Used to gripping a stick," a baffled Terrance replied without thinking better of it.

"I bet."

"I'm ready, Dad," Kieran piped up from somewhere below Terrance's elbow.

"Right," Terrance said, staring at Dorian, who in turn stared at Kieran.

"Dad?"

"Right," Terrance repeated, coming to his senses. "Let's go, Kier."

"I can handle my bag," Kieran complained, tugging it closer when Terrance reached for it on their way out the door. Dorian waved, a small smile on his face.

"Right."

"Terrance," Cassandra surprised him one afternoon as he was putting on his jacket to go home, "some acquaintances of mine were planning a trip to the rink later this week, and I wanted to invite you to join us."

Terrance shrugged his coat on all the way. "I can't play anymore," he said with an apologetic tilt of his head even as a spike of self-hatred flashed through his gut. Cassandra shook her head.

"We're just going ice skating. One of my acquaintances was retired after an injury of his own, and he still gets on the ice with us. I don't mean to pressure you," she added hastily when she saw him hesitate.

"I just need to find a sitter, depending," he explained.

"Oh, Kieran can come too, if he'd like."

The thought of Kieran being asked to go on such an excursion swam into Terrance's mind. He could see the kid's grimace, could hear his eyes roll in his head. "I'll ask him," he promised. "Who's the retired player?"

"You might know him as the Iron Bull. I'll introduce you."

"No way," Terrance laughed. The Iron Bull had been traded to so many teams for so many seasons that Terrance couldn't even remember what team he'd originally played for. Bull was one of the bigger guys, intimidating on and off the ice—at least, he'd only heard about the latter being true. "Well, I'll ask Kieran, but count me in for the time being."

Back at home, Kieran made the same face he'd imagined, though the eyeroll had been less dramatic than anticipated. "All right, I'll need to find a sitter," Terrance mumbled to himself.

Kieran exploded. "I don't need a sitter!" he objected, voice cracking in outrage. "I'm twelve years old, Dad. I'm not a little kid who needs someone to make sure I don't fall down the stairs or play with the outlets or order pizza for me!"

Terrance, taken aback, only said, "So you don't want me to leave you money to order pizza?"

"No!" Kieran snapped, then widened his eyes and softened his tone. "I mean, yes, please. But not so a sitter can order it for me!"

"You don't know the city very well," Terrance tried again, but Kieran looked on the verge of exploding again, and he changed tactics. "So, uh, just promise me you won't go out except to tip the delivery person, okay?"

"Yeah, okay. I promise. Thanks."

Cassandra brought the subject up again at the office the next day, setting a more concrete date for Friday evening after work. Terrance told her about Kieran's outrage at the mere mention of a sitter and laughed, but Cassandra's mouth was turned down in disapproval.

"You should be more disciplined with him," she scolded. Apparently they were on good enough terms now for her to offer parenting advice. Terrance bristled even more at her next words. "From what you've told me of his mother, I doubt she would have let him talk to her like that."

"No one gives you a book on parenting, Cassandra," he defended himself with some heat. "I'm doing the best I—"

"What I mean is that he knows you're more lenient and is taking advantage of that," she continued as if he'd said nothing at all. "You cannot let your twelve-year-old son dictate the rules."

Terrance rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe I should be firmer," he admitted, "but in this case, I think he was right. Sure, he probably shouldn't've freaked out at me, and I probably should've told him that, but I'm not used to dealing with kids his age. It's like, he's awkwardly between a little kid and a real person."

Cassandra frowned. "A 'real person?' Maybe he should come, Terrance. Give you some opportunity to get to know your son, as a 'real person.'"

"I told you, he didn't want to come."

"Cassandra," their boss, Lucius, boomed from across the room. "I have some more paperwork that needs your careful eye."

"I'll see you Friday," Terrance said more calmly at Cassandra's raised eyebrows. "I'm looking forward to meeting your friends."

"Acquaintances," she corrected. "I will see you then."

At the rink on Friday, when the Iron Bull introduced his teenage son Krem, Terrance wished for a moment that Kieran had even shown interest in coming. Krem was easygoing even in the company of adults, joking at his father's expense while they waited in line to rent skates. Terrance had brought his own, but thought he owed it to Cassandra to at least mingle with her "acquaintances."

Aside from the Iron Bull, more hulking and with broader shoulders than Terrance remembered and with an eyepatch from the nasty injury that had cost him his career, and from Krem, Cassandra also introduced him to Cullen Rutherford, and a bearded man she initially called Tom before he corrected her with a slow smile and a soft, "Blackwall, if you please."

They were an odd company, all except for the young Krem sporting some sort of healed injury or scar, reminding Terrance that he hadn't known too much about Cassandra before he'd gotten this finance job. He made a mental note to invite her and her acquaintances to drinks afterwards. He wondered how she knew them.

"I haven't skated in so long," Cullen grinned his way with a pair of rentals bundled in his arms. "I see our new friend came prepared, however."

Terrance laughed, swinging his skates by the laces. "I'll help you keep your balance, Cullen. Just grip onto me."

Cullen smiled down at him. Terrance really was among giants, he couldn't help but think—even Cassandra was taller than him. "If I fall, you're going down with me."

To his own embarrassment, Terrance felt heat rise to his cheeks. Fortunately, Cullen was responding to some comment Bull made and was no longer looking at him.

Adjusting the wrist brace he'd brought instead of his sling, Terrance struggled to lace up his skates on the bench. He cast a furtive eye at the company, hoping none of them saw his feeble attempts, and, satisfied, returned to his fumbling.

It felt good to get on the ice again. It felt really, really, really good to feel the blades cutting into the rink, to kick fake snow off his skates, to scrape into the ice on a hard brake. It felt good to move, to race, to get some familiar exercise. While his balance was a little off and he hurt his bad arm stopping himself on the wall when he skidded, he laughed when he fell and laughed when Cullen fell and laughed at the strangers falling and it just…

He wished his son could just understand.

Across the rink, Krem tried to push Bull, and Terrance heard his booming laugh resonate across the echoey walls over the pop music pumped in through the speakers, and with the sound, Terrance's gloom dissipated. Krem was seventeen, five years older than Kieran, and was obviously more grown-up at his age. Kieran would feel at ease, too, one day. He just had to give him time.

Cassandra slid to a stop near him. She, for her part, had no trouble adjusting to the ice. She followed Terrance's line of sight, at Krem and Bull trying to lap each other, and looked about to say something.

"I'm not being fair, am I?" Terrance said, just loud enough to be heard over the music.

"Probably not," Cassandra agreed. Terrance laughed, just once.

"You really don't pull punches."

"Now is not the time to spare your feelings. I have not met your son, but I believe it is a universal problem with all parents to try to make your child into something they are not." She nodded at Bull and Krem when they whizzed past, laughing. "Bull has accepted his son for who he is, not who he expected him to be. Whatever expectations you have of Kieran, whatever understandings you would like to come to with him, release them. You will be constantly disappointed otherwise."

"You don't even have children, Cassandra," Terrance, stung, couldn't help but point out.

"No," she admitted. "But I have parents. And I would have liked them to have received this advice."

The bar on the edge of Lowtown he'd suggested, The Hanged Man, seemed to make Cassandra wrinkle her nose, especially when the bartender had offered her a cheerful wave, but everyone else had a roaring good time. Bull made the excuse that it would be poor form to send Krem home alone, but Cassandra, Blackwall, and Cullen made up for their absence. It was a little late by the time Terrance made it back home, but he was surprised to see Kieran still up, the TV illuminating the empty pizza box and soda bottle.

"Did you have fun?" Kieran asked the moment his coat was in the closet.

Terrance smiled in the closet's direction. Blackwall, laughing at some story Cullen was whispering about a former boss of his, had slapped Terrance on the back so hard that he was fairly certain there was still beer trapped in his lungs. "Yeah," he told his son, "yeah, they were nice people."

Kieran nodded seriously. "I'm glad." He turned back to the TV, where a dancing reality show was playing in quiet tones.

"Hey, isn't it past your bedtime?" Terrance asked, half-joking.

Kieran scoffed. "It's Friday and I don't have a bedtime." He gestured towards the TV. "Besides, it's not like I'm watching something you'd disapprove of." Still, he flicked his eyes his father's way, as if worrying he would disapprove.

Cassandra's pep talk bubbled, unbidden, to the surface of Terrance's mind. He took a deep breath. "Mind if I watch with you?"

Kieran stole another look at him, then turned back to the TV with a shrug. "Isn't it past your bedtime?"

Terrance relaxed onto the sofa next to him, getting comfortable. "Probably."

"Move your knees," Kieran complained, trying to shove Terrance's knee away, but when Terrance only spread out more, his shoves were interrupted by his own laughter. "Sto-op!"

Once they'd agreed on a mutually comfy sitting position, Terrance tried to pay attention to the show. The judge's comments were insipid and dull, and when the cameras went to the rehearsals pre-performance, his eyes glazed over as the dancers talked about their process. But the performances themselves had sexy costumes and admittedly cool routines, and with Kieran sitting next to him making comments on each number and his foot tapping against the carpet, Terrance couldn't say it was a waste of time.

"Are you going to pick me up every time?" Kieran asked without trace of annoyance Monday after his dance program wrapped up. A flash of gold bracelet intruded upon Terrance's line of vision. Dorian approached.

"Hello, Terry," he beamed, resting a hand on Kieran's shoulder. Kieran glanced up, but didn't flinch away. "Here to applaud your son's magnificent performance today, I assume."

Dorian's arm muscles were very prominent, tensing in the arm's position as he released Kieran's shoulder. Kieran looked down bashfully. "I got out of work too late to see it this time," he said with a tired grin at the instructor.

"What a shame," Dorian chided him. "Our Kieran here has made leaps and bounds of progress—oh, don't sidle away, Kier; I know you eat everyone's admiration right up."

Terrance blinked. It was only natural that Dorian should use the same nickname for his son that he did. There wasn't much playing to be done with the name 'Kieran,' after all. Still, it said good things about Dorian, for some reason. "Everyone's been admiring him?"

"Ask him yourself," Dorian said, inclining his head Kieran's way. "Go on, tell him what Connor said. Don't clam up in front of your father."

Kieran wrenched his eyes away from his sneakers to look at Terrance's chin. "Connor said I dance better than him," he mumbled.

"He's a very modest man, don't you think? Connor was much more exuberant in his praise," Dorian said with cheer. Terrance nodded.

"I'll have to come by earlier next time. Traffic's been bad."

Dorian made a face. Kieran, looking bored, began checking his cell phone. "What with all the construction and protests recently, that doesn't surprise me."

"No protests today, thank the Maker," Terrance sighed. "It was construction today, and like I said, I already got out of work late."

"And what is it you do again, Terry? Now that you're basking in retired-hockey-glory?" Dorian inspected his immaculate nails, trimmed short. The bracelet slid down his wrist with interesting slowness. Terrance cleared his throat to answer.

"I work in personal finance. Small office—Corin Finance in Hightown."

Dorian nodded. "A long way away from my humble place in Lowtown."

"You live in Lowtown, huh?" Terrance tried, but to his embarrassment, Dorian unfurled a slow smile and let his hand fall to his side.

"I meant the program building. The one we're standing in. In Lowtown."

"Right," Terrance said, feeling his face turn red. "Of course."

"For the record, I live in Hightown," Dorian said, but he wasn't looking at Terrance, rather beyond him, and he didn't look happy.

"Bad roommates?" Terrance guessed. Dorian's eyes snapped back to Terrance's face.

"Something like that."

He didn't pry further. "Well, I hope it gets better for you."

Dorian's smile was tight when he said, "Me too." His face relaxed into an easier expression all of a sudden. "Here I've chatted to you about traffic, work, and neighborhoods and I scarcely know anything interesting about you. I assure you, Terry, I'm usually not so much of a bore."

That startled a chuckle out of Terrance. "I doubt anyone's ever accused you of being a bore, Dorian," he said, his eyes drawn to the bright purple workout tank with a silver foil graphic of a man doing a split.

"You're right," Dorian agreed. "They haven't. I was just being polite."

"Well, on the note of politeness," Terrance said, waving at Kieran, "I think we should go get some soup and subs."

Kieran perked up from his cell phone. "Soup?" he said with a big smile.

"Figured we'd go to Mrs. Elegant's for dinner," Terrance suggested, rewarded by the smile growing to the point of threatening to split his son's face in two. "Don't feel like cooking."

"Thanks for today, Mr. Pavus," Kieran chirped, sliding over to stand next to Terrance.

"Not inviting me?" Dorian teased him. "Saying goodbye already? You don't think I'd like some soup?" Kieran furrowed his brow, but Dorian burst into laughter and flicked his hand towards the boy in a shooing gesture. "I'm giving you a hard time. Go on, go get some soup."

"He's really nice," Kieran said once they'd left the building.

"So you've said."

"Didn't you think he was nice, Dad?"

Through the window, he could see Dorian's slim figure gesturing animatedly to another parent. He could see him throw back his head and laugh.

"Great guy," Terrance said to the window. Kieran was a step ahead of him now, and he shook his head and increased his pace. "Yeah, a really great guy."