Part 10: the king of all birds

Oh the wren, oh the wren is a terrible rake

Won't you give us a penny for the little bird's wake?

It's up with the bottle and it's down with the can

Give us a penny for to bury the wren

- Heather Dale, "Hunting the Wren"

Vivienne closed the door to her office slowly, doing her best to keep her face calm and neutral.

"If this is about yesterday, First Enchanter-" Dorian began, clearly already working out his defense on the passionate session in the hallway the previous afternoon.

"No, dear, it is not. Although I would prefer that you keep your amorous activities with your templar to your chambers. You need to show a united front, but that does not give you the right to… show off, so to speak." Dorian clenched his jaw, clearly getting ready to protest. One raised hand from her, however, made him pause. Vivienne stood silent, letting her eyes glide over the neat piles of documents, books and writing implements on her desk. Her fingers itched to tidy, but there was nothing to tidy. Instead, she drew a deep breath and said;

"Please, Dorian, sit down. You ought to be seated for what I need to tell you."

Clearly reluctant, Dorian obeyed. They had known each other for long enough by this point that Dorian knew Vivienne never exaggerated anything. If she said he needed to sit down, she was about to drop something big on him. Vivienne waited a bit longer, hoping for a knock at the door, but when it did not come she instead moved around the desk so that she could be close to Dorian if he were to react the way she expected him to.

"Dorian" she said, her voice unusually gentle. She did not want to cause him the anguish she knew her words would bring. "The fennec has struck again, early this morning." Dorian looked at her blankly, clearly not understanding why she would want to tell him in private. Unless - horror crept into his eyes as he frantically searched for that link, the link he had grown used to. It had to still be there!

Vivienne, seeing the fear, put one slender dark hand over his, squeezing gently. It was an unfamiliar gesture, but as if on its own volition Dorian's hand turned over and wrapped around hers. It was as if his body knew he needed comfort, even as his mind desperately tried to protect itself. Whatever she had to say, he did not want to know.

"Your templar is safe, child." Vivienne's voice was low, soft. Comforting. Like a mother speaking to her frightened child. In fact, he is on his way here this moment."

Dorian was rather surprised, but realised quickly that a mage incapable of comforting her charges when they needed it would never have been made First Enchanter. He forced his eyes away from their joined hands and up to her eyes, finding them bright with sorrow and grief. He could read what she had not yet said in her eyes, and he started to tremble.

"No" he whispered, shaking his head in denial. "No, not-"

"Yes dear." Vivienne said, "Less than two hours ago. I am so sorry, Dorian."

"No" it would have been a wail of denial if not for the fact that his voice would not carry. Instead, it came out as an anguished whisper as tears started to slip down his cheeks. "Tell me you're lying" he begged, but she shook her head.

"I'm not, child. Wren is gone."

Just then, there was the expected knock on the door and Vivienne called,

"If it is templar Lavellan, please enter. Otherwise come back later." There was a pause, then the door opened to admit the slender red-haired elf that she had expected ten minutes ago.

"Sorry I'm-" he began, then he saw his mage and ran to him, wrapping his arms around Dorian's shaking shoulders.

"Emma sa'lath" he said, "please, what has happened? What ails you? What is wrong?" It was clear that Dorian was incapable of speech, so it was Vivienne that had to inform him.

"Wren was found murdered. The fennec." Lavellan's eyes filled with sadness as he nodded his head, then he recentered his focus on his mage. Vivienne nodded her approval; it was as it should be.

"Lets go back to our rooms" Lavellan murmured gently as he pulled Dorian to his feet. "Get you some privacy." Dorian followed him, as if in a stupor. Tears slipped down his cheeks in an unending stream, but it was clear that he was not aware enough of his surroundings to notice them. It was a relief to Vivienne to see Lavellans gentleness; what she had seen of him previously, he was rather brash and thoughtless. But the man who gently guided his mage down the hall now, was completely different. They would be alright, eventually. Lavellan's arms was the best place for Dorian right now.

Vivienne drew a deep, shaky breath as she closed the door behind them. She ran a weary hand over her face and to her surprise, it was wet when she pulled it away. She tasted one of her fingers and was even more surprised to find it salty. That was when she realised that she, too, was crying. Something inside her was splintering as she came to the heart-wrenching realisation that she could not protect her mages. Two of them dead within a month, and she had failed them both. More tears came, even though she had not given them permission. At least she was not sobbing like a child, as she sank deeper into her chair. Suddenly, she found herself jealous of Dorian. She needed her templar too. Needed her templar's arms around her, the smell of her hair. Needed to be held and comforted.

"Cassandra" she gasped, more mentally than physically. "Cassandra!"

Cassandra, who was currently walking briskly through the great hall in order to not look like she was rushing, gave up all pretense and started running. Her mage needed her.

Icthlarin pulled an unresisting Dorian through the keep, torn between holding him and hurrying so that they'd get back to their rooms as soon as possible. Dorian was an intensely private man, and Icthlarin figured that the less people that saw his mage in this state the better.

Finally they reached their own door, and Icthlarin pushed an unaware dorian inside and locked behind them. Then he wrangled his lover over to their bed, removed his shoes and coat and gently tucked him in. Finally, he removed his own shoes and crawled in next to him, holding him close and letting him weep.

Dorian cried silently, his body trembling as his tears fell onto Icthlarin's neck. He gripped his templar hard, but even though it was uncomfortable Icthlarin could feel the desperation in the hold and thus said nothing, just kept on running his hands comfortingly down the taller man's back.

They lay in silence for an unknown amount of time, giving and receiving comfort as the unbearable knowledge ate its way into Dorian's heart and took up residence there. Wren was dead. His best friend was gone. But that was impossible. It was simply impossible that the brightest soul he knew had been quenched. He would never see his smile again, never hear his laughter, never banter or joke or just talk to Wren again. He couldn't fathom it, his mind reeled and fought with all its might against the knowledge. It was too much to take in, the pain too sharp to be felt at this point in time. No, he couldn't, wouldn't, not now. Desperate for any sort of distraction, he pressed wet, trembling kisses against Icthlarin's skin, hands fumbling for straps and buttons.

Icthlarin understood exactly what Dorian was doing; he wanted to drown his pain in physical pleasure, unable to face it at this point in time. Well, if sex was what Dorian needed, then he was going to get sex. Icthlarin wound his arms around Dorian's neck, kissing his quivering mouth with all the love he had in his soul. His slim fingers found the fastenings of Dorians robe, and each piece of skin that was bared to his loving eyes was caressed first with fingers, then with lips and tongue.

Dorian laid back on the bed and let the templar explore to his heart's content, finding pleasure in being the center of such delicious attention. He felt treasured lying under his lover, like he was something rare and precious that was to be worshipped and cared for. The intensity of Icthlarin's passion for him swept through him and forced the despair into the depths of his mind, into a place where it would lie in wait until he was ready to face it. The gentleness of the kisses and caresses both ignited his passion and made him want to cry, because he could feel the tender affection in each and every one.

When Icthlarin extracted himself from Dorian's embrace to let his own clothes fall to the floor, Dorian found himself unable to tear his eyes away from the golden beauty being revealed to him; he pulled the other man close, feasting on his mouth and letting his hands run all over the delectable body. Their sighs and moans echoed through the chamber like a symphony of passion. The cries increased in volume when Icthlarin, slick and loose with oil and the attention of Dorian's fingers, carefully straddled him again, slowly sinking down on his throbbing hardness. When their bodies pressed together, signaling that they were joined as far as they possibly could, Icthlarin gave a soft, sweet little sob before he started rocking his hips, slowly at first then with increasing speed. Dorian wrapped his arms around the trembling elf, pulling him close, pushing his hips up to meet him with every thrust. Their mouths fused together, each drinking the other's passionate cries as they writhed together, passion building between them until it was a maelstrom that swept them away, making them cling to each other as their only safe harbour as the world came apart around them. When the pleasure reached its peak Dorian threw his head back and screamed out his lover's name in wild abandon, pushing in as far as he could, desperate to have everything his templar could possibly give him. And Icthlarin, beautiful generous Icthlarin, gave. The last wall in his mind fell away and in that moment they were one.

After, they laid sprawled on the rumpled bed with Icthlarin's head resting on Dorian's chest.

"That was…" He panted. Icthlarin's green eyes were bright.

"Yeah, yeah it was." Dorian pressed their mouths together, feasting on the lush sweetness that he would never get enough of. A slender hand found its way down between his legs.

"So" Icthlarin teased, "want to see if we can top that?"

"You're going to have to give me a few minutes."

"Fine" Icthlarin pouted. "I'll just help myself, then." Dorian groaned as the templar trailed scorching kisses down his chest. He was going to be the end of him. But what a glorious way to go!

Cassandra
gave Vivienne a worried glance from the corner of her eye. The First Enchanter had a decidedly grey tone to her face, and her full lips were pressed together hard. The afternoon had been very trying for them both; for Vivienne, who found herself crying in her grief, and for Cassandra who had never seen Vivienne so broken before. It had tore her own heart in two to see her mage's pain on top of the heartbreaking loss of one of Cassandra's favourite mages.

"Do you want me to do the announcement" she whispered, noting that Josephine's fork stilled momentarily. She had clearly heard, but gave no inclination. Cassandra mentally thanked the other woman for not drawing any attention their way until Vivienne was ready.

"No" the dark-skinned woman replied, "I will do it. I must do it." Vivienne stood up slowly, suddenly looking as frail as a very old woman. Her elegant white robes were as impeccable as always, but this night they only served to make her look ashy instead of darkly radiant. She tapped the edge of her wine glass with her fork, making a sweet tone ring out throughout the hall. Slowly, the chatter of the people and clatter of cutlery against plates died down until there was silence and the occasional scraping of a chair. Vivienne opened her mouth to speak and found to her horror that her throat was clogged up with tears.

"Cassandra" she choked out, struggling not to break down where anyone could see her, "has news for you." Then she sat down quickly, staring determinedly down at her tightly clenched hands. She would not cry in front of the entire keep. Her mages needed her to be strong, to lead them even in a crisis. But… oh maker, Wren was dead.

Cassandra drew a deep breath as she stood up. She was faced with row upon row of worried eyes, and she understood the anxiety very well. Never in all her years as Knight Commander had she delivered any sort of news at dinner. That had always been Vivienne. But now, it was clear to everyone that the First Enchanter was in no state to announce anything, and the anxious worry slowly made way for fear.

"The fennec has struck again" Cassandra said as she let her eyes stray to the vacant seats. There were three; one that would never be filled again and two that would. The latter two stood empty this evening due to Dorian and Icthlarin choosing to dine in their chambers rather than face the rest of the keep's inhabitants.

"Wren is dead." Cassandra said, seeing no reason to put any sort of frills on the truth. For a moment, the silence was deafening as the echo of her last words slowly faded away. Then there was pandemonium.

There were mages crying, someone was wailing, the templars were in an uproar. Wren had been a well-known figured about the keep, and he had been loved. And in the midst of the cacophony, First Enchanter Vivienne 'the woman of steel' la Fer buried her face in her hands and cried.