Author's Notes: This is SFW this time. Dorian is far, FAR too much fun to write. I'm writing an Iron Bull/Cullen M rated oneshot, so I will post that sooooonish I guess? I'm still stuck on a particular part...

Thank you for all of the kind words and faves thus far! It warms the heart.

Despite everything that happened, do you think on your time in the Circle much?

Cullen must have read that line a hundred times. It had been a few days since he received Warden Amell's gift and letter, and he was still stuck on what to write back to her. He hadn't tried the tea yet; he hadn't had a day bad enough to warrant him drinking it. The pain usually came in waves, and he was having a rather lucky reprieve from the worst of it.

But still... what was he supposed to write to her?

His cheeks burned as he remembered his lascivious thoughts from the last few nights, and what he'd done. Others may have been able to simply put it out of their mind, but Cullen couldn't just pretend he hadn't used her image to get himself off, brush it away and pretend it didn't happen.

But he couldn't just write to her and tell her he wanted to make love to her under the moonlight, either. Or tell her that when he thought of the Circle he thought of being tortured.

Honestly, he didn't want to write back at all; he wanted to throw it in the fire and be done with it, pretend it never happened, but then he would read the line from her previous correspondence - I wish I could express with words how much these letters have meant to me over the past few months... and his gut would twist painfully at the thought of her out there, waiting for his reply and never receiving one. He knew how he would feel if that happened; he would wonder if perhaps something had happened to her, until eventually he would come to the conclusion that whatever they had, whatever it was with the letters, was over.

So he couldn't not write back. Cullen just had no idea what to say without saying I think of you fondly... and naked.

Even the fondly part of that sentence was the part he still got stuck on. What if she didn't feel the same... ?

Grumbling, he tore the draft into pieces and brushed the strips of paper off his desk and onto the floor (he made sure to use the cheap parchment and not the good vellum, again). He would think about what to write when he wasn't so busy, with the stack of edicts and missives to his right and an urgent request from Rylen in his Messenger's hand, he had more than his fair share of work to do without worrying about writing something of less import.

He made a note in aside to write to Mia as well before the end of the week; she would threaten to visit him otherwise. That was a whole other situation to handle if it were to come to that.

The day rolled by as he completed orders and missives, patrolled the barracks with one of his front-line soldiers as he probed him for answers on how their forces were doing out in the Exalted Plains with their liberation of the Orlesian camps there, and inspected how the armoury was coming along with their new order of weapons before he finally had a few moments to himself. He hadn't even managed to get his quill into the glass pot of ink on his desk before he heard the metal crunch of a boot connecting with his front door, blowing it open and making him jump so hard he very nearly cleaved his sword right through the table.

"So soft, the lilt of her voice is;

A bell in the distance,

A song on the wind,

It wrests the ear without

Care or countenance.

All eyes on her,

With just a word-"

Dorian strode into the room, an open book held casually in his hand as he read aloud, annunciating every word like a town crier telling the people their Monarchy was betrothed. The Inquisitor was leaning against the door frame behind him, smirking at the display.

"Dorian, what are you-" Cullen tried to say, but the Mage's voice increased considerably, cutting over him-

"She speaks as though words were

Whispered sighs in the morn',

Gentle conversation,

Moments of aching silence.

My ears are wrested, too,

In the candour

Of her audacity...

Yet I cannot tear myself away."

Cullen was not amused, "... Exactly what do you think you're doing?!"

The Inquisitor chuckled underneath his breath as Dorian haughtily folded the book shut with a snap, tucking it between his arm and rib as he crossed his arms. The big Qunari had to duck to enter the room so as not to smash his horns against the lintel, standing beside the Mage with an equally infuriating smirk.

"Why, we're helping, of course," Dorian said, patting the spine of the book fondly, "I'm sure something in here will give you some inspiration, although Vox Eius is rather delightful, don't you think?"

"Inspiration for what?"

The Inquisitor's smirk widened considerably as he replied, in his deep, rumbling voice; "There's been talk of your... involvement with the Warden Commander of the Grey. I hear you've been exchanging love-letters,"

"Maker's Breath," the Commander ground out from behind clenched teeth, bracing his hands against the edge of the desk, "how many more times am I going to have this exact conversation?! They're not love letters, they're just... letters between friends, now can we please drop the subject?"

"My my, such defensiveness," the Mage tutted, "I take it this has come up more than once-"

"The next person to come into this office and reference Warden Commander Amell in a way that isn't strictly professional is getting thrown over the barracks wall," he warned, releasing his grip on the abused desk to flex out his fingers. Honestly.

Leliana and a few choice Wardens were one thing, the Inquisitor coming to taunt him about it was entirely another. He could handle their jeering with a reprimand, but there was no reprimanding a higher ranking official, and while the Qunari was usually quiet, he wasn't completely above getting a few digs in at his followers expense every once in a while. He'd heard all about the Inquisitor's taunting of Cassandra's love of smutty novels from Varric in the tavern some evenings ago. The dwarf suggested there was something between the two, but Cullen had trouble picturing Cassandra with any sort of romantic inclinations, let alone with the Inquisitor.

Dorian exchanged a look with the Inquisitor before shaking his head, "All those empty threats are looking very defensive, Commander, I'll admit I'm starting to believe there's some truth to these rumours-"

"Those threats are not empty, believe me."

The stuck-up smirk on the Inquisitor's face said a lot for how much he enjoyed the banter between them – secretly Cullen wished that he could make good on the threat and hang the Tevinter Mage over the edge of the barracks by his ankles, mess up that manicured pomp he appeared to be so proud of. How was he even supposed to argue 'defensiveness' anyway? If he said he wasn't - it was a lie, if he said he was – then he would never live it down.

"Now now, there will be no throwing people over barracks," the Inquisitor chuckled, interrupting them, "we've been trying to escape Lady Montilyet's preparations for the ball at Halamshiral. Care for a few games of chess to escape her war-path?"

"... She's not on her way here, is she?"

"Last I heard, she was saying something about getting your measurements for a tailored coat to one of her messengers,"

"... Very well, I'll meet you in the gardens. Just give me a moment,"

A busy Josephine Montilyet was bad enough, a busy Josephine Montilyet preparing for a Grand Ball in Orlais was like a Mabari with an ox-bone – all teeth, and good luck trying to wrest the thing from the beast. He was not going to put himself in her line of sight if he could help it.

Passing whatever updated maps were left on his desk to his disgruntled messenger, he sent the dwarf on her way with the towering stack and made for the gardens, keeping an eye out for the busy Antivan. The thick smell of wild-flowers and incense wafted past him; he nodded to Mother Giselle as he spotted Dorian and Adaar setting up the pieces on the board at the other end of the courtyard.

The distraction was good, and he knew that the Inquisitor was purposefully not leaving Skyhold in preparation for the Grand Ball and was probably bored out of his mind. Though he was usually quiet, Cullen noticed that the Qunari took the time to visit those under him and was likely filling up his time with that, to talk or in some cases even help them with personal matters. He wasn't going to forget the kind words the Qunari said to him after he nearly took his head off with his old Lyrium kit, and he knew he wasn't the only one who owed something to the behemoth.

"I've been researching strategies," Dorian boasted to him as he sat opposite, "I hope you are prepared, Commander,"

Cullen snorted, shrugging, "If your strategies include illegally moving pieces around the board, then I can assure you you've already lost."

The Inquisitor leaned against the railings, shaking his head at them. Dorian absolutely despised the idea that Cullen was better than him at chess and looked for every opportunity to best him. He'd used old Tevene strategies that he guaranteed were unbeatable, and when they failed to work he would try to cheat and then Cullen would really be able to beat him. He'd even caught the man playing against Solas in an effort to better himself, trying to employ the elf's style of feinting.

The only times he'd won or came close to winning were the times when he didn't use dirty tactics. He was a better strategist than he gave himself credit for, but until he had the leading score, there would be no abating his ambitions.

For the first few moves they had been mostly silent; Dorian's brow furrowed deeply as he drew upon his "master strategy" which Cullen had yet to see – as far as he knew it was just a bluff and he hadn't made any moves to the contrary. The Inquisitor also cheated; he was more adept at it than the Mage but Cullen knew where his pieces were at all times, and changed his tactics to suit as the game progressed. It was possibly why the Qunari was watching instead of playing.

"So..." the Qunari piped up, "I assume, by your reaction earlier that you're not exchanging romantic poetry with the Hero of Ferelden-"

"Remember that threat about the Barracks wall? That extends to you too..."

"I just wanted to ask a few questions," he grinned, putting up his hands in surrender, "I didn't know you knew her. I knew she was a Circle Mage, but that was about it."

"I can't say I knew her that well, but if you want to ask about her, I suppose you can," he said, noticing that Dorian was attempting to feint with his rook, trying to corner him. He decided to wait a few turns to see what he would do, and took one of his pieces offhandedly.

"Well, I've heard the stories, but I've never seen any illustrations or paintings. What did she look like?"

Dorian smirked, leaning back in his chair in wait for his turn after pointlessly shoving about a pawn (he was definitely trying to corner him with that rook), "Yes, do regale us with tales of her beauty, dear Commander,"

Cullen flushed hotly, both from anger and from embarrassment. First the Wardens, then Leliana, now all of Skyhold was gabbing about it. Weren't Wardens supposed to be secretive?

"It's been a long time since I've seen her..." he admitted, after focusing his effort on the opposite side of the board, away from Dorian's hilariously un-subtle trap. It was true; while he was sure she probably hadn't changed much in the decade or so since he'd last seen her, it had been a very long time, and he did have a rather romantic memory where she was concerned. He wasn't about to go on about how her hair always looked so soft to touch, or how her eyes were so deep and disarming, or how her hips made him weak in the knees, not to them, but how else was he supposed to describe her without that?

"She had... thick, silvery-grey hair," he started, chewing his lip when his mind strayed to the gait of her walk and what it did to him, "she wasn't that tall, but then I suppose she was quite young when she left the Circle, so she's probably a bit taller. She... had dark blue eyes, and she was rather pale..."

There was a long silence as the Mage and the Qunari exchanged disbelieving glances.

"What, no waxing poetic about the illusive woman who stole our Commander's heart?" Dorian said, laughing, "Maker, I do hope no body asks you a question at Halamshiral, if that's the sort of answer we can expect. Speaking of which," he leaned in, smirking with the right side of his mouth so it quirked his moustache upwards, "would you save a dance for me, Commander?"

Cullen laughed and shook his head, "I'm afraid I'm not much of a dance partner. The Templars never attended Balls."

"Hmph, pity," the Mage huffed, frowning.

He supposed he couldn't really describe her in a poetic sense because he didn't really think of her in a poetic way. Much like when he was faced with the prospect of speaking with her, he found his words simply failed him in his awe of her, and his thoughts didn't differ overmuch, either. She was an incredible, compelling, enthralling woman... and he didn't really deserve her affections.

Not after all the awful things he said to her. But he wouldn't deny her his reply, knowing that she wanted to re-connect with him. If only he could figure out what to say...

"She was amazing," he said eventually, after a few more moves were made; he could see Dorian getting silently enraged with the eventual outcome of the game, "and that's not 'waxing poetic', either. She was just as beautiful as she was inspiring, in and after the Circle."

Dorian made his next move as the Inquisitor adjusted his position on the railings, "You certainly set yourself a high bar;" the Mage said, "a woman with pages worth of titles and honours, an Arling, an army, who's tactical mastery of the battlefield was so audacious it inspired more than a few books; some of which even made their way to Tevinter. Did you know the tactics she employed during the siege of Amaranthine were especially popular in the North?"

"Oh?"

"Indeed. Her sacrifice of her fortifications to protect the city was greatly admired – considering she had the Keep modified to the point where it only took five years to reconstruct it. That kind of patience and careful planning is commended by the Magisterium, although the fact that it came from Ferelden was greatly downplayed. They focused more on the Warden part of the Ferelden Warden Commander, defending Amaranthine."

When travelling to Kirkwall, he picked up the news that there had been an unsuccessful siege by Darkspawn on the Ferelden Warden's Arling. At the time he'd been so fed up with Ferelden that it cemented his decision to leave, convinced the Darkspawn would never truly leave it, no matter how well Warden Commander Amell defended it. He had no idea however, that news of her exploits had travelled as far as the Imperium.

Leaning back in his seat, he could imagine her in the heat of battle with her Warden army at her back; staff raised high into the air, drawing upon her magic. It was a stark contrast to the soft smiles and gentle personality she exuded in the Circle, though the image didn't fail to make him smile.

"Are you... blushing, Commander?!" Dorian was about to make his next move, but instead placed his piece back down, looking first at him and then evilly at the Qunari beside them.

"I think he is..." the Inquisitor confirmed, grinning.

"I am not-!"

"'Letters between friends', he says, 'nothing romantic about them'; and you sit there, red-faced like a teenager and expect us to believe you?"

The mage slumped in his chair, chortling with mirth. Cullen crossed his arms in annoyance at the man's antics – he supposed that such an isolated and albeit small community like those of the ranks who stayed in Skyhold to work would enjoy the circulation of gossip; it was only natural. He did not however, appreciate when it was at his expense.

He was having a hard enough time working up the courage to write to Warden Amell in the first place; their teasing was not helping his confidence.

Cassandra approached them from across the end of the garden, one long, pointed brow raised high at the still-laughing Mage, "I suppose your guffawing has nothing to do with chess, no?"

Dorian waved her off, wiping a faux tear from his eye, "My dear Seeker, if only you knew."

She leaned against the railings next to the Inquisitor, her shoulder brushing against his upper arm; "I presume Cullen is still winning, given half your pieces are missing?"

"The game continues," the Mage hissed, straightening, "until there is a victor, and those pieces were sacrificed for the greater good,"

He snorted at that, knowing that in less than a few moves he would have Dorian's king and the game would be checkmate; and he did just that, not really able to hide the smug grin when he moved his final piece and sat back, watching the man fume silently; "... What strategies were you researching again?"

"You do realize Cullen was hired for his strategic intelligence, right?" The Qunari asked, jerking one large thumb in the Ex-Templar's direction, "I don't know why you keep challenging him."

Dorian glowered.

When the Inquisitor tried to cheat, Cullen beat him in a few short moves, mostly because he'd moved so fast that the only reason Cullen was aware of what he did was because he memorised the pieces and their positions. It was no different on a battlefield; if the enemy makes a move, you send orders for a counter-attack, defence or retreat, depending on the situation, how many soldiers you have, what kind of terrain you fight on, etcetera etcetera. Dorian played chess to win and boost his ego, Cullen played chess because he enjoyed the tactical methods behind it – winning was a reward for understanding the opponent and adapting to their methods.

A lesson hard won when challenging his sister.

They set the board up for another game; both the Inquisitor and Cassandra refused to lose to him again, and sat back against the railings, conversing quietly as Dorian learned to keep his mouth shut and concentrate. He played with the idea of throwing a few moves to let the Mage win, but thought the better of it; he didn't want to give the man the smug satisfaction.

The Tevinter met his gaze at some point, jerking his head towards the Inquisitor and Cassandra and smirking with that sly smirk that quirked the edge of his moustache. The two in question were close enough that their arms touched, Cassandra had to crane her neck up just to meet his gaze – equally he bent just that little bit down to converse with her properly. There was a mutual fondness there, so much so that Cullen felt a sort of second-hand embarrassment for them and averted his eyes.

Dorian cleared his throat loudly; Cassandra flushed from the neck all the way to her hairline.

"Wonderful atmosphere about, isn't there?" The Mage said, and Cullen hummed in agreement. The Qunari and Seeker were dutifully silent.

Now that he was finally starting to concentrate on playing and not winning, Dorian was doing better than anticipated. He would still lose; the Commander was not about throw his game just because the Mage started doing better, but it made for a better play.

"So, come now, Commander; if you're not writing smutty poetry to the Hero of Ferelden, what have you been exchanging so many letters about? The word on everyone's lips is 'love'," The Mage said, his brow furrowing as he contemplated his next move.

"I don't understand why everyone is so concerned with my private affairs," he mused in reply, sighing, "but I can assure you, it's nothing of the sort. I was a Templar in the Ferelden Circle of Magi before I left for Kirkwall. I attended her Harrowing; she was simply looking to reconnect with some of the people there from before she was recruited. We have been discussing recent events and occasionally reminiscing about the Ferelden Circle. That's all."

Dorian snorted, "That's it? Well that's terribly boring, isn't it?"

… But that wasn't just it, was it? I had always regretted not speaking with you more in the Tower... the sentence echoed in his head, over and over. There was more to it than he was willing to admit to himself, much less anyone else, and it was one of the reasons he was finding it so difficult to think of a solid reply without waving the comment off entirely.

What was he supposed to say to that? There were so many things he wanted to say, but they opened up a lot of doors he wasn't sure he could go through. I wish I spoke with you more, too, and, I can't say my memories of the Tower were fond, but my memories of you were.

He didn't know if he could handle a reply to that, regardless of what it said. And yet he couldn't stand the idea of not saying it.

When he won the game he and Dorian were playing; the Mage frowned and flicked a pawn across the board at him arrogantly. With the sun beginning to set, they left the garden to separate in the Hall; Dorian was going to drink his loss away in the library, Cassandra was heading to the armoury to check the status of her broken gauntlets, the Inquisitor followed Cullen to his office – he noticed the poetry book Dorian was carrying earlier was tucked neatly under the Qunari's arm.

Originally he did not believe Varric's suspicions that there was something between Cassandra and the Inquisitor, but seeing them together in the gardens suggested otherwise, and he quietly admitted to himself that they looked good together, that they really suited each other. He questioned the budding envy in his chest; it was certainly something he had never been envious of before – the idea of courtship or indeed a relationship.

In the Tower, some few Templars occasionally lamented the notion that their duties had taken the chance for a family or for love away from them, rare as it was to meet a Templar who thought as such. Their morals were much looser in Kirkwall; he was well aware of the of the rota of Templars and recruits who frequented the Blooming Rose – he had never pursued such temptations, nor did he particularly want romantic company at the time...

Though there was the occasional, wistful thought about Amell in the Circle when he was younger. Courting. Children. Land. A place to call home.

Impossible.

"Forgive me if I'm being improper," the Qunari rumbled as they made their way through Solas's empty study, "but you have looked a lot happier lately."

He rose a brow at the behemoth, who shrugged, continuing, "I mean, first you start receiving these letters, then a gift, then there was that incident with Iron Bull in the training yard-"

"That was a gross mistake on my part-"

"Regardless, it happened because of these rumours circulating about you and the Hero of Ferelden, and people are starting to notice the improvement in your mood. You have to admit, that's a lot of coincidences."

He wasn't really sure what to say, as he pushed through the doors onto the Barracks – the Inquisitor had seen him quite vulnerable when he was at his lowest and still did not pick, pry, or loathe him for it. He'd been very firm, but encouraging that he wanted Cullen to beat his addiction, believed he would succeed. Now he was trying to talk to him on that level again, and it was opening something up that Cullen wasn't sure about at all, overexposing him to feelings he didn't really want to acknowledge, not yet.

"I am... quite fond of her," he admitted, stopping along the barracks so the Qunari turned to face him, his icy grey eyes seeming very piercing in the evening light, "and I was – in the Circle, I mean. She is an incredible woman, and I often find myself stuck on what to say to her without... well..."

"Sounding like a fool?" The Inquisitor finished, switching the poetry book from one arm to the other.

"I suppose so..."

The mountain air breezed briskly through the Keep; birds twittered loudly in the trees as Leliana's ravens perched threateningly, watching them with black eyes. Smells from the kitchen carried over the barracks walls; the scent of bread and stew, rosemary and ale. A horse whickered in the distance.

"... I would get so tongue-tied in the Circle," he said, smiling at the memory, "I could barely say a word to her without... falling all over myself. But I am older now, and so is she... and I won't deny that there are things I want to say to her. I just... I wish I knew how to put it into words."

The Inquisitor smiled easily, showing off the barest points of his overlarge Qunari canine-teeth. The mercenary had been so salty when he first joined the Inquisition; he didn't trust anyone and looked for every opportunity to make them aware of just that. He didn't want to lead them, just to get back into his old mercenary group and make his way home – then he travelled to the bleak future with Dorian, saw what awaited the world if he didn't take the mantle of the Hero.

His perspective changed drastically after that. Cullen supposed a lot of that had been Cassandra's doing, as well. The woman certainly didn't take a blasé attitude lightly.

He fixed him with that startlingly open, honest look, and said, shrugging; "Say what you want to say. The worst she can say is no,"

Cullen chuckled darkly, thinking of all the awful things he said to her, "There are far worse things she could say to me. Nothing I wouldn't deserve,"

The Inquisitor waved him off after that, leaving Cullen to enter his office and roll his eyes at the stack of missives and reports waiting for him. A maid had been by to change the candles, there was a jug of wine waiting for him on his desk but he pushed it to the side, not really feeling up for drinking.

With the letter he was about to write, he wanted to be coherent and on point.

Cullen picked up the box of scrolls and stacks of books from his chair, placed them among the growing mess on the floor, and sat down, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling more than a little reluctant.

She had been so... forthcoming with how she felt; what if she too was struggling with writing to him, wondering if she should write something that perhaps would seem too informal? Did she blush and stutter just as he did? Or did she, more likely, write with a cool, calm confidence, knowing what she was putting on paper was the truth?

Did any of that matter?

He looked down at the mess on his desk... and noticed a folded, slightly crumpled slip of paper, torn at the edges like it had been ripped out of a book. Picking it up, he curiously unfolded it between his thumbs and saw three scrawled, barely legible words in Cole's messy handwriting-

Just be honest

Breathing out a long, hard breath, Cullen set his shoulders, pulling out some parchment from his desk-drawer, tossing is quill into the glass pot of ink, setting the wax over a flame to get it ready. He would at least put together a draft of what he wanted to say in reply to her previous letter, and when he was happy with it, he would send it to her, and worry about her reply when it was in his hands.

Constance,

I cannot thank you enough for the gift you sent me. I was certainly not expecting it when it arrived, nor for it to be so thoughtful. Leliana informed me of the origins of this tea and its healing properties; I admit that I know next to nothing about botany, but the fact that a flower in it saved your Mabari from the Blight gives me some inclination of its affects.

I cannot say I have been having an easy time of withdrawing from Lyrium. I do not envy any Templar who chooses to do this without the type of support that I have within the Inquisition. I am sure your gift will help, and I will let you know for future reference if it has the desired effect.

While I am aware that I was Ser Fontaine's replacement when I joined the Circle, I knew nothing about him. The Knight-Commander was fond of the man and spoke little of him; I presume his death hit a lot of the others quite hard there, including yourself. As Templars, we are asked to keep a respectable distance from our charges at all times, but it is good to hear that your relationship with Ser Fontaine inspired you to work. It is not often that I hear of positive relationships between Templars and Mages. Had you not been conscripted, I am sure your research would have borne some understanding.

Your concern for my health is appreciated but I would ask you not to trouble yourself. I have the support I need to help me here with the Inquisition; much as I loathe the idea of someone taking care of me, I will admit it is good to feel the sense of community here. The strength it takes to kick this habit is monumental, but it is a burden shared, and I am better for it.

My thoughts do not stray overmuch to my time with the Ferelden Circle. After what happened with Uldred and the Blood Mages, many of the fond memories I had were sullied by his doing.

However, there has been something troubling me of late, in regards to the Circle; I have wanted to write it to you but could never formulate the words without sounding like a fool. After you liberated the Tower during the Blight, I believe I said some monstrous, terribly unkind things to you before you faced Uldred and his demons. The Circle was your home too, but I was so blinded with hatred and rage that I couldn't see any other way out.

I regret these things now. I need you to know that.

Were it not for you, I would have been dead or lost my mind a long time ago. So many people in Ferelden owe you their lives, directly and indirectly, but I repaid you with an unkindness so great that it followed me for years.

After you sent that gift, I felt I did not deserve such thoughtfulness from you. It has been so long ago I doubt you remember it, but I do, and I have wanted to tell you that for a long time.

I hope this letter finds you well,

- Cullen

Author's Notes: Vox Eius is latin for "Her Voice". Tevene reminds me of Latin in the way it is pronounced, although a lot of the words appear to be Romanian...?

I do enjoy smutty poetry.

Thanks for reading!