If someone had told Cullen that he would end his trip with Dmitri as the only travel companion who was speaking to him, he would have checked them for a head wound. But here he was, led through Cumberland by a royal who was acting less like a Grand Prince and more like a town greeter while the rest of the group ranged ahead and behind.

Cassandra had rebuffed all his attempt to see her on the ship, probably wisely, but even off of it she'd barely said ten words to him together since he'd allowed Dmitri to drag him into their sparring session. Whether she was angry or simply annoyed he didn't know, but there was a decided chill emanating from her direction. Solas was still doing his best impression of a total stranger, though Cullen was resolved to force a confidence with him as soon as he could.

Both of them were complicated, and he hadn't expected much camaraderie. But Darren and Dorian had blindsided him.

He'd tried to talk to Darren, to apologize for his own assumptions and assure him that he was supportive of anything his brother chose. It had been an unmitigated disaster. Darren had been irritable already and had taken Cullen's reassurances as condescensions instead. He'd also sensed Cullen's hesitation in endorsing his choice, and he'd only scoffed when Cullen tried to explain it was because Dorian was the man and not that Dorian was a man.

Cullen's final attempt at rebuilding any kind of bridge had been desperate, foolish humor, which had sealed the defeat. When he'd chuckled that Mia would be surprised to learn of the fictitious women she'd believed in so fervently, Darren had shoved him into the nearest bulkhead and stormed off, muttering that people were more than capable of enjoying both, and he wasn't a liar.

He wished someone from the inner circle had been there, if only for him to say, "See? This is what humor leads to."

Darren's easy smile was gone, replaced with daggers and knives whenever Cullen looked his way. Dorian had clearly chosen a side as well, though at least his expression was sympathetic. When Darren wasn't looking, anyway. Cullen could hardly blame the mage, and in fact gave him credit for it - had their positions been reversed, nothing could have persuaded him to leave Cassandra unhappy and sulking - but he hadn't been looking forward to stepping into a potentially hostile city with only hostile friends.

Which had made the shock of Dmitri nosing his horse alongside Cullen's even stronger. If he'd thought about it at all, he would have said that the prince would triumph in the isolation of his rival. Not break it.

"This is the temple where the deceased are viewed before the Mortalitasi take charge of them," he said, waving his hand to a tall, domed building to the east. He managed to turn the gesture into an acknowledgment to the citizens who had lined the streets to watch the procession pass, and they waved back. Cullen was relieved to see that they were smiling. Between the somber discussions of the dignitaries and the determined focus of the soldiers, Cullen had wondered if they were going to arrive to a nation of constant mourners.

Dmitri continued as he smiled at a clump of children waving colored flags. "It's the central part of the Necropolis. Oh, I know, the Grand Necropolis is in the capital, but ours was the first. The temple is considered a triumph of architecture. The rounded dome was designed at the precise dimension and angle so as to press against the Veil without breaking through, to allow for perfect transfer of the soul to the next world."

"Nonsense," said Solas. He was riding close enough to listen, but he hadn't spoken until now. "The Veil can no more be pressed by something physical than you could contain mercy in a box. Ideas are not tangible. No more is the separation between our world and the Fade."

"Ah, but when a criminal receives notice of his pardon, does mercy not fly out to greet him when the scroll is unfurled?" asked Dmitri. "Simply because it is only a piece of the whole of the notion does not mean it cannot be held inside of something."

Solas's mouth curved into a sardonic smile, and Dmitri returned it. "But yes, in truth it's because the dome allows for circulation, to avoid the air becoming stale with decay. Please don't tell my countrymen. They prefer the more romantic notions of death," he said.

"They? Meaning you don't?" asked Cullen. "I thought all of Nevarra was obsessed with death."

"And I thought any Fereldan would sooner abandon a child than their faithful dog. Yet you travel beside me, unencumbered by a hound," said Dmitri sharply.

Cullen winced and apologized. The prince accepted it, and his usual careless manner returned. "The transition of our souls into the Fade is the most important moment of our existence," he said. "But only a fool mistakes importance for beauty."

"Yes. Death is anything but beautiful," said Cullen. All those battlefields. Even worse the ones that had looked like a battlefield but should never have been. Kinloch. The roads of Kirkwall, choked and burning with rotted flesh. He felt suddenly old, weary of a world that only seemed to exist to tear itself apart. And now he was here, in this country, doing what? Spying? Stealing? Starting another war?

Solas moved in his saddle, and Cullen shook himself. He was stopping a war, not starting one. Stopping a death. Saving the woman who'd brought peace to Thedas. There was no room for melancholy in it.

The prince looked at him appraisingly. "It is rare to find an artist so contemptuous of his craft. Little wonder your enemies find it difficult to despise the armies of the Inquisition." He straightened and waved his hand again. "Over there is the marketplace. The largest one in Nevarra, even outside of the capital. The merchants claim anything can be found in its stalls. Perhaps you will find something to gift your lady."

Cullen clenched his jaw. So much for the moment of peace. "I'm surprised you're giving this tour to me instead of Cassandra. I would have thought you'd be anxious to boast about your city," he said.

"Excellence requires no boasting, Cullen, as you well know," said Dmitri. "And Cassandra has little need of an introduction to Cumberland. She knows it almost as well as I do." He cocked his head. "Have you not noticed she's been leading our procession?"

Cullen started and looked towards the front. The man was right. Cassandra had been on point from the beginning and hadn't once looked back for directions. Dmitri laughed at his confusion. "She spent much of her youth here, and she was an excellent adventuring companion. Both she and her brother."

"You knew her as a child?" asked Cullen. Why hadn't Cassandra told him that this was someone she already knew?

"Quite well. I was the youngest of my brothers, and she was the younger as well, so we had a natural and common enemy," said Dmitri. He smiled. "There were many times they received punishments for something we did on their behalf."

"Cassandra helped you pull pranks? On her brother?" asked Cullen with more than a hint of disbelief. She didn't speak of Anthony often, but when she did it was almost reverent. Bitterness at his death, but worship for his life. He shook his head. "She would never do something like that."

"Now? Perhaps not," admitted Dmitri. "Anthony's death clearly changed her more profoundly than I thought. The Cassandra Pentaghast I knew never giggled, but she did laugh. I don't see that inside of her now."

Except with you, thought Cullen. The ball, and her beautiful, wild laughter inside of it. His fingers tightened around his reins. "There's nothing wrong with taking the world seriously. These are serious times," he said.

"All times are serious. They will only become more so if they are met without humor."

"Easy to say from there," said Cullen, nodding at the approaching palace.

To his surprise, the prince nodded as well. "Yes. Easier than it should be. Which is why Cassandra is important. She chose to leave her palace and serve. She is a Nevarran who is no longer enamored of it," he said. All traces of amiability left his face as he reached out and pulled Cullen's horse to a stop. "My country needs her, Commander. Her country. Nevarra is a snake eating its own tail, and she is the one who can cleave us into something that sees outside of itself again."

Cullen fought to keep his face expressionless. This man knew nothing of what it was to need Cassandra. But Dmitri's words rushed ahead without pause. "I understand better than you know what she is. I know what I am asking of you. I don't expect you to agree, yet. But please judge without prejudice," he said. He bowed his head. "She has convinced me that you are an honorable man. I won't ask you to make an impossible choice, only to allow her to make her own. Without interference from you."

The Seeker had turned around at the slowing of the party and was watching them intently. She'd said he was honorable. He wasn't sure any man was honorable enough for this. He looked inside of himself to find it, but the soldier was fleeing, the Templar fading, and he was just a man in love. Where was the honor in that? But he'd promised her to do what was needed. "I'll try," he said. "Though I make no promises about your own interferences."

Dmitri laughed, suddenly the delighted royal again. He spurred his horse forward towards the gates of the palace. "And they told me you were no politician."

Two weeks passed in the palace as smoothly as the silk they all wore each evening. Josephine had sent ahead to have formal clothing waiting for them, to both delight and annoyance, depending on who it was. Dorian was both, as the ambassador had been informed of Tevinter's true fashion landscape by the dignitaries at the ball, but he still wore each new article with gusto. Cullen tried to stick to the simplest ones but still managed to arrive at one dinner with his shirt on backwards.

By unspoken agreement the group split up in the day into their specific talents. Cassandra spent time with the nobility, many of whom remembered her from her previous time in the city. Fortunately they were prepared for her pure military dedication and no one commented on her utilitarian daytime clothing, otherwise the diplomatic aspects may have ended before they even began. Her maid accompanied her everywhere, no doubt taking notes for very heavy raven dispatches back to Skyhold.

Dorian and Solas spent their time with the Mortalitasi and the priests. The elf was still avoiding him, but by all accounts Solas let Dorian provide a distraction while he asked the innocent and not-so-innocent questions. After one of their trips, Cullen heard nothing but awed mutterings in the palace about how the Tevinter mage had made a corpse come to life and do a perfect waltz around the crypt. When they asked him if all Tevinter mages could work such magic, Cullen assured them that Dorian was a highly-trained prodigy. And when he asked Dorian, just to make sure that was the case, the man smiled. "You are exactly right, Commander," he said with a wink. "Though I don't know what all the fuss is about. The waltz was sloppy at best."

"Maybe put a stop to the dancing, at least for now," said Cullen. "Not everyone here thinks you're awe-inspiring." In his wanderings around the city, among the less-exalted members of society, he'd caught more than one person decrying the man as blasphemous. Even unnatural.

When he said as much, Dorian only laughed. "I've been called unnatural my entire life. I've grown accustomed to it," he said. "Besides, what I do isn't so different from their own mages, it seems. We both take a dead body and make it a little less dead, with some help from some friendly and harmless Fade spirits. I simply imbue mine with a little more purpose."

"I thought their rituals were highly secret," said Cullen suspiciously.

"I have a way of opening men up." Dorian raised his hands at Cullen's glare. "Joking, Commander. I suspect they simply haven't had anyone with my particular talents visit in some time. Necromancers of any skill are exceedingly rare. And Solas, well, even he doesn't know everything he knows, so it's hardly surprising they underestimate him. They were kind enough to let us observe a rite, with the understanding nothing would be explained. Between us, we didn't need much explanation. They press into the Fade with their magic and release wisps into the body. Balance, you see, to allow the spirit a place to rest across the Veil. Nonsense, but magically sound."

"So does that mean you can become a Mortalitasi now?"

Dorian brightened. "You know, I'd never considered that. Black is a color that works very well with my skin tone," he said. He shook his head. "But no. They have too many restrictions. Rules. I do my best work uninhibited. Your brother can vouch for that."

Darren likely could have, if he was speaking to Cullen. Still, his brother joined him in working with the guards and soldiers, and even the servants and nobles who took a fancy to do some training. The palace had bigger training yards than Skyhold, circles and squared dotted among smooth white pillars, and Cullen wondered why a country without a war to fight needed so much space to practice for it.

It became clear as more and more people filed through each day. It seemed every person in Nevarra, man and woman, was at least proficient with the sticks, and a good half of them were proficient with true weapons as well. Despite the huge courtyards, it was rare to find them even partially empty. That was good, for now, as it gave Cullen plenty to occupy him and enough partners to exhaust him past the point of dreams each night. It was bad, for the future, as Cullen had to revise his assessment of Nevarra as a potential threat to the Inquisition. They were much deadlier than he'd realized. His troops could likely take the country, if they had to. They were the best because he demanded it. But it would be very hard fought. The official military numbers were only a portion of the resistance they would face if the people were decided against them.

Still, if they were more of a threat than he'd realized, it was still only in potential. At the moment they were friendly and eager to talk to both him and Darren, and he spent several happy hours each day working with whoever asked. Cassandra and Dmitri came by daily with their group,, and Cullen did his best to ignore them. It was easier here to lose them in the crowd, and unlike on the road neither of them ever joined in the sparring.

Until the day Dmitri came alone. Cullen didn't even notice him until the prince was shining with the sheen of several completed bouts. While Cullen had seen that nobles and servants were treated roughly equally in the yards, he would have expected their ruler to receive some kind of special treatment. He would have been wrong. In fact, the only reason Cullen even saw him at all was simply because the man was so good. No matter who fought him, they fought hard, and fell each time.

After Dmitri dispatched his final challenger, a woman who'd dumped Cullen on his back more than once before they'd switched to more familiar weapons, he looked over at Cullen and nodded when he met his gaze. The woman bowed and made the complicated gesture with her hand that Cullen had yet to decipher. It didn't happen after all matches, but it was frequent enough that it clearly wasn't a coincidence, or even specific to a kind of fighter. He made a note to ask Dmitri what it was. The few people he'd asked hadn't been inclined to tell him, but the royal had been a font of information ever since they'd landed.

The prince bowed in return and walked away from the ring, wiping himself down with a cloth. Cullen squinted. No, not a cloth. His shirt. Which, of course, he'd removed again long ago.

"So much for saving your good shirts," said Cullen sourly when the man stopped in front of him.

"I am in my own palace. I have hundreds of shirts."

"Then why not just wear it?"

Dmitri's pale mouth slashed a sideways grin reminiscent of Sera. "I'd never forgive myself if I tore one."

Cullen rolled his eyes, still a little off-balance by the new rapprochement between the two of them. "Two questions for you, if I may," he said.

"Of course."

"Why does everyone in Nevarra learn to fight?"

"They don't," said Dmitri promptly, then relented at Cullen's glare. "It is true. Not everyone has the desire to learn, and it isn't mandatory. But all those who wish it, can. Many wish to."

"But why? Is there some threat against you? Maybe the Inquisition can help," said Cullen.

Dmitri's teeth flashed white as he laughed. "Very good, Cullen. Your ambassador would be most pleased with you. But no, there is no threat. It is simply tradition," he said. "And it is a place where all men, and all women, are the same. This holds allure for both the powerful and the powerless." He looked around him. "Though some days it is difficult to tell which is which."

"So here, I'm equal in rank to you?" asked Cullen.

"Well, you are a foreigner. That is somewhat more complex. But were you Nevarran, yes."

Cullen considered. "Second question," he said finally.

"I believe that we've reached a round dozen, but I will allow it. If it's interesting enough," said Dmitri.

He swung his hand in front of him in a series of wiggles. "What is this gesture after a match? When is it used? Is it a mark of respect? I've received it, but I've never known what it means. I don't want to give offense by not showing respect where it's due, especially when I lose." Which was often.

The prince's eyes sparkled. "Definitely an interesting question. I will answer. Tell me, have you ever been into the annex off of the courtyard?" he asked, gesturing towards a set of double doors in the far wall.

"No. I've seen people go in there after sparring and assumed it was for cleaning. I prefer to wash in my own room," said Cullen.

"Ah yes, that Fereldan modesty. Famous, and likely becoming more so each day. No. While those rooms will get you clean, eventually, they are for more… pleasurable activities."

Cullen stared at him blankly, then reddened. "People have sex in there? All together?"

"There are separate rooms. It's not quite that lascivious," said Dmitri. "But after such intense physical focus, it's sometimes necessary to release tension in a different way. The rooms allow for it to happen with modesty. It's very standard, in the larger training areas."

Cullen put a hand to his forehead and tried to follow. "So that hand signal, it's some kind of request?" he asked.

"More an invitation, but largely yes."

"But I've gotten it dozens of times!" said Cullen. He thought back over the last few days, the women and men who'd looked just slightly disappointed when he hadn't done anything but bow. He'd thought they were disappointed in his lack of manners. Not his lack of… well, lack.

Dmitri's shoulders were shaking with the effort not to laugh. He swallowed hard and got himself under control. "I imagine you have. I also imagine there is quite a large pool among the regulars as to whom will be the favored first."

"None of them! Maker's breath," said Cullen. He looked at the other man in rising horror. "Or is that considered rude."

"It's tempting to tell you yes, but no. Not everyone indulges in that way. It is not expected," said Dmitri.

Cullen was relieved, but another memory was already vying for his attention. "That woman gave you the signal, too," he said, waving his hand around again vaguely. "You're the Grand Prince. Is that allowed?"

"First, you may wish to cease doing that, lest the room think you are propositioning me without a fight," said the prince. Cullen clenched his hands into fists and glanced around him quickly. Several heads turned away, but not before he saw their grins. "Second, of course it's allowed. As I said, we are all the same here. There are no borders to separate us. A wise ruler, or a wise wife, may consider it prudent to decline, but the offers may always be made."

"Married people can cheat on each other with this?" asked Cullen, horrified.

Dmitri sighed. "It is not cheating, as you term it. It is a release of physical energy, no different than exchanging blows. There would be no grounds for a divorce. And recriminations would be illegal."

"People don't get angry about it?"

"I did not say that. But, legally, it is merely what it is."

"It sounds like this system would be rife with abuses," said Cullen skeptically. "Pretend to want to fight when you really want to do the other."

The prince shot him an indecipherable look. "Yes, it is often used by those who wish to get around certain limitations, whether they are bound by circumstance or law," he said. He slung his dirty shirt over his shoulder and walked away. He called over his shoulder as he left, "Have a good day, Cullen. And watch your hand gestures!"

Cullen frowned after him, as always wondering what the man's game really was.

He certainly watched his hands carefully over the next few days, though he couldn't stop himself from blushing every time he ignored another's careful gesture. His eyes were also drawn more and more often to the double doors and what might lay beyond them. Now that he was paying attention, he did see that people seemed much more relaxed when they left than when they entered.

The knowledge spurred him to break Darren's silence, over his brother's strenuous protests, but strangely it brought them back together as nothing else could have. After Dmitri's matter-of-fact manner, Cullen had begun to wonder if he was the odd one, but Darren was equally flummoxed by the system. His eyes began to stray to the doors much as Cullen's did, and they didn't need to say a word to find themselves choking back laughter that threatened to howl out over the courtyard at every glance.

"Well, I suppose it's a hell of a lot easier than my way," said Darren, when they'd finally subsided into infrequent chuckles. At Cullen's raised eyebrow he added, "Buy them a couple of drinks and go in for the kiss."

"Elegant."

"Hey, it worked sometimes," said Darren. "Besides, like you had a better approach."

Cullen snorted. "I didn't have one at all."

"At all?" His brother's eyes were horrified. "No wonder you have such a stodgy reputation."

"I'm not stodgy. I'm dedicated."

"And traditional," muttered Darren, but it wasn't as angry as it could have been.

"No. Well, yes, for myself, but you're not me. I've spent far too much time in the world, in places where people barely had a chance to live before they died, to care about who they love while they can," said Cullen gently. "Especially when they're my family."

It was Darren's turn to snort. "Who said anything about love? Dorian's hot and interesting. I'm not looking for much more than that," he said. He laughed when Cullen's mouth dropped. "It shouldn't surprise me that you're more shocked when people aren't looking for eternal love than when they're going against traditional Ferelden values. But it does."

His brother looked back to the double doors and laughed again. "You know, this might be the only thing that could get Dorian into a fighting ring," he said.

"Unless 'this' means a decent meal, I'm afraid you haven't found it," said Dorian behind them. "Nevarran cuisine is even worse than Orlesian. I'm wasting away."

Both Rutherfords stared at him as he flexed his still-prominent biceps. "See? They're practically vanished. But even when they're in form, they're for looking, not working." He shuddered delicately. "I'll save all of that uncultured swinging for the less refined."

Their stares redoubled, and the mage grinned. "I didn't say I didn't like you raw," he said. He plopped down between them on the bench. "So has there been a joyous family reunion? I certainly hope so. The sullen silence wasn't nearly so charming as the delicious squabbles."

Darren nodded. "We've reached an understanding," he said.

"Good," said Dorian. He reached up and brushed a finger down Darren's cheek, then kissed him softly. "I abhor arguments."

His brother's face was still a little uncertain as he looked back at Cullen, and that decided him. He stood and clapped his hands together. "Dorian. Go grab one of the weighted sticks from the rack," he said.

Dorian leaned back and stared at him insolently. "Commander, as I said…"

"As you said nothing. Do it. That's an order," said Cullen.

Darren had already jumped up and retrieved his own gear, a smile playing around his lips. The Tevinter man was much slower in getting to his feet and scowled as he grabbed a weapon of his own. "You realize I have absolutely no skill at this," he said.

Cullen nearly laughed, but held his face straight with enormous effort. "I think you'll surprise yourself," he said. "One thing. When the match is finished, make sure you copy the Nevarran hand gesture he makes."

"A hand gesture? Is that important?"

"Oh yes," said Cullen. "It's vital."

At dinner one night, Cullen was almost on the verge of enjoying himself - the men flanking him were nominal commoners, army men, with conversation that he didn't have to break himself to understand - when the doors flung open and a new man strode in imperiously. He wore the robes of the Mortalitasi, but he was covered in more chains and ornamentation than the usual mage. It was a wonder he could walk without a hunchback. His hair was black to greying, and it came to a sharp widow's peak above a protruding brow. The man clearly thought of himself as important, at the very least.

The mages dining with them thought so, too. They jumped to their feet and bowed before being waved back into their chairs. Dmitri was less enthusiastic, but also rose. "Lord Vestalus. I had no idea you were planning to visit Cumberland," he said.

"I wasn't. But I was sent word there was a mage here of considerable skill that it would be worth my time to see," he said. His eyes traveled around the table until they lit on Solas, who looked unruffled. "Unlikely as it seemed, the offer was intriguing."

A thin smile crossed the stranger's lips. "And of course, it would be unpardonable to allow the opportunity to reconnect with one's family to slip past un-grasped. Welcome home, my dear."

"Uncle Vestalus," said Cassandra quietly. She sat straight and tall as always, beautiful in another gown Josephine had chosen for her, but Cullen suddenly itched for his sword. There was very little that frightened her, but it was clear she was terrified now. And he knew where he stood on that.

Secrecy and peace be damned. If this man tried to hurt her, Cullen would kill him himself.