Chapter XXIX – Dorian

She was named the Peacock.Upon seeing her well painted bow and decorative lanterns, Dorian came up with multiple comebacks to what he could only assume would be the Inquisitor's witty remark. But, "Well, I'll be, a peacock riding on a peacock," never came, and he had no use for clever retorts. He felt the Inquisitor shaped void then; it was almost too much for him to stand. He needed to fill the silence with noise.

"Well, she's no pleasure barge," he muttered, dismounting from his horse and handing the reins to one of the Inquisition sailors, "But as long as she gets us from point A to point B without sinking, I think she'll do."

"But is she defensible?" The Iron Bull asked.

"Just because she's pretty, don't mean she doesn't have teeth." The ship's captain barked; he was a salty, old looking warrior; when he spoke Dorian could see a wad of tobacco in his mouth and he made a show of spitting over the side of the boat. He was the kind of man that Dorian would expect to be the captain of a ship. Maybe not a ship this beautiful—but a sailor nonetheless.

Bull laughed, and gently elbowed Dorian in the ribs. "Hear that, it's got teeth,"

"Well," Dorian chuckled. "the number of teeth are not indicative of the bite."

"Argh," Sera muttered behind them. "If you love-birdies is done, I want to get a move on."

"Just another hour, my lady," the captain bowed as he personally took the reins of Sera's horse. "We have more supplies to load."

"Eh, I'm not your lady," she muttered.

"Krem," Bull signaled his Chargers to attention. "Take Sera, Cole and the boys to the tavern, be back in thirty,"

"Aye, Chief," Krem saluted and ushered their party towards a nearby bar.

Bull sighed and looked over the boat again. "Any sign of Marbrand and Harding?"

"They should have gotten here first," Dorian noted. The captain was overseeing the horses, barking orders at his man as they guided the mounts into the bowels of the ship. Dorian's handsome, sleek roan was fighting every step of the way, as if the very idea of being jammed into the cargo hold was offensive to her.

Dorian could relate. But, he was also the kind of man who went to the ends of the earth for the people he cared about, and no matter how many horrid jokes the Inquisitor made, no matter how much that great hairy lummox didn't wash, and no matter how suspicious of him Cassandra was, Dorian felt a certain level of affection for each of them. He wasn't going to let them languish and die in the middle of nowhere—oh no, not on his watch.

He had to tell himself these things; the idea that—no matter how much he was certain they weren't dead—they were dead, filled him with so much dread

But they aren't dead, just in trouble, he reminded himself, in fact, trouble is normal—trouble is the Inquisition's constant state of being. I should be worried if they were out of trouble. He smiled at his own cleverness and decided to ask the captain for any word on Ser Marbrand and Scout Harding.

"Dropped their things off this morning," the captain answered. "Said they had businesses in town,"

Dorian sighed; Val Royeaux was too big to search, so he would just have to wait for the two to return. The port had a particularly unpleasant smell to it, but he was loath to join the others at the tavern—the smell wafting out the open door was worse than the smell of fish and city waste. He found a place to sit down on the ship deck and watched the Inquisition sailors enter and exit the cargo hold.

Bull had gone to join his Chargers at the bar, leaving Dorian alone. He dug around in his bags until he found the book he'd been slowly, but surely plodding through. It was dry reading, a Southern history of the Glory Age. But, he was determined to read it, if only to brag that he had.

He was another chapter into the dull book when Harding and Marbrand arrived. Dorian put his book up and smiled. "Ah, Scout Harding, I feared we might have had to leave without you,"

The dwarf laughed. "Captain knows not to leave without us,"

"So find anything interesting at the bazaar?"

"Nothing particularly interesting; there is some mumbling among the Grand Cathedral, it seems they're worried about the Divine and Grand Cleric Mavis,"

"Any particular reason why?" Dorian asked, although Chantry gossip hardly interested him. But he liked to make polite conversation with Harding.

"Nothing clear," Harding sighed. "Like I said, mumblings," she excused herself and went to check on the animals.

Ser Marbrand nodded in greeting. The Inquisitor's silent shadow was looking strangely beat down, although Dorian supposed that sadness afflicted those shadows too long separated from their casters. He was worried about his liege-lady the same way Dorian was. Perhaps even a bit more, Marbrand had practically raised the Inquisitor, if Dorian's memory served.

"I'm sure she's fine, Ser," Dorian tried to assure him. "They're fine—all of them," he added quickly. Sometimes he felt, if he kept saying it, that it would be true.

Marbrand nodded, "Yes, my lord," then, "Excuse me, I must attend Scout Harding," and then he left and Dorian was left to his boredom.

They were underway faster than he thought they'd be. The wind was fresh and strong, it would carry them up to Cumberland faster than their feet. Dorian figured they would keep the coastline in sight through the journey, but the captain assured him that the currents out in open water would carry them faster.

While the upper deck of the Peacock was comfortable, the sleeping quarters left something to be desired. Dorian was not used to sleeping in the cramped underbelly ofa ship, in a fabric hammock, surrounded by thirty other people. The rocking of the ship didn't help him either, or the creaking of the timbers, or the sound of snoring, or the scratchy blanket—just about everything was uncomfortable.

He tumbled out of bed—hammock—and hit the damp floorboards with an ugly smack. No one stirred when he hit the floor. He got up, rubbing his arm where he'd hit the floor, and decided to the take a walk on the upper deck. The fresh air would clear his head.

Before heading up, he checked on his friends. Cole was sitting in his bunk…sleeping, he thought, maybe. Bull was snoring soundly, one arm thrown over his chest, the other hanging over the edge of his hammock. He found Sera and Harding; Sera on the top bunk, Harding the lower. Marbrand's bunk was empty though, and Dorian was partly glad to not be the only one having trouble sleeping.

Carefully, Dorian made his way topside. The lamps were burning low, just enough light for those on duty to see the ship beneath their feet. In the gloom, he spotted the Templar. It was rare to see Ser Marbrand out of his armor; he wore a purple tunic and his sword belted around his waist.

Dorian was about to greet him when he spotted a glint of red in the Templar's hands. He held up a small vial, it glittered red and gave off a soft glow. Dorian knew what it was immediately; it was how they controlled southern mages—it was what they used to track them. There was only one person who's blood that could be.

"Does she know you have her phylactery?"

The knight jumped and almost lost the vial to the water below. He turned while shoving the phylactery into the breast pocket of his tunic. "My lord," he muttered, "forgive me, I didn't know you were there…I'm just watching the waves."

"Ah, trying to divert the subject with polite musings—my dear cousin must have learned it from you," Dorian sighed and leaned against the ship railing. "It doesn't work on me," he added with a soft chuckle.

Marbrand was speechless so Dorian continued. "So, either she knows you have her phylactery or she doesn't; in the case of the ladder, I am sure she asked you to hold on to it and your reasoning's are in good faith. Of the former, I fear your actions appear a bit sinister,"

"No." Marbrand grunted. Dorian rolled his eyes, no wonder she's in love with that great hairy lummox, these two are cut of the same cloth. A smirk came to his lips. Now now, he chided himself, I'm not supposed to diagnose friends, no matter how glaring the parental issues.

"Do you mean no; it's not sinister. Or no; she doesn't know?" Dorian asked. He kept his tone even; he was certain that Marbrand's actions were not out of some ulterior motive. But he had to know, if only because those damn phylacteries gave him the heebie-jeebies.

"She doesn't know." Marbrand finally spat it out. "I've been holding on to it since we left for the Conclave."

Dorian nodded slowly. "And how do you think our Inquisitor would react if she found out you have it?"

Marbrand took a deep breath and Dorian began to wonder if he was going to have to drag the answer out of him. But the Templar pulled the vial out of his pocket and faced the open sea. "See how it glows?" he asked, Dorian nodded. "As long as it's still glowing, I know she's alive."

"And it tracks her," Dorian added. He knew it was how Templars hunted down mages, it would glow brighter the closer it came to the body who's blood had supplied the magic. This was the kind of blood magic the Chantry allowed—the kind that allowed them to pull their leash tight.

"I usually keep it in my quarters; but I thought…that maybe we might need it."

"You could have shown it to Cullen, eased his fears. Eased everyone's fears." Dorian sighed. There was no denying that the glowing vial, despite the unease it created, offered him the promise of hope. The Inquisitor was alive so long as the phylactery glowed.

"It has been a comfort when she goes away on campaign. I cannot be there to protect her, but I can know if she's dead or alive." He put the vial back into his pocket. "I never shared it with anyone because I was afraid of how they might react. The Commander may have ordered me to be rid of it, the Spymaster may have wanted to study it, and the mages would have wanted me dead for having it. They might think I use it to control her; but that's not what it's for." Dorian watched quietly as the old Templar's warrior veneer fell away. "I was a crook, a bandit before the Templars saved me, took me in, brought order to my life…but her Worship—she brought me peace."

"It seems she has that effect," Dorian smiled remembering how she urged him to speak to his father, to vent his feelings, to give himself closure. There was something about the Inquisitor that made the word a little a better, that made men think they were better than they were.

"The mages scared me at first, the Chantry teaches us to fear them. But then this little girl ran through the hallway, scared of summer storm, ran into me and I didn't see a mage. I didn't see the monster the Chantry told us they were. She was just a child with tears in her eyes and fear in her heart. She was scared of herself the same way I was scared of her."

Dorian had no idea what it was like to grow up in a circle. Fear was a big part of it and the Inquisitor only ever elected to tell certain parts of her time there, usually only the happy things. But Dorian could tell, there was other stories besides the ones were she comically set something on fire, or of her brother's bravery, or Marbrand's kindness. She didn't talk about the abuses; only mentioned getting the rod once and how much gentler Ostwick was compared to other circles. Always with a slight infection of gentler, as if she was speaking in shades of sarcasm. Dorian figured he would never know what passed for punishment in the Ostwick circle and how much of it Marbrand hadn't been able to protect her from.

"I wasn't supposed to take the phylacteries when we left for the Conclave—but then the blood mage attacked and I didn't want to leave it there for someone to use," Marbrand continued. "You can tell anyone you want to, my lord, but I will not hand it over."

Dorian nodded. He wasn't going to tell anyone. There was no need to steal a glimmer of hope from a man who—in all essence—was searching for his daughter. And besides, seeing it glow was comforting. It meant they were looking for a live person instead of a body.

"I think you should keep it," Dorian crossed his arms and stepped away from the cool sea spray. "But, when we find her, it might be a good idea to let her know you still have it. It is her blood after all."

The knight nodded. "Aye; thank you, my lord." He excused himself and went to bed. Dorian followed a little while after.

XXXX

Even after his chat with Ser Marbrand, Dorian had had a rough time sleeping and he woke feeling miserable. He stumbled to the upper deck where breakfast was being served by the ship's surly cook. Dorian wasn't expecting anything too fancy and he wasn't disappointed. Eggs were too fragile to carry on a ship, so it was porridge and bacon—at least there was wine to wash it down with.

The wind was strong on their backs, filling the sails and giving them good speed. The day was clear and the air wasn't too cold, although Dorian did don one of his warmer woolen cloaks. Dorian spent most of the day lounging around in the sun, listening to the sound of the waves, and reading. They passed by other ships, most of them merchants flying Orlesian colors. Cole fed the seabirds with a bit of leftover bread and Sera had found her way up the mast. Ser Marbrand sat quietly by himself though, probably mulling over what he was going to say to the Inquisitor.

Bull, finally bored with sparring, came to sit by Dorian at the stern near the wheel. The Captain was taking the Peacock by some rocks and didn't trust anyone but himself to handle it.

"Hey, Kadan," Bull greeted and sat on the steps, his bulk taking up most of the stairwell. "What's the plan when we put into Cumberland?"

Dorian neatly marked his book with a ribbon. "We'll stay the night in Cumberland," he hadn't given very much thought to what they would do, but he knew for sure that he needed a bedroom to himself for a night at the very least. And it would give them a chance to ask around, see if the Inquisitor and her companions had passed through or if any travelers had seen them on the road. "We should see if we can find any gossip—you know, have you seen a short woman riding a reptilian horse? Probably in the company of an aggressively hairy man and a beardless dwarf? I'm sure someone has seen them."

"Don't forget about the Seeker," Bull cracked a smile.

Dorian chuckled. "Also, have you seen the Divine? We seem to have lost her." then he added, rather cheekily, "Perhaps we should have her face painted on milk pails?"

Bull laughed, "And when you're done making jokes, what do we do when we leave Cumberland?"

"I suppose we take the Imperial Highway," Dorian thought about the Inquisitor's phylactery. He knew if he swore the Iron Bull to silence, that he would keep his mouth shut. Now that he knew they had the vial, they could essentially track the Inquisitor much the same way Templars tracked wayward mages. It was a little too close to tyranny for Dorian's taste, but there was that old adage—desperate times call for desperate measures.

"Don't worry," Dorian muttered, "We'll find them,"

Bull regarded him with slight suspicion. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes, I just know," then, he added, "as that beardless dwarf says, never bet against the hero."

Bull laughed and got up. "Alright, you're the boss till we find the boss."

That night a squall hit them and it rained for four hours. With all the bodies cramped into the lower decks and the rain water seeping into the wood, Dorian was sweating from the humidity and spent the night tossing and turning as much as his hammock would allow. The rain continued in the morning as a heavy drizzle, but it was enough to keep Dorian below and out of the water.

Sera spent the whole day sulking too. She was still angry and the wind was too high and the rain too dangerous for anyone to climb the mast. So she played dice with Scout Harding while Dorian tried to read by candlelight. It was a miserable day and another miserable night.

But the next day, the rain had cleared and the coast was in their sights. Dorian felt a rush of energy, he would be glad to have a private room in some comfortable inn—and a bath, he added, after all, the Inquisition is footing the bill.

Bored of his book, Dorian allowed the Captain to prattle on about the Peacock's history. "She was a merchant vessel out of Jadar before the Breach, after the whole business with Divine Justinia, Maker rest her soul, I sighed on with the Inquisition, promised them a speedy merchant ship." He coughed and spat tobacco juice over the side, Dorian tried to ignore how disgusting it was. "Soon I was hauling soldiers from all over Thedas. Fitted her with some defenses, iron banded the mast, and asked for a fighting crew—now she's a war cog. She can take a blow," he pointed to the bow of the ship where the decorative peacock carved of wood and painted brightly sat on a long wood and iron spike. "And she can hand them out too. I've sunk a red Templar ship and sent one into retreat—like I said my lord, she's pretty, but she's got teeth."

Dorian nodded and was about to turn away when he noticed another sail on the horizon. It was gaining a lot of speed and coming up on them fast. "I don't recognize those colors," he muttered.

"Ship off port to stern, captain!" the sailor, clinging to the mast roared, a spyglass in hand.

"What are her colors?"

"She's flying black," the sailor answered.

"Fuck," the Captain cursed and Dorian felt the deck move out from under him at the Captain suddenly turned the ship towards the other. "All hands to battle stations!"

Dorian looked back over at the ship and then back at the captain. "What's happening?" He demanded, then saw Bull and his Chargers emerge from below decks. Men and women in Inquisition livery were running around like chickens with their heads cut off. Swords were left in their sheaths in favor of pikes, bows, and spears.

"What's going on?" Bull bellowed from the deck below.

"Pirates!" the captain roared.

Harding came up from the cargo bay; "Did he just say pirates?"

Bull raised a fist in celebration; "Oh yeah!" he let out a bellowing laugh and turned to the Chargers. "Alright boys, you heard the captain, get your weapons! Horns up!" his war cry was echoed and the Chargers dispersed.

Dorian took hold of the rail and looked down at Bull. "You're more excited about the prospect of fighting pirates than you should be," he spotted Cole and Sera peak up from the lower deck. "Cole, get my staff and get up here, we're in for a fight!"

"I've fought pirates before," Bull laughed a gleeful smile on his face. "But never on an actual boat, this is new territory for me," Krem brought up Bull's lethal two-handed ax. Dorian left the Captain to the helm and joined his friends on the lower deck.

"Here," Cole brought him his staff. It was a gift from the Inquisitor; a straight oaken staff banded in volcanic arum, a jeweled spear on one end, and a red stone for the head. It was a weapon worthy of a Tevinter Magister, it made Dorian proud to carry such a weapon. The jewels alone were worth a pretty penny and might make a magister jealous at a mere altus.

Ser Marbrand had only managed to get on half his armor and he kept his sword at his hip in favor of a pike. He came to stand by Dorian.

"What's the battle plan?" the knight asked.

"Don't die is usually my plan; you know, easy, simple to remember,"

Marbrand nodded and took a small vial of lyrium from his pocket. Dorian watched as he gulped it down greedily, wiped his mouth and then threw the empty vial over the side of the boat. "We rout these fools and get on our way; nothing will stop me from finding the Herald."

Dorian tapped the spearhead lightly into the wood of the deck. "I find your determination inspiring," then he called up to the captain. "How do we fight them?"

The captain laughed. "We're the Inquisition; we're going to ram them,"

"Of course we are," Dorian sighed.

The ship lurched as the wind filled its sails. "Brace yourselves!" the captain cried. Dorian wasted no time taking hold of the mast, as did all the other sailors.

They were rushing towards the enemy ship, the iron tip on the bow glinted in the sun. The enemy seemed to have no idea what was about to happen to them, men and women dressed in mismatching bits of armor and mail. Dorian spotted elves, dwarves, and humans, but their captain was a qunari; a fierce looking brute with broken horns.

"That one's mine!" Bull roared, hoisting his ax over his head. They were drawing closer, Dorian slammed his eyes shut and gripped the mast. His body jerked as the ships smashed into each other, he heard the sound of wood splitting and splintering.

"In the name of the Herald of Andraste, throw down your arms!" the Captain screamed, although Dorian knew his order would be ignored. "For the Inquisition!" he roared and Dorian forced himself to let go of the mast and face the enemy.

His first step was to throw up a barrier around the warriors nearest him. It caught Harding and Marbrand, Cole, Sera, and a few other soldiers. But Bull was out of range, his ax already bloody. Quickly, Dorian threw out a horror spell, caught a pirate in the face and she swung her daggers wide, nearly striking her own crewmates before falling over the side.

The two ships were stuck together, their sails and ropes tangled. The pirate ship had been dealt a nasty blow by the Peacock. But now that they had lost the wind and were tangled with the other ship, they were dead in the water. The pirates seemed to know their ship was mortally wounded; they jumped the gap between the boats, weapons drawn and Dorian would have sworn some were frothing at the mouth.

"Archers, fire!" the captain's voice broke over the din of battle. At his command, a hail of arrows hit the enemy deck, striking enemy bodies and knocking some into the sea. Dorian raised his staff and threw a walking bomb curse at one of the pirates. The man jumped when the spell hit him, and turned towards Dorian, his sword raised. But before he could reach him, the spell exploded, spewing gore in all directions and spreading panic to his brethren.

Above him, Sera and Harding were sitting astride the mast, firing arrows and trading jokes. Dorian had lost sight of Cole and Bull; he spotted Marbrand beating a pirate with a mailed fist and demanding another to surrender in the name of the Inquisitor. A dwarf carrying twin axes was stalking towards the Templar, as he battled sword to sword with another pirate. Dorian romanced a spirit from the dead and ordered to target the dwarf. The pirate screamed as the spirit overtook him, left him bleeding out on the deck, and sprung onto another enemy.

"Chargers! Horns up!" Bull roared, he was covered in gore from head to toe. The close quarters combat was leaving everyone, including Dorian, (who prided himself on winning battles without a drop of gore on his clothes), covered in gore and sweat. "Get 'em off the ship!"

The enemy captain had boarded the Peacock. Two Inquisition sailors fell before the enemy qunari's blade. In hopes of holding him back, Dorian threw a horror spell at the captain. The qunari waved his arms around as if he was trying to swat away some invisible force.

"Bull!" Dorian roared, catching his attention and pointing at the enemy captain. "Now might be a good time to—" he didn't get to finish his sentence. An elven pirate lunged for him, daggers slashing back and forth so quickly Dorian barely had time to dodge.

Raising his staff, Dorian called lighting from the sky and struck the pirate. The elf screamed bloody-murder, but kept coming. Dorian cursed as the elf made one last, desperate thrust, and held up the spear end of his staff, impaling his assailant through the chest. With a foot, Dorian freed the blade of his staff and wiped it clean on the pirate's shirt.

As Dorian turned to survey the rest of the battle, he felt's Cole's presence beside him, then felt the woosh of air as the boy's twin daggers came down and struck a pirate who had nearly taken Dorian's ankles out from under him. "He almost got you," Cole said pensively, and then added. "We're winning," Dorian couldn't disagree with that.

The pirates had to know they were losing. Those few who were left had thrown down their weapons and submitted to the iron chains of the Inquisition. But the pirate captain had yet to submit. The Chargers had made a tight circle around the pirate captain and Bull. Krem was leading the Chargers in a belligerent war chant as the two qunari circled around each other, their weapons at the ready.

Dorian did his best to appear unconcerned, but sentimentality had been a contagious plague passed on by the Inquisitor to which Dorian had found there was no cure.

The captain pressed the attack first. After nearly two years of knowing him and fighting alongside him, Dorian thought he knew Bull's fighting style pretty well. He put off an air of wild, reckless combat, but that was part of his skillset. His recklessness terrified his enemies in much the same way his name, The Iron Bull; put forth the air of mindless weapon. But Bull was no mindless weapon—he was a well-honed, highly trained, tactically sound mindless weapon. He knew when to go on the defensive and when to go into offensive.

Right now, Bull was playing defense. Hunched with his battle ax held close and across his chest, he circled carefully. Let the enemy captain swing high with his blade, took the blow on the haft of his ax, and pushed the pirate back with a heavy grunt. The pirate fell back, spat a Qunlat curse, and struck again. This time Bull stepped aside, the blade missed him and found the deck. Dorian could see the smirk on Bull's face as he slammed the flat of his ax against the pirate's back.

"Finish him off, Iron Bull!" one of the Inquisition sailors shouted, they cheered as Bull pushed the pirate so hard, he hit the deck with a wet smack. Bull held the blade of his ax over the qunari;"Ebasit kata itwa-ost."

"Ebost, Tal-Vashoth!" the qunari answered knocking Bull's ax away. The pirate got to his feet and raised his sword high. The Chargers stepped back, making room for what was sure to be a bloody end. Dorian turned away and tried to ignore the sicken crunch of broken bones and the wet plop of entrails. He turned back after a moment of gaining his composure and saw that Bull had effectively sliced the qunari in half.

"Tal-Vashoth," Bull laughed and cleaned his blade on the cotton jerkin the qunari had been wearing. "I know you are, but what am I?"

"Tal-Vashoth?" Cole answered and Bull laughed all the more. Dorian tried his best to step over the corpses on his way to pat Bull on the back.

"Well done," Dorian averted his eyes as the Inquisition threw the corpses over onto the other boat. He didn't mind blood and gore, but there was just something horrifying about the sound of meat slapping against wooden planks.

"Get the corpses over the side and cut us loose!" the captain ordered. It didn't take long for the sailors to finish up with their work and once the Peacock was cut loose from the other ship, Dorian, with Sera and Harding, lit the other ship aflame. Dorian watched the smoking hulk drift listlessly in the water until nightfall, when the ocean swallowed her up.

The Peacock limped into port two days later. The captain informed them that he'd been given orders to stay close to Cumberland and not to return to Val Royeaux without the Inquisitor aboard.

"Thanks, Cap'," Harding saluted before she mounted her horse. "We should find an inn," she said to Dorian as they left the docks.

"Couldn't agree more," Dorian smiled. Cumberland was the last major Orlesian city this far north. It was a major port; there were inns, taverns, hotels, and shops of all kinds. It neither rivaled Val Royeaux or Minranthos, but it was still a splendid in its own way. Their group split up; the Chargers to schmooze around the local bars, Ser Marbrand to the local chantries, and Harding to secure their lodgings while Dorian, Bull, Sera, and Cole walked around the open air markets and see if there was any news that might be gleaned from the locals.

Dorian and Cole stopped by a stall where a plump woman was selling oranges and other citruses. Dorian bought a few oranges in hopes that they might loosen the woman's tongue. She didn't know anything about the Inquisitor, only that Inquisition troops were awful polite and once had bought a crate of lemons from her and didn't even haggle the price…and Dorian smiled and nodded, thanked for the fruit, and left her.

Another seller was unwilling to trust Dorian claiming that the Inquisition would never let a vint into their ranks. Dorian didn't bother buying anything from him, only showed him the very fancy looking piece of parchment that Leliana had given him that authorized him as an agent of the Inquisition. The man scrutinized the wax seals for nearly a minute before finally offering that he'd heard a rumor about a slain dragon somewhere up north.

Dorian smirked and looked at Cole. "Well," he said, leaving the merchant's stall. "we may have ourselves a lead."

They found Bull and Sera and shared the news. Bull seemed rather put out that he'd missed a dragon fight, but Dorian was all too glad to not have been there—if—the Inquisitor had been involved with it. She was a bit of a dragon lure, it seemed, or at the very least, she had a knack for running into them.

"The Boss is bite sized," Bull explained when Sera mumbled something about dragons following them around.

"Yes," Dorian chuckled; he spotted Harding in the crowd and followed after her. "the perfect size for snacking," Cole muttered some alliteration bullshit, Dorian had trained himself to ignore most of it.

Once Harding had been informed, she told them where she'd booked a room and left them to find Marbrand. Dorian was glad for a nice hot meal and an actual bed. He knew once they left Cumberland, the comfort would cease, so he soaked it up as best he could.

The wilds await, he sighed, looking out the window. Before going to bed, he decided he was a very good friend, not everyone would go gallivanting around the countryside in hopes of finding his wayward friends…family, he reminded himself, these fools are family.

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