The sun beat down on the two men as they circled each other, watching for any sign of weakness. Above, the summer sun shone brightly, the heat weighing on Cullen more than the leather gambeson he wore. Sweat soaked through his armor and rendered his hair curly and damp, but his grip remained firm around the hilt of his sword as he watched his opponent carefully.

Too late he realized that he'd been maneuvered to face directly into the sun which, of course, was when Alistair chose to strike. Cullen barely raised his shield in time to ward off the sword whistling towards him, bashing it away with focused strength. In answer, his own blade thrust forward rather than swinging, causing the Warden to step back out of its reach. Pulling back before he could be caught in an over-extension, Cullen pivoted and bashed his shield hard into Alistair, using his leverage to push the man even more off balance. A final shove saw the man wavering on the edge of the practice ring before falling back with a startled yelp.

Cullen grinned as he sheathed his practice blade and moved forward, offering a hand to his sparring partner. "You're more than a bit rusty, Alistair," he said with a chuckle. "Not enough Darkspawn around to keep your skills sharp since the Fifth Blight ended?"

"Oh, hardy har har," Alistair muttered as accepted Cullen's offer. Their hands smacked together loudly before Cullen pulled him up, and for a few moments, they simply concentrated on getting their breath back. "Tell you what," Alistair finally said. "You go take on a couple of ogres and then come back and tell me how eager I should be to go forth and find new darkspawn to kill. Go on," he urged, gesturing towards the gate. "I'll be here, cozied up in your office. I'll take those reports you complain about over a pack of shrieks any day, believe you me."

"Are you sure about that?" Cullen panted as he waved Alistair to follow him to some nearby benches. There were others waiting to use the practice ring, after all. "You haven't seen Leliana's reports. They're each a small battle in and of themselves."

With a laugh, Alistair accepted a water skin from a young elf boy standing in the shade of the Herald's Rest, drinking deeply before he poured some on his head to cool down. "I can imagine," he said as he handed the water to Cullen to do the same. "From what I've heard, both of you have been rather busy of late."

Tugging off his gauntlets, Cullen tucked them into his belt and poured the last of the water over his head before raking his fingers through his hair. "That's one way of putting it." He looked out into the courtyard, noting the renewed bustling and activity, a sharp contrast to just a few short weeks ago. When Dorian had left, less than a score of people had gathered in the courtyard to see him off. Now...

Alistair followed his gaze. "There's more than when I first came here, by a fair margin. And morale is definitely improved a fair bit, as well." His lips pursed in thought. "I've also heard the mage's name on quite a few more lips. How long has he been running around, doing good deeds in the name of the Inquisition? Over a month, right?"

Cullen nodded, deep in thought. "Almost a month and a half, actually. He makes sure the others get to come back to Skyhold, but he hasn't done so himself."

"Smart move," Alistair observed. "They'll see it as dedication, keeping himself out like that, but also appreciate he didn't force the others. Little things like that get noticed, and remembered. He keeps saying he doesn't want to be Inquisitor, but..." Letting the thought trail into silence, Alistair shrugged and gestured the elf boy closer. "Another skin, please. The Commander used up the one I leant him."

"You mean the nearly empty one you gave me?" Cullen asked with a grin.

As Alistair chuckled and took the water, the boy looked up at Cullen. "Would you like another skin, Ser? Um, I mean Ser Commander!" he quickly corrected himself.

"I would indeed, thank you. What's your name, lad?"

The elf brightened. "My name's Taedor, Ser Commander. My mother and I just arrived last week, but my father has been serving the Inquisition since Haven! He works in the kitchen with Mother now, and I help here."

Cullen smiled. "You're doing good work. Keep it up."

"Thank you, Ser Commander!" Taedor said, attempting to give him a salute. "Father says we can't let the Herald or her Chosen down!" At that point, someone else came over to the benches, and Taedor hurried over to give him some water.

Swallowing harshly, Cullen sagged down to sit next to Alistair. His friend looked at him with a sympathetic expression as he patted Cullen's leg. "I hear that a lot, actually," he said softly. "I suspect Leliana's gently guiding hand."

"So do I," Cullen replied in hushed tones. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that, honestly. He knew Leliana would never want to replace Mailani in the hearts and minds of those who served the Inquisition, but he also knew that the Inquisition would do better to have a figurehead. It made him supremely uncomfortable, though.

"You know," Alistair said in a thoughtful voice, "it doesn't have to be."

"Have to be what?"

"Leliana's doing. I mean, it's not like Mailani burst out of the Fade saying she was the Herald, is it?" Alistair mused. "That came later, after she closed a couple of rifts. At least, that's what Leliana told me."

"That's true," Cullen said slowly, brow furrowing slightly as he considered the ramifications. "I'm not actually sure where the term Herald came from. I admit, I've always thought it was Leliana's work."

"Not a bad guess, but you might want to ask her at some point. Maybe it would make you feel better about the whole thing. Or at least not worse, if you already think she's started the rumor." Alistair patted his leg once more then gestured to the troops practicing in the courtyard. "To be honest, there are plenty of rumors flying around that aren't of her making that reflect well of the man. Rescuing the soldiers imprisoned by the Avvar in the Fallow Mire-"

Cullen had to snort a laugh at the mention of that particular mission. "You should have read the report Dorian sent back with Scout Harding about that mission. I've never read cold, miserable, and pathetic as a puppy so many times in an official report in my life."

"Did he mention his nose?" Alistair asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm. No, actually. That was in Cassandra's report, not his." Now that he thought about it, the omission seemed odd.

"And yet that detail is running around Skyhold. For a man with a reputation for vanity, a broken nose acquired while saving Inquisition soldiers is seen as significant." Alistair nudged Cullen. "But you already knew that, I'm sure."

Nodding slowly, Cullen thought about the other things he'd heard them talking about. "Of course, the fact he can actually close rifts helps, too."

"And he's been very diligent about it. He's closed quite a few in only a month and a half."

Cullen knew that had also resonated with the troops at Skyhold. It was measurable, and it harkened back to…before. A small smile came to his lips. "Maybe the Inquisition can survive after all."

"More than survive," Alistair said. "I think we're looking at a force that has the power to help me. The Wardens, I mean."

Cullen grimaced. "You know we can't make a decision on that until Dorian gets back."

"But surely that will be soon?" Alistair ventured. "He's been gone for quite a long time, after all."

A missive had arrived the previous day, actually, stating that Dorian and those with him would be returning to Skyhold 'soon', but no exact date or time had been given or promised. As Cullen opened his mouth to answer, however, he caught sight of a familiar figure stalking towards them from the direction of the gate. Rising to his feet, he gestured Alistair to stand as well. "Hawke," he muttered in warning just as the man rounded the training circle and headed towards them.

"Commander," Hawke said as he approached. When Taedor offered the Viscount a water skin, as he'd been instructed, Hawke pushed him back with an annoyed sigh. "Not now, boy." Uncaring of the way the lad staggered back and fell to the ground, Hawke came to a halt in front of Cullen and crossed his arms, looking the man up and down as Alistair rushed to help Taedor to his feet. "You're looking better than when I saw you last. Not quite so pale and timid."

Cullen's jaw rippled as he clenched his teeth. He's important to the Inquisition, he reminded himself firmly. Or at least Kirkwall will be. When he could trust his voice, he inclined his head. "You're looking a bit dusty and road-weary yourself, Your Excellency. I trust your journey was not in vain?"

Hawke barked a laugh, then nodded towards the main keep door. "Why don't you gather the ladies and that handsome mage friend of yours to hear the results? Not right away, though." He brushed some dirt off of his shirt. "I'd prefer to wash up first. Dust really isn't the best uniform for an official presentation."

"Dorian hasn't returned as of yet, Excellency," Cullen told him. "Shall I gather the rest of them?"

"Oh? I would have thought he'd be back by now. Those rifts must be intensely entertaining to keep his attention so long." Hawke frowned, then shook his head. "No. I'd rather talk to all of them at once, honestly. Any idea when he is due to return?"

"The last report we received from the field team only said Soon, Your Excellency." Cullen gave an apologetic little shrug, albeit a stiff one. "I'm sorry."

With a snort, Hawke reached out and clapped Cullen on the shoulder, sparing none of his strength. "Don't give yourself a sprain trying to apologize, Commander. We both know apologies don't carry much weight when they come from your lips, anyway." Ignoring Cullen's seething and Alistair's glare, he stepped back. "Just send a messenger to my quarters when he arrives, would you?"

"Of course," Cullen said through grated teeth.

With a smirk, Hawke turned and walked away, shoving Taedor aside without looking as he headed to his suite.

When he was out of earshot, Cullen snorted. "Yes, ser," he muttered under his breath, then went to Taedor and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, Commander Ser, but..." Taedor sniffed, bravely putting on a strong face. "Did I do something wrong, Commander?"

"You did everything you were supposed to do," Cullen assured him. "The Champion is just, ah..." His mind, for some reason, was offering a series of less than flattering phrases, and it didn't seem like a good thing to say in front of an impressionable young lad.

"Not the nicest man sometimes," Alistair supplied.

"Oh. Like my granther?" Taedor offered. "He gets grumpy when his knee acts up."

"Yes." Except in Hawke's case it's his personality, not his knee. Still, it seemed better to leave the matter at that. "Why don't you go drop off the empty skins with the tavern and get some full ones? The second shift of training is about to start."

"Yes, Commander Ser!" He gave Cullen a salute. "I'm here for the Inquisition!" Quickly he trotted off towards the Herald's Rest to go about his duties.

Cullen sighed. "I'd better go back to my office and let the Iron Trio know that the Viscount has returned." That was one good thing about always having a scout or two hovering outside his office, at any rate.

"You do that," Alistair said. "By the whiff of things, I'm long overdue for a bath."

Clapping Alistair on the shoulder, Cullen told him with a straight face, "That's always true, my friend."

"Oh, hardy har har," Alistair said, shrugging off Cullen's hand with a rolling of his eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow morning, then?"

"Wouldn't miss it!" Cullen nodded to Alistair, then set his feet in motion towards his office. Along the way, he made sure to talk to any soldiers and scouts he encountered, as well as dealing with the inevitable arrival of Jim. Cullen suspected the man's sole purpose in life was to shove reports in his Commander's face, and he couldn't help but give a little sigh as Jim did so now.

"This morning's Skyhold patrol reports, Commander!" Jim said with a crisp salute.

"Thank you, Scout." Cullen scanned the papers, brows furrowing slightly as he looked for anything out of the ordinary. "Any more sightings of giants?"

"No, Commander! Just a few bronto that have been reported to the hunters for later retrieval!"

Cullen managed to not smile in the face of the man's earnestness and nodded. "Thank you, Scout. Dismissed."

Jim executed another quick salute before marching away, and Cullen let his chuckle emerge as he set into motion again, analysing the reports as he walked. Around him, the rumble of conversation filled his ears with a constant hum. He heard snippets of the usual gossip, speculation about the Chargers, who could take on who in a practice round, complaints about the food, and other topics typical of satisfied, if slightly restless, soldiers. It's time to rotate the companies between our major areas of influence again, he mused, and made a note to talk to the other Advisors about the matter.

"-but should we tell the Commander?"

Cullen's walk slowed, and he glanced up from his reports when those words struck his ears. As he tried to pinpoint the man he'd heard, a woman answered, "Isn't it just gossip, though? I mean...the Champion surely wouldn't do that, would he?"

"According to Baden, he would," the first man replied as Cullen located him and moved towards him. "I don't like it. The Chosen may be a Vint, but he's our Vint."

The woman with him, whose back was to Cullen as he approached, nodded her head. "The Champion needs to back off, he does. You..." Her voice lowered, and Cullen had to strain to hear it even as he got closer. "You don't think that's why the Chosen hasn't come back to Skyhold, do you?"

"How would I-Commander!" The man said, back stiffening as he gave Cullen a crisp salute. The woman started and quickly turned to face Cullen, mirroring the man's actions.

"At ease." Crossing his arms across his chest, Cullen put a stern, but not angry, look on his face as he looked them over. This close, he recognized them - two solid soldiers who'd been with the Inquisition since Haven, and not prone to idle gossip. "Now, Lisbeth, Conrad-what is it you aren't sure you should tell me?"

The two exchanged a glance before Conrad nudged Lisbeth's foot. "Lisbeth is worried about some of the rumors going around, Commander."

Cullen shifted his stare to the woman without a word, a raised eyebrow making his order to talk more than clear.

Swallowing hard, Lisbeth nodded. "It's just a rumor, Commander. That the Champion and Ser Pavus passed an evening together, if you take my meaning."

Though he'd heard the rumor and had it confirmed by Leliana, Cullen still didn't see why it was a cause for concern - for these two, at least. After all, very few people knew Hawke beyond the story of the Champion of Kirkwall from Varric's book, and certainly not as well as Cullen did. Though he himself had several concerns should Dorian pursue Hawke further, he needed to know why his soldiers were worried about it. "What of it?"

"It's just that…Well, you know His Excellency has spent quite a few days here in Skyhold between his trips elsewhere, Commander. And when he's here..." She glanced at Conrad, who nodded encouragingly, then looked at Cullen again. "There's some who've also spent an evening with the Chosen. You know, before…well, before, when he'd had a bit much to drink and such? The Champion, well, he went and had words with them. The men who'd been with Ser Pavus, I mean."

Cullen's brows drew together as he frowned. "Words?"

"Telling them to keep away from the Chosen from here on out," Conrad volunteered. "Spoke to one of them myself. Said the Champion smiled the whole time, but..." Giving a little shrug, Conrad shook his head. "There's smiles and then there's smiles, Commander."

Oh, Cullen knew that particular smile of Hawke's quite well, and his sense of unease increased. "So he's warning people away from Dorian?"

Both of them nodded, and Conrad added, "Not quite threatening, like, but making it plain that it would be best for them to keep their distance. And…Well, he's the Champion, so who's going to go up against him?"

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn. "This is something you should tell the Commander," he told the two of them. "And you should expect a visitor from someone else later, as well." As both Conrad and Lisbeth glanced up nervously at the window through which the Nightingale's crows flew, Cullen looked at the troops around them, wondering just how far this concern ran. "How widespread is the rumor?"

Lisbeth tilted her head slightly as she considered the question. "Not everyone knows, I'd say, but the rumor is spreading. And we're worried, Ser. The Chosen, we know him better now. He went in and rescued our people from the Avvar, he's fighting against the Venatori even though they're both from Tevinter, and more stories keep coming back every day of things that she'd be proud of, Commander. And he's doing it all in her name, not his own, because it's the right thing to do. She said that about him before, that he was a right proper man even if he was a Vint, but…well, now we've all seen it for ourselves."

"He's carrying on the Herald's legacy without claiming it for his own," Conrad chimed in. "That's important, Commander. He knows the Inquisition is bigger than any of us. He's one of us now, and she chose him to continue her work. We want to take care of our own."

"And we will," Cullen told them firmly. "You have my word, and that of the Inquisition. Champion or no, Dorian is one of us now, and we will protect him as such."

The soldiers visibly relaxed, then gave Cullen a matched salute. "Thank you, Commander," Lisbeth said.

"Dismissed." After they had walked away, a deep frown settled onto his face as he considered what they'd told him. Though it had ended on a high note, the meat of the conversation left a bad taste in Cullen's mouth as he finished the journey to his office, and did nothing to lighten his mood. As he went through the motions of his ablutions using the cold basin of water awaiting him, then carefully set his hair to order and ate part of the cold breakfast left on his desk, his gaze grew more and more distant. By the time he sat at the chair behind his desk, he only had enough energy to lean back and let his head fall against the wall as he sighed heavily and closed his eyes.

For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the weight on his shoulders, the hole in his chest, and the emptiness at his side. He forced himself to take a deep, slow breath, then another, and yet another. Finally his eyes fluttered open as he looked up at the hole in the ceiling above. "I promise I won't let you down," he murmured softly.

As his head slowly rose, his eyes wandered to the small square of slate he'd left propped up on his desk, its surface covered with a series of hatch marks. He added a line whenever he dreamed of Mailani, though he seemed to dream as much about Mailani with Dorian as he did about Mailani and himself recently. At first it had seemed odd, but now he simply accepted it. It was still a chance to remember Mailani, to see her, if only in his dreams.

And sometimes, that little reminder was all he needed.

With a final deep breath, he lifted his hands and took up his quill, dipping it into the ink as he penned notes to Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra regarding not only Hawke's return to Skyhold, but also Cullen's discussion with his soldiers. Hawke was never a man to take lightly on the best of days, but his behavior was enough to warrant a discussion, at least in Cullen's opinion.

It would keep them busy. Every moment of busy now meant one less moment of emptiness later, a lesson hard learned, and a habit hard earned. One step at a time, and eventually he wouldn't notice how many steps he took.

Eventually.

The day passed swiftly, interrupted in the mid-afternoon only by the return of Dorian and his team to Skyhold. The horn heralding their return rang out loud enough to break Cullen's concentration, and he quickly set his pen down so as to jog down the steps to greet them personally.

There were circles under Dorian's eyes as he slid out of his saddle with a wince, but he still managed a bright smile and clapped Dennet's back as the man came to grab the reins. "I think my hindquarters fit that saddle a little too well after this many days in it," he said cheerfully, earning a dry chuckle from the stoic Horse Master. "But the steeds served us well. You have my thanks."

"I'll see what I can do about improving your seat," Dennet observed. "After all, my stables have filled up quite nicely in the last few weeks." He handed the horse off to a stable boy. "I'll always do my best for the Inquisition."

Dorian smiled and thumped his fist on top Dennet's shoulder. "Good man."

With a nod, Dennet turned and moved on to the next mount, leaving Cullen to step forward and catch Dorian's elbow as the man swayed slightly. "Let's get you to your quarters, shall we?"

"And hello to you as well, Commander," Dorian said with a weary smile. Nodding to where the Iron Bull was plodding away from the stable, he said, "I appreciate the offer, but Bull needs someone right now. You read the report, I presume."

Cullen nodded. "And Harding told us more," he said softly as he let go of Dorian's arm. "Bull a Tal-vashoth…I never would have thought it of him."

"It was the Qun or the Chargers, and I knew Bull would never remain himself if he chose the Qun," Dorian said softly. Absently he reached up and thumped his fist onto Cullen's shoulder, much as he had done with Dennet. As he swayed again, that fist flattened into a hand that gripped Cullen's fur hard as Dorian took a deep breath to steady himself. "It won't take long to get him a bit more settled, I promise. I just want to finish a conversation we started while on the way here."

"But you will rest after that, won't you?" Cullen asked, concerned about the mage's health. "You've had quite the eventful month or so."

"I have, haven't I?" Dorian asked with a seemingly careless laugh. "Don't worry, Commander, I promise you that I am quite accomplished at pampering myself." His eyelid dropped in a slow wink as he took a careful step back. "After all, someone should take care of me in the manner I deserve, hmm?"

A grudging smile came to Cullen's lips. "Fine. Be that way. Just don't push yourself."

"Never happen, Ser Pot," Dorian said airily as he turned and headed after the Iron Bull. "This kettle is far too much a wastrel for that dire fate, after all."

"I am not-" Cullen began to protest, but Dorian was already out of earshot as he hurried to Bull's side. With a shake of his head, Cullen returned to his office. He still had a lot of work to do, after all.

Restlessness finally drove him out of the office a few hours after that as the sun slowly set over the mountains to the east. The wind chilled Cullen's face as he leaned on the ramparts, looking out across the lands surrounding Skyhold. The sight of the snow fields and the frozen river were always calming, and the cold of the wind and air eased the pain which had been gnawing and throbbing in the back of his mind since he'd returned to his work after the short interlude with Dorian.

He resolutely put aside the thought that perhaps he had fled his office to ensure he was far from a specific box with its tempting blue contents. Later, he would deal with that, but for now, he let himself simply exist and breathe, ignoring the longing for the lyrium as best as he could.

"He's cold inside, cold and hungry and desperate."

The sudden intrusion of that particular voice made Cullen clench his teeth together for a moment. Cole was difficult for him to deal with at the best of times, and he was hardly at his best in this particular moment. Slowly he turned to face the pale man standing next to him. "Cole. You've been difficult to track down of late." In fact, now that Cullen thought about it, he hadn't actually seen Cole since word had arrived of Mailani's death, though Harding's reports had placed him with Dorian for at least two of the weeks the mage had been away from Skyhold. He peered more closely at the boy, a frown coming to his face as he noticed that Cole was even more pale than usual, and his lips were tinged a pale blue. "Cole, are you all right?"

"He wants what he cannot have," Cole said urgently. "He needs to fill the hole left by his dagger, and he doesn't care what happens to whoever he pushes into it."

Cullen frowned, his momentary concern at Cole's absence wiped away by the words. "Who are you talking about?"

Cole took a deep breath, and when he next spoke, the words fell over themselves in a rush. "His wings are broken, but he continues to fly and fall, lashing out at whatever gets in his way without thinking of the pain he inflicts. He hunts now, a prowling predator seeking his prize, his prey, his pleasure."

"It's Hawke, isn't it?" A chill ran down Cullen's spine when he received a spare nod in response. "Where's Dorian?"

Cole's shoulders sagged in relief. "He hides amidst works of wine and words, wishing the world away. He's vulnerable, open, eager to trust. Easy to push into a hole, but not so easy to pull out."

Cullen put a hand on Cole's shoulder. "I'll take care of it," he promised, then hurried past him towards the nearest stairs.

A whisper followed him. "She says thank you."

Those words were enough to make Cullen come to a hard stop and turn around, but Cole was already gone.

Shaking his head, he took the stairs two at a time, deciphering Cole's riddle as he went. Works of wine and words...He must mean the secret study. There were books there, after all, and the small wine cellar not too far away. Certainly it was a more likely candidate than the main library or the storage room in the back of the Herald's Rest. His strides lengthened as he took the quickest route from his office to the study, yet even then it almost wasn't enough.

"Hawke!" Cullen called out, his urgency at seeing the man reaching towards the door handle enough to make him bypass normal courtesies.

The man's shoulders stiffened, but his hand fell away from the door as he turned around, a cold expression on his face as he said in a sarcastic tone, "Cullen. It's been so long since we've talked."

"As you say, Your Excellency." Cullen gave a belated bow as Hawke walked towards him. "I trust you've been well?"

"Tolerably." Hawke's eyes narrowed. "Odd to run into you down here."

Lifting his chin, Cullen gave a little shrug. "I don't see why. There are several important books down here that I refer to on occasion." It was a not-so-subtle message, that Cullen belonged to Skyhold, and Hawke did not.

"And I take it such an occasion has arisen now?" The skepticism in Hawke's voice cut through the air between them, and for a moment, Cullen feared that Hawke would pursue the matter. Finally, though, Hawke simply shrugged. "Fine. Have it your way, Commander. I'd best be on my way, then."

Stepping back to give Hawke plenty of room to pass by, Cullen breathed a purely internal sigh of relief. When Hawke was right next to him, however, he paused and met Cullen's gaze. "You wouldn't happen to have run down here because you heard something from one of your soldiers, would you?"

"What I say to my soldiers and what they say to me is the Inquisition's concern," Cullen said in a flat tone.

Hawke regarded him with tilted head for a moment, then stepped closer. "Odd, isn't it, how you've gone from never looking beyond the tip of your nose to sticking it where it doesn't belong?" Leaning in until his face was mere inches away from Cullen's, he said softly, "I was there, lest you forget. While Meredith slowly went insane and Kirkwall fell apart around her, you refused to pull your head out of your arse and do anything about it." His nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed even further. "And, as usual, I had to clean up the whole bloody mess. I don't know how you sleep at night with all that blood on your hands because you didn't dare question authority. Think on that before you start judging me based on a little rumor or decide that you'd be 'better' for him, hmm?"

Cullen forced himself not to back down and keep his breath even as Hawke gave him one final scornful look before stalking away. Damn the man. The headache which had been bothering him earlier began to throb painfully, and he sighed as he rubbed at his forehead. Worse, Hawke was right - at least about Kirkwall - and Cullen knew it. Did that make him right about Dorian? "No. Not this time," he murmured, then quickly entered the study.

Inside, Dorian had collapsed into the lone chair, face buried in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. As Cullen approached, he raised his head to blink blearily at Cullen. "Commander?" In the dim lighting, his eyes looked red rimmed and swollen and the circles beneath them were even more pronounced than before, but Cullen couldn't tell if that was more than mere abuse of alcohol. "Is that you?"

"It's me, Dorian," Cullen said in a soft voice, again worried about the mage. He knew only too well the impulse to dull pain with drink. "I've come to take you to your rest. You know," he added, trying for a slightly lighter tone, "the one you promised you'd get, hmm?"

Dorian snorted as he tried to rise to his feet. Halfway up, he lurched sideways, saved from cracking his head on the desk only through Cullen's swift step forward to pull him fully upright. With a chuckle, Dorian tapped Cullen's nose with a shaking hand. "Deja vu. You seem to be making a habit of catching me when I falter."

"That's not such a bad thing, is it?" Cullen asked as he held Dorian in place. When the man still swayed in spite of his help, Cullen shook his head and carefully helped the mage back into the chair. "Maybe we should just sit and talk for a while," he suggested as he hitched himself up onto the desk.

With an absent nod, Dorian closed his eyes and sighed, then let his head fall back into the chair. "Yes. Talk. One of the two best things to do with your lips and tongue. That would be nice." He took a deep breath, then raised the bottle he still held to his lips. Only a vague look of disappointment on his face told Cullen that it was empty before he opened his fingers and let it drop with a clatter to the ground. "About what, pray?"

The mage's first comment made him suddenly remember Hawke's parting jab, and Cullen swiftly cleared his throat, pushing the absurdity of the idea out of his mind. Instead, he cast about for a topic that would avoid both the weather and Dorian's reason for drinking so heavily - at least, for now. "You were away from Skyhold for a long time. Any particular reason? Do you have anything to report?"

"It was terrible, Commander. There were bears. Bandits. Brontos. Burned breakfasts. Bug bites. Bureaucrats." Dorian shuddered delicately. "Absolutely horrifying."

Cullen forced a chuckle. "That does sound terrible."

"Indeed," Dorian groaned. "I've rarely been more miserable in my life. But do you know the absolute worst part of the entire affair?" His eyes opened, gleaming wetly in the dim light. "She wasn't there. Maker, I'd have given every last breath in my body for her to be at my side."

The words came as a surprise, given that Dorian had never volunteered his own pain before, and hit Cullen almost like a blow. His hand rose to his chest as he gasped and bowed his head, an action that didn't go unnoticed.

"I'm sorry, Commander," Dorian said quickly, leaning forward and reaching out with his hand in a comforting gesture. "I should have considered your own-"

"No." The word came out softly, so Cullen shook his head more firmly and took Dorian's outstretched hand, speaking with a bit more authority as he repeated the word. "No. Please, tell me more. You were among those who fought at her side. Tell me what she was like out there." When Dorian seemed uncertain, he squeezed the man's hand and added, "It would mean a lot to me."

A sad, fleeting smile came to Dorian's face as he nodded. "As you wish. She was…utterly fearless on the field. It was odd to see sometimes, since she was such a kind soul anywhere but in battle, but if we came under attack, or if she saw someone in danger, the bow came out and her arrows flew true." Dorian reached up to wipe his tears away, though more fell mere moments later. "When it was all over, she was the first at everyone's side, making sure we were bandaged and tended to properly. She always made sure she was the last to drink any of the potions." The mage sighed, that tremulous smile again touching his lips. "She even lied about it a couple of times, the poor darling, just to make sure we'd all drink if we needed it. Iron Bull or Cassandra, and even Blackwall, had to carry her back to camp more than once because of it."

"That does sound like her," Cullen said with a wry chuckle. That selflessness had been one of the things he respected and adored the most. "Is that why she caught lung fever in the Storm Coast?"

"Precisely. Vivienne was most put out with her, as I recall," Dorian noted with a little shake of his head.

"As was Cassandra," Cullen noted. "That was after the Blades of Hessarian operation, wasn't it?"

As they talked, Dorian's tears eased, then ceased altogether, and both men started to smile as the act of remembering Mailani grew more fond and less painful. Their hands parted so that gestures could be made, and there were even moments when genuine laughter rang in the small room. Eventually the conversation found a natural lull, leaving both men in a pensive mood and lost in their own thoughts.

After a few moments, Dorian reached down to his belt and pulled away a small metal flask etched with runes. As his fingers traced the etchings, they glowed slightly, and Cullen raised an eyebrow. "What is that?"

"I found it on the body of a Venatori mage," Dorian replied thoughtfully. "I recognized its nature and have carried it ever since. Nevarran brandy, but of a very special sort."

"Intriguing. What makes it so special?"

"Its intended purpose," Dorian replied, tapping the glowing runes. "I mastered Nevarran magical arts, but I also studied their rituals. They treat their dead with as much respect as the living. More, in some cases." For a moment he fell silent, then continued in a heavy voice, "This brandy is what they drink when they wish to thank the departed for being a part of their lives."

Cullen's eyes were drawn to the intricately etched runes, their soft glow barely visible even in the dim light of the study. "And the runes?"

"Necromancy runes. According to the ritual, after drinking, there is a moment you can reach beyond the Veil and…feel them. For a moment only, of course, but..." Dorian sighed, a long, drawn-out sound. "A priceless treasure indeed, if true. Pity there is only enough for one use." Twisting off the cap, he offered the flask to Cullen. "But I think it should be yours to cherish."

"Are you certain?" Cullen's caution arose in part from not wishing to deprive Dorian of the experience, given his earlier state. The rest stemmed from his innate caution regarding any spell cast in his vicinity - magic was, after all, magic, and he had personal reasons to be wary.

"Quite certain," Dorian assured him quietly. "For all that it was one of the worst days of my life, at least I was with her in the end. You didn't even get that much."

Cullen winced as the vision of Mailani's crushed, dessicated body flashed in front of his eyes, the same image which had tortured him for weeks and could only be diminished with alcohol. Even now, it made his headache sharpen and his hands twitch, and he forced himself to close his eyes and take a deep, steadying breath.

Finally he reached out and took the flask from Dorian. "You're right." Even the chance of a farewell was enticing enough to override his reluctance, if only for a while. "How does it work?"

"Simply think of why you were grateful for her, and drink." Dorian tapped his temple. "According to my studies, the ritual raises a sort of spiritual beacon, and your thoughts determine what comes to investigate. So be careful, and be steadfast."

With a nod, Cullen stared at the flask for a moment before closing his eyes, determined not to let his mind wander. Mailani.

A welter of images and emotions from their time together ran through his mind and heart, an almost breathless reminder that as much as he had loved her, it had been her friendship which had sustained him for so long - and, in some ways, supported him even now. It was enough to push aside the last of his misgivings, and he raised the flask to his lips, quickly drinking its contents in one swift gulp. As the brandy burned down his throat, Cullen bowed his head in silence.

Perhaps it was the strength of the brandy, of perhaps the ritual truly did work as promised, but…it was almost as if she were right there beside him. When a hand settled on his shoulder and squeezed, Cullen grasped it without thinking, his thoughts wholly on Mailani.

Thank you. Simply that: no embellishment, no explanation, and no exception.

For an instant, there was a sensation of a gentle touch on his cheek. Then the feeling faded, leaving him alone again.

With a shuddering sigh, he buried his face in his hands as he let the emotions wash over him. It was the closest to peace he'd felt since her death, though he could not say for certain that it had, in fact, been her touch he had felt. In the end, it didn't matter. What had truly happened was acceptance, something which he'd been struggling with for weeks. Whether it was the ritual, or simply talking with someone else who had also loved her, even if in a different way, he finally felt for the first time as if he would be able to cherish what he'd had without howling about what he had lost.

His breath came easier, his shoulders felt lighter, and the pain was gone from his head. A weight was gone - only one of many - but at least his burden had been lessened. Thank you, he whispered in his mind one more time.

Tears standing in his eyes, he finally looked up at Dorian. Words seemed inadequate in that moment, so instead Cullen simply reached out to the mage. Dorian grasped it wordlessly, accepting Cullen's need for silence as easily as he accepted his hand.

There were worse things than being alone together.