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Dorian hurried across the courtyard towards the tavern muttering curses at the southern weather as he went. In truth he had long since accepted that he would probably never be truly warm again but having something trivial to focus his displeasure on made it easier to ignore the workers who glared as he passed them or the soldiers who spit on the ground by his feet. It had been a while since any of them had spat on his person thanks in large part to the combined efforts of Cullen and Cassandra but regardless of how much good he did for their cause he was still feared and mistrusted. A tiny perverse part of his brain found it fascinating that he was hated down here for reasons so at odds with what had made him a pariah back home. Down here in the land of mud and dogs and perpetual cold, no one gave a damn that he slept with men, or refused to marry a woman, or drank himself insensible. They hated his Tevinter origins, his highborn ways, and most of all his magic. Or maybe it was that he refused to cower and shrink in on himself like a southern circle mage, regardless, it was so hard to get spittle stains out of silk so at least the loathing was now a little less overt. The courtyard was unusually crowded for the time of day. Morris the quartermaster was scurrying around with several harassed looking clerks but when Josephine approached with a healer in tow it began to make more sense. Another refugee caravan had made its way to Skyhold. Dorian had no wish to stared at as though he were the monster from their nightmares so he kept his head down as he made his way into the bar and collected a bottle of wine to take back to his room.
The following day was sunny for a change but still cold enough to turn a man’s nose pink. The man in question was however a little hungover and so had decided to take his research into the garden to see if some fresh air would clear his head. There were more people here too than he was used to seeing. The Chantry sisters were in attendance as ever but scattered about were more of the refugees that had come in the evening before. Dorian sat on his bench by the arbour and watched them over the top of his book. The groups consisted mainly of elderly humans and children, Ferelden by appearance. A blonde curly haired boy romping around with a stick made him think of Cullen and he snorted out a laugh before catching himself and hiding his face behind his book. When he peeked out again, he was surprised to see that one of the groups had come a little closer, the adults eyed him nervously but the children were too busy squabbling amongst themselves to notice the evil mage in their midst. The gist of their disagreement seemed to be that the little blonde boy had found the best stick and that as no other stick could possibly compare that he should share it with his fellows. The boy pointed out that they couldn’t play soldiers with only one stick so they would have to find their own anyway and a little girl who looked as though she may have been his sister lamented to all who would listen that sticks were silly and she wanted her doll back. A small red-haired child pointed out that her doll was back home and the bad men had probably taken it by now which set off a chorus of wailing which in turn roused an elderly lady into the fray, hugging and chiding children seemingly at random. It was exhausting to watch but Dorian found it utterly absorbing, so far removed from his own childhood that it was. Whatever the woman was doing seemed to have done the trick though as the sobs died down to sniffles and another magnificent stick was found. The woman led the little girl back to the adults but Dorian caught part of their conversation as they passed.
“Grammy, it’s Wintersend soon. Do you think I will get a new dolly?”
A look of pain lit for a moment across the woman’s craggy features before she mastered herself again.”
“We will have to see, it’s a long way for the Mabari to come after all.”
“But they’re magic.”
The rather confused mage sat puzzling over this for a while. It seemed as though the refugees had left their homes in a hurry, leaving their possessions behind. This made sense, after all Dorian had done much the same when he fled Tevinter. What he didn’t understand was the little girl’s hopes for Wintersend or what mabari had to do with anything? And why that awful look on her grandmother’s face? Dorian snapped his book shut, suddenly he had found something far more interesting to research.
His first stop was one of the younger chantry sisters, one of the ones who seemed less likely from his observations to start screaming maleficar as he approached. The woman eyed him nervously as he approached and he could feel Mother Giselle’s eyes on him from her spot by the chapel door. Dorian approached with a friendly smile on his face, years of Tevinter training had taught him to appear friendly to those who despised him.
“Lord Pavus, to what do I owe the honour?”
The woman spoke calmly but he could see a flicker of fear in her eyes as though she expected him to start summoning demons at any moment.
“Now my dear lady, Lord Pavus is my father, just Dorian will do. I had a couple of questions if you would be so kind as to indulge me?”
“If you wish to hear about the Maker you would be better speaking to our reverend mother. I am merely a novice.”
“Actually, I wished to ask about the refugees.”
The woman looked surprised for a moment but then seemed to slump under an invisible sorrow and Dorian quickly ushered her to a nearby bench.
“It’s terrible really, this war has cost the people so much and at times it seems as though there is so little we can do to help them. These people here today have all come in from villages in Ferelden, they have lost everything and they came here like so many others because they could think of nowhere else safe to turn.”
“What will happen to them?”
“Those who have skills or can fight will stay, the rest will be escorted to a safe place, somewhere the Inquisition has already established a presence. There are a number of such settlements in the Hinterlands now I believe.”
“I heard one of the children talking, it sounded as though they would be here for a while but there are usually so few little ones here?”
“Yes, a war fortress is not a good environment for children so the families are settled as soon as possible but with it being so close to winter it is too great a risk to lead the caravan back through the Frostbacks. They will likely be here till the worst of the snows are past.”
Ah, that explained some of the grandmother’s distress. The children would be remaining here for at least another month and if the mountain passes were treacherous enough to prevent travel then there would be no merchants either. Magical mabari notwithstanding there would be nowhere to replace a beloved toy.
“So the children will be sad because of this?”
“Yes, we will do what we can to make Wintersend a joyful occasion but as much as we would like to think otherwise the children will miss the gifts and celebrations and no amount of stories about our beloved Andraste will make up for that.”
A shadow loomed over their bench and Dorian looked up into the disapproving face of Mother Giselle.
“Sister Nicole, I think you have taken up enough of Lord Pavus’s valuable time. See about your chores child.”
Dorian rose and offered his hand to help Nicole to her feet before planting a soft kiss on her knuckles. Mother Giselle fumed silently.
“My thanks dear lady, you have given me much to think about.”
He turned and returned to his arbour and forgotten book, turning the new information over in his mind. A while later he was not at all startled thank you, an altus has far too much poise for that, when the sister handed him a steaming mug of tea from a tray.
“It’s cold out here Lord Dorian.” Before she hurried back to her flock.
The jug of hot spiced cider sitting by the chessboard was a welcome sight when Dorian arrived the following day for his standing arrangement to play a game or two with the Commander when both were in residence at Skyhold. The man was absorbed in setting up the pieces but looked up at the mages approach and gifted him with one of his rare smiles. For just a moment all of the stress and exhaustion the man carried with him melted away and Dorian felt as though he had stepped into the sunlight. It never lasted but it was still good to sit for a spell and just spend time with someone who actually seemed to like him, that the Commander was so delightful to look at was an added bonus. Dorian would flirt outrageously, Cullen would blush but otherwise not rise to the bait, and if Dorian held any deeper feelings for the straight as an arrow Commander then it was well enough hidden by bluster and misdirection.
“Are you well Dorian? You seem quiet today.” Cullen looked at him over the rim of his mug and it occurred to Dorian that he hadn’t made a single risqué joke so far, not even when Cullen had made a rather obvious comment about taking his knight. In truth the mage was still preoccupied with the events of the previous day. It was so frustrating to feel so ignorant about something so trivial when they were in the middle of a war that could end the world but once the problem was burrowing through his brain it was too late. The library had been precious little use as usual, plenty of nonsense on the history of the Chantry but absolutely nothing on magical mabari.
Cullen was now looking at him as though debating whether he needed to summon a healer to deal with whatever terrible affliction had silenced the mage when inspiration struck.
“You! You are Ferelden correct?”
“Dorian, you know I am. What are you thinking about?”
“What can you tell me about Wintersend?” Whatever answer Cullen had expected it was not that, the usually unflappable Commander stared at him as though waiting for the punchline to a joke he was the butt of.
“Wintersend? The festival?”
“Yes, yes that one. What is it? How is it celebrated? Where do mabari fit in?”
“Dorian, slow down. Why the sudden interest?”
Cullen’s expression was curiously soft as the mage told him about what he had heard the previous day. “You don’t celebrate Wintersend in Tevinter then?”
“No, we have Satinalia which occurs at much the same time, I suppose that as we do not really have winter so far north then we wouldn’t have a festival to mark it. Satinalia is wonderful though, one of the few things I miss about my homeland. There is a grand feast and even the slaves stop work and dine with their masters. There is drinking and games and people exchange gifts. Work and study stopped so that people could spend time with their families. My father used to take me to hand out sweets in the servants’ quarters and let me play with the children there.”
He stopped, the happy memory bleeding into the shame of later years when he was no longer his father’s beloved little boy and family get togethers were a cold desolate affair. A warm hand closed over his own and he looked up into honey-coloured eyes, crinkled with concern.
“Wintersend is similar in some ways. We have family parties, not so much grand feasts but plenty of home cooking and treats, I guess. In our family we visited the Chantry in the morning and then my siblings and I would play with our gifts while the food was prepared. I remember the last year we were all together, before I left to join the Templars. Maybe I should write to them, it’s been too long.”
“They would appreciate that I’m sure.” The warm hand squeezed for a moment but did not withdraw.
“I still don’t understand about the mabari.”
Cullen laughed “You asked that before, I didn’t think you liked dogs.”
“I don’t but maybe that’s because I never met one with magic before.”
“They’re not literally magic. It’s a story for children, about where the gifts come from. The tale goes that Father Wintersend was a powerful Lord many ages ago and one day he grew tired of ruling his holdings and deciding who should be rewarded and who punished so he fled into the forest in the dead of winter where a poor woodcutter found him and gave him shelter in his home. The man and his family shared what little they had with him and leant him their wood sled to make his way back home when the snow cleared. It was pulled by a team of mabari. The Lord spent the following year thinking of the family’s kindness and so the following year he loaded a sled with gifts and riches and the mabari guided him where he needed to go. Each year after that he would ride out on his sled and reward people with gifts for their good deeds over the previous year. Now the story goes that Father Wintersend and his team of magical mabari will bring gifts to all the good boys and girls. We used to get so excited when we were kids, it’s good to know that even in the midst of war there is a reason for the children to smile.”
“Will they still smile though when they realise that it was all just a story? When there are no gifts and no magic to make things better?”
Cullen evidently had no answer to that but the sorrow in his amber eyes showed that the mages concerns were valid. They played in silence for a time before a chill wind began to pick up and the sky darkened with rain.
“We could continue our game in my quarters if you wish Dorian? I know it is somewhat lacking in comfort but warmer than staying out here.”
On any other day Dorian would have leapt at the chance to take their recreation somewhere more secluded but the sense of melancholy he felt was suffocating and he excused himself as poor company for the time being. As the mage wandered off in the direction of the outer courtyard, he completely missed the concerned and rather wistful look on the Commander’s face.
Dorian had thought to take a look at the merchants’ stalls but it seemed that they had more sense than him today and were already packing up their wares as the rain began to fall in sheets. The stables were the closest building and the now rather soggy mage hopped over the puddles with as much dignity as he could muster as he headed for shelter. A fire was lit in a brazier and he shuffled over, wringing water out of his robes, before he realised he was not alone. Ah, of course, Blackwall. The man lived here after all and as there were no missions being run then it made sense that he would be here scowling as though the Black Divine had just strolled into his lair.
“Vint.”
“Blackbear.” The scowl deepened.
“Scared the rain will mess up your hair or did you just come to ruin my day?”
“Can’t it be both?” Blackwall huffed and turned back to his workbench, seemingly determined to ignore the mage. Dorian was in no mood to tease the man further and let him keep his disdain while he tried to leach as much heat from the fire as possible. Despite all of Dorian’s previous comments to the contrary, the warriors chosen home was no dismal hovel. It was clean, dry, organised, cared for. The man was carving intricate embellishments onto the flank of a wooden griffon, his attention wholly absorbed in the task. The mage moved in for a closer look. Blackwall bristled but kept working.
“That is really rather wonderful, if a trifle rustic.”
“Just something to keep my hands busy.” Was that a tiny note of pride?
“Are you able to make anything else?” An idea was beginning to form. The man turned to look at him suspiciously.
“Like what?”
“Wooden swords and shields, figures maybe?”
“I will not be a part of some filthy ritual...”
“What is it with you southerners? I’m talking about toys, for children.” Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose, a motion he had unconsciously picked up from Cullen.
“In case you were too busy being hairy and unwashed to notice there are a lot of refugees here and it is nearly Wintersend.”
Blackwall gaped at him, the insult for once passing him by. “You want me to make toys for the children?”
“I, erm, yes?” The idea solidified.
“How many are there?”
Dorian had no idea; he hadn’t thought of the details and had only really pondered on the inherent sadness of the situation. Thankfully Blackwall was entirely practical.
“I will find out and let you know.”
“All right, I’ll make a start. Don’t expect anything too fancy though Dorian. There isn’t much time left.”
Dorian nodded his thanks. As he braced himself to head back out into the downpour Blackwall watched him with a half-smile and picked up his tools once more.
An hour later saw Dorian dry and changed into fresh clothing, his hair neatly styled. It wouldn’t do to approach their Lady Ambassador looking anything less than regal. He could hear giggling as he stood outside her door and debated coming back another time.
“Come in Lord Dorian.” Leliana, how on Thedas did she know it was him? That woman was terrifying but it was too late to run now. He plastered on his most haughty smile and entered.
The women sat at on a couch by the fire, a tray of cookies and tea things on a little table off to the side. Josephine waved Dorian towards an empty armchair and as he sat he noticed the third empty cup.
“My apologies ladies, I seem to be intruding on your afternoon tea.”
Not at all Dorian, you are right on time.” Josephine smiled sweetly over the rim of her cup. “Cookie?”
Leliana smirked as she poured the tea, a spiced Tevinter brew, and added just the right amount of honey.
“I’m sorry?”
“Josie, it seems we have our dear Dorian at a bit of a loss. Today is simply full of surprises.”
“Now Lil, you do tease. I understand you have been making friends with Blackwall?”
It shouldn’t have been unnerving really, the spymaster had eyes and ears everywhere, it was after all her job.
“Did you at least offer the poor shadow a towel after stalking me in the rain?” Dorian narrowed his eyes but there was no real heat in his glare. The two women had been fairly decent to him overall, though he was pretty sure that Leliana would have conducted extensive background checks and was still clearly watching him. The two laughed and Dorian took a sip of his tea while considering what to say next. Josephine too pity on him.
“You wish to ask about the refugee children.”
“Yes, I had a bit of an idea but you probably know all about it by now.”
“There are twenty-eight children, sixteen boys and twelve girls. It has been something of a concern and I confess that our efforts so far have been directed at keeping them safe and housed. There are enough food stores and blankets to see us through but sometimes that is not enough. You thought of what we did not, thank you.”
Leliana nodded in agreement and picked up the cookie plate. Dorian took one to cover any possible lapse in his composure and took a bite. Sweet and spicy, they reminded him of the Satinalia treats that were sold all over Minrathous for the festival. He let the flavours transport him back to a happier time.
“Sera baked them.”
He almost choked.
“Took lessons from Dagna I believe, now when she throws them off the roof one no longer confuses them with stray slates.”
“And Dagna is a genius with sugar, the icing was her work was it not Josie?”
“Indeed Lil. I wonder if children like cookies?”
The not-so-subtle hint was duly taken and by early evening Dorian had extracted a promise from the Elf to produce a suitable quantity of child friendly treats for the day before Wintersend.
It had been an emotionally draining day and the mage felt that a night in the tavern had been well earned. It would be good to relax for a bit and forget about his self-imposed task with a few mugs of Ferelden swill masquerading as ale. The rather strange lack of spit on the ground went unnoticed.
“Dorian! Had a busy day I hear.” The booming voice of The Iron bull reverberated through the crowded bar and pretty much killed off any hopes of him slinking in unnoticed. A chair was shoved in his direction and a tankard placed in his hands before he quite knew what he was about.
“How in the world did you ever succeed as a spy?” There was little heat in his retort. Once their initial distrust had run its course, he had found an unlikely friend in Bull, his Chargers not so much but at least they tolerated him.
“Altus.”
“Cremisius.”
Bull laughed and slapped both men on the back. “Glad to see my two favourite Vints getting along. So, tell us how the mission is going.”
“Mission?”
Krem rolled his eyes. “He means the one where you bring toys to all the good boys and girls instead of sacrificing them in some bid for power.”
“Kaffas, how is it that everyone seems to know about this? And it’s hardly a big deal, a few trinkets is all it is.”
The Chargers exchanged a look and Bull nodded encouragingly at Krem who fished a knapsack out from under his chair. The mercenary looked Dorian dead in the eye and withdrew a stuffed nug. It was bright pink. It had wings.
“Good thing for you that the weather has put a stop to any travelling, we can have these ready for the day before Wintersend.”
There were no words, nothing that Dorian could say to express everything he felt. He nodded at Krem who simply smiled and then launched into a tale of how Rocky once nearly blew up a brothel with glitterdust and a wheel of cheese. Bull casually glanced over his shoulder at the table behind them where Varric sat entertaining the Inquisitor and the Seeker. The dwarf winked at him and opened his notebook.
Dorian woke late the next morning and, in his haste to make himself look suitably delectable for his lunch date, not a date, with Cullen, almost missed the note on the floor. It must have been pushed under his door the night before. He had received notes before, none of them had been pleasant.
‘Dear Dorian.
Your efforts are commendable and although I have no experience with children, I can knit scarves and suchlike. The Iron Bull has offered his assistance and he already has a large quantity of pink wool to hand. The items shall be ready in time for Wintersend.
Seeker Cassandra.’
What in the Void had he started?
The afternoon spent with Cullen was a welcome reprieve. The Commander had lunch brought to his quarters and they settled in for a cosy afternoon. Sleet battered against the windows but the fire in the hearth and the handsome blonde next to him on the couch took care of the chill. It was nice to pretend for a while that there could ever be anything between them, especially when the man was so warm. Dorian drowsed in the unaccustomed heat and barely noticed as he began to doze. He woke with a start, curled into the Commanders side, when a knock sounded on the door. Cullen did not look at all put out to have Dorian napping on his chest but glared at the messenger who entered and gently disentangled himself. Dorian took advantage of the interruption to compose himself and when poor Jim had fled the room his mental armour was back in place.
“Does duty call Commander?”
“Worse, Vivienne calls.”
“What does the Iron Lady want with you?”
“She doesn’t. The summons was for you.”
Two hours of being poked and prodded by the Ice Queen and Skyhold’s resident tailor effectively chased away the lingering threads of warmth he took from Cullen’s tower. It didn’t help that neither would tell him what it was all in aid of. Vivienne looked him as though he were a particularly dense farm animal but declined to answer any questions. It was a poor end to a good day.
The keep acquired an industrious feel as Wintersend approached, despite the ever-falling snow. Cullen ceased drilling the troops and instead employed them to keep the walkways and battlements clear, a never-ending task. Dorian had taken over an empty tower room at the suggestion of the Inquisitor who pointed out that his own quarters were far too small to contain the rapidly accumulating donations to his crusade. He still wasn’t sure how things had escalated from a simple conversation in the garden but he couldn’t argue with the results. Each child now how had their own pile of gifts. Blackwall had delivered an assortment of wooden toys a couple of days previously. The craftmanship was evident in the care taken with each but the paint was a surprise. Apparently Solas had given each piece an artistic flourish and a coat of varnish. The Chargers had come through on the flying nugs and Bull had proudly handed over a crate of assorted scarves and mittens in eyewatering colours. Sera had dropped off dozens of boxes of cookies and sweets that morning. She and Dagna had outdone themselves as nestling in amongst colourful tissue paper were not only the requested cookies but also peppermint twists, sugar mice, and crystallised fruit. The smell was heavenly and the timing perfect for tonight was Wintersend Eve. There was only one detail remaining and Dorian had been tormenting himself over it for the past week. How was he to hand out the gifts? It was impossible to imagine any parent taking something willingly from the evil Magister ands he had no wish to see so many people’s hard work discarded. The two solutions he was currently torn between were either to sneak around at night when everyone was asleep and deliver them anonymously or have someone reputable hand them out. Someone like the Inquisitor.
His musings were interrupted when Nicole, the Chantry sister, poked her head around the door.
“Lord Dorian, may I come in?”
“Of course dear Lady.” Maybe the sister would be able to settle the matter for him, she certainly seemed a sensible sort. She also had her arms full and the mage hurried to help her with her burden.
“I heard about what you are doing and thought these would help. In truth, our conversation has been on my mind and it only seemed right that the Chantry should do something practical, stories have their place but sometimes you just have to muck on in.”
Dorian looked more closely at the pile of rough fabric she had brought in. It turned out to be sacks, each around the size of a pillowcase, but made of deep red fabric embroidered with winter berries and little mabari. Each sack had a child’s name on the front.
“These are wonderful! Another Ferelden tradition I take it?”
“The sacks yes, the Chantry sisters sewing them? Not so much.”
“Then it seems they should keep an eye on you, a force to be reckoned with indeed.”
“I also have something for you Lord Dorian.” She fumbled in the pocket of her robes and found a slip of folded parchment. “From the Commander.”
A summons from Cullen was nothing unusual by now but the note said nothing of chess, the man wanted to meet in the tavern. Dorian was torn, on the one hand meeting up with Cullen was always the highlight of his day and a drink or two for relaxation purposes sounded wonderful, on the other hand he had twenty-eight sacks to fill and still needed to find the Inquisitor. He could imagine Cullen’s puppy dog eyes if he didn’t show and he settled on a compromise, a quick drink, an hour or so making the man blush, and then back to business. He excused himself politely and headed for the outer walkway. Nicole watched him go as shadows unpeeled from the darkness and slipped into the tower.
Dorian let himself in through the attic doorway, skirted Cole’s hideaway which was currently absent one spirit, and down towards the main floor. Bull’s door opened as he passed and a large grey hand shot out and pulled him into the room. The furious retort died on his lips as he took in the scene. The fire was lit and bathed the whole room in warm flickering light. An open bottle of wine and two glasses sat on the bedside table. Cullen sat on the bed looking nervous, twin points of high colour flushed his cheeks. His usual armour was missing, his furred cloak over the back of a chair. The man’s bare fingers stilled in the act of fastening up the buttons on the front of a new looking tunic. He stared at Dorian with a look of fond wonder, utterly at odds with the fact that he was sitting on the Iron Bull’s bed in a state of some undress. Although Dorian held no belief that Cullen had any inkling of the mages feelings towards him, he was sure that the Bull knew exactly where his affections lay. This was beyond cruel.
“I see I am interrupting something, quite why you needed a witness I have no idea, but if you will excuse me …”
“Dorian, get your pretty head out of your ass, sit down, and have a drink. Whatever you think is going on, isn’t.”
There was nothing but good humour in the Bull’s words but it was the look of confusion on the Commander’s face that cut through his ire.
“Explain please.” And because he couldn’t quite let his irritation go. “Before I set you both on fire.”
“Its Wintersend Eve Big Guy.”
No further explanation was forthcoming but Dorian took the glass of wine Cullen handed to him and looked from one man to the other.
“Its stopped snowing but it’s still freezing outside.” Only Cullen could think that explained anything.
“Ok, while I always appreciate wine and handsome company, I actually have things to do this evening so if there is nothing further …”
“Drink up Vint, were going out. The Commander made himself look all pretty just for you, be a shame to waste it.
The blonde turned a deeper shade of red but downed the contents of his own glass and stood to reach for his cloak. The two men ushered a very confused Dorian out of the room and out into Skyhold’s main courtyard. A huge bonfire lit up the yard and illuminated the faces of the cheerful crowd gathered about it drinking hot spiced wine. Dorian started towards the festivities but was stopped short as Cullen took his arm and led him away towards Skyhold’s main gate. No one spoke as they left the firelight and song behind them and carefully made their way through the snow to the bridge. It appeared they were not the only ones to pass this way recently, numerous tracks and large drag marks gave them a path to follow as they kept away from the sheer drop to either side. The mage was all nerves as they walked. He trusted these two implicitly but it was so hard to shake off the feeling of being Skyhold’s most hated resident, were they disposing of him finally? Perhaps returning him to Tevinter? Lights shone up ahead and he could hear voices. He straightened his spine, never back down.
Magelights illuminated the clearing. A small group of soldiers stood before them with Vivienne of all people in the lead. There was a considerable amount of noise and bustling behind them but whatever was going on was lost in shadow where the magelights were absent.
“Finally my dears, you met some resistance I take it?”
“Nothing we couldn’t handle Ma’am.”
“Commander you look delightful this evening.”
“Your assistance was most appreciated Madame.”
“Well, when one has the talents of such a superb tailor at one’s beck and call, it would be a crime to not share occasionally. Tis the season after all.”
“Indeed.”
“And that brings us to the man of the hour. Come into the light Dorian dear. Oh my, he looks faint.”
Bull looked sheepish. “There may have been a small misunderstanding Ma’am.”
Vivienne raised an eyebrow but said nothing more. She waved over one of the soldiers who handed her a large box. Cullen took Dorian by the hand and led him over to the Enchanter. Everyone was smiling at him as Vivienne opened the box and lifted out a cloak. It was floor length, Ferelden style, and possibly the warmest most luxurious cloak Dorian had seen since coming south. Deep blue velvet lined with soft white fur. She held it out to him and Cullen helped him into it. A deep hood lined with more fur kept him toasty warm and slits allowed his hands some movement while keeping the garment fastened down the front with hidden silver buttons. Silver thread embroidered sparkles across the blue, winter twilight given form.
“Beautiful.”
Dorian turned to Cullen who looked bashful as he realised, he spoke aloud. Vivienne and Bull nodded approvingly.
“Come on then big guy, we need to make tracks.”
Dorian was more confused than ever as he was led further back into the clearing. So far, he had been lured away from the castle and given a fine gift, there was no sign of a Tevinter company but they were heading further from the light. His patience nearly at an end he summoned a battalion of magelights, banishing the darkness ahead.
A wood sled stood before him and regarding him with curious eyes were a pack of mabari in harness. Skyhold’s kennel master was giving the massive beasts a final rub down and paid him no attention. Behind the sleds empty seat were piled the gift sacks. Nicole and a number of Leliana’s scouts stood off to the side looking very pleased with themselves.
Strong hands gripped his waist. Cullen lifted him into the seat and then turned to address the mabari. “Tonight, your mission is to bring Lord Wintersend safely to Skyhold’s main courtyard. You will help him find his way and then remain as honour guard while he gives out his gifts. You may accept affection from the children. Do you all understand?”
The dogs barked in unison. Cullen leaned in to Dorian and whispered. “Don’t worry, we are all with you.”
The mabari trotted off back across the bridge carrying their precious cargo,
As the sled came through the gate the singing died away and an excited shout rose amongst the crowd. The whole of Skyhold began to cheer as Dorian and his mabari helpers came to a halt, the rest of their entourage behind them. Cullen took a spot by the side of the sled and Josephine came to join him.
“My Lords, Ladies, and Gentlemen, esteemed guests and members of the Inquisition. This is the most magical night of the year and what could be more fitting than a visit from Lord Wintersend himself. He knows all of the children have been good this year and has come all this way to bring you cheer. Even though he is a long way from home he cares about all of us and so let’s give a huge Skyhold welcome to his Lordship.” The cheer at the ambassador’s words was deafening. Cullen handed the first sack to Dorian.
“Lucy Thatcher? Come on up here sweetheart.”
The small blonde girl from the garden looked at him with wide eyes and was gently led forwards by her grandmother. “Hello Lucy. I heard you were sad but I also heard you are a very brave young lady and so my mabari and I simply had to come and meet you.” The girl shyly came forward and took the sack from Dorian’s hands.
“The mabari brought you all the way here? All through the snow?”
“They did, they are very clever, they always find their way.”
The girl’s eyes widened and she threw herself at the stunned mage, enveloping him in a tiny bearhug.
“I told you they were magic.” She shouted in triumph to her smiling grandmother. The old woman wiped away a tear and squeezed Dorian’s hand before leading the jubilant child back to the crowd.
Dorian sat with a glass of punch in his hand and an awestruck grin on his face as he looked out over the great hall. Josephine had managed to find a place to seat everyone inside for the evenings feast and from his spot nestled between Cullen and the Inquisitor at the top table Dorian had a perfect view of the room. The children ran about showing off their new toys to absolutely everyone, their joy infectious as the adults watched them play. Dorian had never received so many hugs in his life, the smiles and well wishes almost overwhelming. By the time the feast ended he felt ten feet tall and so tired he could sleep for a month. It was done. He had given his gifts, made the children smile, and no one had spit on him all night. All he could think of now was a little quiet time to gather his thoughts after such an incredible evening. He rose to leave and Cullen stood with him, taking his hand and leading him towards the rotunda.
“Would you join me for a nightcap Dorian?”
The mage knew he was a weak man and despite the lure of his own bed he followed the Commander to his quarters. Cullen stoked the fire and poured a couple of measures of brandy before joining Dorian on the couch. The look of fond wonder was still there, Dorian found himself returning it.
“Such a wonderful thing you did Dorian, you should be so proud.”
“It was very much a joint effort, I merely set the ball rolling.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. You were the driving force. For weeks you have been all over Skyhold, thinking only of bringing joy to others. Now that your fine work is done was there nothing you wanted for yourself?”
The Commanders eyes darkened as he regarded the mage, they leaned a little closer.
“For myself? I’m not sure where I would begin.”
“Allow me to make a suggestion. Happy Wintersend Dorian.”
Cullen closed the gap and kissed him.