Chapter Text
“Hessarian was filled to overflowing with doubt that the offer might be true,
Yet did he reply with message of his own and arrange to meet the war-chief.”
--Canticle of Apotheosis, Apotheosis 1, Maferath Meets With Hessarian
*I have taken lines of Bioware dialogue and rehashed them to fit my story and my interpretation of Bioware’s characters. Some things I kept the same and some things I changed.
The doors of the War Room stretch from the stone floor all the way to the rotting ceiling beams. Brianne guesses it’s a height of around twenty feet. Maybe closer to thirty. Even Chantry doors, no matter how intricately carved and auspicious, are never this tall and imposing. How is she supposed to open them?
There seems to be a smaller door carved into the bottom left side of the thick, double doors. It’s barely visible, so Brianne isn’t sure if her brain is showing her something that isn’t there in the hopes that she won’t have to try struggling to open a twenty-foot door while the Inquisitor and his advisors watch in amusement.
The mage is just about to run her fingers along the seam of the maybe-there, human-sized door within a door, when a quiet, feminine voice lilts, “It isn’t locked.”
Brianne startles and spins, catching the tail end of Leliana’s smile before it vanishes behind her mask of guarded watchfulness.
“How long have you been standing there?” the mage asks good-naturedly.
“Not long,” Leliana replies before motioning for Brianne to step aside. She does, and watches as the woman raps her knuckles on the door in a specific pattern before pulling on what Brianne thought was an ornamental, metal fixture. The actually-there, human-sized door within a door swings open easily, and the the Nightingale steps into the room. Brianne smiles to herself and follows after.
Everyone else is already in the War Room, as Cal calls it (as though he and his advisors sit around all day playing the card game whose name matches). When asked to defend the impromptu title, the Inquisitor told her, “It has the War Table. It’s where we make the War Plans. It’s the War Room.” Varric seconded his flawless logic, and so others began to name it as such as well.
The Inquisitor’s back is to her as he looks down at something on the table. He doesn’t turn around to greet Leliana or Brianne when they enter. Josephine is also absorbed in reading the current parchment attached to the board in her hand. Cullen looks up at her though, and she watches his leg muscles catch and bunch, his hand leaving the pommel of his sword to balance himself on the table as he sways from the aborted action of moving around the table to greet her.
Brianne smiles brightly, hoping that he can see she doesn’t mind. The Commander isn’t one for public displays of affection. If she didn’t know him well, it might hurt Brianne’s feelings. She doesn’t want to be with someone who’s ashamed to be seen showering her in affection, but she knows that’s not the issue that stops Cullen from reaching for her in public. He’s a private man in general. He more than makes up for his lack of demonstrative public displays with the smaller, private ones she receives every chance he gets.
It’s only been a week since Brianne’s midnight breakdown in Cullen’s loft, but it somehow feels like months. She laid her body and her secrets bare for Cullen’s inspection. He laughed with her and cried with her, held and kissed her, and promised that she would never be alone in her sorrows again. He would help her shoulder them.
Brianne’s smiling like a vapid apprentice causes her to miss Josephine’s greeting. Caldwell looks up at whatever the ambassador says, then abandons what he was staring at to sweep Brianne into a hug.
“I’m glad you’re back safe,” she manages when he sets her down.
“Me too. I know I was only gone four days, but it feels like four weeks! How’s my favorite mage?”
“I would have thought you’d have see Dorian first thing back to ask him yourself,” she teases, and is thrilled when the top of Cal’s ears turn the faintest bit pink.
“Hush, you,” he says as he bumps her shoulder lightly with his own. “I was off getting the rest of the supplies for your infirmary. Don’t make me take them all back.”
“You will do no such thing, your Worship,” Josephine scolds like a disappointed mother, and Brianne barely manages to keep from sticking her tongue out at him, lest the ambassador chastise her as well. “Mistress Lochland, you will need to vacate the construction site for the rest of the week. I apologize for the inconvenience. I will have one of the rooms overlooking the garden prepared for you. I believe the one next to Lord Pavus is vacant, if that is agreeable?”
“Thank you, Josephine,” Brianne acquiesces while stealing a glance at Cullen. She’s spent almost every night in his bed, and thought that everyone else in the keep already knew. She can’t move all her stuff into his loft though, nor does she want to, so having a room will at least keep her things safe no matter where she decides to lay her head at night.
Brianne can see that the skin of Cullen’s throat matches the red of his coat. The Commander is staring pointedly down at one of the markers on the map, avoiding all of the eyes looking at him. Leliana has a calculating smile on her face; Caldwell looks like the cat who ate the canary; and Josephine is trying valiantly to stay professional.
“Aren’t you going to offer the Enchanter different accommodations, Commander?” Leliana asks innocently.
“Leliana,” Josephine giggles, smacking her friend lightly with the board still in her hand. “That is their private business.”
“Oh, I think it’s everyone’s business when the Commander takes a lady to the top of the battlements and claims her for everyone to see,” Caldwell notes.
“Cullen!” Josephine gasps in equal parts horror and excitement.
“No, Josie, it was just a kiss,” Leliana says, “You didn’t miss much.”
“Excuse me?” Cullen interrupts indignantly. “I…”
“Yes, I’m sure it went beyond such a simple gesture,” Cal smiles wickedly. “They may also have been discussing siege tactics, or…”
“Trebuchet calibration?” Leliana adds.
“Maybe the Commander was giving her pointers on proper staff handling?” Caldwell snickers.
Brianne laughs out loud at that comment, and everyone but Cullen joins in. The Commander glares at his comrades murderously, which only makes them laugh harder.
When Brianne catches her breath again, she turns back to Josephine. “I’ll go pack my things.”
“You cannot leave me with them,” Cullen bemoans, almost convincing enough to be taken seriously. Brianne shrugs and grins at him before turning towards the door.
“Wait,” the ambassador calls out. “I did not ask you here just to tell you about the infirmary. Or to tease the Commander.” Brianne turns back to the table and the other advisor’s questioning looks.
Josephine takes a deep breath in before beginning, glancing down at the paper affixed to her board. “After the Inquisitor returned from Therinfall with his tale of what happened, and what he saw, I began making inquiries to the Imperial Court. I...have no way of knowing if the Empress has received any of my letters--our warnings--as Leliana’s agents are unable to place themselves in Orlais in any capacity where they would hear such news. I can only hope that the Empress has seen even one of my letters, and is simply choosing to ignore us. The current political situation is dangerously unstable and is complicating matters…”
“Everything in the empire complicates matters. It’s the Orlesian national pastime,” Cullen snorts, unrepentant under the assault of his female compatriots’ withering looks.
“Six months from now, Celene will be holding a Grand Masquerade at Halamshiral,” Josephine informs them.
“Will she even be in power in six months?” Caldwell muses. Brianne isn’t sure if his question is rhetorical or not, so she stays quiet when no one else answers him. They all stare down at the map of Thedas tacked onto the table they’re circled around. There are three markers within the boundaries of Orlais: one at the edge of Lake Celestine, another on top of Lydes, and the final one in the middle of Val Royeaux. Brianne doesn’t know what they mean exactly, but goosebumps rise on her arms as she stares too long at the marker depicting a clenched fist holding something spiked.
“We need to be at that ball,” the spymaster finals says, breaking the prolonged silence. “It will be disguising peace talks held between Orlais’ warring factions. The talks will happen behind closed doors. No matter who is in power at the time, the Inquisition needs to have a hand in resolving Orlais’ political crisis.”
Caldwell issues forth a pained sound and slumps forward, bracing his forearms on the edge of the table. “I hate politics.”
Cullen reaches out and squeezes his hunched shoulder sympathetically. Josephine frowns at their dramatic Inquisitor and asks, “Your Worship, are you not related to the Teyrn of Ostwick? Coming from one of the most powerful houses in the Free Marches has surely leant you enough experience to be somewhat comfortable with the Great Game?”
“Second son, Josie. I’m a second son,” he reminds her. “Politicking was my father’s job. I wanted nothing to do with it. I stayed as far away from it as I could until they let me run off and be a templar.”
Cullen keeps his hand on Caldwell’s shoulder, and quietly comments, “There was too much of politics in the Order for you to escape it there.” Caldwell lets out a huff of amusement and agreement, and Cullen retracts his hand to rest on his sword again.
“Regardless of anyone’s comfort level, Josie will secure us an invitation,” Leliana declares, her tone harsh enough to raise Brianne’s metaphorical hackles.
“Yes. I have already begun planning for transportation, travel routes, and housing. I’ve sent for several tailors and seamstresses, who will need to meet with you soon after they arrive.” The ‘you’ seems to include everyone in the room, and Brianne’s brows knit together in confusion. Before she can even put voice to her question, Josephine provides the answer.
“Mistress Lochland, I remember seeing you on several occasion at the Winter Palace. Can you remind me of what your station was there?”
“Oh. No, I was there on behalf of the Circle,” she hurries to explain. “I didn’t live or work at the palace like Madame de Fer. Whenever there was a function that required the Circle’s presence, I attended as the representative.”
“Not the First Enchanter?” Cullen asks, sounding generally curious.
“No. The only time Edmonde ever set foot outside the Spire was for the annual conclave in Cumberland. He was elderly, and claimed travel was bad for his health.”
“And how did you earn such a coveted position?” Leliana asks. “You were only at the Spire for two years before the Circles were dissolved. One would think that the First Enchanter would choose a mage he had known and trusted for longer.”
Brianne laughs. “Coveted! No, not really. One of the Senior Enchanters held the position before I did, but the day before the Arcane Advisor’s salon, they were whisked away by a group of templars for...I don’t remember.” Brianne pauses in her story to think. “They weren’t in trouble...I guess it doesn’t really matter. They were gone, and the First Enchanter called for a volunteer to take their place.”
She smiles at the memory. “No one would. A tower full of mages and not a single one wanted to be thrown to the wolves of the aristocracy. Edmonde was just about to choose someone randomly when I stepped forward. I thought, ‘When am I ever going to get a chance to see the palace again?’ There were plenty of templars in attendance, so he didn’t need to worry about me acting out. I was given the most beautiful robe I’d ever seen.” Brianne absently fingers the cuffs of the tunic she’s wearing. “The sleeves were embroidered in gold thread. I got to wear it every time after. I enjoyed myself, and apparently I created a nicer image of the Spire and the mages in it than my predecessor did, so the job was mine.”
“Excellent,” Josephine says to herself while scribbling something quickly on her board. “I do not have the time for individual etiquette lessons. Lady Vivienne and Lord Pavus have agreed to help me, and I was hoping that you would as well. Everyone will be in attendance, which means there is much to learn before we travel to Halamshiral.”
Brianne blinks at the woman for a moment, letting her words sink in. “You want me to teach Orlesian etiquette?”
“Yes.”
“To whom?”
Cal points his thumb backwards at himself with a lopsided smile, and Brianne rolls her eyes. “And many other members of the Inner Circle,” Josephine adds. “Commander, I’ll also need you to help Knight-Commander Barris choose several other templars that will accompany us. They will attend lessons as well. Lady Vivienne is deciding on the mages that will represent us. You may be teaching several smaller classes, or one large one, depending on our numbers.”
Brianne isn’t sure what expression is on her face, but it makes Leliana laugh. “As Josie said, Vivienne and Dorian will be helping you, and possibly myself and Josie, if we have the time. We appreciate this, Enchanter.”
Brianne hasn’t even said yes yet, although she supposes there is only the illusion of choice. “When should I begin?”
“Not for a while yet. I will let you know when the time draws closer.”
Caldwell suddenly throws his arms above his head in a prolonged stretch. “Leliana, I need you send scouts to Crestwood. I am going to have to meet Hawke there soon, so we might as well establish a few camps in the area.”
Leliana begins detailing what she already knows about that part of Western Ferelden, and Brianne starts to let herself out of the room for a second time. Cal reaches out and grabs her wrist, halting her progress. He gives her a look that says, Stay. None of the advisors acknowledge his nonverbal cue, so Brianne slowly moves to the far side of the room to sit down in a chair that’s propped against the wall. Why all of them insist on standing around a table instead of sitting is beyond Brianne.
The topic shifts to one that has the mage perking up in her seat instead of discretely starting at Cullen’s thickly muscled legs. “Krem approached me about using the Chargers to assess the state of Redcliffe and the Venatori holed up there. Bull’s frequently out with me in the field, but the Chargers are growing restless hanging around Skyhold. I need to speak with Bull about it, but what do we think? Cullen?”
Brianne doesn’t hear what Cullen says in response. Her mind has already travelled the seven day march away to land itself in Redcliffe. What does the town look like now? How much of the castle still stands after Felix’s sacrifice? Will Calpurnia still be there?
She needs to know.
“I’m going with them,” Brianne interrupts as she stands from her seat. “I know the area. Every single footpath, river, and cave. I spent the last three years of my life in that castle, and walked through the village every day. If the Chargers are scouting for information, I can keep them hidden. If they’re going to retake the castle, I can get them in undetected. Tell me when they’re leaving, and I’ll have my bag ready to go.”
“Slow down, Annie,” Caldwell orders. “Krem just said something to me about it last night. We need to decide if it’s worth our time and energy, then get Bull to agree, and then we need to plan.” Brianne doesn’t realize she’s wound tight with anxiety and anticipation until Cal reaches out and pulls her into a one-armed hug.
Cullen’s words have her immediately tensing back up. “I realize that Redcliffe is important to you, but it might not be a good idea for you to go back there.”
“Especially if you’d be too emotional,” Leliana adds. “Although...it would be beneficial to have someone knowledgeable there to assist the mercenaries. If the Enchanter would not be compromised by her emotions, I think it is a good idea.”
Cullen’s glaring mutinously and Leliana, and when Brianne steps away from Caldwell, she can see that he is too.
“Sister Leliana, do you know where Teagan is?” Brianne asks.
“Teagan, is it?” the woman responds, raising an eyebrow.
Brianne doesn’t understand. “Yes...Arl Teagan Guerrin. He was thrown out of the castle the day Alexius showed up. I never learned what happened to him.”
“He’s in Denerim. At least, he was before our relocation to Skyhold. He petitioned for aid that he didn’t receive. Anora was unsympathetic to his inability to keep his own home safe for longer than a decade.”
“Well that’s not very fair,” Brianne grumbles. “He wasn’t the Arl a decade ago. Well, if he’s still there, could you get a message to him? Or could you, Josephine?”
“What kind of message?” the ambassador asks curiously.
“I’d write it. I would make sure he knew the reason behind half his castle being demolished, and what happened to the mages after he left. I could say good things about the Inquisition, and let him know of our plan for reclaiming the area.”
“No. Do not speak of our plans,” Leliana orders. “But that is a good idea. Write your letter, and my agents will find him. It is fortuitous that you are intimate enough with the Arl to be able to write to him personally.”
The emphasis she puts on the word ‘intimate’ has Brianne glancing at her sharply. The woman’s face is unreadable, and when she looks over at Cullen, Brianne’s eyes naturally follow.
The Commander is starting down at the table again with a white-knuckled grip on his sword. Brianne feels terrible as she fights to hide the joyous smile threatening to take over her face. Jealousy looks awful on Cullen, but the sight of it warms Brianne’s heart.
She chooses her next words carefully. “The Arl was very polite and accommodating. I only spoke with him a handful of times over the course of three years. He would come down to the dining hall and sit with us. He was so friendly and kind that everyone wanted to talk with him. I’m not certain that he would remember my face, let alone my name, but it’s worth a try. He deserves to know that someone is willing to help him take back his home.”
Leliana nods once before looking at Cullen again. “Commander, have you had a chance to read the letter Dorian wrote to me about his friend in Qarinus?”
“I skimmed through it. It’s good to know there are like-minded Magisters that are willing to curb Venatori activity from its origin. I’m not sure why you wanted me to see it, though. He asks for your aid, not mine.”
“In this case, I don’t think subtlety is the correct course of action.” All eyebrows around the War Table rise. Josephine reaches out to place the back of her hand on Leliana’s forehead, as though checking to see if she has a fever. Everyone chuckles as the spymaster bats her friend’s hand away with an eyeroll. “Commander, if you would send a mixed garrison of soldiers and templars to Magister Tilani, I believe she would be the best person to decide exactly what kind of support they can provide. From what Dorian has told me, Tevinter society welcomes open displays of power in place of subtle ones.”
Cullen makes a note for himself on the parchment lying on the table in front of him, and Josephine shuffles the papers on her board before pulling one loose and handing it to Caldwell. “This came for you while you were away, Your Worship.”
Cal glances at the script on the front, then at the broken seal on the back. He scowls as he shoves the letter into one of his many pockets. “Would you like to summarize it for me, since it seems you’ve already read it.”
“Do you remember the letter you wrote to your cousin when we were at Haven?”
“The one where I demanded he shut his blighted pie-hole, and that if he ever threatened anyone with using the Inquisition to do his dirty work I’d hang him from his trousers in the middle of the market square?”
“The very same,” Josephine says dryly. “His mother writes to you now, begging for assistance. Or, as she phrased it, ‘Calling in the favor you promised my son for his earlier discretion.’ Apparently, at the Harvest Ball two weeks ago, one of the Bartletts insulted one of the Bayarts in an unforgivably public way, and the conflict has escalated from there. She…”
“Really, Josie?” Cal cuts her off. “Do we really have time to be playing the scolding nanny? I don’t care that my third cousin twice removed’s ego was bruised when someone said their pasture land was prettier than his. Or that his house was bigger, or whatever ridiculous thing it was. Corypheus is…”
“Two hundred soldiers fought in melee combat on the outskirts of the city a week ago,” Josephine informs him gravely. “Lady Osher writes that another confrontation is likely to occur, and she fears it may spill into the city this time.”
The Inquisitor growls and shoves himself away from the table. He paces towards one of the windows to stare out at the expanse of the Frostbacks. Everyone gives him the space and silence to fume and think.
“Wait,” he calls, pivoting back to the table. “You said Bartlett. The Teyrn’s House is involved in this and he isn’t helping to fix it!”
“It is Lady Osher’s belief that, were Lord Bartlett to intervene, it would be seen as favoritism, and any offered solution would be ignored.
“What does my mother say?”
“Pardon?”
“My mother. Did you write to her? What does she think of this?”
For some reason Josephine lowers her eyes to the table, looking abashed. “Your Worship, I did not think it…”
“You didn’t write to her, did you?” Caldwell snaps with more venom than Brianne has ever heard him use. “Josephine, we have been over this. My mother is the Dowager of House Trevelyan. She is the head of the Household, not me. I don’t care that she’s only Trevelyan by marriage. I cannot do it. I will not do it.”
Cal says that last part almost as a shout, but then immediately deflates. He looks years older as he walk back over to the War Table. He braces himself against it as though he needs help keeping himself vertical. “I don’t know what to do,” he says quietly, looking up at the stricken ambassador. “I only know how to be a templar. I barely got used to being a Herald before you handed me an ornamental sword and pronounced me an Inquisitor. I can’t…”
He cuts himself off before he finishes his thought. “What do you suggest I do, Advisors? Advise me.”
There’s a beat of silence before Josephine says, “We can mediate a talk between the wounded parties. Ask them to travel to Orlais. It's wise to remove them from their power base for discussions such as these, and will hopefully keep any fighting away from the city.”
Caldwell nods once in agreement, then asks for their own meeting to be adjourned. Everyone quickly grabs their things and leaves. Brianne feels Cullen’s hand on the small of her back, attempting to lead her from the room. She reaches around to grab it in a gentle press while she glances back at Cal. Cullen gets the message, and leaves her alone with her friend and a whispered promise that he’ll see her later tonight.
Brianne stands next to Caldwell, waiting in prolonged silence for him to say something. If he doesn’t want to talk about it, then she’ll leave him alone. He gave her that courtesy when they first arrived at Skyhold and she didn’t want to talk about her past. She can return the favor now.
Finally, he huffs a quiet sound and straightens while removing his hands from the War Table. “Want to help me move my things?” Brianne asks with a small smile, thinking maybe he’d be open to talking as they worked together.
“I think I need to hit something,” he grins, but the smile is all wrong. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
He hurries past her, and it’s all she can do to keep up with him as he storms through the main hall and down to the practice ring. Brianne hears him curse to himself when he sees that the ring is empty of soldiers. Even Cassandra is absent from the line of training dummies she can normally be found hacking apart. Cal pulls a blunted sword off of the nearby rack and jumps when Brianne unhooks one of the staves.
“Andraste’s flaming sword, Annie, can you at least make some noise when you follow a person. You’ll be held responsible if the Inquisitor keels over from a heart attack.”
“Because I caused it or because I didn’t fix it?” she baits as she tests the weight of the stave.
“Both. What’re you doing?”
“You said you needed to hit something.” That’s all the warning she gives before she swings the stave down in an arc towards his head.
He parries at the last second. “Flames, woman! Let me get a shield.”
She chases after him as he retreats to where the practice shields are stacked outside of the armory. He’s able to grab the edge of the first one he finds before he has to spin away from her strike. The smile on his face is genuine as he shouts a battle cry and comes after her.
After several minutes of sparring, Cal asks, “How do you even know how to use that thing?”
Brianne feints left before swinging the stave low and catching one of his ankles to stumble him. He hisses in pain and hops on one foot for a moment. “It’s just an extra long staff with a blade at the top instead of the bottom. Why wouldn’t I know how to use it?”
“You are healing every single bruise you put on me, young lady” he orders in mock-outrage, his eyes twinkling as he catches his breath. “But seriously, only Knight-Enchanters are trained in melee staff techniques. Is this…” he trails off suddenly, looking sad, before catching her off guard with a shield bash.
Their back-and-forth of striking and blocking continues for another handful of minutes before curiosity gets the better of her. “Is this what?”
“Hm? Oh…” Cal’s smiles fades again. “I was just going to ask if this was your mother’s doing, but you don’t have to answer that.”
Brianne’s smile turns bittersweet as well. “No. Not directly. She taught me how to use a dagger and shortsword, but not a stave. I went out of my way to learn this when I was with the Rebels. Mother taught me that it would be unwise to rely on magic all the time. I’ve kept that lesson close at hand my whole life.”
Talking and sparring is difficult, especially since Brianne isn’t practiced at it at all. She focuses on breathing and anticipating his strikes until he distracts her with another question. “Where is she now?”
Brianne’s smile disappears altogether. “She’s gone,” is all she can manage in reply.
She doesn’t know what Cal thought her mother might be up to, but being dead certainly wasn’t what he had in mind. His steps actually falter and his blow swings wide. “What happened?” he asks after he’s lowered his weapon.
“Withdrawals finally caught up to her,” Brianne shrugs, as though it’s not one of the single most painful memories of her existence. Dorian must be rubbing off on her. “It’s alright,” she soothes as Caldwell’s entire demeanor shifts into shock and horror. “She’s been gone...sixteen? Seventeen years now? It’s alright.”
Cal looks down at his sword and is silent. Brianne wonders if she should take a swing at him again to change the subject. She also wonders whether or not he’s still taking his own philter every week, but before she can ask him, he finally looks up. “Did you know that the first bit of sword work I ever learned was from her?”
“She loved teaching,” Brianne recalls. “She liked being near my father in the Circle, but she was happiest when working with the recruits. She believed in teaching things well the first time around. It saved everyone…”
“Time, headaches, and bruised bones,” Cal finishes for her.
Brianne throws back her head a laughs. It’s not funny, what her mother used to say. It just strikes Brianne as funny in this moment, in the middle of the training ring, in a dilapidated elvhen keep hidden away in the Frostback Mountains, that a mage and templar are reciting those words to each other. That someone other than herself remembers the good person that her mother used to be, not the wretched image that’s in her nightmares.
Her laughter turns a bit manic, but then Cal is wrapping her up in a hug, and Brianne has to turn her face away from his chest so she doesn’t stain his tunic. He holds onto her for several long moments before whispering, “Maybe we should move this some place else.”
Brianne pinches his side and he yelps. “Ow! Damn it, woman, I’m not propositioning you. I just don’t want this getting back to Cullen. He owns a very large, very sharp sword, and he demonstrated earlier that he is, in fact, the jealous type.”
“What about Dorian?” she teases as they walk their weapons back to the racks they belong to.
“What about him?”
“You know,” she says as she bumps into him with her hip.
Caldwell flops down in the shade outside of the soon-to-be infirmary and sighs. “I don’t know what to tell you, Annie.”
“I thought…” she lets her sentence trail off, as she’s all of a sudden second guessing everything that she’s seen between the two men. “Do you like him?”
“Of course I like him,” he says as he picks at a clump of grass by his heels. “I like his stupid clothes, and his perfect hair, and his irritating smirk, and his…”
“Okay,” she giggles. “Does he know you like him?”
“Yes,” Cal says vehemently as he starts ripping individual blades off grass up from the ground.
“Does he not like you back?” Brianne would have bet good coin on Dorian holding a candle for the Inquisitor.
“Yes...no….not enough.” the forlorn man says more to circle of torn up grass by his feet than to Brianne.
“Have you talked to him about it?”
Caldwell moves from picking at the grass to picking at the lacing of his boots. “Yeees.” He drawls.
“And what did he say?”
“He...may have been drunk…” Caldwell confesses sheepishly.
Brianne isn’t certain whether to be amused or irritated. “And what did drunken Dorian say about your relationship?”
Cal finally looks up at her, and she can see how devastated he is by the memory. “He said we had no future. That this was fun, but...ugh, I don’t know!” Cal’s head thunks back against the wall of the building.
“He explicitly said, ‘You and I have no future together?’”
“He kept talking about how hard everything was going to be! ‘You’re the Inquisitor and I’m a filthy Magister.’” Cal imitates Dorian’s voice horribly. It’s so bad, Brianne wants to giggle, but she doesn’t want Cal to take her laughter the wrong way. “It’s like he decided that anything serious between us was going to be too difficult, and he’d already given up before he’d even tried!”
“Can I ask you something personal?”
Cal raises an eyebrow at her. “More personal than this?”
“Have you slept with him yet?”
“Annie! Have you slept with Cullen yet?”
“I sleep in his bed every night,” she answers without hesitation. Caldwell shouts and throws his hands over his ears, and she finally giggles at him.
Cal takes a deep breath before saying, “We’ve...we’ve fooled around a bit...but technically, I don’t know that I would say…”
“That’s okay,” Brianne cuts him off. “Good. That’s actually really good.”
“It’s good that I’ve had the longest sexual dry spell of my entire life? Not counting the time before I was clueless as to what other uses there were for my dick.”
That earns him a hard smack on the back of his head. “Dorian is just as voracious as you are, my friend, and it’s telling that he hasn’t loved you and left you yet. And no, I don’t think it’s because you’re the Inquisitor. I think it’s because he’s truly apprehensive of a future that he actually wants. I know he said those things to you, but...do you want my advice?”
Caldwell nods his head violently in the affirmative. “Take your time. Don’t start ignoring him now. He told you he’s worried it will be too much work, so show him that you’re willing to work for it. He thinks a serious relationship with you will be too difficult? Show him that you don’t care how difficult it is.”
Cal takes a moment to think about what she’s said. “When did you get so smart?”
That earns him a second smack on the back of the head that he’s too slow to dodge. “Do you want me to talk to him?” Brianne offers.
Caldwell makes her promise that she won’t talk to Dorian on his behalf. Brianne makes sure to carefully word her promise, as nothing short of the Maker returning to earth will keep her from checking on her other best friend. Brianne gives Cal a hand up, and they both begin working on moving Brianne’s things into a single crate which will eventually be taken to her temporary quarters.