#dajanuary

Nathaniel sighed. It was not a party in their honour. It was a usual Harvest Festival, perhaps slightly more cheerful this year as people tended to celebrate stronger once their city was saved from destruction. Still, it was the same as it was every year. Except instead of sending a polite invitation to the Howe family, they invited Gray Wardens.

It was only appropriate, especially after saving the city, but it helped kill whatever nostalgic joy Nathaniel was getting from the crowded markets and streets filled with minstrels and tricksters.

Anders was showing enough enthusiasm for both of them, thought Nathaniel exasperated, pulling the man away from offering to bet anyone they wouldn't see through his card tricks. As Anders still got cheated at cards by everyone including Oghren it was not a bet worth considering.

"You act as you've never been to a festival before."

"Oh no, I have. Brilliant places, big crowd, happy people. Easy to hide or lose a pursuit. But it's different when I can just enjoy and walk freely and people are smiling at me!" He grinned back at a woman passing them by with a small child in her arms.

She was indeed smiling at the wardens and Anders soaked it in, smiling back and waving like some royal lunatic.

"Do you plan on grinning at everyone?"

"Well someone has to!"

"I'm sure Warden-Commander and Alistair do enough smiling for all of us."

"Yeah, at each other. That hardly counts."

"Are we to stay here until you've smiled at everyone then?"

"Or some handsome lad will make me swoon with his gifts or skill," he grinned unrepentantly.

"You cannot be serious."

"Whichever comes first."

Nathaniel shook his head and walked ahead for the higher courtyard.

"There's always archery competition. I'm winning you one," he paused looking back sternly and repeated: "one trinket."

Anders grinned following quickly and fast as one of his fireballs leaning up and pressing a kiss to Nathaniel's cheek.

Stitches would not be derailed.

"He's playing a dangerous game with his binding again."

"Now that sounds more like me than Krem."

"Leave him be," Rocky tuned in and now apparently it was an all-Chargers issue.

Just a usual mercenary business. Meet in the tavern's backroom for breakfast and talk shop so everyone stays updated. Chief just returned from three weeks long mission with the Inquisitor, Stitches needed volunteers to drag to the woods and collect herbs, they finally received the payment for their last job in Orlais, and oh, yeah, Krem was binding too tight and for too long.

"He came back after last training with the recruits panting like a dog, he could barely catch a breath."

"Oh, now I'm old and out of shape."

"Binding this tightly for the whole day while sparing and training recruits is just dangerous. Maker's breath, I'm your healer, not a nanny. You know this perfectly well. Either cut hours and take breaks for breathing or just skip full binding and keep the armour for..." Stitches finally lost the momentum of his rant and gestured vaguely with his hand, "You know."

"Aesthetics?" Rocky suggested helpfully making Grimm snicker.

"But his armour doesn't show off his ass," Skinner protested and Krem pointed at her happily seeing someone was finally on his side before he realized what she said.

"No, wait, what? That- That doesn't have anything to do with this."

"You're showing off and you know it."

"I- No!"

"For Maker's sake, you've shown off enough," grumbled Stitches. "Just tell him."

"Waiting for him to make a move might take a while," Dalish agreed sympathetically.

Krem carefully made sure not to look at the Iron Bull who was oddly quiet and his eye just kept moving between them, clearly catching on the developments he missed while he was stuck at Wounded Coast with the Inquisitor. Oh well, he came back with a Vint boyfriend from one of those trips. Let's see how he felt on the other end of that bargain.

Not that Krem had a boyfriend.

"It's not so easy and you very well know it."

"Sure it is," assured Stitches. "You go and say, hello handsome, do you like the look of me in this armour? I look even better without it and when I can actually breathe. - Wait can you actually speak that long once you're panting like a dog?"

"Stick to short sentences," advised Skinner.

"It's not that easy because he most likely doesn't like guys. And if he doesn't like guys then he won't like me. Or worse, he will like me despite not liking guys. And he might already know this or he might not know about me and he doesn't know why he likes me despite me being a guy and when he finds out it will be really awkward. Or maybe he does like guys and it will only be worse."

Finally, there was a moment of silence around the table.

"Going on a limb here, since I clearly missed a bit of foreplay, but is it possible you've been overthinking it a little, oh Krem de la Creme?"

"Absolutely not! I was very careful to overthink it A LOT."

Bull snorted and patted him on the back, careful to avoid any extra painful spots but paused quickly seeing how Krem tensed already and winced in pain. He just looked down at him and Krem sighed.

"I know, I know. I'll just wear armour today."

"And tell your boy you wanna do him over his desk," suggested Rocky.

"All in good time," assured Bull as Krem just threw cheese at the dwarf.

-

"Krem? A word?"

Krem ran a hand over his forehead, wiping off the sweat. He nodded, already moving towards Cullen who stood unobtrusively next to the training ground. Just Krem's luck to actually speak with the Commander when his armour didn't lay on him exactly as he would prefer. Logically he knew the soldiers would have to try hard to even notice but logic rarely was able to battle the tricks his mind tried to play on him. At least, he cheered himself, he had some breath to speak with.

"Commander?"

"I just wanted to make sure you were in good health, you seemed... unwell, yesterday."

Krem winced. So much for his aches and pains being easily managed and hidden.

"I'm fine," he assured, thinking fast and looking up at Cullen.

The man didn't seem worried like Stitches did, Stitches was a friend and a healer and knew better than anyone how far Krem could push his spine and ribs when he felt worse about his torso. Still, Cullen didn't look like a commanding officer annoyed that he will need to replace the man he talked with. He was frowning at Krem, his gaze focused and serious as if he was faced with the most important problem. As if it barely mattered if he was thinking the strategy to take on Corypheus' general or making sure Krem was alright.

Krem sighed, the whole daydreaming and overthinking could only go so far. And if Cullen turned out to be a dick about it, he could probably just knock him out on his ass. And if he couldn't, Chief would. It wouldn't do them any favours but Bull punched more important people for smaller offences. Krem squared down his shoulders, looking nonchalantly away as if it was just another calm chat they had leaning on the training rings' rails. Best techniques to train fresh recruits, tactics for fighting with and against mages, running training with your chest wrapped tightly enough to bruise...

"I overdid it a bit with binding my chest. Don't worry, I already had a talking to with Stitches... It was just a while since I was this close to being in the army, I think my old habits of trying extra hard came out." Cullen was blinking at him, clearly surprised and Krem bit down on a sigh and went for a reassuring smile instead. "Don't worry about it, Commander."

So much for the crush.

Cullen looked away from him as well. His hand going to his neck as he scratched it awkwardly.

"I-" he coughed. "Of course. I- We can also plan the training better, so you could have sufficient breaks."

"There's no need, I am perfectly capable-"

Cullen just raised his hand to silence him.

"I've no doubt. However training new recruits, while crucial to our cause, is not a task that cannot be scheduled in a better way. We may yet need you soon on a battlefield, I would rather not risk your abilities being limited then due to back pain or breathing issues."

Krem just stared, nodding slowly.

"It's a bit jarring how I went from being kicked out of the army for this," he said with a somewhat confused smile, "to having training rescheduled around me for my comfort. Templars get some special inclusiveness training or something?"

Cullen snorted, flashing him a smile. His hand clenched nervously around his swords handle.

"Hardly. Templars..." He paused and looked at Krem again as if he was trying to decide on what to say and looking for a suggestion. He sighed quietly and continued in a slightly lower voice: "Templars are not allowed to ask a healer to change their bodies in a major way until they're eighteen and completed their vows. There.... There's a lot of training before that."

"Andraste's pearly bossom! You actually intend for us to cook something?"

"What was your first clue?" Karl asked amused as Anders seat up on the table and picked at the food around him like some spoiled feline. "The fact that we're in the kitchen, surrounded by pans and ingredients? Or that I told you that is exactly what we're going to do?"

"When I'm asked by a handsome mage to join him on a secret rendez-vous in a secluded space, I tend to not question his cover stories!"

"You're incorrigible."

"And very charming," Anders assured with a grin. "Why again are you wasting the time with me on cooking?"

"Because that's what our kind templars," he ignored the snort, "approved of me teaching you. It's supposed to improve your concentration and provide you with an outlet that would stop you from doing anything more reckless."

"And you support that?"

"I think a young spirited man should know how to cook his own dinner and take care of himself."

Anders only rolled his eyes. "Hardly needed in a tower, isn't it?"

Karl smiled, shrugging lightly.

"That it is."

Anders blinked at him slowly, sliding down from the table and turning around to see the prepared ingredients with more interest. Some common vegetables, a small portion of ram meet. Everything relatively easy to find in the Ferelden wilds.

He took Karl's face in his hands, pulling him in until their foreheads touched, grinning madly and enjoying Karl's smaller, kinder smile half-hidden in his beard.

"You are an absolute marvel, Karl Thekla. They locked you away because you would take over the world. I wouldn't mind in the slightest, it would be far better for it."

Karl laughed, shaking his head slightly but Anders didn't let him out of his grasp. Held him tight and kissed him hard on the lips. I love you, he thought. This is unfair and stupid, he swallowed and took a step back sighing and clasping his palms in enthusiasm.

"This feels a bit familiar," teased Aedan Cousland, earning a short glare from his father in law.

"On second thought-"

"No, no, by all means. I very much enjoy the role swap. Nobody ever gets me things."

Loghain rolled his eyes at the man before him.

"You're a king. You get things constantly."

"Well, yes, if you put it like this, I suppose it is true. But not like friendly things. Just kingly things."

The older man stared at the Ferelden king for a long moment. He meant to tell him he was a good king and a good man. Far better than him or Alistair, or even Cailan. The man truly worthy of the Ferelden throne but sometimes it was hard to separate the man who ruled the kingdom: proud and beautiful, with Anora's hand resting on his arm, both of them looking like the royalty they were meant to be - and the man who talked with him in the camp, who saved his life and helped him redeem himself.

The man who loved him, knowing fully well how far he could go, how deeply lose himself in his principles. The man who saw it all and condemned the brutal actions but admired the determination and love for the Ferelend that fueled them. The man who understood Loghain like no other and loved him still.

"I apologize, I didn't mean to make light of it," Aedan backtracked. His voice more solemn now. "It is simply... Well, I grew up without needing anything and gifts were something quite common in my family. It was only natural to keep giving them to my companions while we were travelling but I'm afraid Morrigan was right and I was spoiled and needy myself a bit."

"You deserved to be recognized and appreciated. This is just... Whatever other interactions or relations might trouble us and complicate things..." He paused, looking away from the young man's smile. "You're a good king. Even if you were nothing but a king to me. You'd be a good one and worthy of devotion."

Aedan gripped his hand instead of the gift and Loghain looked at him slightly exasperated. He was not perfect in those private conversations, he held Aedan's gaze instead and moved his hand to wrap around the roll of paper he offered.

"Is this a map?" Aedan asked curiously, already unrolling the gift.

"It's a good wish, Your Highness," Loghain answered with a smirk at the confused face before him. "I thought to give you something from the old days, some sort of heirloom tying you to the throne you've taken but I don't wish you to constantly look back, into the glorious stories of the past. I wish you only moving forward."

"That is the most-" Aedan started but got distracted by the map he unfolded. "Is this-? Have you drawn it yourself?! Oh, this is..."

His shoulders shook with laughter and Loghain did not regret a single minute of all the hours he spent working on the map while his bones ached, earning for the rest as he forced himself to stay up late and continue.

"This would cause such turmoil if I put it up somewhere visible before the Orlaisian diplomats visit."

"They might not appreciate it as it was intended."

"Oh, I quite think they would appreciate it exactly as it was intended. Still, I would rather keep it close. If I ever need a reminder of how much nicer the world would look without their Empire."

He stretched on the bed, still very much naked and barely covered at all with the sheets. He tightened his muscles, smiling at the pause in the noises Cullen's dressing caused.

He opened his eyes lazily catching the other's man gaze and wiggling his eyebrows at him.

"Maker's breath, you're incorrigible," Cullen said with fond exasperation.

"All I'm saying, you really don't have to be out of bed this early. Even if by now you're physically incapable of sleeping in."

"Yes, well. I'm sure it is tempting."

"Of course it is," Bull interrupted, spreading shamelessly on the bed just to bother the other man a bit more.

"But- What I mean is, it- It seems tempting and harmless on a good day but on a bad one... Maker, it just makes it easier. The routine. It is... Please do not take it as an insult."

"Hey, hey, hey, quit that." Bull moved way faster than his size or poised sleepiness would suggest and sat up on the edge of the bed and pulled Cullen closer to stand between his legs. Holding him by his sides and putting just enough pressure of his claws against the thin material of the shirt protecting Cullen's sides to get his attention. "I'm only teasing you, you know that. I'm not offended. You keep doing whatever helps you and I'll just be glad you find time away from your routines for a tumble with definitely not little old me."

Cullen rolled his eyes again, one hand on Bull's arm as he was trying to get moving but didn't want to push away or break the contact regardless. He kept his eyes firmly on the floor a few steps away.

Bull cocked his head and slowly grinned.

"You little minx, you added me to the routine." He laughed as Cullen's flustered look sold him out immediately. "Seven till eight, supper. Eight till ten, finish reading reports. Ten thirty till whenever he's done with me, get pounded by a delicious and skilled Qunari."

"Yeah, whichever nearby Qunari fits the bill, really," mumbled Cullen and hissed even as he only pressed closer when Bull's hold tightened. "Please do not take offence, I-"

Bull shook him slightly to stop his rambling and looked up, waiting until Cullen finally met his eyes.

"No offence taken, Kadan. Mark me down in your calendar as important enough to make time for."

Cullen swallowed, nodding, his hand nervously tightening on Bull's shoulder briefly.

             Waking up cursing his life choices with a headache strong enough to turn his stomach was not as unusual as Cullen would wish. The stale smell of ale was a change though. He pressed his face into the pillow and tried to stay very still and quiet, hoping against hope to avoid the ache in his bones and the bright, sharp sunlight falling straight on him through the hole in the rooftop.              The world seemed to be constantly moving around him and for a brief moment, he thought he was on a ship, on his way out of Kirkwall, before the consciousness fully set in and even without opening his eyes properly he knew he was in Skyhold.

             He only realized the hand lazily petting his hair was not part of the illusion when it paused.

             “You okay there, Curly?”

             “I hate you,” he muffled coldly into the pillow.

             Varric only chuckled, his voice barely any more hoarse than usual. Bastard.

             “I don’t see how I’m to blame here, to be honest,” he continued amused even as his hand started moving through Cullen’s curls again.

             He absentmindedly kept weaving the curls on and off his fingers, from time to time stretching his palm and providing the pained skull with a mix of scratch and massage. Cullen stubbornly stiffened the muscles in his neck to not lean into the touch and only let out a slow, careful breath into the pillow.

            "You won't convince me to go out with you again," he replied as if there was no hand in his hair, as if they weren't in his bed, trapped between tangled up sheets and covers, as if he wasn't still naked and slowly melting under Varric's slow touch. Safe and taken care of.

            He shuddered as Varric's hand slid down to his neck, nails grazing his skin and making shiver travel down his spine.

            "Now, now, I've been a perfect gentleman and a man of my word. No one forced you to drink, no one made fun of you for joining the game, no one even really pushed you to keep playing. I know I usually tell you to stop trying to shoulder all the blame but..."

            "This is miserable. I won't be able to look Josephine in the eye."

            "If it makes you feel better, she wasn't looking in your eyes last time she saw you either."

            This required moving his head just enough to glare blearily at Varric. The warmth on his cheeks blamed on the scratchiness of the blankets he pressed his face against. It didn't help.

            He made a fool out of himself just as he managed to trick himself into believing people respected him here, believed in his commander status enough to follow him, to listen.

            But of course, it was not enough, he let himself be lured with promises of belonging and friendships and everything he never really had but earned for in a weird, awkward way. Pushed it too far, as always. He hid his face back into the pillow.

            "Hey, hey, now. I'm only teasing. We've all had fun."

            "I'm certain," mumbled Cullen.

            The hand in his hair tugged.

            "Quit that, you're ruining all my fun from teasing you. Everything will be fine, you will be teased mercilessly, your friends will still like you, your soldiers would still follow you and you will be asked to play cards again."

            "Can I decline in advance?"

            "Only, If you feel like playing hard to get."

It was hard to even swallow, her throat dry and thoughts scattered.

"Seeker?"

"Cards?"

"Yeah, I thought we might try a round of Wicked Grace."

"Varric are you well?"

His disgusted chuckle was an answer enough.

"Really, Seeker?"

"I meant-"

"You meant am I well enough to still be aware of how fucked we are? Yeah, sure. Unfortunately still present. Never mind. It's a silly, little tradition, that's all."

"Tradition?"

She had a feeling he shrugged but could barely see him. His voice was different but still preferable to the faraway sounds of water droplets and the hum of the lyrium surrounding them. It focused her in the present, horrendous as it was.

"You made us play on the ship," she recalled and was rewarded with a short-lived surprised laugh. "On our way from Kirkwall."

"Yeah, you turned me down and Curly almost puked up on my cards... I figure that was about a year ago, wouldn't you reckon? Time is a bit wonky here, to be fair."

"You play every year?"

"Well, not like I play once a year, I'm a great fan of Wicked Grace and quite good at it as well if my winnings might say so."

"But why a tradition?"

"Well, you know me, I'm a simple humble guy, don't like everyone making a fuss about me... And well, I figured a deck of cards is more likely than cake and thoughtful gifts, even if only marginally."

Her thoughts were slow and it took her a long moment to unwind his ramble.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Happy birthday, Varric."

His laugh was wet and sickly and almost indistinguishable from a dying man's cough.

"May I not suffer for long enough to live through another?"

They fell silent, the humming of lyrium the melody around them. She realized Varric was humming quietly as well, but couldn't tell if he was imitating the crystals or was it the other way around.

"If you do, I'll play cards with you," she promised with a grim smile.