“I do nothing–” He groans, pinches the bridge of his nose.How Dorian can continually maintain such an act can beabsolutely infuriating.“I’m not your suboridante.”

I don’t think any human has ever turned such a deep shade of absolute red.“–Ser–Ser Pavus–.” He sputters; and in that hesitation he has losttheir sparring match, being knocked backwards by a sharp telekeneticblast to his gut; letting out a groan as his back hit the ground.“Maker.”

“Wonder if he’d be willin’ t’ teach me t’ read. If I could ever get up the nerve t’ ask. Though his voice might distract me. Shit, his everything does.”

Would he laugh if I grew a mustache? …I would laugh if I grew a mustache. Never mind.

Cullen is used to fighting against mages, not alongside mages.It was under Dorian’s insistence that they practice together, since Dorian had seen Cullen fight against Samson’s red templars and the man was just a liability. He pivoted, distracted himself with cautious glances over his shoulder, showing no trust in his allied mages. He was not meant to watch the mages behind his back; he was to trust them, that the great bursts of energy going by his shoulder were not meant to hit him, were never meant to hit him.And each unnecessary scratch, or sword shoved between openings in his armor, were all because he couldn’t place enough trust in the mages behind him. The lyrium screeching around them was distraction enough, he did not need to add fear of mages to this.“You’re ridiculous.” Dorian grunted, staff moving wildly around him– but it is controlled, always controlled, walls of ice forming around Cullen. Nothing, nothing was going to hit him– but the commander still had a habit of turning his head, sword just barely missing his target. “Of anyone, you can trust me. You need to learn.”Cullen sighed at his words, while he agreed he just… there was a whispering within him, old lyrium twitching his neck, telling him to watch the mage— and while he was improving, and though it was Dorian, just Dorian…It was going to take a lot more practice.

He’s glad Dorian’s hand isn’t ticklish, it’d be impossible to draw then. Olek nods, adding a few last details before releasing his hand. “Figured it’d suit you. Somethin’ mystical that lights up the dark, but pretty too.”

Olek squints at his reflection in the glass. It’s not a picture, but words. His brow furrows and he rubs his nose, a little embarrassed to askthe mage, “What’s it say?”

 “Dorian--?”    He’s shifting where he stands. Uncomfortable. Fleeting. His attention was immediately cut off by thoughts - cutting off the conversation he’d previously intended.    “--Blood’s thicker than water, but tastes bitter. Copper, burning on wrists, burning his heart. ”