romdeau | a fishing date;

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a fishing date;

There were no impromptu trips to Sundermount, in fact. Merrill had holed herself up with the Eluvian, avoiding Hawke whenever possible. The Arulin'Holm stayed at the estate, locked away somewhere, and the Dalish woman didn't want to see or hear from Hawke without good cause. Which was understandable (upsetting, but understandable), and she let Varric and Isabela take over Merrill's undertaking. They'd update her whenever possible and she was infinitely grateful, though she knew things couldn't stay that way forever. Eventually, they'd need to talk, and that would happen when Marian was good and ready. For now, she wasn't.

First on her mind was Anders and his mage underground. He would disappear for days on end, surfacing only to work in his clinic where he would refuse to go on any errands. Too busy, he'd say, occupied with his patients and his manifesto. It didn't stop him from pressing worn papers into her hands at every opportunity, the bastard. Her desk was full of Anders' scrawl, damning evidence if anyone should walk in and ask about it. She'd been certain to lock them in the bottom drawer, out of sight and out of mind, but she couldn't put him off any more than she could push aside the trouble she had with Merrill.

With her hands full of Kirkwall's smaller troubles - bandits, a few raiders on the outskirts, and a blood mage or two - she had nearly forgotten her plans with Cullen until she returned one night to a note on her desk at the end of the week. Even such a simple thing was enough to brighten her mood considerably and she packed that evening, though she wasn't to meet him for two more days.

She used the time to tell only a few that she'd be gone from the city, that no one was kidnapping her, and that she'd be very cross if she came back to find Kirkwall burning in her absence. Only Isabela and Varric gave her a hard time for her attempts at discretion, asking for details and gaining nothing.

By sunset on the second day, she was down by the docks to meet him, a pack slung over one arm and her blades across her shoulders, her eyes on the ships and the few workers lingering around. She couldn't be too careful, even now.

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"If one of them snaps at my fingers, then I'm putting it in the pot personally," she said idly, clearing off as much as she could of the trap. He was right about the smell, though. If she thought it was bad earlier, it was just as terrible now. She wrinkled her nose once she'd cleared enough off of the box to see just how many were inside.

"I hadn't thought about that." Her lips pursed in thought as she took the trap and set it down. "How long do you think we could wait until they tasted right?" Perhaps boiling them would take some of it off. She didn't know. It'd been some time since she'd cooked them and when she had, they hadn't been from her own personal catch.

"You'd have every right," he said. He thought he'd do the same if he got bloodied.

"You're asking me?" He laughed and shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm not the chef. I'm just the grunt. I'll do whatever you tell me in regard to preparing them. Beyond that I don't have the first clue. I suppose we'll have to take our chances."

He bent to set the pole back in its place. The crabs clicked and made strange sizzling sounds as they expelled water through their gills. They seemed almost like otherworldly life forms in the moonlight, bellies pale and backs as dark as sin. It was hard for him to imagine how the first crab eater saw one of the creatures and decided to give it a try.

"Are we ready, then?" Part of him was reluctant to leave the calm and isolation of their spot. It had been going so well, but time waited for no one. They didn't want to be caught in the press of other fishing boats going out while they were trying to come in. He had also promised her discretion and intended to deliver to the best of his ability.

"For your opinion, at least," she said, glancing at their catch. "I suspect it'll be all right once it's been boiled. It would behoove us to put some spices in the water too, at least to ensure they're not going to stink so much." And they'd be properly cleaned before they were put in any pots. If any of that bait followed them while they were cooking, no one would eat well. "They weren't sitting down there long enough to be a problem. Had we been fishing for over a day, that might have given us some complications."

She leaned back and looked up at the sky, trying once more to gauge what time it might be. In either case, he was right that they should have to go back earlier to avoid the larger boats in the dock.

"Yes, I suppose we are," she said, keeping her disappointment quiet. "Let's hope the journey back won't be so hard with how dark it is." For them to have come so far and then to be stuck in some way would just be their luck. She smiled. "And then we can boil them up and see what we can make with them."

"I brought some things for that. I don't know how good they are. I had to take someone else's word for that," he said. "I think we probably ought to find some way to wash them."

He nodded. "If you don't mind pulling back the lantern hood, I'll get the anchor. I'm going to row us back out of this channel before trying to hoist the sail. The wind is stiff enough I don't know if I trust my sailing skills to keep us out of trouble until we clear the marsh."

"The washing's a little difficult. You remove a few parts of the crab after it's been cooked, then you wash out all of the off-color bits." Which was entirely not-specific and very unhelpful. She shook her head. "I'll show you, don't worry. It gets messy but it's entirely worth it."

With a nod, she traversed over the traps to the front of the boat so she could do as he asked. She pulled back the hood and turned back to him. "And I'll keep watch for the rocks again?"

"I'm putting myself in your hands. No pressure or anything," he said mischievously.

He sat on the bench and swung the oars in the oarlocks, dipping them beneath the water and beginning to row. "That's the idea. I'll take it a lot slower pulling out of here since it's so much darker now." He didn't believe he'd get them going fast enough to do any real hull damage. It seemed better safe than sorry, though.

He started turning the skiff to get them facing the proper direction to make use of the light. He could make her out crouched near the prow, backlit by the illumination of the lamp, and a small circle of lamplight reflecting on water beyond. That was the extent of his vision for steering.

"No pressure, he says. Send the Champion to fight Qunari without batting an eyelash. It's looking after a Templar in the kitchen that's the trouble," she shot back with a grin, taking her place at the prow. She kept herself crouched and balanced so she could get a better view of where he was steering them.

"You'll be all right. I'll let you know if there's a problem." They wouldn't be moving fast enough for problems, it was true.

Even with the dim light, actually looking at the water for signs of dark shapes was difficult at first with the shadow cast by the skiff itself from the moon. But as he shifted the boat to allow both the lamp and the moon to light their way, it became much easier. She nodded, giving him the go-ahead to keep on as he was. They weren't in danger so far.

"Particularly this Templar," he said, laughing. "Just you wait."

He trusted her to do just that, believing she was used to maneuvering in the dark enough to know what to look for. Once the boat was fully turned, he felt better about his prospects. The oars made a quiet, rhythmic sound dipping into the water and dragging. They slowly picked up a little speed so that he wasn't fighting to gain momentum.

He knew that somewhere ahead was a narrowing of the passage with rocks to either side. That was what he was most concerned with, whether he was pointed straight or at an odd angle. There was no way to know without drawing much closer.

Once it was turned and moving at a steadier pace, she could lean over and keep an eye on their path, knowing that there would be a few cumbersome sections of water that had been easier to navigate in the daylight. It wouldn't be too much work, not with her keeping an eye on the water, but it was enough of a worry to have her constantly scanning the surface for trouble.

He'd been right about the thinner passage. She recognized it some distance away but couldn't confirm it until they drew closer, and then she hesitantly stood to examine their approach. Hawke glanced back at him.

"Turn us slightly towards the left," she called. "Er, portside." Isabela would be terribly ashamed of her not remembering the sides better.

"Aye aye," he said. He doubted she could see his smile. Maybe she'd hear it in his voice. "Left" was much better than "port" for him, too. He didn't sail often enough to have the jargon readily pop to mind.

He pulled just a little with the left oar, creating enough drag to change the bearing of the prow. "How is that?" he asked. He caught himself futilely craning his neck. He was seated too low to see well and on the wrong side of the light for it to make a difference. He settled back down and waited for further instructions.

She smiled just the same, pleased enough that he would tease about it as well. "A change in wardrobe and Isabela might just steal you for her own crew," she joked with a grin. "Ever consider being a pirate in your spare time? I hear there's some room for expansion too."

Hawke's eyes compared the angle and slowly nodded, just on the side of skepticism and uncertainty. "A little more to the left," she finally said, concerned. "Just like...there. Like that," she said, confident in the angle they'd found themselves in. That would get them past the rocks with ease.

"I'm almost scared to think how Isabela might dress me," he said. Isabela wore little enough that it could get him blushing if he just thought about it too hard. Best to keep his mind away from that line of thought altogether. "I don't think I have the right swagger for a pirate. Put me on a real ship, and you'll see me curl up like a cat under the porch in a rainstorm, hoping to the Maker it all ends soon. That's in good weather."

He did as she said, not continuing their forward motion until she assured him it was well. He built back up to a good pace, steady without being too swift, and kept an eye out for the telltale dark shapes of the rocks. Once they were well out past those, he'd trim the sails again, and it would be much faster going.

"Dress you?" She shot a smile back his way. "Oh no. She wouldn't dress you in anything. She'd have you shirtless for her perusing pleasure." As if she'd ever let something like that go to waste. She wished it wasn't quite so dark; she wanted to know how badly he might be blushing at this point. "She keeps saying she'll take me on her ship when she gets it back. Or gets a new one." Whenever that will be. "I think you're safe from her dastardly clutches for now."

She stayed where she was to ensure things would be smoother, eyes on the water and on their path. At length, she moved to sit back closer to the prow, though her gaze never left her charge. At length, she tipped her head to the side once more and glanced back his way. "A little more to the left right here, if you would."

"That is exactly what I'm afraid of," he said. Unlike her, he was quite glad of the darkness. He could bear his red badge of embarrassment in privacy, hot enough that he could feel the flush in his ears. "I trust you'll give me advance warning if she ever decides to bring conscription back in fashion."

He kept his pace steady until she called out another course correction, this time dragging back a little on the right oar. "We're not very close to them yet, are we?"

She laughed quietly. "I'll give you ample warning, have no fear. You'll be able to duck into the Gallows and stay there until she gives up the chase. And if all else fails, just tell Meredith to give her a look. That should be enough to dissuade her from pursuing you for a time."

Hawke shook her head, glancing back to the water. "No, you have some room to work with." She moved to the other end of the prow just to be entirely certain that she wasn't directing him into any other rocks.

"Yes, nothing makes a man feel more confident than the need to hide behind the skirt of his commanding officer," he teased with a soft snort. "In my defense, this is Isabela we're talking about." He thought they'd be hard pressed to find a man in Kirkwall who wouldn't be at least a little intimidated by her determined pursuit, even if it was just to gawk at him shirtless.

"Good. I'm going to take it a little slower, anyway." The splash of the oars was nearly indistinguishable from the sound of the waves hitting the sides of the boat at that slow speed. After a little while longer, he saw the dark shapes looming and felt himself relax a touch. There was plenty of room on both sides.

"At least you're not the only man who would. Besides, you could hide behind me but I don't think that would encourage her to stop. She would just flirt with me to eventually get to you." She smiled. "I'm sure she'll have no shortage of volunteers for her ship when the time comes. You're perfectly safe."

With a nod, she went back to sit so he at least had room to oversee where they were going, as much as his position would allow. It was almost easier with the moon to see where they were going and what they might run into, as opposed to the dying light they had on the way out earlier.

"You'd give me up for a flirt? I'm scandalized," he said, still grinning. He could feel the redness starting to subside, thankfully.

They passed between the rocks, the chop against the side of the boat stronger now that they were out of the sheltered inlet. Although the wind was brisk, it was still fine weather, not a cloud in sight. Cullen rowed them out well away from any danger of rocks but not so far that he didn't still have a clear view of where the coastline lay, a dark shape of cliffs and broken shoreline that blocked out the stars in places and showed as deep shadow against the sky. He secured the oars and stood to raise the sail.

"Homeward bound," he said, trying not to sound disappointed. There was still fun to look forward to, hauling the crabs through the night streets of Kirkwall as though it were a perfectly normal activity for the dead hours before dawn, figuring out a way to clean them and learning to cook them. Still, in the short amount of time they had spent at the outskirts of the marsh, he had grown fond of having her to himself in the boat.

He secured the sail and set their course, one hand steady on the rudder, the other holding the tacking line. "I could come to enjoy sailing if it was always like this."

"Of course not. How would I begin to explain myself to Meredith? 'I'm sorry, Knight-Commander, but Isabela was just too strong! But I promise he's in very capable hands.'" She could barely contain her chuckle. "And then I'd be cuffed up the side of my head, Isabela would be in irons, and you would have plenty to blush about."

All things considered, it was a beautiful night, the sky open and clear, the view spectacular if one conveniently forgot the few horrors the coast held on land. Removed enough from Kirkwall and the Wounded Coast both, it was as if they were much further away.

"Could you?" came her reply as she looked up at the sail itself. "It's much more manageable on a smaller vessel and not tucked away with refugees." She smiled. "It's so calm out here. Not like Kirkwall at all."

She would be lying if she said she didn't prefer the quiet sometimes, especially with company like his.

"She'd just as soon leave me at her mercy to teach me a lesson for getting into that sort of situation in the first place," he said. "Then she'd lock her up and take me back."

He nodded, tipping his head up a little to catch more of the wind. "If the weather were always nice, and there were never raiders, I had a good supply of ale, brandy, and food, and decent company to enjoy it with? What's not to like? If we ever got bored, we could always dock and hit the coast, fight our share of monstrosities, and jump back aboard to rest up again." He had to laugh at the notion. "If it were that easy, we'd all be living on boats, and Kirkwall would be a ghost town."

A chuckle bubbled out of her, barely suppressed by the side of her hand. "Oh, how terrible. I suppose I'll let myself be conscripted to spare you. After all, that's what a Champion is supposed to do, right?"

Her eyes briefly scanned the Coast. "Oh, if only it were that easy. Kirkwall would turn into a trader's port for anyone living out at sea. That's fairly depressing, come to think of it." She smiled. "But it's a nice dream. Maybe that's why Isabela likes her life on the sea so much. No ties, no pressing schedule to attend to. You make your own adventure." Suddenly, she laughed. "Maker, I think I've talked about her as much as myself tonight. Sorry."

"My hero," he said, probably a little more fondly than he realized.

"We'd get dreadfully bored. Almost everyone would. Then we'd be fighting one another and raiding each other's boats. Pretty much what actually happens out here anyway." He shook his head and shifted in his seat on the bench, one leg stretched out.

"Don't apologize. She's your friend, and it's obvious she means a lot to you." That was another thing about Hawke that made her so different, not just from the vast majority of the Marchers he knew but also many Fereldans. She had a very wide variety of friends, and she didn't seem to care a whit whether they were reputable or not as long as they were good. He had to wonder about Anders, if she wasn't blind to some of his larger flaws. The rest he could see to one degree or another.

If she thought his tone was any more affectionate, she didn't comment on it, though the edges of her smile softened slightly. She carried on the jovial tone, however, without skipping a beat. "But that's where the adventure comes in. Though it would get tiring after a while, constantly needing to look over your shoulder, never being able to relax. You can't take Kirkwall out of its people, after all." She grinned. "We Fereldans aren't so insane, obviously. We just want a simple life on the sea."

She turned in her seat, nodding. "That she is." A faint laugh left her lips, the sound weak. "You know you're my friend when I'm just as likely to help as I am to hit you for your stupidity." Which was only a partial truth. She'd never hit any of them, though she'd grabbed and shaken a few of them without feeling sorry for it later. But some of them certainly warranted a fist or two for being so obtuse.

"Yes, exactly like being in Kirkwall, except in boats," he said. "We should keep it a secret how good it can be. Then we never have to fight the crowds or worry about anyone stealing the brandy."

That had him flashing her a grin, partially obscured by shadow. "If I'm ever stupid, hit away. They grew us sturdy in Denerim. It would probably do me some good."

"Just between us. A wonderful idea." She finally consented to actually sitting at the prow instead of crouching, her legs beginning to cramp. After some settling, making certain she could still keep an eye out, she glanced back at him. "We might eventually have to get our own boat if we're going to do that, you know. One that's not quite so small."

Her laugh was stronger this time. "I'll keep that in mind. You haven't been foolish so far." Her grin mirrored his. "Just don't be sore with me if I give you a bruise the size of a dragon's egg."

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