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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There was something thrilling about getting approval from authority to take care of a problem, especially when they were the unsavory kind. It was even better when Aveline would condone her actions, which was rarely done. Hearing Cullen give her the go ahead brought a faint twist to her lips after he left. She'd give them about three minutes, if that, before following at a distance.

The group, she could already tell, didn't work for anyone in particular. No defining colors, no uniform, so they didn't work for the Coterie or the Carta. Definitely not part of the Red Iron. No one who would immediately recognize either of them. It was probably why they thought to take advantage of two lone people in the darkness. When the three men followed Cullen, she waited less than two minutes before doing the same, using the shadows as her cover.

The crates were probably the easiest to take advantage of in the docks for cover, strewn in increments just enough for a sneaking apostate - or a thief - to use to hide. She used it instead until she heard one of them speak. That was her cue to move, pulling out her spare knife as she stood. A flick of the wrist had it spinning into the back of the woman's head, dropping her.

Hawke drew her blades out and twirled them easily in hand, smiling. "You might want to think about asking for mercy. Just a thought."

"Listen to that," one of the men said. "Doglord bitch gets herself a pig sticker and thinks she owns the place."

Cullen drew his sword. "You shouldn't have said that," he said. "She hates it when people call them pig stickers." Without another word, he launched an attack, much faster out of armor than in it. He slammed into his target like a brick wall, teeth flying from his pommel strike to the man's jaw. The thief hit the wall behind him with a sickening crunch and slid down, not likely to get up again.

The other three weren't idle, two of them turning on Hawke and the other leaping at Cullen with fluid agility. They may not have been pros, but it didn't seem they were going to go down without a good fight first.

Hawke hopped backwards, drawing the two to her. They were quick, she'd give them that, even if they weren't very experienced. Someone either taught them the finer points of thievery or they'd been growing up in Darktown, pickpocketing their way to the top. They didn't know how to engage enemies with fighting skills and it was obvious by the way they sent one person after Cullen when he was the heavy-hitter.

She ducked under the swipe of a blade and turned her own, smacking her first opponent with the pommel of her blade right in the solar plexus. With a wheeze, he crumpled, and she was free to focus on her other target. The man jumped back into the shadows, the one who'd done so before. She missed a slice to her forearm by inches as she turned, burying her second blade into his neck as he recovered. "They're not pig stickers," she said, kicking his body back and over his crouched comrade.

Cullen's attacker was more skilled at avoiding being hit than at hitting. He danced in to deliver a wild, inaccurate slash or two with his daggers only to dart back out of sword range again just before Cullen could get in a good jab or sweep. The man kept laughing with each attempt, enough that it was a tell.

Come on, Cullen thought. Laugh just a little sooner... A cross bow bolt whizzing past his head and thunking into the wooden door behind him got his attention immediately. "Bolter!" he shouted to alert Hawke.

His eyes searched the shadows as he parried, distracted enough to take a shallow cut across the side of his thigh. He hissed and leaped back, then saw the telltale glint of metal on the rooftop. "Got you," he murmured low. The night sky erupted in a towering inferno of white energy. The lone bolter fell from the rooftop with a scream that cut off abruptly.

Cullen's attacker stared at him wide eyed. "Andraste's dimpled asscheeks, a bloody Templar," he moaned. "It's a bloody--" His shout ended in a gout of blood, Cullen's slash clean across his throat.

She turned her head at the shout, looking up and around for their hidden attacker. She dearly wished sometimes that she actually remembered to carry a bow or a crossbow with her; she was no good with ranged fighters without Varric or Sebastian. With her distracted, the other thief jumped to his feet and went for her exposed back. She turned back around and pulled out a small pellet from her belt, throwing it to the ground. In a puff of smoke, she ducked back and out of his range, circling around to get him from behind.

The startled cry of 'Templar' offered enough of a distraction to get her enemy looking at Cullen with wide, rounded eyes, long enough for Hawke to get into place. When he turned to confront her again, he was met with both of her blades buried in his chest as she spun. With a startled gasp, he dropped, and she pulled her weapons free of his body.

"Shit," she muttered, glancing around at the bodies. Her gaze flitted to the shadows, watching for any others as she made her way over to Cullen. She flicked blood from one of her blades, scowling. "Are you all right?"

"Bastard cut me," he said, glancing down at his wet pants leg, the blood black in the moonlight. "I don't think it's deep. Let's get that basket between us and get the Void out of here before we've got the guard on top of us, too." He wasn't keen on having to write an incident report if he could get around it. If he did that every time he got jumped by some thug with more greed than sense, he'd be buried under a mountain of them.

He didn't imagine that either the smite or the panicked shout had gone completely unnoticed. If it didn't bring the law running, it might bring other sorts, crazy blood mages or the Coterie looking to make the streets a little less safe one piece of the law at a time. They never seemed to distinguish much between guards and knights. It was all the same to them, an obstacle to get rid of. Wouldn't they think it a prize if they could take out the Knight-Captain?

Her eyes followed the red trail in his pant leg, coming to stand beside him so she could take a better look at it. In the darkness, there wasn't much she could distinguish, but if he said he was all right, she'd have to take his word for it. "I have some things at the estate we can use. You can walk without any trouble, right?" she asked, sheathing her blades and glancing around once more. If the guard came down on them, that would be preferable to getting ambushed by more trouble. Aveline could yell her down for being foolish enough to be out cutting down thugs, but at the end of the day, a striping was preferable to getting their throats cut.

"I'd be loath to leave you but I can grab the basket and the last trap if you want to stay here and not aggravate your cut." But that could easily leave him open to another attack if anyone did hear that there was a Templar out here.

He put his full weight on it and took an experimental step or two. It burned like a son of a bitch, to the point he had the stray concern the blade may have been poisoned with something. There was no real way to know unless he started to feel sick. "I can walk," he said with a nod.

He considered her proposal before shaking his head. "No. We'd do better sticking together at this point. If there are others coming, I'd rather make them work for whatever they want to do than make it easy to pick us off individually. We can carry the basket between us after we put away the trap. It'll leave a hand free each for weapons."

Her hand went out instinctively when he took a step forward, concerned he might be more injured than either of them realized. Once satisfied that he wasn't, she nodded and allowed her arm to drop back to her side. "There's some good news, at least." And if he could walk and he was willing, then staying together was certainly the wiser of the two options. Hawke drew her blades once more. "True enough. If you're ready..."

It wouldn't be a long walk back to the boat but the returning path would be much more problematic. She only hoped no one would come across their handiwork in the meantime.

"I am," he said. He wiped the blood from his blade on the tunic of the fallen thief and started cautiously back in the direction they came from, scanning the shadows of both street level and rooftop. If he had designed Kirkwall, he would have made sure every roof was covered in the hideous spikes that seemed to sprout on staircases like dangerous weeds and that every single one had a random weak spot guaranteed to break the leg of any thug that fell through it. It would serve them right.

He made an effort not to limp, less out of a desire to impress Hawke and more from practicality. The criminals of Kirkwall were like wild animals. If they sensed a weakness, they'd descend and tear at it until they took him down. He didn't bother trying to look at their fallen attackers. They were obvious nobodies who had gotten to be enough of a somebody in whatever hole spawned them that they thought they were ready for some new turf. If he and Hawke hadn't taken them down, one of the real roughneck gangs of the docks would've sooner or later, and probably a lot less cleanly.

"You know, I'm going to get downright testy if somebody costs us our breakfast," he grumbled. He bent to pick up the last trap, breath hissing through his teeth as more pain lanced across the slice. His suspicion that the blade had been tainted with something, acid maybe, was growing.

If her eyes could have been everywhere, they would have been for all of the watching she was doing. She didn't coddle Cullen or make a scene out of slowing down for him; she walked briskly, always a few steps ahead specifically to be certain she could catch any signs of resistance first. She was going to need to speak to Varric again about the gangs milling around the docks. Hopefully he could look into bribing someone off for keeping the place a little safer. That, or he could probably mutter some word and get someone's throat cut because she ran into trouble.

"You won't be the only one," she said, grabbing the basket. She turned her head back towards him when she heard that sharp intake of breath, brow furrowed. "Trust us to find trouble in the one place that couldn't be further from help," she murmured, coming to his side and glancing down at his wound once more. Sheathing her dagger with one hand, she then set about fumbling in the small pack she brought for anything she could have to help him.

"I'm sorry, I left everything at home tonight. I didn't think we'd be needing anything like a potion." Sometimes, she dearly wished she hadn't come to rely on Anders so much for his healing. It had made her complacent.

"I did, too." He was annoyed with himself. He had focused so much on getting out there and what they would do then that he hadn't given proper thought to what would happen when they got back. Oh, yes, they were perfectly discreet. Not a soul down at the docks at that hour would know them from any other Fereldan from a hole in the wall and would therefore have no qualms about trying to fill them with holes, too. "I think it'll be all right once I can wash it. Blighter had something coating the blade. I'd wager a week's wage to the fact."

He turned to head back the way they had come one final time, eager to get the trap locked away so they could get a real move on. The longer they stuck around, the more likely it was someone would come along, connect them to the bodies, and either want answers or revenge. Not having any qualms about putting people like that down didn't mean he liked it.

He didn't believe he was losing an excessive amount of blood. A little of it squelched in his boot, but he wasn't light headed. He thought he could feel some of it starting to dry. It itched against his skin and made the fabric stiff. Thank the Maker for small favors, then. He set the trap down to unlock the door, tossed it in with the rest, and snapped the lock back into place. He turned so that he could take his side of the basket, face registering more irritation than pain. He hadn't wanted to deal with something like this tonight.

She rubbed at her forehead briefly in exasperation, walking with him. "You'd already be feeling ill if it was poison," she said, looking him over once more. He didn't seem pale enough for that. "I'm glad they hardly knew what they were doing." Blight take the idiots in the city who thought it would be a good idea to pickpocket and kill anyone that seemed poor enough on their luck. Had they been any more efficient, they wouldn't have been so lucky. It crossed her mind very briefly that there were easier ways to get him help, all of which would make for a very, very awkward conversation among those involved. She grimaced to herself. Fine time not to think things through, Hawke.

The basket wasn't too heavy but with him on the other side and carrying part of the weight, she could free her hand up to carry her blade at her side. She sighed once as they passed the bodies and made their way to the Hightown exit. "There's always something," she muttered under her breath. "With any luck, we'll run into Donnic instead of Aveline." He, at least, would be more inclined to keep quiet about just who gutted a few thieves in the middle of the docks. No promises on what he'd mention to his wife, though.

"You feeling all right?" she asked quietly over their shared prize. She could keep most of the concern out of her voice but not out of her eyes as she looked his way.

"If their poison making skills were on par with their fighting skills, it could take a while," he said dryly. "It feels like acid." He had been hit and cut with Maker knew what over the years, things that slowed him down, made him sleepy, hurt like the Void, froze, burned, itched, and then some. This particular burn seemed to be a chemical variety, not magic.

"That would be a nice stroke of luck," he muttered. He wouldn't necessarily mind having a guard around for part of the way as long as it didn't mean it was upgraded to an incident. For an incident, he'd have to reveal who he had been with when the attack happened, and that would raise all sorts of uncomfortable questions from Meredith.

He nodded curtly, and that would have been the end of it if he didn't remind himself that he wasn't on patrol with a co-worker. "Thank you for asking," he said, offering the faintest twitch of a smile.

"Or it'd only be strong enough to feel like indigestion," she replied with a roll of her eyes. She glanced down at his leg, an action that was rather pointless; she couldn't rightly see it with the basket in the way. Either the wound wasn't bad enough for the acid to be much of an issue or he was controlled enough not to let on how bad it might have been.

She chuckled. "It would save us from being entirely exposed, certainly. We could set a new record for having the worst luck imaginable." But the night was quiet to the point that she was getting downright wary of their surroundings, even when she knew they weren't too much farther from Hightown. The real test would be the steps and the narrow streets they would need to take to get there, both of which she wasn't looking forward to doing.

Her smile was just as faint, albeit crooked, when she looked at him again. It lingered for a few seconds before slipping, her gaze turning back behind them. She tugged on the basket to give him a warning, hearing something.

"So if my cooking makes me sick, I can run with that story and stick to it?" he asked. He didn't want her worrying about something she couldn't help at the moment. If he could deflect the concern, he intended to.

He noticed the quiet, too. It wasn't that he expected a bustling hub of activity. There was usually more than this. Even the night birds and insects that could usually be heard in the area were silent.

When she tugged the basket, he motioned with his sword that they should set it down out of the way. If it was nothing, they could pick it up again and continue on their path. If it wasn't, he wanted them both with the freedom to move in whatever direction they needed. He peered into the shadows for any sign of movement.

"You could. Or you can blame it on some bad brandy. I don't think anyone will question it. We'll just need to make sure that potion does the trick because no one will believe you were cut by falling off the boat in a fit of drunken pique." ...Or maybe they'd believe it. She knew Meredith wouldn't if she spotted him favoring his leg.

She did as instructed, turning back around with a blade ready for anything. But there was nothing, the street empty and eerily silent as before. The downward twist of her lips showed her suspicion. She didn't need to say it. She'd worked with the damn Red Iron for a year. She knew what failed stealth sounded like moments before the blade hit someone's throat.

And she wasn't wrong, for the most part. There were two on the roof, one taking the opportunity to try and tackle Hawke to the ground with the weight of her descent. The other went for Cullen, the man much larger and more built than his companion. He wasn't going to waste time on taunts, either, simply pulling his sword around to go for the Templar's head.

"Oh, no. I'm not saying anything about the brandy. If that ever got back to Isabela, I'd be in for it." There was an underlying tension in the light banter. He knew something was up. He just didn't yet know what or how bad it might be. The only thing worse would have been tipping off their would be attackers that they were prepared.

He cursed under his breath as the two dropped, pivoting and slamming an elbow hard into the jaw of the man before he had the chance to get his feet properly under him. It staggered him without taking him down. The man spit blood to the side, rolled his neck, and muttered, "Gonna make you pay for that one, blondie."

If he didn't need all of his focus, he would've rolled his eyes. Like he never heard that one before. What was with people thinking that was an insult? This fighter was better than the others. He circled Cullen to feel him out before darting in with a vicious jab.

Cullen parried with a shearing hiss of steel on steel of the blades, sparks flying, and broke the attack with a circular twist of his wrist. It had been a while since he had fought without his shield, but two handed weapons used to be his sword of choice. It wasn't hard to adapt his longsword technique as defensive and offensive. He trusted Hawke to take care of herself and to give a yell if she ran into trouble. He couldn't spare a glance in her direction yet. His leg burned and throbbed as though a hot coal sat against the skin, and it was taking all of his concentration not to let it throw him off.

He feinted left and swung right, slicing into shoulder muscle and jerking his sword free. The man bit back an outcry and retaliated with a flurry of furious blows that pressed him hard just to hold his ground and keep his head on his shoulders.

She was quick to attempt to put some distance between then four of them, drawing her own attacker out so Cullen had the room to work. She was lucky enough to be facing an opponent with a similar fighting style to her own. She moved like Isabela - practiced footwork and undeniably fast - but didn't seem all too eager to resort to some of the disappearing acts Hawke had seen earlier from her comrades. That was going to even the playing field a little.

There wasn't any time to keep an eye out for Cullen. He could take care of himself and though his injury worried her, she knew she'd hear if he needed her help. She focused on the girl instead, meeting each dagger thrust with one of her own, the two of them dancing around one another. Hawke pressed back every time, trying to uproot the thief's stance to rattle her. Each time, she held her ground and pushed back against her, but one particular misstep gave Hawke just the advantage she needed; she pushed the blade to the side and down, spinning around to put them back-to-back long enough for her second dagger to twist and embed itself into the woman's side. Her scream made her toes curl, the sound right by her ear, and when they separated, blood dripped onto the pavement.

"Bitch!" the woman screamed, launching herself at Hawke. Desperation made her sloppy but angry enough to have her constantly on the move, daggers clashing together to keep the thief from reaching her throat. She swung past her defenses and Hawke just barely managed to tilt her head back in time, the tip of a knife burning a line in her cheek. Her weight dipped back on one foot and she sprang forward, knocking her shoulder into the thief's chest. The woman staggered and Hawke buried both knives into her stomach, the leather of her opponent's armor easily giving way to flesh. With a gasp and a wet gurgle, the thief dropped into a crumpled heap at her feet.

That scream had Cullen's heart leaping in his chest with an extra twist of anxiety. The woman's shout afterward told him it hadn't been Hawke's scream of pain, and he was back to total absorption in his own struggle. Andraste's pyre, the man was fast and strong. Every time their blades met, it felt like the impact jarred him through his shoulder and lower back.

Still, he was human, and he was losing a lot more blood from his slash than Cullen was from his previous injury. His steps grew clumsier by the moment, and he left himself open with a wild swing. Cullen ducked under the whistle of the blade and turned his sword sideways in his forward stab, slipping it between ribs and plunging it deep into lung. The man was coughing blood before Cullen could withdraw his blade, and had fallen to his knees by the time he did.

When he knew he intended to kill someone, he didn't prolong their suffering. He took his head in a clean stroke and looked away as it bounced down the steps. Instantly his attention snapped to Hawke's fight, just in time to see her down the other woman. He was breathing heavily, gaze shifting to be sure they wouldn't have more incoming surprises. "Are you all right?" He couldn't tell if the blood on her face was hers or the downed thief's.

Hawke was winded when she stepped back from her quarry, flicking the last few drops of blood from her blades. She turned back to Cullen and to his own kill, nodding. She reached up and touched a few fingers to her cheek, not surprised they came away red. It was already feeling itchy and she drew the back of her hand over the cut to try and wipe away as much of the blood as she could, smearing it in the process. She'd deal with it later when they had a real moment to catch their breaths.

"I'm fine. Thought I was in trouble there for a few moments." It would be just their luck that the competent members of whatever group they tangled with earlier would catch up to them sooner or later. She sheathed one of her daggers and stepped over to his side. "Are you?"

"I couldn't tell if they were with those others or someone else entirely," he said. Knowing how things were at the docks, it plausibly could have been either. He resisted the urge to look her over more closely. Exposed on the steps leading to Hightown wasn't the place for such things. She was on her feet, not gushing blood, and not wheezing. That had to count for something.

"I'm all right." He wiped his sword on the downed man, although it was more difficult to find a clean spot on his clothing that wasn't already blood soaked.

"These crabs had better be ambrosia." He was beyond irritated at himself for not anticipating the kind of trouble they'd probably run into on the way back from the trip. He wouldn't make that sort of mistake again. They might have been better off staying overnight and sailing in with the dozens of other boats coming and going. Would they have truly been more conspicuous?

He bent for the basket again, turning a thought over in his head that wasn't exactly...pleasant...but was practical. "We should stop at the Rose," he said hesitantly. "I'm not Madame Lusine's favorite person, but...she's never one to turn down the opportunity of being owed a favor, and she'll have potions and things to clean these injuries. She'll also be discreet. She didn't get her position in the Coterie by blabbing other people's business all over Kirkwall, and she's not stupid enough to try to blackmail either one of us."

"I still don't know," she said, glancing at the bodies. "And I'd rather not poke around in their belongings to find out." Beyond necessary pilfering, there was something to be said for respecting the dead. She didn't need the coin and this wasn't a contract job. Had it been, she would have waited longer to look over what they had. Perhaps she'd speak to Aveline about it anyway and leave Cullen's name out. At worst, she'd give Hawke a look but would help her. It'd probably be a better idea in the long run.

She looked him over once and then nodded, grabbing up the basket to help him with its weight. "At least we can say it's been an exciting night," she said, tone flippant, the look on her face saying that otherwise. She could have done without fighting for her life but...well, wasn't that old hat by now for her?

"The Rose?" It didn't seem practical at first, just another stop on the way...but he provided a sound argument and she didn't have any good reason to protest it. It was on the way, after all, and he was right; she wouldn't gossip about the two of them wandering in. After a moment, she nodded her assent. "Good idea. It'll give us the chance to catch our breaths too." It was early enough yet that it'd probably be somewhat quiet, less chance of being spotted...

Oh. She tugged the edge of her lip between her teeth. No, she supposed it was early enough that she wouldn't be running into her uncle. "Just keep on the lookout for Gamlen when we get there. I'm sure he's home by now but you never know."

"Agreed," he said. He could think of few things less appealing than pawing around the clothing of corpses for any reason. If the poor bastards had relatives who gave a damn, they'd get their proper cremation and interment. If not, the Void take them. He didn't owe them the wasted breath of a prayer, much less investigation.

"I have to admit that when I said I hoped things would be interesting, this wasn't quite what I had in mind." For all of their joking of dragon and spider slaying on the boat, fighting for his life wasn't something he treated as entertainment.

"That's what I was thinking. We still have to pass through the market district in Hightown. As...active...as things are tonight, it wouldn't surprise me if we hit trouble there, too." He didn't want to admit how badly his leg was burning now. He didn't know if it was sweat making the acid run down into the wound, or if he was tearing it further. He was ready to have the chance to look it over and do something about it.

"Gamlen?" He frowned. Well, no, that shouldn't have been surprising at all now that he thought about it. "I will. I'll see if we can bypass the front common room altogether." He wasn't looking forward to the smug look the woman would give him or what she'd ask for in return later. It was still worth that over facing unknown danger with both of them wounded and starting to get winded.

"We'll just need to promise to make sure that whatever we end up doing next time, it's inside and not out on the streets after dark. We were too lucky the first time we ran through Lowtown without a problem." She half-smiled at him. How they'd managed that one still surprised her. She wasn't about to complain too much, though.

"I wouldn't be surprised either. No, the Rose is a good idea. I wouldn't have thought of that." Just enough removed from the crowded parts of Hightown that they wouldn't draw attention. If it gave them even half an hour's respite, it was well worth the potential exposure from Gamlen or the favor they might be asked later for their hospitality.

She nodded. "He spends most of his coin there now because he can't get people to actually spot him when he wants to gamble." And it served him right after he squandered away his family's fortune in his idiocy. "Even if he was there, he'd probably be distracted enough not to notice us. And if he does, then I can give him a healthy reminder of why he doesn't stay at the estate. He won't trouble us." She would be more concerned about him mentioning it to one of her friends and, really, who would believe him at this point?

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