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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"Suit yourself," Lusine said to Hawke, shrugging indifferently. She didn't seem intent on pushing them toward anything they didn't ask for of their own accord. She turned a critical eye on the wound and pursed her lips. A few more moments of digging in the chest had her coming up with a second vial.

"Rub this on it first." She tossed it to Cullen and waited for him to do as she instructed.

He didn't care for her imperious tone. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask her what it was. He decided against it. If he trusted her enough to come here in the first place, he'd be an idiot not to take the help she offered. He had no doubt she'd take great pleasure in pointing out the logic of that herself if he gave her the opportunity.

He resisted the urge to glance at Hawke. Lusine was too observant and shrewd not to pick up on subtle cues. He needed this to look like business as usual. The Champion and the Knight-Captain involved in the sorts of activities that the Coterie typically resented, making the city a safer place, not two people on a date. He could only hope that the crab basket didn't give that away despite their best efforts.

Uncorking the vial, he lifted the solution for a quick sniff. He couldn't tell much about it other than it was inoffensive. It poured out as a thick gel. He hissed as he rubbed it all around the irritated skin. If he had been expecting relief, he was sorely disappointed. The look he shot Lusine was vaguely accusatory.

She ignored that, instead handing over a healing potion. "Now drink this. If you had taken it before, that acid on your skin would have just burned you again as soon as you started moving around. We'll need to get you a new set of trousers."

Cullen took the potion and sniffed it, too. If there was anything in it besides a healing draught, he couldn't detect it. Only when Lusine had turned her back to them to head to the door and summon someone with pants did he hazard a glance at Hawke. He looked grim when he downed the potion. The set of his shoulders relaxed with the ease of the pain and the closing of the gash.

She was keeping her eye on whatever was being passed around as well. She knew enough about poisons from Tomwise to at least detect certain characteristics of the stuff, but without taking either of the vials from Cullen himself, she wouldn't be able to provide much help either way. Lusine was as closed off as Varric could be, unreadable in her expression. If either of the items she handed over to Cullen were dangerous, it would be impossible to know until the effects had begun to show. They seemed legitimate for the most part, which allowed Hawke to maintain her casual demeanor despite her restless uncertainty.

When their host turned away, she met Cullen's gaze and simply shrugged. A potion was a potion, standard or made of elfroot. So long as it did the trick, they couldn't complain. As he relaxed, so did she, but only long enough that he could catch a glimpse of it. She folded her arms across her chest and cocked her hip, glancing over to Lusine as she spoke with someone. When she returned, one of her girls followed with a dark pair of pants, which she offered to Cullen with a look. Hawke kept her eyes on Lusine through it to contain any rolling of the eyes she might have made.

"All cleared up, I imagine," the woman tutted. She waved the girl off and fixed Hawke with the same penetrating look she'd given earlier. "Now, about payment. Your...parcel seems to be making a mess of my entryway." The disgust in her face was plain to see.

Hawke smiled thinly. "I can take care of that."

"That wasn't any doubt," Lusine interjected. Bartering and haggling would do her no good here. Madame Lusine's prices were fixed. "I'll be sending you the bill for its cleaning, Sera. And should I need to get the whole rug replaced, you'll be paying for that as well." It wouldn't need to be, of course, but it was added incentive for Hawke to make good on her word. Or else was hardly ever spoken among agents of the Coterie. It didn't need to be.

He was grateful that she seemed to be taking all of this with as little trust as he. He hadn't expected her to feel relaxed in the place. However, after seeing her fight, he also knew that if something did happen, they had a decent chance of getting out of it intact. He didn't intend to linger any longer than it took to get sorted out.

For all that he couldn't control his blush, he had full control of his demeanor. He took the offered pants from the girl with a hard enough look that she was the one to look away first, this time without any suggestive glances downward. There were only so many indignities he'd willingly suffer in one night. As little as he wished to antagonize Lusine, that didn't extend to her employees. He folded the garment over his arm.

He interjected at the latter, severe when wrapped in the authority of his position. "If it's that bad, send the bill to my office. The Champion was acting at my behest tonight. I'll not have her paying a Templar debt."

The woman shifted a long, searching look between the two before nodding. "If that's what you prefer. Far be it from me to interfere with others' business arrangements." She fixed Cullen with an assessing look. "I didn't have to help you at all."

The implication was crystal clear there. The money was only part of it. "No, you didn't. You'll find my gratitude adequate, I believe." He all but dared her to ask him for something underhanded or inappropriate with the look he gave her in return. He'd find a way to pay the debt without compromising himself or his office, and she seemed to understand that as well.

"I don't expect the two of you will linger for long." It was almost diplomatic, the way she was telling them to get the Void out of her brothel. "If you want to change, there's a room beyond this one you may use."

Cullen nodded and headed in that direction. The sooner they could be on their way the better he'd feel. He doubted that if Lusine sent anyone to tail them that they'd spot the shadow. They'd have to take care how they behaved toward one another all the way to the estate.

She caught on to the ruse quickly enough. "I don't exactly want to be in debt to you and the Templars, either," Hawke interjected with a brief look at Cullen. Her gaze slipped back to Madame Lusine and she raised her hands with a mild shrug. "But this isn't the best place to negotiate financial terms." Madame Lusine's look hardly wavered, though Hawke wasn't entirely certain she wasn't going to get into some serious trouble just for a comment like that. She'd need to speak with Varric about throwing a little coin at the Coterie...or start making up some wildly intimidating tales to keep them away.

But then she was leveling Cullen's debts, the tension between them palpable enough to need a sword to slice through. She wasn't foolish enough to get between them; he could fight his own battles with or without his rank to aid him, and judging by the look he received from Lusine, she knew it too. The favor would come with a price, certainly, but it wouldn't be his dignity or his office.

She spared him a glance as he started walking, realizing belatedly that she shouldn't follow. They had appearances to keep up. "I'll go check on our cargo. Meet me at the door and we'll head out?" she requested instead, pointing back behind her.

"Yes," he shot over his shoulder as though the whole thing irritated him and half of it could be her fault. He didn't enjoy it, snapping like an ass, and had he been in front of almost anyone else, it wouldn't have been worth it. The last thing he wanted was anyone from the Coterie suspecting a personal relationship between him and her. The ways that could be manipulated were too varied and damaging to contemplate. He believed that Lusine had bought the act. He couldn't be certain, of course, but it seemed so. She wasn't shooting them any more of her searching looks. She just seemed to want them out of her hair.

He changed quickly and did his best to stay near a screen. He couldn't be sure there weren't eyes on him from somewhere, hidden passages or Coterie hiding holes probably scattered throughout the place. The breeches weren't a perfect fit, a little tight across the hips and a little short. Tucked into his boots the latter wasn't obvious. He kept hold of his ruined pants. He wasn't going to leave anything behind to be used who knew how, particularly with his blood on it.

When he met Hawke in the front, Madame Lusine was there, too, along with one of the workers. He didn't know if she was a prostitute or one of the girls who helped with the business side of things. He was about to let Hawke know he was ready to go when movement caught the corner of his eye close to the door opposite the rooms they had just vacated. It was one of the crabs. The only way it could have gotten out of the basket was if someone had opened it and rifled through it.

His jaw tightened as he closed the distance to pick it up from the side, holding it behind the front claws to keep from being pinched. When he turned, the brief look of cold fury Lusine shot the girl and the way she shrank back told him that rifling hadn't been sanctioned. "Watch the back there," he said to Hawke, quick with the lie. "We've got a hole." He had no love of what went on at the Rose or the character of its employees. He didn't want someone beaten or worse over a basket of crabs. It might happen anyway. He had done what he could to prevent it.

With a nod to the madame, he opened the door for Hawke. It didn't look particularly gallant with the way her arms were full. He made it less so by scowling.

The walk back to their basket only had her wary once more, though she needn't have been. Everything was in order once she'd gotten there, nothing out of place from what she could see. Madame Lusine disappeared off to the side to speak with someone, Hawke's eyes following her while one of the other workers kept her company.

As Lusine returned, she gave the former mercenary a once-over again, the look earning her a fold of the arms and a sharpened gaze. It didn't make the older woman go away, no, but the look of appraisal that followed didn't make Hawke feel dwarfed, either. That was saying something, at the very least.

Cullen's arrival had her straightening, looking over the basket for a sign of their hole. "Ah. Well, I suppose that would explain the leaking," she said helpfully, a brief look and a tight smile on her face. She gave a sweeping nod to the madame as well. "Thank you for your hospitality," she said with as much flippancy as gratitude, and she went for the basket to artfully dodge the look she would get for her attitude. Seeing him grab the door without so much as helping her, she kept her smile and picked up their parcel, ducking out the door without another word.

The guard was still posted where they'd left him, no less curious about their departure than he had been about their arrival. Hightown had always been a patrol that forced the guards to find their own work. She wasn't surprised to find one of them so nosy as to the happenings at the Rose, now that she thought of it. She kept up their facade and carried the basket back out into the main path of Hightown proper, directing their journey back to the estate.

Cullen inwardly bristled at the guard's curiosity. It was almost guaranteed he'd be dealing with some issue from Aveline, and that thought had him feeling testy. Once the man's back was to them again, he considered the crab he still held in his hand. Had he been alone rather than with Hawke, there was a very good chance he'd have shied it at the back of the man's neck, consequences be damned. Instead he wrapped it securely in his ruined breeches to free his sword hand and ensure they didn't have to open the basket again.

He kept in everything he wanted to say. Voices carried too easily along the cold stone of Hightown. If they had a Coterie shadow, he wanted it reported back to Lusine that he and Hawke were hardly on what one would call friendly terms. All business.

He trained his eyes to the shadows and rooftops, half expecting another ambush along the way. The silence of the squares was less unnatural than that at the docks. He heard night birds and insects, a few frogs in the fountains favored by the elite for their courtyards.

It was fortunate for them that the estate wasn't far from the Rose itself. Two turns brought them out to the smaller courtyard that housed the Amell family home, tucked in the wall and surrounded by a few pieces of ivy framing the doorway.

It was only here that she finally turned her back long enough to fish a key out of the pouch in her belt and to set the basket down so she could open the door. She took a brief glance inside and, satisfied that it seemed like no one was awake just yet, she pushed the basket just beyond the door.

"Before you go," she said, looking back to Cullen, "We still need to discuss payment." She gestured to the door. "And I suppose Meredith will want a letter for all of this," she added with some exasperation. If they had a follower, they needed a reason for him following her all the way back home. She kept her voice low only to ensure that no one in the house was disturbed. Had someone taken great pains to stay with them every step of the way, they would hear them despite her quiet.

"Of course," he said, somehow managing to sound both arch and snide. "We couldn't have word getting out that you're doing things for the city out of the goodness of your heart. You'll find the Templar coffers adequately deep even for your tastes." He hardened his voice further as he gestured toward the open door. "After you. I insist."

"Oh no, where would my reputation be then?" she countered, rolling her eyes. "Really, Meredith is so kind even to give me the time of day, much less send her Knight-Captain out to make sure I do my job." That one forced her to press her lips together to keep from smiling. Why Meredith would want a blighted basket of crabs was another story and she dearly hoped she'd hear what the Coterie thought of that before the end of the week.

With a nod, she disappeared through the doorway, taking a few extra steps to ensure that there wasn't a large war hound waiting there to barrel into Cullen when he stepped in after her. Luckily, there wasn't just yet.

"I'm no happier about it than you. Let's just...get that letter, shall we?" He stepped in behind her and shut the door. He glanced at it and took a few steps away from it before breaking into a wry, apologetic smile. "Next time I suggest we pay Lusine a visit, just counter suggest we strip down and roll in the broken glass outside the Hanged Man. I think it would be almost as pleasant."

He moved then to help her with the basket and set his rolled pants atop the lid. "If the stakes weren't so high, I'd say some of that was fun. We make a good team."

For her part, she had to keep herself from outright laughing loud enough to wake the house. Her grin was broad and open. "I don't know. I think bleeding to death outside of the Hanged Man wouldn't be nearly so fun," she joked softly. "Besides, finding out what little rumors will spread from this might be almost as entertaining as the night itself." Provided they were not about the two of them.

"You have the scowl down very well when you're under pressure," she offered, helping him with their parcel into the main foyer. "And she didn't slip you anything, or so it looks like. I think we did well."

A soft grumble caught her attention and she turned, spotting a curled up and now awakened hound looking at her from the fireplace. He wuffed softly and she put a finger to her lips. "Shh, shh. It's okay." His entire body started shaking as his tail did and he rose to stretch. "That's a good boy." He trotted over to them, stopping only once to look at Cullen and sniff him, ears perked in curiosity. He kept looking at the basket, his priorities more than obvious.

"Whatever else comes of it, I don't think I will ever live down the crabs comment," he groaned, rolling his eyes at himself. "When I get flustered, things have a tendency to come out all wrong. That's why the scowl is perfected. It's much harder for anyone to get me slipping on that. I can hear it now. 'And then the bloody Knight-Captain of the bloody Templars came waltzing in bold as brass with the Champion and said we have crabs'." He did a more than passing impression of Lusine's accent but didn't alter his voice.

He would have been lying if he claimed the dog didn't make him a little nervous. He had no doubt that he remembered him from the day he came to take Bethany. Mabari were known for their memories. His smile came more naturally when the animal turned his attention to the basket.

"I already promised Hawke we'd share with you," he offered.

"Maker, if we weren't in the middle of a brothel owned by the Coterie, I think I would have died of laughter." Or embarrassment, whichever the case. Her smile turned reassuring. "There were worse ways we could have ended up. She might have been busy with clients and we might have waited there for an hour just to see her. And then there would have been an even smellier basket of clacking beasts to worry about." She didn't feel bad about the stain on their carpet, even if she would be paying for it later.

The dog didn't seem too interested in the Templar just yet, his tail wagging enthusiastically as he eyed up their prize. Hawke rolled her eyes at the animal. "Yes, yes, there will be some for you. But you need to behave, you hear?" If it was possible, his tail wagged even harder, his whole body shaking with the motion. She grinned and led Cullen into the kitchen.

She set the basket in the corner and moved to take off her blades, belt, bag, and jacket, draping all three onto one of the chairs. She moved to light the fire first, eager to get that going before anything else happened. She pulled down one of the large soup pots and set it down, looking for what else they might need. "Make yourself comfortable. I'm going to fill this up with water so we can get that basket out of here."

"You're right about that. There are so many ways it could have gone worse," he agreed. He hadn't wound up drugged or poisoned. They weren't taken hostage. No one important or gossipy had seen them together there. All in all he was thankful for a lot of things, not the least of which was the fact his leg didn't burn anymore.

"It's hard to believe they can also tear a man's head clean off," he said, following behind her.

He removed his weapon, pack, and doublet and set them aside on the same chair, the sword leaned up against it. "Don't be afraid to put me to work. I don't want to just sit back and watch you bustle around." Digging in the pack, he brought out the box of spices he had brought and set them on the table.

"Be glad he isn't after your head," she replied with a good-natured smile, despite her words. The dog followed them into the kitchen and contented himself to lay at the door, out of the way of her working for the time being. "He used to walk with my mother when she'd go shopping. She never was attacked but I know he wouldn't hesitate to tear someone's throat out to keep her safe." If she'd taken him the night she met Quentin... Well, best not to think about that. She might still have her mother or she might have lost her mabari too.

"Believe me," she grinned from over her shoulder, "You'll be put to work. But I'd rather not have you blindly roaming the house when it's dark. There'll be another time for that." She took the one pot out to fill it with water, about two-thirds of the way, until she was satisfied that nothing they put in it would cause it to overflow onto the fire.

She brought it back and hooked it over the fireplace to let it begin to boil. "We might have to make two batches, one with half of the crabs and the small ones, and the other half can be cooked while we eat."

"Trust me. Words can't express my gratitude for that adequately," he assured her. He knew that she was teasing. He wasn't. No Fereldan in his right mind wanted to have to fight a mabari. "Just as I'm sure he'd protect you now if he thought you needed it." He had no intention of putting the idea in the animal's head it would ever be necessary when it came to him.

"Hmmm. For some reason I think I like the sound of that. Another time." As stiff as he had been when he had thrown up the professional facade for the benefit of any shadows, he was relaxed now, as much as he had been with her on the boat.

"Already you're ahead of my game. I'd have dumped the whole lot in and probably boiled them over in your hearth."

Max seemed content enough to listen to them talk about him, stubby tail wagging again. He made no effort to rise or voice his assent, knowing he had to be quiet. But Hawke flashed him a grin anyway. "He might be too distracted by the thought of food to even consider you a threat."

The smile she wore only seemed to brighten briefly when he seemed receptive enough to her suggestion. She didn't linger on it, instead chuckling. "If you had, you'd just have cheated yourself out of your own meal. That'd be enough of a learning experience, I think." She opened the basket and looked inside, nose wrinkling a little at the smell. It wasn't too bad...or perhaps she'd been around the basket too long to notice the difference. "Pick out the ones you'd like to start with," she said as she crossed the room to grab another pot. "Put them in here and we'll wait for the water to boil before dropping them in. We can add the seasoning to the water now, too, before it heats up."

"We've already established I'm sweet. He could just be saving me for dessert." He flashed her an amused grin.

"At this point, I'm almost starving. That would have been a tragedy." He drew closer, coming up behind her to peer over her shoulder at the writhing creatures. At least they were still alive. Their little stop over and delays hadn't cost them that.

He stepped out of her way to give her room to maneuver. He wasn't particularly choosy about which crabs went first. Mostly, he sought to preserve his fingers from any hard pinches, grabbing them and tossing them one by one. "I hope what they gave me is good. It smelled good to me, not that it means much." When he had the crabs divided roughly evenly, he went over to the pot with the spice box. "Should I just dump the whole thing in?"

She returned the look, glancing back to the dog. "Possibly. Maybe he'll start gnawing at you under the table when he's finished with his meal."

The clacking of small claws drew her attention first, though she smiled. "Well, at least we wouldn't have gone hungry if you had." She moved with him to inspect the box he had. "It should be fine. I don't think they would have you on if you were serious about cooking. Bad for business and all of that. I'd only put in half, though. We can always add more if we want to."

"You're bringing new meaning to the term 'eat and run', I hope you realize," he teased.

"We wouldn't, but I would have been so irritated with myself for it, I'd probably also have lost my appetite." He nodded at her instruction. It made sense. He opened the box and carefully tipped half of the fragrant contents into the pot. The spices spread across the top of the water with little floating bits of peppercorn dotted in. "I expected it to sink," he said, stepping back again.

"I don't think you'd be able to do much running at that point. But really, he won't hurt you." With that large tongue hanging out, jowls pulled back in a big, toothy smile, he barely looked like a creature bred for battle. "Mother practically turned him into a house pet. He's been lavished and loved and pampered since we got the estate."

Hawke grabbed one of the large spoons hanging above the fireplace and handed it to him. "Stir. And then we'll wait for it to boil. Hopefully, the spices will sink a little and then we can get started. Once we throw the crabs in, we'll need to fill up the empty pot with fresh water so they'll cool enough to be handled and cleaned."

Yes, the dog looked harmless enough at the moment. He thought he detected amusement in the light brown eyes, although he could have been reading into things. "If you can't pamper your dog with money, what's it good for?" From anyone but a Fereldan that might have been more flippant than it actually was.

He saluted her with the spoon and dipped it into the pot to give it a few swirls. The reddish powder started sinking down, coloring all of the water a deep orange. He enjoyed the smell coming up off the pot way more than he did of the waiting crabs. "I'm a good soldier. I follow orders."

"It's not worth anything if you can't pamper your dog. Is it, boy?" He wuffed softly in agreement, wagging his tail and giving Cullen a pleased look. "It's funny that people call me a dog lord like it's an insult. They don't know Fereldans very well." She shook her head. "And they won't take two steps too close to the estate for fear of getting their faces ripped off by the very dog that sleeps here."

She nudged him as she passed. "I'm well aware of how good of a soldier you are. Trust me when I say you don't want to be my soldier." It brought a little curl of a smirk to her features, though, as she leaned against the stone wall by the fire.

"They don't. I recall the first time that was flung at me as an insult. I was confused as to why they seemed to think it would bother me. If I had a dog, it would just make it more pertinent but still not insulting." He shrugged. Who could explain the Marcher mindset, and who really wanted to other than a Marcher?

"Give me an order I won't want to obey, and you'll know that I'm not." His answering smirk was very similar to hers. "As for the cooking? I'm following this to the letter. If something goes wrong, I don't want it on my head."

I've had DW eat posts before. Could've been the code push?

Possibly. Thank you, Lazarus, for saving it.

Lazarus has saved me massive frustration so many times. I love it.

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