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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"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."

"You should get a mabari. You would look twice as intimidating with one at your side in the Gallows. Best of all, you could always have backup when you're dealing with idiots at the docks." But he would probably worry about his four-legged companion, just as she would. "Or you can have him stay behind and keep your bunk warm. That's Max's other job in the colder months." As if she had a say in it.

Her smile turned positively sly and she turned her head to look at the water instead. A few more minutes and they would have a steady boil. "Well, that's another reason why we have a second batch. Just in case." She moved to retrieve the pot of crabs and set them down where she'd been standing moments before. Her hand came to rest at the small of his back as she took her place behind and somewhat to the side of him. "I know better not to ask anything compromising of you. Not unless I wanted you to give me the same look you gave Lusine tonight."

"I wish that we could, but there's no way to make them immune or resistant to magic the way that we are. They're very good at what they do. Against a blood mage, they would be a weapon to turn on us, not to mention the things they might suffer." There was also the fact that mabari were very choosy in those they picked for their bonds, and it could become a matter of conflicting loyalty if a Templar stepped out of line.

He was highly curious about that expression, yet held his question. Sometimes being surprised was preferable. His gaze followed her as she moved about. He enjoyed this as much as he had the boat. It was a novel activity, cooking with another somewhere that wasn't a barracks and where he hadn't been put on the duty as they did with all recruits.

He smiled, leaning slightly against the touch, and glanced at her. "I don't think you have to worry about that." He didn't think he had to worry about it, either. He trusted her to respect his integrity.

True enough. She looked over at the drooling mass of muscle and pup she called hers and nodded in agreement. "That's part of the reason why I leave him here. Not just blood mages, but spiders and Qunari and Maker knows what else. It would kill me to lose him." As figuratively as she meant it, there was truth to her words. Her smile was small. "Maybe we can get Sandal to enchant your collar to protect you, huh, boy?"

'Enchant' had him in a full-body wriggle of excitement and she chuckled quietly at the sight. He really was ridiculous sometimes.

She turned back to Cullen, side-stepping so she was in a better position to put both hands on him, fingers kneading at the muscles of his lower back. "But I'm curious about what I could ask you," she murmured quietly. She had said she wanted to know more about him, after all.

He could understand that. She had lost so much in this city already. Losing her dog, too, would be a severe blow. It wasn't necessary to risk him on the bigger things. She had competent friends who could help her with that. He chuckled at the dog's reaction to the proposal for his collar. "It's not a bad idea."

He gave a low approving hum and stuck the spoon back in the pot for another stir or two. "Find out," he offered, glancing over his shoulder. "The worst that will happen is I'll say it's something I'm not comfortable with. No glaring. Templar's honor."

"Probably. I'd need to shop around to find something appropriate. A shame there's no anti-blood magic rune out there. Wouldn't that make lives easier for so many people?" If anyone could ever enchant an item like that, it would be Sandal. He had a knack for achieving the impossible. She'd need to introduce him to Cullen.

She moved her fingers lower, thumbs working from the spine and outward, tempering knotted muscle. She smiled deviously. "I'm not certain what I could ask just yet. Especially right now." Her tone held promise as she held his gaze, hands working at his back. "But I'll let you know if that changes, certainly."

"That would all but put me out of a job. In the balance of things, I wouldn't complain." He chuckled. It was something he had no doubt had been tried. The Tranquil made excellent enchanters, and did as they were bade. He couldn't imagine that some of those orders wouldn't have been to try to devise something that prevented blood magic altogether or negated its effects in others.

"Oof. That feels good." He twisted a little to put her on top of a particular knot. He held the look, interest sparking in his gaze. "There is the matter of the cooking, yes. It won't take too long, I imagine." Cleaning and shelling the crabs might, though. "I won't be going anywhere very soon." He noticed steam rising in small curls at the top of the pot, the direct precursor to the boil. "Does it need to get going good before we put them in?"

"Not necessarily. You'd still have plenty to do. You would just have one less problem to worry about." She smiled. "Templars without jobs. Perish the thought. You'd be religious guards of the Chantry if you didn't have people to chase after."

Carefully, she rolled the knuckles of her one hand to accommodate where he wanted her, slowly turning her hand to knead where she could. "And there's the matter of cleaning, shelling, and eating our would-be meal," she teased. Going up on her toes, she glanced over his shoulder at the pot. "Another...two minutes at most, I think, and then you should be able to start putting them into the water. It's getting there."

"Chantry guard duty. I think I'd take a job as a city guard before letting myself be relegated just to that." He could not think of many things more dull or unrewarding. Many of the priests outright annoyed him, and too many books in one place made him sneeze.

He stood a little hunched over to enjoy the massaging then turned, his arms slipping about her waist. "Two minutes? However will we pass the time?" He leaned down to kiss her, more playful and affectionate than trying to start anything much. He remembered to hold the spoon out and away from her so he didn't drip any hot water or seasonings down her back.

"I'm sure Aveline would love to have you under her thumb, if so," she joked, grinning. "The guard get up to enough troubles outside of the city, you know. Even within city limits, they have things to do. You'd never be bored."

With a soft chuckle, she tilted her head up for the kiss, nose nudging against his. Her hands found his arms and her fingers rubbed circles into them just as she had with his back, her lips curled against his. "Seems you already thought of something," she murmured against his mouth, kissing him once more.

"Oh, I'm sure. I'd get all the choice assignments, too. Darktown, the Dust sector in Lowtown, Wounded Coast ambushes. The Guard-Captain would personally see to it." He had the strong feeling Aveline didn't like him at all, largely because most orders that came from Meredith's office went through him as the mouthpiece, and many of those orders interfered with those of the guard.

This was a much preferable focus. He smiled at her observation, the smile emerging between kisses and disappearing again when he pressed in. "Looks that way, doesn't it?" he murmured. It was nice not feeling the floor rocking beneath them or worrying about balance. He could focus solely on the press of her against him and how her lips felt in the soft caresses.

"She'd look after you," she assured gently, despite the teasing. "You can be the most ungrateful recruit, drag your feet and make her give you Darktown for your troubles, but she'd be right there looking after you." Hawke smirked. "She and I both would, much to your chagrin."

It was rather strange to be doing this without the feeling of anything moving beneath their feet. There were no awkward angles or odd twisting to be done here. It was much easier already to find him commanding all of her attention, strong arm around her waist and front warmed from the fire. She kept her kisses light and simple, an arm slipping around his shoulders.

"You can't say she wouldn't enjoy bringing me low. I know she wouldn't try to get me killed. She's not like that, but to take a Templar down a peg or two? Most definitely. As for you...most of the time I bet I wouldn't know you were there. If I did, I'd have reason to be grateful for it." It would mean things had gotten dangerously out of hand.

He enjoyed the relaxed affection and felt an extra little thrill when he thought of the possible Coterie shadow thinking he was there on business. It was a dangerous game they had played in the Rose. Time would tell whether they had played it well enough to keep rumors at bay, for a little while. He deepened the kiss, tongue teasing her lips parted to flick softly against hers. His hand at the small of her back pressed her in closer to him, flush from the hips up.

"You'd be surprised. I think she would enjoy proving the work and competency of the guard before wanting to embarrass or demean a Templar. If anything, she'd make it harder on you to prove her point." She smiled. "No, you wouldn't know I was there. If you did, I wouldn't be doing my job properly."

It was surprisingly easy to step as he bade her bodies flush and shared warmth trapped between them. It coaxed another fleeting smile, gone with parted lips and flicks of tongue. Her hand cupped the back of his neck in an effort to keep him close and she tilted her head to deepen the kiss and slide her tongue against his. All too soon, something else caught her attention and she pulled back just enough to leave a hair's breadth between them. "Your water's boiling, soldier."

"You know her better. I accede to your familiarity," he murmured, head tipping down very slightly and his smile in his eyes.

He was just starting to feel the tug of getting more serious about the kiss when she pulled back and spoke. He let out one soft chuff of laughter, not much more than breath, and nodded. "A Templar's work is never done." With a final caress of fingers at the small of her back he pulled away, set the spoon aside, and lifted the pot of crabs. He dumped them quickly into the water, the top foaming and hissing until it settled a little again.

"How long do they stay?" he asked, moving to draw the other half closer for when it was their turn.

Edited 2012-09-25 19:47 (UTC)

"Thank you," she murmured nearly against his lips, hand reaching up to brush against his chin.

She smiled slyly as they parted, hiding her reluctance to let him go. "Yes, poor you. I can almost guarantee it'll be worth it if everything turns out right." She took the now empty pot from him, leaning it on her hip briefly. "The water needs to get back to a steady boil but we just need to wait until as many as possible are floating on the surface. They'll be a bright color, too."

Hawke ducked away to refill the pot with cold water, bringing it back to set on the floor a small distance from the fire. "When they're ready, we'll let them cool in here to keep them from overcooking."

"That sounds like it's going to need our close attention. Pity that." A corner of his mouth quirked up slightly. Maker, he was getting bad tonight. Twice wasn't enough for you? he thought wryly, shaking his head.

He nodded understanding, watching the pot. A couple of the smaller crabs were already floating, the shells turning a brighter reddish orange as he watched. As unpleasant as they had smelled going in, he was surprised that they didn't now. In addition to the sharp scent of the spices, there was a seafood smell he always associated with good food. His mouth watered a little and he took up the spoon to give a little stir.

There was a brief chuckle from her and she tossed her gaze at the pot to distract herself. It was too easy for her to smile tonight. "The sooner they're finished, the sooner we eat. Eyes on the prize, Sera." Even if that statement held promise.

The smaller crabs caught her attention and she kept a close eye on them when they finally bubbled to the surface. "Those can probably come out in the next minute. Leave the rest in. It'll give them more room to come to the top."

"Always," he said with a touch of heat in his smirk.

He nodded again, finally truly turning his attention back to the task at hand. She made it difficult to stay focused. She had felt too good against him earlier. His lips still tingled.

He dipped the smaller crabs out when they were a deep red and plopped them into the cold water. A few of the others were starting to come up now. He could see the legs and flat bodies twirling lazily against the rapid boil. It was hard to believe that anything could go from looking so unappetizing to delicious in such little time.

She took the time to get out some dish towels, plates, and utensils, setting them on the table. Cleaning would come first, obviously, but then they could just as easily plate them. She hadn't the faintest idea what time it was, the shutters on the windows effectively keeping them in the dark save for the light of the fireplace. It wouldn't have mattered to her, though she had to remind herself that he would eventually need to take his leave before he was needed back at the Gallows.

When the first two crabs hit the water, the mabari was up and going over to the pot, looking into it curiously. He made no move to steal what was there, though it was clear his curiosity was piqued. He cocked his head to the side.

"Out of there," she said with a grin as she wandered over to check on the pot. She glanced over Cullen's shoulder. "Oh, but they smell good."

He smiled down at the dog as he came over for a sniff. He couldn't blame him. It was all smelling good enough that if he was by himself, he'd already be cracking into one of the ones that cooked the quickest. "They really do. I shouldn't have been so worried." The proof would be in the taste. He had a hard time imagining they'd smell that good only to taste awful.

"I'll have to stop by and make a point of thanking the cook who put that together for me." They wouldn't have done half as well if he had been given free rein of the spice cabinet and had to guess what might work.

As more floated to the top, he dipped them out and passed them over to the cold water pot. The more that came out of the boiling water, the faster the rest seemed to cook. By the time they were all done, he was stirring all the way to the bottom just to be sure he didn't miss any. He added in the other half of the spice mix and bent to lift the remaining crabs to pour them in. He had to jump back a little to avoid being splashed. "All right. I guess we start cleaning them now?"

"I wonder sometimes if cooking isn't more frightening than most other things in life. You ruin a good meal and you can go hungry. If you're too terrified to try, you'll be stuck with dried meat and hard tack." A lesson she and her siblings learned the hard way on multiple occasions.

"Where did you get it? I might have to go down there myself to thank them," she joked, stepping aside so he could pull out the rest of the crabs. When he went for the second batch, she picked up the pot of cooling crabs and set it on the counter. "And picking them apart, yes. This is the fun job."

She reached in and grabbed one of the top crabs, handing it to him. It was warm to the touch, nearly hot, but manageable. She grabbed another for herself. She flipped it over to expose the legs. "Grab here," she instructed, showing him the apron, "and break it off." There was a small hole where the apron had been when she finished, and she motioned for him to follow her to the basin on the counter. "This is the messy part. Put your thumb in the hole like this...and then lift it up carefully." It took a few moments for her to pull the carapace enough to get it free. It came away cleanly, of course, besides the innards that would always come with it. She smiled at the messiness of it all.

"I like dried meat." As for hard tack, least said best said seemed to be the way to go. "I do all right at a campfire, better when I hunt. They make us cook as recruits. They don't teach you much, though. I'm better at making huge meals for dozens of people than anything closer to individual portions, and you can expect it to be edible, not good."

He chuckled. "One of the Gallows' cooks helped me out. I said what I'd be cooking, not that I'd be sharing it."

He took the crab and leaned in closer to watch her. It looked simple enough. His fingers were quite a bit bigger than hers, not as dexterous. Still, the apron came away fairly easily. He closed the short distance to the basin and mirrored her actions. With a cracking sound, he worked the shell loose and off. "It's almost like a wrapped package."

"That's how I am. I can make meals around a campfire after hunting but don't ask me to make much else. Soups, stews, and anything that can roast on a spit or in a pan over an open flame." She smiled, the motion fleeting with embarrassment. "Orana and Bodahn do more than I can ever ask for by just handling most of the cooking. Saints, honestly."

A messy sort of package, truth be told. She set down what they wouldn't be needing, turning her crab over in her hand. "A little, yes." With a thoughtful hum, she raised an eyebrow. "I can never remember where these things are. I think they're... Yes, here." She pinched something rubbery at the side, pulling it out. "These are inedible too." They went into the basin. Then came the mouth, a little trickier. She worked her thumb around the mandible and cracked it off. "And this."

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