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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"You look nicer in the plate anyway," she added, taking out one of the last of the crabs and dumping it in the second pot, her eyes locking on his face for just a moment with a deceptively coy smile.

Once the pot over the fire was empty, she hoisted the second batch up and brought them back to his side to begin working on them while he finished his batch. "It's mindless work, easy to lose an hour or two in. I'm lucky enough I don't have to usually work with plate or metal. If I do, I get some help from one of the vendors." She had hardly a smithing skill to speak of. "But polishing, sharpening, mending? It's surprisingly enjoyable. Better than chasing down trouble in some dark alleyway in Lowtown."

She grinned. "Bad enough for your father too? You must have been a sight. At least you didn't have to keep wearing them." She liked hearing about his parents, if only because the fondness he had for those memories showed so easily in his tone and in his eyes. "What else did your mother do?"

He decided it was the better part of valor to take the compliment graciously rather than dig himself a hole with painting a mental picture of him in some giant knitted monstrosity. He had come close enough in talking about the pajamas. "Thank you," he said, dipping his head slightly and holding it for a moment or two while holding her gaze.

"Plate falls short when you have to be maneuverable," he agreed. "It is, and it's relaxing. I don't feel guilty taking that time, because I'm doing something useful." His lips quirked. "There are many things better than chasing down Lowtown thugs."

He nodded. "Yes. I couldn't tell if he was holding back laughter or about to be ill." His smile lingered for a little while he finished the last of his two original crabs. "She tutored adults to help them become literate. We had all sorts of people in and out of the house. It was never dull around." He made a face when a mandible popped off and went sailing out of reach. "I'll try to find that in a few minutes."

His acquiescence had her smile widening just slightly, a nod following as she started on one of the new crabs. It was still warm, the smooth shell heating her fingers. "It must take so much longer for you, though." Full plate mail had to have been such a nuisance sometimes, relaxing or no. If your armor was covered in blood or if it was dented, it would end up being an arduous task to undertake, more than just a simple shine.

She chuckled softly. "I'm surprised he didn't do either if he didn't even say a word." Pausing, she focused on popping off the shell. She stopped only when she saw a piece go flying from his end, grinning. "It's okay. If nothing else, Max'll go looking for it later."

That one needed an extra handful of water to help clean out the inside, but he had enough meat in him to be entirely worth it. "Knitting and tutoring. She sounds lovely, Cullen. I don't think I've ever known or heard of someone who tutors adults unless it's in the Chantry...and only then under special circumstances." It was rare but sometimes people came to the Chantry in Lothering to learn how to recite and read the Chant, if only to say in battle or on the road to protect them. "You worked with horses, your mother tutored... What did your father do?"

"I can be in or out of it in twenty minutes. Speed drills with the armor are something they hammer into you as a recruit. There's also light plate versus heavy, the things you'd swear you needed going into a battle versus the things that would be nice to have. As for cleaning and polishing, I feel sometimes like I spend half my life on that alone." One rusty rivet could be the undoing of an entire plate or vital piece in battle. Sloppy Templars were usually dead Templars.

He smiled slightly and nodded, finishing off the crab and reaching for one of the warm ones. He lifted it to his nose for a deep inhale. "They smell so good now. Who would have guessed just a half hour ago?"

The smile widened and remained warm. "Well, she very nearly became a Chantry sister. It's what her father wanted for her. She had other ideas, but she had a decent education and a rather liberal mindset when it came to who should have such benefits. I don't think I ever saw her turn anyone away, not even elves. Father was a scholar. He wanted to be a Templar. My uncle, his older brother, had the same goal and beat him to it."

He looked thoughtful as he pried up the shell. "I never heard the whole story. I think his mother didn't want to lose both of her sons to the Chantry, so Father took a different path. They were...estranged...for much of my life. I never met either of his parents until I was almost twelve."

"Twenty minutes?" And that was after years of practice. "I hate to break it to you, but if we go through with our plan to put me in plate mail, it's going to take much longer to get into or out of it." She shook her head. "I'd be surprised if you haven't spent that much time cleaning the bloody thing. You're always polished from head to toe when I've seen you. All of you."

She nudged him with an elbow lightly, hands covered once more. "You're making me impatient when you say that. I feel like I'm half-starved." But they were almost finished. She just needed to work a little harder on the much larger ones. Their shells were more difficult to pull off. A particular twist of her finger had the shell popping off from the crab she was working on. Sure enough, he had more meat on him and she smiled faintly as she set to work cleaning his innards.

"I can...understand that. Both sides, actually." She frowned. "When we were going on the expedition into the Deep Roads, my mother refused to let Bethany go. She begged for me not to take her. Being sent to the Chantry wasn't life-or-death, not like this had been--" Though being a Templar was a dangerous career path and it probably felt like she was sending her son to die in many ways. "But the sentiment was similar. She could have lost both of her children. After what happened to Carver, I could understand. I know Bethany was disappointed, though."

She shook her head. "Why did you finally get to meet them? Do you know?"

"Twenty minutes is fast for plate mail," he said with mock defensiveness. The twinkle in his eyes gave him away. "If you just lean back and let me do all the work, it won't be much longer than that." His smile curved a little sly.

"I thought I was fine with what we had eaten on the boat until I started smelling these and handling them. I take back everything I said about them being creepy." He would stand by that until confronted with more live ones clicking and hissing water bubbles at him.

He had the decency to look away, feeling another small stab of guilt. Meredith had believed that the best time to move on Bethany was with Hawke away. If they had timed it a little better, there would have been no confrontation at all. "The Deep Roads is a very dangerous place," he agreed. "I've never been. Maker willing I never will be."

He shook his head, too. "They just showed up at the house one day out of the blue. I could tell by both my parents' reaction it wasn't expected. They sent me out of the house to go visit friends and told me not to come back until somebody came for me. It wasn't until late that night they finally did. My grandparents were still at the house. The tension was...unpleasant, but they were kind enough to me."

She nudged him again with her hip, eyes bright with amusement. "Twenty minutes is fast, he says. Mm-hm." Her grin answered his own. "If you think you can rise to the challenge, who am I to stop you?" An extra challenge to their already insane plan.

"They're still creepy. They've also been torn apart and are going to taste fantastic. Mark my words."

If she noticed the guilt, she didn't speak on it. She was also quick to dismiss the topic. "It wasn't so bad once you got past the darkspawn. We would have been back sooner if there hadn't been complications." Backstabbing bastard of a dwarf.

She blanched, cracking a crab in half. "That sounds almost comically awkward...unless you're the one involved. Why were they estranged? Did your parents never tell you?"

"You will be awed at my speed with armor straps. You just wait and see, Sera," he said with confidence.

"I'm unwilling to gainsay in the face of such overwhelming evidence." The only two things that had kept him from trying to lick any of the seasoning from his fingers were manners and the fact that some of what was on them was part of what they were trying to clean off the meat.

"Darkspawn. The one thing I never saw during the Blight. They never reached Greenfell." It still bothered him at times that he hadn't been able to go with his fellow Templars to join the fight. If he had, he might not be standing here now, though. He knew casualties in Denerim where the bulk of the force was sent were heavy.

"I think it had to do with Father blaming them for guilting him out of his dreams to be a Templar. I always had the feeling it was why he was so keen for me to take up the mantle. Fortunately, I was inclined toward it anyway. I didn't feel unfairly pressured. I saw more of my grandparents after that. They came around on holidays mostly." He worked at a stubborn shell until it gave in his grip.

"I'm looking forward to it. You might have to teach me for practical purposes." Practical purposes like getting him out of it. ...And for making a run for it if Meredith caught them sneaking armor around for her to try on.

"They're a fright all of their own," she said, having some trouble with pulling out the squishier, unappetizing bits from one of the crabs. "Our own fault for going down in the Deep Roads, of course, but that's the price you pay. You don't want to fight them." She would never forget that day outside of Lothering and what they did to Carver, or how Wesley died.

Nodding in sympathy, she cracked a shell in half and set the pieces to the side. She was down to the last of the much larger ones, setting to work on it. "That's lucky enough. I'm glad they could at least get along for your sake, if not for one another." She paused, working at the mandible of the one in her hand. "Come on, you buggering--" It snapped off and clattered into the basin, bouncing off of the edges. "My mother was estranged from her parents after she ran off with my father. I never met them. And obviously, we never knew my father's parents. She wrote to them, though, every time one of us was born or if the holidays came around."

"Practice makes perfect." He flashed a grin and shook his head at himself. No, that wasn't cheesy at all.

He had heard terrible stories. If they didn't cut a person down outright, a splash of their blood was enough to infect a person with their corruption. It was a wasting sickness. The lucky ones died quickly. Those less lucky became ghouls in servitude to the hoard, until they died alone in agony. He shuddered once.

"I'm not sure if it was for me, or if they had other motives. No one in my family was much of a talker when it came to things like that." Feelings. He was better himself at expressing them in indirect ways, more by action than word. "They're stubborn when they're big." He nodded toward the wayward piece of shell.

"It must have been something. People still speak of it sometimes, or they did shortly after you regained the manor. I suppose many of them were living here at the time it happened." He found it a little obscene that those so quick to gossip and accept them back into the fold once they had money were those who wouldn't have lifted a finger to them when they had come back in so-called disgrace. It was one of many reasons he was glad to be common born. "It's...difficult...being distant from one's parents." Never mind that his was by choice, for their safety and to prevent his office from being compromised. All of the good reasons in the world couldn't take away the sense of isolation that came from it, too.

It got him a snicker, so there was that. She shook her head at the both of them. One night and they were already acting like immature children. Hawke said nothing when she shuddered, though she knew where the thought came from. She sympathized but made no motion to draw attention to it.

"Truth be told, that would bother me. We were an open family. Even when people didn't want to talk, whatever was upsetting them would eventually come out in private if nowhere else." To keep quiet seemed so strange, a reclusive maneuver. In everyone but family, she would think it suspicious. "Not all homes are the same, I know."

She tapped the crab in her hand and then gripped it tightly in her hands. It snapped audibly a few moments later. "You're telling me. On the pile with you. I can't wait until they're on the table." Just a few more to go.

"It was a scandal, I heard. No one knew where she'd gone to at first. I don't think my grandparents wanted to speak of it. I'm still not certain they ever did. Gamlen might have." What had happened in the family after was more private, something Cullen didn't need to hear about. "It is. I know it tore my mother up inside to be away from her parents." She lifted her gaze to his. There was no need to say anything. Had her hands been free, she might have done something to express her sympathies. "Are they still outside of Denerim?"

"I'll keep that in mind. It would be dishonest of me to say I don't have the tendencies. Being a Templar has exacerbated them, as you can imagine. I'm not averse to being poked and told I'm doing it. It's habit more than a desire to hide anything." He grasped another crab, flipped it over, and pulled off the apron. He decided that was his favorite part.

"A good haul if I say so myself." He glanced at her, something a little conspiratorial in the look. It would have been worth the trip if they had come back empty handed, although he could have done without the attacks dockside.

"I think it was brave of them, both of them. It takes guts to go after what you know will make you happy when everything is stacked against you telling you no you can't." He wasn't a romantic at heart, not in that sense. He could still admire people for following through with what they knew was right for them.

His lips compressed slightly, hands stilling only a moment over the crab he was working on. "I don't know. I lost touch with them after what happened at the tower." He hadn't wanted to know if they heard, hadn't wanted them to suspect what he had been through. Of all of the things he could face in the world, being broken in front of his parents wasn't on the list. Afterward with his position in Kirkwall, it seemed safer for them not to know where he was and vice versa. Assuming they survived the Blight.

"I know a thing or two about hiding, you know," she said with a flippant tone used to offset the severity of their topic. "I just don't want to have to do it all the time with people I like." Her smile was faint. "I'll say something if I need to. Likewise, you'll need to say something to me if I do the same. Or if I talk too much."

She smirked. "I could have done without the disgusting bait or the trek out of the docks...but I'm sure these will be entirely worth our trouble." It went without saying that she could have just as easily settled on bringing him back without a basket between them.

"Very brave. People look at me and they think I'm the valiant one who runs into the Deep Roads to make my fortune. But my mother ran away from family and fortune to marry for love. If I'm even half so bold or lucky in my life, it will be a life well spent." She doubted she would be. The past several years had made that all too clear. But if she could content herself with something, that would be all right too.

Lips pressed into a thin line to keep herself from protesting or asking too many questions, she nodded. He had his reasons, and good ones, for not wanting to contact them. "I'm sorry, Cullen." What else could she say?

"Maybe one or two things?" His look was wry. He had seen how she used the darkness to her advantage when the two of them were backed into defending themselves. "I'm used to letting people fill the silence. I doubt you could talk too much for my liking. It's fun to listen."

He wrinkled his nose at the mention of the bait. He could have done without that, too. He doubted they would have caught much with anything less potent. "If they're not it will be a cruel trick, to smell good and taste awful."

His smile was fleeting. "I don't think boldness is a problem for you. Luck? That's always up in the air, isn't it?" He didn't foresee that sort of thing in his future. It wouldn't be bravery but foolhardiness, and it would very likely get someone besides him hurt if not killed.

"We all knew what I was getting into." It wasn't the full truth. There were many things he had not known, things no one who wasn't a Templar could know about the cost of the occupation. Despite that he knew he'd make the same decision. That rendered any benefit of hindsight moot. "It's better this way when the alternatives can be unspeakable."

"Just one or two." Her look matched his. The sort of hiding she had done that night was only part of it. "Fun or not, the option's open to you." She wanted to hear him too.

Her chuckle was mild as she washed one in the water she collected. "I'm certain they'll be fine. The Maker isn't so cruel as to do that." But she would be sore if it turned out that way. She pried off another apron, careful to look for the unappetizing bits this time.

"Bold enough to go after something as dangerous or uncertain? I don't know." She might have been teasing. "I don't trust luck. You make your own path in life and perhaps it works out. We'll see." She didn't put much stock in the idea. Marriage was a distant and unthinkable idea. Mage or not, her blood had magic in it. Who would consent to that risk willingly?

Her instinct was to question. She held it in until she finished the crab she was working on, and then she turned to him. "Is it, though? Is it really better to settle on the unknown?"

"I'll take it if I feel like I need it. Trust me," he said. For all that he blushed sometimes, he wasn't shy in speaking out about what he wanted or needed.

"Perhaps not, but they do say He has a sense of humor." He washed out what remained inside that didn't belong and broke the crab open with a decisive crack. He had three left in his little pile. His mouth was already starting to water.

"Luck isn't to be trusted. It seems the moment you seek to rely on it is the moment it runs out." Most people whom he knew who trusted to luck either wound up dead or in some other sort of trouble. It was a lazy man's substitute for ambition.

He didn't hesitate in his answer, his expression surprisingly open for it. "Yes, it is. I know what can happen first-hand when something goes badly wrong, and I've seen the damage leverage on Templars can do, how much it can compromise them. I'd sooner die badly than subject my parents to danger, and my father would disown me if I ever allowed sentiment over him or Mother to dictate my actions. Wherever they are, outside of Denerim or at the Maker's side, it's better than anything I have to offer them from Kirkwall."

"He must have one. Why else would He create odd looking creatures with claws and beady eyes that taste so good?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. The poor crab in her hands resembled anything but what it used to be, picked apart as it was.

"I don't want to trust in my kind of luck, anyway. You've seen some of it tonight." She pried off some of the gummy, fatty bits they couldn't eat. "I'm only Champion after several gruesome deaths, nearly losing a friend, and getting a sword shoved into me." Her smile was jovial despite the subject matter. "No, I think I'll stick to relying on myself, lest something comedically tragic happen... Like finding that gigantic, monstrous crabs are actually inedible and poisonous."

She shook her head at herself. "Maker, listen to me. I'm blaming these silly little creatures for making me think of nothing else but food." She grabbed up the last one to start working on it.

"I'm not saying you should bring them here. But you can't send them a letter or let them know that you're all right?" She started to hold up her hands, remembered how filthy they were, and set them right back down on the counter. "I understand not wanting to put your parents in danger. I do. But I've also seen what happens when you spend years in silence and wonder 'what ifs' in your spare time." She shook her head placatingly. "It's just a thought, Cullen."

Edited (redundancy!!!) 2012-10-01 16:47 (UTC)

"You have a point there." He waved one of the last at her, the claws flopping and clacking on the legs.

"Wouldn't that be a kick in the teeth? All the effort of trapping one and killing it, and not only does it not taste good but one bite of the flesh is deadly. That sounds like my luck. We had best never test ours together. No telling what terrible things could come of it." Possibly something worse than their dockside encounters, he thought.

"It's not something I haven't thought from time to time. Perhaps I'm being paranoid, but...sometimes when you shut a door it's best not to open it again." It had been such a long time now that at times he thought any such efforts would do more harm than good.

She grinned. They were the strangest little things. At least they were small and relatively harmless.

"I suppose we can't go dragon hunting, then. One of us would inevitably fall into the nest and wake up the mother. And then whoever's left will have to explain to the rest of the city why they haven't returned." She rolled her eyes. "'It was just supposed to be a simple hunt, Meredith, I swear!'" A smirk found its way onto her lips. "And then she'd smite me in the middle of the Gallows. So, yes, let's avoid that."

Her pause only lasted a moment, but then she nodded, relenting. "That's also true." Family was different but she could acquiesce on this point, at least. The last of her batch was broken in half and she set the plate mounted with food aside. She grabbed the pot carefully, pulling it down from the counter. "I'm going to dump this and wash my hands. Grab the other when you're done and we'll finally get to see how well we've managed to cook them."

"How quickly 'whoever's left' turned into you in this scenario," he said with a laugh. "I see how it is. Shove the Templar into the dragon's nest then run back to Meredith to try to look innocent."

He wasn't far behind her. He cleaned the one he had been waving at her and cracked it, then closed the short distance to pick up the pot from the floor and followed. He didn't want to wind up wandering her house or the yard to try to figure out where to dump the water.

"That's just the worst case scenario!" she laughed. "You don't think Meredith would punish you so severely if I died because of own stupidity, do you? You'd just have to contend with my friends." Which would be worse, she couldn't say. "We'd be fine. Getting back to Kirkwall would be our biggest concern, that's all."

She led him out the side door to the small courtyard they had, though it resembled little more than an open yard with a small garden pressed against the estate. It was still dark, but the stars had already begun to fade from view, little by little. Though the water they had was dirty with what was washed off from their meal, it was still water and could still be used. Hawke carefully dumped the first pot over the few flowers there. She set the first pot aside and reached for his. "There's a bucket beside the well for us to use to wash our hands," she said quietly.

"Oh, I don't know about that. The thought of facing down the Guard-Captain and telling her, 'Why, yes, I did leave Hawke in the mother dragon's den and run like the Void was on my heels back to Kirkwall,' makes me think I might be wiser facing down the dragon." He grinned and kept close behind her all the way outside.

He glanced up at the sky and offered over his burden when she reached for it. "Time flies," he murmured. Nodding he crossed to the dark shape he could just make out in the dim light from the stars. The moon was no longer visible. He dipped his hands in the bucket and scrubbed them together vigorously, all the way up to mid forearm before stepping back again.

"As if you'd run. You're not the type." She shot a glance at him from over her shoulder. "Sad to say, I don't think it would endear you to her. You might be better off fighting the dragon alone than to come back here and face Aveline." Or Bethany, once she heard. Or Anders.

She suppressed the disappointment as much as she was able, dumping the second pot and stretching. Setting both by the door, she went to join him. "When do you need to be back?" It occurred to her that they'd been together all evening and she hadn't once thought to ask. She'd been too distracted to wonder before now. "I haven't kept you out too long, have I?"

"That's what I'm thinking. So the worst case scenario is that we both get eaten by the dragon, because she's less frightening than Meredith or your friends. What does that say about the company we keep?" he teased.

"As long as I'm back by morning muster, no one will send out a patrol. We've got a little time yet. The biggest thing is that I need to leave before dawn so no one sees me leaving. Once I reach the courtyard in front of the Chantry no one will think twice about me being in Hightown early in the morning." He glanced around at the walls surrounding the yard. "I could always climb out the back way."

"I'm thinking it says we're the more sane of our respective groups, actually," she teased, starting to scrub at her hands and wrists. "And considering who we are and what we do, that's a little frightening, isn't it?" Especially if they took into account how completely insane they were for pretending to be enemies in the middle of the Coterie's most populated businesses.

"You won't go away hungry, then. Good." With a nod, she finished up washing her hands and gave the same appraising glance up toward the walls. "...You're mental if you think that's a good idea," she said with a smirk. "But it would probably ensure you get the least amount of attention. Just take a potion with you so that if you get hurt, you don't need to limp back to the Rose for one."

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