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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"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."

"Very, now that you put it that way. Maybe I ought to put in for a transfer to some little Chantry outpost after all." He smirked. There was no chance in the Void of that.

"No, I will not go away hungry. We worked too hard for those crabs. I would have to make up some wretched excuse for dragging in late before missing out on that breakfast." He wasn't so much teasing about that part, particularly after their fights dockside.

"I'm not in armor." He spread his arms. "I'm lighter on my feet that way. It wouldn't be the first wall I've scaled in Kirkwall. I doubt it'll be the last. I won't turn down a potion, though. Speaking of that..." He reached up and lightly touched the dried blood on her face. "You still have something to tend."

"A little Chantry outpost could very well be like Lothering, where you'd be called upon to deal with giant spiders, bears, and wolves. You might be better off dealing with the insanity of Kirkwall," she said with a grin.

She laughed softly. "There's no getting between a man and his meal, not that I blame you. You can blame me for making you late by refusing to give that letter you needed." And that was assuming their little soiree at the Blooming Rose got back to Meredith. With any luck, it wouldn't, though she was almost certain some rumor would come out of that night, even if it was a paltry one.

Raising an eyebrow, she paused as his fingers brushed beneath the cut on her face. She'd forgotten. "It doesn't hurt. It's fine." At least she hadn't been bleeding profusely. "But I should clean it up anyway before someone fusses." She nodded her head back towards the estate, reaching up for his hand. "Come on, let's have some now so you don't need to rush to go."

"You just had to say spiders, didn't you?" He laughed. "By all means. Let me stay here with the shades and lunatics ranting in Darktown about the great evil under the city. Not saying I disbelieve them. For all we know it's the reason they're insane." He didn't think there were too many places in Thedas one could say that flippantly but still mean every word.

"Oh, yes, our great ruse. If need be, I shall. It's my hope I don't have to mention anything about that to Meredith at all." It would depend on how angry Aveline was about his getting mouthy with her guard.

"Yes, you should, or I'll be one of the ones fussing." He squeezed her hand and nodded, turning to head back inside with her. "I'm surprised my stomach isn't growling as loudly as an enraged mabari. We have more than worked up our appetites tonight."

"It would certainly explain why this city is so utterly off sometimes." She couldn't put her finger on what it was but Kirkwall seemed to be corrupted with a malice and a darkness all to its own. She didn't know how else to describe it. "Shades and lunatics or spiders and bears. And people think Templars have it easy."

She nodded. "I hope you won't have to but that crab comment might follow us both into the Void for all I know." That would be all she'd need to hear from Aveline. She could barely suppress a roll of her eyes at the thought.

Huffing quietly, she tugged him along. "Don't start. I didn't get my leg sliced open, remember." Although, she supposed she deserved it for all of the looks she had given him. Her smile sharpened at the edges. "Between the actual outing and then fighting for our heads, I would say you're right."

"Oh, sure. Easy enough to think we just stand around in the courtyard looking extraordinarily handsome in our gleaming armor without another care in the world. I can see how people get that impression." His cheeks colored faintly. He couldn't get all of that out without it.

"Maker." He dragged his free hand down the side of his face. "I don't know what came over me with that. I was just so flustered. She does that. She glares at you, and it's instant fluster. I don't know if it's a Coterie skill or something she picked up running the brothel. It's bloody inconvenient is what it is."

He was close on her heels. "Which is completely healed now, and I got a new pair of pants in the bargain. How often does anyone get to say that?" He nodded and cleared his throat. "Of course I'm right. It won't do me any good if I starve before I can truly gloat." The smell coming from the kitchen had his mouth watering.

His blush had her laughing softly, a spark of mirth in her gaze. "The older Templars are very good actors, you know. I can walk past you and you'd barely bat an eyelash at me. Your recruits are similar - as you said yourself - to a weaving circle. Bunch of nervous gossipers when you get them going." Which would be why she bothered them when she wanted information. Getting anything out of any Templar other than Thrask was like pulling teeth out of a mabari.

"That's the point. If you couldn't lose your head with her, she wouldn't be so effective at running the place. I've never had that problem with other members of the Coterie, though." She grinned and shook her head. "I'm no more welcome there than you are, trust me."

She gave him a once-over glance, raising an eyebrow. "Tighter pants, too, actually." As if she hadn't noticed. "I'll wait a week before believing we lucked out, though," she said as she opened the door for him. One look inside had her catching her dog laying beneath the counter where they had been working, tongue lolling out. They weren't the only one anticipating their fine meal. "Oh, poor you. We kept you waiting."

"That's why we tell them not to talk to other people, for all the good it does," he said, rolling his eyes. "We never had that problem at Kinloch Hold. Hard for people to waltz in when the only access point is a very small boat that rows into a cave beneath the tower. You don't get unintended visitors." It had other problems and on more than one occasion had proven problematic when there was trouble internal to the tower. Still, it was a frustration to him how vulnerable his recruits were to being pumped for information. The only other choice was to keep them locked down as tightly as the mages which was counterproductive to their training.

"I suppose that's comforting," he said with a chuckle. "I'd be concerned about spending time with anyone in good with one of the city's largest criminal organizations, no matter how charming the company."

There went the flush, all the way up the back of his neck. He didn't think the fit was that noticeable. "They're also a little short," he murmured. "I was able to hide that in the boots. It would have been more disturbing if they managed an exact fit." He nodded agreement about the rest of it. If there were going to be rumors, they'd take a little time to build traction.

He grinned outright at the sight of the dog. "To his credit, he didn't just help himself."

"You can't have all the fun, you know," she said with a mischievous look tossed back his way. "Looking back on it, them being spooked that Meredith was killing recruits before their vigil was almost comical. I thought it was horrifying at the time." But Bethany had been with her and she looked ready to flee at a moment's notice. "And you'll be pleased to know that they tell me they can't talk almost every time I speak with them." When they deigned to talk to her, there were only passing comments, hardly anything to do with sensitive information. She supposed they learned their lesson.

Hawke's smile was nearly wicked at the blush. "You tend to notice things when you're pressed against someone. Or when you're tending to their back." Had she not been that close, she probably wouldn't have thought they were any different from the ones he had worn previously. "I would have been suspicious if they'd had exactly your size," she agreed.

"He did not," she said quietly, going over to the dog to grab both of their plates. His tail wagged in delight. "You're a perfectly well behaved boy, aren't you, darling? Don't worry, you'll get some." She took their plates to the table and then went back for silverware, some of the bread they had, and to look to see if they just so happened to have butter.

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