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'll be shocked if that quote doesn't come back to haunt me for some time to come," he said, "either from you or the populace at large. You know that horrible woman will take delight in spreading that around. And if I were you, there's no way I'd let me live it down any time soon. You're better off without that Navarran. With them it's all talk about how big their lances are." He dropped his voice. "I suspect overcompensation for something."

He sat back, fighting his smile. "That's something we can just about count on. Something else is going to happen. Look at where we live."

"Oh, I know she will. She'll tell a few of her girls to spread it around the Rose and you'll get word of it one way or another." It was a little frustrating that she could get away with it, too. All he would be able to do would be to feign ignorance or deny it, and even then, people might not believe him. She smiled. "Is that so? Maybe I'll have to set my sights elsewhere."

She chuckled softly, though it wasn't one of amusement. "Bloody Kirkwall. I wouldn't worry about it too much. It'll be forgotten soon enough." Not by her, though, and her smile said as much.

"Never underestimate the power of Templar denial." His lips twitched slightly. "I have most of Kirkwall convinced I'm a boring, dour man. That impression will hold past anything Madame Lusine can throw at me."

He shook his head at that smile, eyes alight with amusement. "I've had a very good time tonight. I'm glad you agreed to the date idea. Thank you."

"You certainly had me convinced." She should have known better. How many people had once thought that of her own father, never knowing of his magic or his past? Cullen had no grand secret (none that she could find, anyway), but he was still far from boring, no matter what anyone said.

"The pleasure's mine. Really, it is." She smiled. "I'm glad you suggested it in the first place. I don't think I've laughed or eaten so well in a long time." That latter comment was possibly a joke. The former was not.

"I consider that an accomplishment. It's difficult bullshitting a bullshitter." He cracked a final crab leg to pick at, clearly picking just because it tasted good and not because he was hungry anymore.

"I haven't laughed this much in ages, myself. I won't toot my own horn when it comes to the cooking. I think your instruction had more to do with that than any special ability on my part. Soldiers are good at following instructions." He chased the crab with a little bread.

Her smile was pleasant as she took a sip of her drink, finishing her glass. "It's better to let people assume something about you, I've found," she said innocently. "It's much more fun to surprise them at a later date." It got him to come out with her, didn't it?

"I bet if you had the opportunity to cook them again, you'd do just fine. You could impress your recruits too." She finished the piece she was working on and set to work on making another plate for the dog, feeling him brush up against her foot. "Don't butter me up. It's easy to look over someone's shoulder. I could just as easily have had you overcook them." She picked up the bowl she'd given the mabari and filled it partway, setting it back in front of him.

"You managed to surprise me. Very pleasantly." His smile was warm as he reached for his napkin to wipe his hands.

"Ha. I'll tell the recruits how to cook them and sit back and reap the rewards. Circle of life in the Templar world. Builds character, so I was told when it was my turn to be the grunt." He laughed. "You had good incentive not to do that. You worked for them first. Let's call it a successful joint effort, and we can both bask in the praise."

"That's how it turns out so perfectly. The labor of others while you sit back and enjoy them working." She grinned, standing with her plate and going over to the counter.

"That's really why your cooking doesn't come out right most of the time. You're doing all of the work yourself. Sit back and let someone else do it while you give orders. Just don't forget to make sure they're not burning anything." Grabbing a towel, she wiped her own hands as she came back to sit.

"That's how I usually enjoy my meals," he said agreeably. He didn't miss the days of kitchen duty and cleaning duty, not even a little bit.

"Would you like some help in cleaning up? I'd feel guilty leaving a mess." He didn't like to think about leaving. It was getting closer to the time that he'd need to make that decision.

She chuckled quietly as she picked up the other few dishes. "I wish I could say I was lazy enough to leave them for Bodahn or Orana...but I'm not that much of a wretch." And it wasn't in her nature to leave work for others. The food and the fire had her pleasantly warm. Being out all evening only meant that she could just as well go nap if he hadn't been there. She was well aware he'd have to go soon enough.

"If you'd like to help, certainly. I'm not sure what I'll need to do with the pieces. I'll save that for later when it's not so dark." But the dishes could be washed at the very least and the kitchen could be cleaned so poor Orana didn't feel overly burdened.

"Yes, I'd like to help," he said, standing and moving to gather dishes on his side of the table. "I'll wash or dry. It doesn't matter to me." He wouldn't feel right about making this degree of a mess only to leave it to her to clean it all up.

He dumped his cracked and empty shells with the rest of the mess they had made in cleaning the crabs and set the few pieces that still contained meat aside. Whether she wanted to snack on them or feed them to the dog was something she could decide later. "Just tell me where you want me."

"I'll set you to drying, I think," she said with a mild half-smile. "Let me get some water for the basin first." She started for the door and glanced back, hearing him setting the food aside.

"He can have whatever's left, if you're finished." It might have been an innocent suggestion had she been talking about him feeding one of the other noble's pets and not a mabari. As it was, the hound's back end started shaking, his tail wagging back and forth in excitement at the idea. "You can handle that, can't you?"

"If I can't, you'll know by the screaming," he said, mostly teasing. There wasn't much left to break apart and pick out. He got to work on it, placing the meat in the same bowl she had been setting down for the dog periodically through the dinner.

"Not much longer now," he assured Max. "Just these final few bits." He was quick about setting the bowl down, not jerking or making weird movements, just not foolish enough to get between a war hound and the food he wanted to eat.

"I'm certain he'd go for your throat first if he really didn't like you," she said, clearly not helping matters. She stayed only long enough to see the mabari begin to prance on his hind quarters, no trace of hostility in his stance, and then she ducked out to get a bucket of cold water from the well.

He waited with a facade of patience until the bowl hit the floor, and then he was on it, dipping his muzzle into the ceramic and wolfing down the food. She came back and eyed them both, pouring the water into the metal basin they used to clean dishes, setting to work. She smiled. "All four limbs intact, I see. Nothing to worry about."

"Or if the prospect of how I taste is somehow more tempting." He added in an undertone he knew the dog would hear, "Lyrium has an awful aftertaste. I wouldn't."

While she was outside, he finished getting everything gathered in one place for the washing, pleased to still be in possession of both hands and an intact throat. "I think he doesn't dislike me." It was as far as he'd go for now. Perhaps over time he could get the dog to warm up to him. He had no intention of being pushy.

The dog chuffed at him, clearly uninterested in his lyrium or his throat when there was seafood in his bowl, warm and tasty. He settled down on his belly to lick at the bowl when he was finished.

"I don't think he dislikes you either," she said with a look back at her hound. "He could be much more aggressive if he wanted to be." She grabbed the scrub brush beneath the counter and set to work scrubbing the dishes she had. "There's a clean towel over there," she added with a nod of her head towards the other side of the counter, briefly lifting a wet hand to point, which only succeeded in getting water on the counter. She rolled her eyes at herself.

"I've seen them in action. I know he could," he said, nodding. It was exactly why he wasn't comfortable treating the animal like just another dog. It wasn't smart.

He stepped over to grab the towel and wiped up the wet spot on the counter first, shooting her a grin. "Ready when you are."

"Brat." As if he hadn't been cheeky with her before. She shot him a look of her own, flicking her fingers and sending a few drops of water at him. She went back to scrubbing the first plate with a grin of her own.

"Did you used to scrub dishes when you were a recruit? Do you still have to do that in the Gallows now, even as Knight-Captain?"

He smirked at the name. Maker, when had anyone ever called him that? Possibly some childhood friends, definitely his mother a time or two. It was fun having room to show a side of himself that rarely came out to play.

"Did I ever. Recruits do everything, scrub dishes, cook, do laundry, clean out chamber pots." He made a face. "Fortunately, no. I left all of that behind me with the privilege of rank, although if I had my own kitchen I doubt I'd have servants. I'd never be home enough to justify the expense."

"Eugh," she muttered, passing him a plate to dry. She left her place to go back and pick up the empty bowl her dog was currently cleaning with his tongue, wet fingers rubbing between his ears. Returning to the basin, she set the bowl into the water and got back to work on the other plates.

"We wouldn't have had servants either, I suspect. Bethany and I never had any and it's been years since my mother had them. Maybe we'd hire someone to clean the house every so often," Hawke said thoughtfully. "Getting Bodahn and Orana was just dumb luck." And a bit of saving, but who was keeping track? "I'm guessing you eat whatever the recruits make, then?"

"Yes, well, builds character, right? By the end of it, I felt as though I had the best character in all of Thedas. I don't take for granted the work others do. I'll say that much." He shook his head. That had been his least favorite aspect of training, easily.

"It's a big enough house, I can see it being a justified expense in your case." He wouldn't have lived in a manor if he didn't stay quartered in the Gallows. "Every night except liver night. I conveniently find an elsewhere to be then."

"And you have to do it for, what, years?" She shook her head as well and gave him a sympathetic smile. "At least you don't have to do it any longer." Disgusting job that it was, she didn't wish it on any recruit or any servant.

She nodded, scrubbing at the bowl. "I'm grateful for them. Not just because of the work they do but because there's always someone here, if that makes sense." She had someone to field visitors before she needed to see them and she'd never really been alone when her mother died. Hawke chuckled softly and handed him the second plate when he was finished drying the first. "You can introduce them to seafood night, now."

"A few years, yes, although senior recruits don't do as much of that. By that time we're too busy preparing for our final tests before the Vigil." He set dishes aside as he finished drying them, careful in stacking them as he went.

"It does. I've never lived alone. I have privacy in my own quarters now, but there are still people all around. I don't know if I could take the quiet." He never had been able to imagine himself in a house by himself. It would stay empty so often it might as well be a ruin. It probably would become a ruin quickly enough. Buildings never seemed to do well left to their own devices. "I'll propose seafood night in place of liver night and see how that goes."

"Preparing for your tests and worrying about being eaten alive by your Knight-Commander, apparently," she said with a slight smile. She handed him the bowl at the last, shaking off her hands into the basin.

"I haven't either. This is the first time, though I suppose I can't say I'm truly living alone." It might have been different when they weren't true family but Hawke had a habit of picking up strays wherever she went, regardless of who they were. The diversity in her usual group spoke to that. She smiled. "If they don't change it, you can always sneak over here on liver nights."

"Knight-Commander Gregoir wasn't so bad," he said. "I wouldn't have wanted to be a recruit under Meredith. That's true enough, although I'm not sure I'd have been quite that ridiculous." He probably would have been. Who is he kidding?

He dried the bowl and set it with the rest of the stack. "It seems as though it would be quiet here. All the more incentive to get out and look for trouble." He adopted a mock shrewd look. "That sounds like incentive for me not to get them to change it. You'll ask me why I'm here so often, and I can say that I hate liver."

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