romdeau | a fishing date;

"This is why Kirkwall can't have nice things." She shook her head. "So they rely on face paint instead and other small cues that are slightly more obvious."

For a time, the Templars had been one of her fears as well. She supposed that Bethany being taken to the Circle had freed her from that. Her gaze slipped to the side in thought for a moment but she eventually looked at him. "And you fear them. You're not alone in that."

She raised an eyebrow. "I could pull you out, possibly." Her gaze sharpened, scrutinizing. "...You can swim, can't you?"

"Yes, I do. I'd be lying if I said otherwise." Individually or as a group, he was wary of them. He had never been given a reason not to be and had been given more than ample reason for terror. Sometimes he still couldn't understand how he had managed to pull past that horrible time and see them as people again. It wasn't a moment of epiphany or anything quick. It was nothing he could point to directly.

His expression eased. "Yes, I can swim. You wouldn't catch me out in a boat this size if I couldn't." He offered her the bottle again.

"You should have said otherwise. I would have thought you were abnormally brave to be out here if you couldn't swim," she teased lightly, the joke half-hearted. She assumed he was able to, especially if he had once resided in a tower in the middle of a lake. Come to think of it, she doubted she knew anyone who couldn't swim.

She examined the bottle as she took it back, eying its contents a moment before taking a light sip. Thoughts were stewing, fueled by what he'd said about being afraid of mages because of what they'd done to him and the others in Kinloch Hold. She set the bottle down on the bench between them, her hand staying wrapped around the neck. "Is it better to hate or fear something that's hurt you?"

"Missed opportunity." He pressed his hand to his chest briefly in a parody of being dramatic.

"Better? No." He shook his head, looking out over the water. "But much harder not to." He shivered before he could suppress it. It didn't take much of anything to throw him back to that time. The waking flashbacks had stopped some time ago, his dreams a harder holdout. Still, the touch of magic over his skin unexpectedly could have his heart racing in his chest and his muscles quivering to act, direct threat or no. It was part of what made him so good at his job, his ability to go from zero to action at the slightest touch of mana across his senses.

He clenched his fingers together atop his lap. "I don't hate them anymore. I did at first. I'm not proud of that. It wasn't right, but...I couldn't do otherwise. At first I didn't want to try. Then I did and still couldn't. Finally...I don't know. I don't claim to be some bastion of morality. I got tired of being ruled by anger, and I turned out to have better stamina than the emotion when I set my mind to it. I guess I gradually wore all of that down."

He finally looked at her again, an honest, unapologetic look. "I was too complacent before what happened to me. I refused to see the nature of the threat. I didn't believe anything bad would happen because I knew those mages. I liked them, some of them a lot. It didn't matter. I wasn't spared. I was just..." He shrugged, this time a much tighter jerk of muscle than the ones before. "I don't know why I'm here. It wasn't mercy on their part." He fell quiet enough that it seemed he might not continue until he abruptly did.

"So...as someone who has sworn to protect them as well as others from them, I see the fear I still hold as valuable. It may allow me to see something I missed then. If it prevents another Kinloch Hold, I'd say it's worth what I paid for it, and as long as I don't use it as an excuse for abuse, it serves them, too."

She almost regretted asking, more because of his answer and the reaction he had than for the question itself. She couldn't fault him for the path he took or for what he felt. Had she been there, had she been subjected to the same, she wasn't entirely certain she'd be able to stay as objective as she tried to be in Kirkwall at present. Even with her sister and father as mages, watching good friends and comrades fall so quickly could easily change her mind about what role magic held in the world.

Her fingers lightly tapped the side of the bottle, a minor sign of her agitation. The sympathy in her gaze could be apparent, though she was concerned that he might mistake it for pity. Still, she held his gaze and nodded. Her hand went out to settle on his arm.

"It makes you a good Templar to be wary. Even people who want to believe the best in everyone have to be careful of whom they trust, whether they're mages or otherwise." Varric had the right idea in that respect.

She released him so she could take another idle drink from the bottle of brandy, handing it back to him so he could partake as well. "I don't think you were complacent. Who would want to believe that their friends and allies, people they'd known for years, would turn on them or succumb to the demons they'd kept away for so long? None of your fellows did."

He took the bottle and held it between his hands without drinking right away. "No, none of us. Not even the most paranoid. Not even the ones who actively despised our charges. Knight-Commander Gregoir was hardly what anyone would call lax or lenient. He was hard but fair. He emphasized vigilance. And that's the true horror of something like that. There's a very good chance that no one could have seen it coming, not even Uldred's and his conspirator's associates. Mages don't want to believe such things of each other, either."

He took a very long swig, wiping his lips afterward with the back of his hand. "Maybe it can't be prevented. Maybe the best we'll ever do is contain it. If we can." And die when they couldn't. "Ferelden was lucky that happened in a tower physically cut off from the rest of the countryside. If they had been able to leave, the Blight would have been just one concern. Redcliffe, Honnleath, no telling where it would have stopped.

"I told myself I wouldn't bog down in talking shop tonight. I'm sorry."

"Maybe it can't always be prevented but you can't be certain until it happens. No one actively wants to believe that someone they see day in and day out will succumb to temptation and attempt to kill you, but it happens. And it happens with everyone, not simply mages and Templars. The biggest difference, of course, is that one situation involves demons and the other doesn't." Ordinary men still fell to corruption on a daily basis. They'd murder old friends and enemies alike if it meant living another day. But there was an added layer of horror when the unknown and the beyond were mixed in.

She nodded her assent with a brief grimace. "Better to be ready and wary than to practically hand over the proverbial knife so you can be stabbed in the back, I suppose." It just seemed fruitless sometimes, to sit around and wait for the foundations to crumble. She was still trying to figure out a solution to the mage and Templar troubles in Kirkwall with little success.

"I'm the one who brought it up, not you. I'm sorry," she added with a faint smile. "The whole reason why we're here is to relax, not stir up old wounds."

"Yes. Demons make a huge difference." He rolled the bottle slowly between his hands, a gentle back and forth movement that sent it from palm to fingertips and back again, alternating the left and the right. He didn't seem aware of doing it.

"We have to be ready. There's no acceptable alternative." If anything, he believed the Tevinter Imperium was a stark example of that. In that respect, he was much like Fenris without the bitterness and hatred to twist the view to fanaticism. There but for the grace of the Maker...

"Then don't be. If you want to know me, that's...definitely relevant to why I think the way I think and do what I do. I don't like to get heavy handed with it, though." He didn't like to go into detail, and he might never. Not even Meredith had heard all of it from him, only enough to be able to put her trust in him.

If for nothing else, she'd stand by the Templars on that reason alone; what happened in Ferelden should not - and could not - happen in Kirkwall. The city was too compact, the Circle too close to spare the rest of the city should something go wrong. And if it did, Hawke would lose more than just her home. She would lose her sister, potentially her friends, and possibly even him.

Yes, they had to be ready and she would need to be, too, for as long as Bethany was a part of that damnable Circle. She found herself surprised that she was quick enough to worry for his safety alongside her sister's, a thought she tucked away for later.

"You don't have to tell me anything you aren't willing to, not ever," she said with a simple enough conviction. "You can just as easily tell me to bugger off." She smiled. "I'm a big girl. You won't upset me."

"If I didn't think I could trust you with something private, I wouldn't be here right now." He glanced at her. It was partially what he had meant when he said he didn't make decisions like this casually. It opened him in more ways than one, a hard earned lesson for him in the way he was wired.

"There are aspects about it I won't talk about. No one...no one needs to hear that sort of thing." The spreading of horror and scars was something he didn't wish to do. It would feel too much like doing the demons' work for them. "I can think of several good reasons to tell you some. You're trusting me to look after your sister. We've worked together many times already and likely will again. And now there's this. Seeing one another. There's some risk involved for both of us for different reasons.

"If I'm going to take a risk, I'm going to take it whole, not pick and choose the easiest parts." He offered her the bottle again, this time holding her gaze.

"That's not what I mean." It wasn't about trust, though she almost felt ashamed she hadn't been as forthcoming with him just yet about some things. "Trust is just part of it. I'm giving you the option, that's all." She didn't want him to feel like they needed to be forthcoming about everything, not with the lives they had. Cullen was an honest man, a good soul, and she didn't want him to feel boxed in. She was the one who needed to work on speaking up.

"I already trust you," she said carefully. "And not just with my sister. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here either, not after you said this wouldn't be casual." If she had just wanted a simple tryst, she wouldn't have pursued him this far. She would have gone elsewhere. "But you can trust someone with everything and still withhold from them every now and then."

She took the bottle with some measure of hesitation, eyes meeting his. He put her own conviction and bravery to shame, sometimes. "As will I," she promised, because he deserved to hear that she wasn't going to back down either.

He smiled faintly and nodded. "Understood. I hope you know you have that same option." He knew the sorts of people she often associated with weren't entirely on the up and up, to put it politely. He knew she wasn't always a law abiding citizen and was thankful that was Aveline's issue and not his. The only law that truly concerned him was Chantry law. If she ran directly afoul of that, then it would be his business, and he'd have a duty to put a stop to it. "I'm not going to expect you to tell me anything you don't want to or anything that might compromise people you care about. If I share something, it's strictly because I've chosen to, not out of some sort of expectation of similar reciprocation." He respected privacy. Being a private person, how could he not?

He noted the hesitation but wasn't troubled by it. "That's all anyone can ask."

"I do," she reassured him. But she wasn't used to sharing. She left that to Varric, for him to make up some wild stories about what she'd done in the hope that she wouldn't need to explain what really happened. Most times, it was better that way. But this was different and that fact would need to change. "I suppose you'll just have to hear all of the fun stories of idiocy and drunken debauchery instead," she said, the comment teasing but lacking in the mirth she might usually give it.

She glanced at the bottle in her hand a moment before taking a drink. "I asked because I thought that after what happened to my mother, things would change. That I'd start hating mages or fearing them. And I don't. I'm just angry." And that was an emotion that ran its course and would make her exhausted, which was no way for her to live. "I often wonder how Bethany feels about it, as a mage herself, but I don't hear enough from her to know."

"I'm sure I can take some vicarious enjoyment from that," he said, "given my ability to indulge is limited." He noticed her heart wasn't quite in the tease and didn't have to wait long to hear why.

What happened to her mother was something Meredith still discussed in private, a difficult investigation that had left them with more questions than answers. That Quentin had support in his research wasn't in doubt, but all of the tenuous trails led to dead ends. "You had...good examples, loving examples, long before that madman took your mother," he said quietly. "I'm not surprised that he couldn't erase what you knew from your upbringing."

Tentatively, he reached his hand to the top of her shoulder and gave a soft squeeze. "Do you feel like you could ask her?"

"Spend enough time listening to Isabela and you might actually never want to indulge." Her smile sharpened. "I think she makes some of it up, though."

It was true enough. Her father had been nothing less than an idol to her, her own personal hero, and she'd never be able to see him or Bethany in a bad light. She loved them too much. Anders and Merrill were another kind of family now too, three years later, even if she didn't agree with everything they did. "Even with all of his blood magic, he couldn't even change my mother. Not really. I wouldn't do her any credit if I suddenly hated the people she loved because of one man." It would be easier if she could.

She shook her head. "We haven't spoken about it. I sent her a letter and I never received a reply. I didn't expect one." Bethany couldn't send things out whenever she wished, after all. But Hawke wouldn't blame her if she didn't want to mention it at all. She suspected it was because her sister blamed her just as much as Hawke blamed herself.

"Anger has its uses. It can be a tool. It's...well, I don't think I need to tell you." He had no doubt that at least some of her desire to keep making a difference was fueled by that. When it felt like everything was lost, even those things that felt inwardly corrosive were preferable to numbness. He had been in that spot, too.

"She may be concerned her letter won't be private. I can take care of that much, if she'll trust me for it." He couldn't make exceptions for them, couldn't allow them private audiences. He could, however, be certain that any correspondence went directly from one to the other and not through side channels. He trusted Hawke enough to believe she wouldn't send Bethany anything that would endanger his position.

"Sure, it does. But mostly against the person who hurt you." Her gaze hardened, her mouth drawn into a thin line. "And my anger certainly had its use when I killed him." She didn't need it any longer. That was the problem. Without a place to let it run its course, she was stuck with it. She couldn't shift the blame or the hate onto anyone else except herself and only in her darker moments.

She seemed to consider his offer, focus shifting briefly. "You can offer it to her. That would be kind of you. But she might not want to talk about it and I don't want to push her. I just hope she knows she doesn't need to be alone if she's hurting."

"And the circumstances that gave rise to such a person. No one develops alone." He was glad that she had been able to put the man down. No matter how useful he might have been after interrogation in finding his conspirators, Cullen believed Kirkwall might have lost Hawke altogether had she not had the opportunity to end Quentin herself.

He dropped his hand back down to his thigh and rested it there. "I'll make the offer. I won't push anything." It wasn't his place.

"I'm sorry we didn't do more." He was sorry for a lot of reasons there. Her mother, Emeric, the other women Quentin took through the years. He covered his tracks well. It didn't change the fact that if someone had taken Emeric's questioning more seriously earlier, the escalation and deaths might have been prevented.

"You're right. No one does." That letter could burn a hole in her desk for all that it bothered her. She thought about it more than she should, had even gone looking for the books this 'O' had left for Quentin. She'd gone so far as to ask Anders to give her the names of any mage he knew in the underground that might have known Quentin, and that led her nowhere.

Her eyes showed the gratitude her face might not have and she nodded once more. "I know you won't. Thank you." She slowly smiled. "And I promise I'll stop using you as my second pair of eyes one day." She paused. "...Maybe."

Fingers stilled on her knees and she was silent, though she held his gaze for a long, tense moment before she looked away. "It wasn't your fault." No, that wasn't fair to him. She grimaced and turned back to him. "It wasn't. Emeric did what he could even years before and if he couldn't find something in four years, then no one else could. And if they had, they would have been murdered as well."

"Meredith and I are still looking into it. It's...frustratingly spare on information, but...we're not letting it go. I swear to you if I learn anything, I won't keep it from you. I'll ask that you work with me if I do that, but if you wind up deciding to pursue it on your own, I'll understand." If it had been anyone but her mother, he would have expected more restraint. In this all he felt he had the right to do was ask, not demand.

"You don't have to promise that. I don't mind looking out for her. I'm supposed to be doing that anyway, you know." His voice was a bit more gentle for that topic.

"Emeric..." It was his turn to look away. "When Templars age, their minds start to go. It's a fact. If we make it that long, things start to slip. There were many...most...who believed it was happening to him. You know what to look for if you've been around long enough. The little things. They repeat themselves. They walk into the room and forget why they were coming there.

"They start looking for ways to feel useful, and sometimes they fixate on things. In his case, it just happened to be on something legitimate, and for that, yes, I am sorry that we didn't take it more seriously sooner."

Meredith would want the accomplice brought in for questioning. She would want them spilling their guts and swearing sideways that they were innocent, all the while giving up anyone else who was aware of Quentin's whereabouts. And, logically, she wanted that too. If he came to her with information, she should cooperate and help them. She would want to. "You wouldn't want me to be there when we find them, Cullen," she said quietly.

"Whether it's your job or not, I don't simply let people look after my sister." As if she had a say in the matter now. "But I trust you."

She had heard about the lyrium addiction. Aveline had mentioned it in passing, a topic she never liked to discuss, and her father had spoken of it a few times when she was old enough to understand what that meant. But she had never seen it personally. What he was describing sounded more like old age than the side effects of a magical substance.

Her lips twisted in thought. "He didn't seem that far gone to me." Hawke brought one of her knees to her chest and wrapped an arm loosely around her leg, watching him. "He could have just as easily been wrong and he certainly wished he was. Don't blame yourself or your fellow Templars for it."

He nodded slowly. "I'm not going to keep anything from you in regard to that," he said. "I believe you have the right to know." What she chose to do with the information was up to her. He would never completely believe he and his fellow Templars didn't drop the ball hard when it came to the murders. He wondered if Aveline felt the same from her side of it. He doubted he'd ever ask.

"That means a lot to me. I won't give you a reason to regret it." He liked Bethany, what little interaction with her he'd had. She was good with the children and seemed to be doing her best to make the best of her situation. He always admired that sort of attitude.

"I'm sure he worked hard to keep it together when he was speaking to you." He sighed. There was no good to be had from raking himself or anyone else over the coals now. It was hard not to. No Templar was neutral about the effects of lyrium or how bad it could get. The forgetfulness and obsessiveness was just the tip of the ice berg. "The only people I truly blame are Quentin and his accomplices."

"I appreciate it more than you know." For his information, for possibly turning a blind eye to her involvement in the case, and for looking after her sister. If they weren't speaking so grimly, she might have mentioned that these were excellent ways to endear himself to her more than he already had. She trusted Emeric and Thrask, certainly, but Cullen was different. One day, she'd make that clear to him under better circumstances.

Even with what he said, she still had a hard time believing Emeric was so badly off, though Aveline and the other Templars had hinted as much. "I'm sorry for what happened to him. He was a good man." She wished she had been there to prevent his death.

"Did you know he was courting her?" she asked. "Quentin and my mother. He was courting her, I think, or at least trying to." She settled her chin on her knee. "She said she wanted to try getting out there again. I encouraged her." A foolish mistake.

"I'm glad to be able to do something for you. So often my hands are tied." He didn't understand why doing the right thing should so often feel like a struggle in his line of work, and yet increasingly it was. He worried about what would come of Meredith's crack down on the mages and who would be caught in the crossfire of it when all was said and done. On the worst days, he worried that serving Meredith and the Chantry were no longer the same thing at all. Hawke would be caught up in it. Whatever happened, he was nearly completely sure of that.

"He was, but I assure you he'd rather have gone doing something he believed in like that than the fate he was staring down every day." In that respect, things had worked out for Emeric much better than they could've.

"I think...from what we've been able to find, it was the ploy he used to get closer to the ladies he targeted," he said slowly. "You weren't wrong to encourage her. She had every right to be able to get out and be social again. If it had been with anyone else...Hawke, you had no way to know."

"It's better that you can only do so much for me. I wouldn't want you caught up in whatever trouble that follows me around." If anyone thought he was going above and beyond his duty for her, true or not, he'd suffer worse repercussions than she would. "Whatever you can, I'm grateful for. Even if it's a 'Hawke, that's a foolish idea, go home'."

She supposed he was right about Emeric. It was a sad way to go, even so, but her mind lingered on the last thing he said. "What would have happened to him otherwise, if he had lived?"

Her gaze was hard. "The white lilies, yes. He made himself out to be a suitor." It made her skin crawl. "She had fallen in love with a mage once. If he'd told her, she wouldn't have judged him. She would have assured him that she wouldn't turn him in." Her mother was too kind of a person to ever do that to someone else, not unless they were truly a danger and it was obvious.

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