romdeau | a fishing date;

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.

"You make it sound like that's a bad thing." Considering the good she did for the city, he didn't think being caught up in her trouble was nearly as bad as she made it sound. He was a little surprised at himself by how much he wanted to do. "Don't worry. If it's mostly sensible advice you're after with an occasional side dose of 'why the Void not', I'm your man."

He frowned slightly. "Eventually insanity. After that, confusion and full on dementia. The ability to feed yourself and control your bladder is the last thing to go. By then you don't really know or care, not as far as I've ever been able to tell."

He smoothed a small wrinkle in his breeches. He hated what had been done to Leandra Hawke and the disgusting ploy by which Quentin had gained his access. "He wasn't one of those trying to make a statement," he said low. "He wouldn't have cared to have understanding." He inhaled deeply and let it out in a sigh. "I don't like to think in absolutes when it comes to people, but there are people in this world who are evil. Magic didn't make Quentin evil. Quentin did that to himself."

On good days, being around Hawke meant you would go home with coin in your pockets and webbing in your hair. On bad days, it meant you might end up dead or laid up in bed for a week nursing a few broken ribs. "Don't be surprised if I start frequenting the Gallows more often, then."

And every Templar would eventually suffer the same. She kept her thoughts very firmly on Emeric in the hopes that she wouldn't imagine Cullen in that predicament. "I've never seen it. None of the Templars in Lothering were old enough or far enough to that point, as far as I could tell."

Magic didn't make him evil. She closed her eyes and let the words sink in. "I know." She knew in her heart that was true. That was why she couldn't hate any of the mages she knew. They weren't like Quentin. "I know you're right." She simply wished he hadn't used his magic so perversely to get what he wanted. He had desecrated her mother's corpse and stripped her of her free will, not to mention her life. "That's why I hate him and no one else." But sometimes, she wished she had someone else she could be angry with, if only so she wouldn't feel like it was tearing her from the inside out.

With a sigh, she opened her eyes. "I'm sorry. This is all very grim talk for what's supposed to be a relaxing evening. I'm turning into a bigger worrier than you said you'd be." The bottle of brandy was still in her hands and she took the opportunity to have a drink.

"Don't be surprised when I don't complain," he said, smiling faintly. He wondered when talk would start. It was something he considered inevitable in the long run.

"Many leave the order before it gets...unmanageable. Some are able to remain guards for a while. You can point them in the right direction, and they can still smite somebody as well as they did ten years prior. The majority just make sure they eventually get into something they can't get out of." The Maker didn't approve of outright suicide. Going down fighting the good fight was a perfectly acceptable alternative. He believed in the end, that was what Emeric was after, above and beyond helping the women.

"It's hard hating someone who's dead. It's like having a one way conversation with the worst possible partner, and you can't shut up even when you're sick of it and want to." He wasn't arrogant enough to compare his experiences to hers, but it had been that way for him with Uldred.

He touched her again, less tentative this time, a circle of fingers over mid-back. "I'm always willing to listen. This is supposed to be a chance for us to get to know each other better. I think it's working out rather well, if you ask me."

She returned the smile. They saw each other once a week most times when she had business in the Gallows. It wouldn't be so farfetched if that continued, after all, but she was certain some people would notice. Meredith, most likely. And she could only imagine how Anders would react.

Going down fighting was something Varric praised in his tall tales as a hero's death. But Hawke understood that it wasn't so heroic when the alternative was worse. She pitied Emeric's fate, the fate of the Templars who succumbed to the addiction. Continuing when your brain was little but addled mush wouldn't truly be living. "And there's nothing that can be done?"

Her smile turned just a touch bitter at the edges. "That's exactly what it's like. You want them around so you can blame them and tell them how much you despise them, but that's next to impossible when they're dead. And talking to ghosts just makes you look like you've fallen off the wagon from grief."

She snorted softly, though she acknowledge his hand and even moved enough so that he wasn't stretching to reach her. "And we skip straight to the horrible life stories first, of course." Her smile brightened. "Tell me about you, then. You know I used to roam with my parents. Where did you live before you went to the tower to be a Templar?"

"Once you're that age? No. No one is really sure exactly when you reach the point of no return. There are people who have quit the order around my age and still went downhill later in life, perhaps not quite to that extreme. You can always walk away. The withdrawals kill about forty percent or so of those who do. Many of the survivors are either permanently insane or like Samson, always hungering for dust. There are a few who seem to make it through those stages to a normal life." He didn't touch on the fact that it was rumored the lyrium wasn't really necessary at all, that anyone could learn Templar disciplines without it, that it was the leash and collar the Chantry used to bring its Templar dogs to heel. There were certain things he didn't want to know.

"Not to mention ghosts are terrible listeners." His smile was a little sad at the edges. "This is going to sound trite. It's not meant to be. It's spoken from the other side of a long time. Give yourself time. It helps. One day you'll go a whole day and suddenly realize that thought hasn't popped up once. It'll feel bad. Like...you've betrayed yourself and your dead. But then that goes away, too, and you just realize...flesh is an inadequate vessel for sustained rage. It's not something your dead want you carrying."

When his smile returned, this time it was more wry. "Of course. Human nature, isn't it? I lived just outside of Denerim. Before the Blight, the city had spilled beyond the bounds of its walls. I hear that's not the case anymore. People were reminded those walls are there for a reason."

"You say they can always go but is that really an option? Are Templars allowed to leave their calling?" She had always been under the impression that it was heavily frowned upon and even disgraceful. Then again, the Wardens were like that and it hadn't stopped Anders from running. "Or is that one of those Templar secrets I shouldn't know about?"

It was something she'd heard before from her companions, that things would get better in time. It seemed like a small comfort when the pain was so fresh weeks ago. "It's not trite. It's true. When it's happening, you don't want to believe there will come a time when you're not constantly thinking about it. It's a disservice to their memory." But she had been able to eventually leave her house with her head up in enough time to start dealing with the Qunari threat. That was something at the very least. She set her hand on his knee. "Thank you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Really? Here, I was going to guess closer to Redcliffe." As a girl, she'd wanted to go into Denerim. It was too dangerous for obvious reasons. "I always heard conditions were hit-or-miss when it came to anyone beneath the upper class."

"Yes. If you walk away, that's it. No one is going to run after you and stop you. They don't have to. The lyrium will have you begging to come back within the week. If you're lucky, someone will believe the remorse and take you back. If you're not, you're one of the ones shaking in Lowtown begging dust." The loss of reputation was an entirely different matter, unofficial sanction rather than anything handed down from the top.

"It's true, and I know hearing it isn't all that helpful. No one can give you that time or make it go faster." He covered her hand with his and gave it a squeeze.

"Yes, really. I strike you as from the Bannorn?" It was a light tease. Urban versus rural in Ferelden was relative, a distinction that mattered a great deal to some, though. It never had to him. "Denerim is a city of contrasts. Not quite as severe as Kirkwall."

She had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything. It was a sad and sorry state of affairs, one she truly had no business poking her head into. Inevitably, that would change. "And nothing helps the addiction. There's nothing strong enough in Thedas." Lyrium was a substance addictive and strong enough to be coveted by too many people for there to be a cure. It made her worry for Fenris and what might eventually happen to him.

"Aveline said the same. No one can tell you when it's time to stop grieving." She raised an eyebrow at him. "You two really would hit it off, you know." If the both of them weren't quite so stubborn, especially the Guard-Captain.

She smirked. "I didn't picture you from a city. I imagined something like Lothering or even a little larger of a town." It meant little enough to her. If anything, it simply made her wonder what his family did for a living. "I don't think anywhere is as severe as Kirkwall," she said with a roll of her eyes.

"If there were, they wouldn't tell Templars about it," he said. For all he knew the Chantry knew exactly what to do about lyrium addiction and held the knowledge for their own personal ends. He may have had faith in the Maker. That didn't extend to all of his purported servants in Thedas.

"If she didn't think we Templars were after her job, perhaps." It wasn't as though her perception was entirely inaccurate. He didn't know why Meredith had such a bee up her bonnet about the Guard-Captain these days. All he knew was that it was in his best interest to stay out of it as much as he could.

"It was quite the contrast going from Denerim to the tower. Everything was so small and constrained." He nodded and reached for the bottle to take a swallow. He could feel residual warmth when he wasn't drinking now, starting to get a little bit of an effect. "The Imperium, I think. Slavery is in the open there."

At least he was willing enough to say that much. Sebastian's blind faith in the Maker and the Chantry was often stifling. She nodded, letting the topic go. She couldn't dwell on something neither of them could change.

"That's Aveline for you. And it's not just Templars, I promise. She takes a lot of pride in her work and her recruits. I think she would just prefer for the Templars to solely look after the mages while the Guard looks after the rest of the city." She smiled, leaning back and glancing up at nothing in particular. "Stubborn. She was in the army at Ostagar, you know."

She tried to imagine Denerim and could only think of Kirkwall. She'd been in the damn city too long. "The Imperium is a whole other can of worms and will hopefully be a place I'll never have the displeasure of visiting. Fenris acts like it's a black stain on Thedas." Hawke snorted. "I don't think he's far from the truth." She shook her head. "What did you do before you became a Templar?"

"She has fought the same fight for respect all of us Fereldans who have attained influence have," he said. He knew that at times such fights felt like uphill battles and at times it was impossible to tell the indifferent from enemies. "If mages were only in the Gallows, we'd be all too happy to grant her wish." There was something of a grunt in the statement. Aveline had been a thorn in his side on more than one occasion.

"I don't think he is, either, from everything I've heard. The few Tevinters I've met haven't done anything to assuage my viewpoint." They were troublemakers, often slavers or magisters waltzing down to the Marches believing they'd have the same free rein they had at home with disastrous results.

"I worked at a livery stable owned by friends of the family. Sometimes I think if I had been smart, I'd have stuck to horses."

"As much as I trust her, I don't think she'd be able to handle Kirkwall alone. Not as it is now." She'd lost several of her guards to the Qunari attack as it was and that was just one example of how unpredictable things could be. Had the Templars not stepped in, things would have been disastrous. She smiled. "She's just as stubborn as you can be, Sera. Don't try and deny it."

After meeting Hadriana, she was all too aware of the lengths they'd go to pursue what they believe was property. It was disgusting. She nodded in agreement. "And why would they? You don't condone slavery or their brand of politics." Her tone was carefully neutral about that term 'slavery'.

"Horses." Her tone sounded thoughtful even with the grin that was trying to force its way on her face at the mental image. "Yes, somehow I can see you doing that."

"We're barely handling Kirkwall together, however grudging the cooperation." He wasn't sure that being more amiable about it would make a difference. The city was far too big for the few forces arrayed for its defense, no matter what banner they marched under. "Maybe she and I don't enjoy looking in mirrors." It wouldn't be the first time he found himself head to head with someone because they were too alike in some respects.

"No, I don't, and I never would." He well knew the claims Anders made about the Circles. He believed them to be so patently false he wasn't going to dignify them with a mention now.

"Can you? It was such a long time ago. I haven't had the chance to ride in ages. I sometimes wonder if I'd remember how." He tilted his head slightly. "What was your first job away from the house?"

He was right about that much. Kirkwall wasn't getting any easier to handle between the factions of the city and it had nothing to do with how many times the Templars and the Guards butted heads. "True enough. I don't know how well I'd get along with someone if they were like me."

She gestured for the bottle as she thought of Lothering, her lips pursed in thought. "I was a courier first, of sorts. The town was too small for it to be a real job. And then I mostly did odd jobs on the Chantry board or helped Elder Miriam with whatever she needed." It kept her moving and it let her keep an eye on everyone in town. She could hear the gossip and know if someone was beginning to suspect her father and sister.

"I suppose it depends on how you're alike," he said. "There's something to be said for compatibility, but when it hits areas like stubbornness and duty, it can lead to some rocky relations. I believe if I were a guard or Aveline a Templar, we wouldn't butt heads at all."

He handed the bottle back to her and decided he was in the mood for another ale. He stood and carefully made his way toward the front where they were stashed. "Ale?" he asked.

"I can see that, too. Never in one place for long. It suits you." For as settled as she was in Kirkwall, he knew she wasn't in that mansion of hers much. She had admitted it herself.

"A shame for lost opportunities, then," she said lightly. "Though I'd rather you two keep your jobs. It would be so much harder to drag her out if I had to go through you or vice versa. I would have to get creative with my excuses."

After idly checking to see how much brandy they had left, she nodded. "Sure. I'm going to need to ask Isabela where she got this. It's pretty good."

She took a sip and smiled around the bottle. "Too boring to be in one place all the time. Lothering was small enough that it never felt like I was far. Running errands around Kirkwall is an entirely different story."

"Lost op...uh... We'd never have dated, if that's what you mean. No, no, no. Isn't she married?" He cleared his throat.

Digging out two of the ale bottles, he waited until he was sure she was looking and tossed her one. "It is good. I don't think I've ever had bad Antivan alcohol. If it's out there, they don't export it."

He straightened and picked his way back over toward the bench, took his seat, and worked free the stopper. "In Kirkwall it can feel like being in entirely different cities, Darktown versus Hightown, the docks, the ah, alienage." He had almost said the Foundry District, his brain fortunately kicking in before his mouth ran away with him.

She laughed. "What? No, no, I meant-- I meant as friends. That if she was a Templar or you were a Guard..." She chuckled quietly. "Yes, she's married. And if we had attempted to set the two of you up the way we had with Donnic, I would have died of laughter months ago."

She corked the brandy and set it down so she could catch the smaller bottle, turning it over in her hands. "Bad Antivan alcohol is probably their kinder way of saying poison, anyway."

Her eyes flitted out to the water with a nod. "The disparities are frightening. Darktown and Hightown are as different as night and day." The nobles became richer and the poor stayed the same. "You stand out when you go to a part of town that you don't live in because of the way you dress and carry yourself." She pulled the stopper free on her bottle. "Unless you frequent there so often that no one thinks otherwise."

"Maker's breath." He put his free hand up to his forehead, laughing. "I was thinking, 'Why is she saying this? Me and Aveline?'" He took a swig of ale and shifted the better to face her. "You set her up with her husband?"

It was fortunate he had already swallowed, or he'd have spit it at that observation. She was much funnier than he had imagined she'd be. He didn't think he'd be laughing as much as he had been off and on over the course of the evening.

"Or you can wear really shiny plate mail and not fit in anywhere." He said it lightly, except it was the truth. Whether Hightown, Lowtown, Darktown, or the docks, no one was relaxed with a Templar around.

"No, no," she chuckled. "Why would I set you up with her even if she wasn't married? That would give her excellent incentive to punch me with those gauntlets of hers." She cleared her throat, laughter still at the edges of her voice. "And at this point, I'd like to keep you with me instead, if you don't mind."

She sipped her drink so she wouldn't devolve into further chuckling and then thought better of it. It was probably the reason why this was all too funny. "She was trying to... I wish I could call it courting but it wasn't even remotely close to it. She wasn't sure how to get his attention or see how he felt." Which was a gross understatement. "Aveline asked us to clear a patrol route for her so she and Donnic could be speak. The fighting was easy enough but her courting was disastrous." She chuckled. "She almost tried to give him a traditional Ferelden dowry."

Hawke shrugged. "But isn't that the point? You're supposed to stand out. And you could always make up a reason to wander around with a different set of armor on, something lighter, if you wanted. Reconnaissance reasons."

"That was what I was wondering, yes," he said, still amused. It may have been bright enough for her to see the color in his cheeks. "I'd...ah...that's what I'd like, too. If you ever do change your mind, setting me up with someone else is the wrong way to go about it. Just so you know." It was a funny thought.

"Oh, no...wait, pigs and goats? Something like that? Sad commentary on the Templar life that I don't remember. I take it something went right in the end."

He nodded slowly, a bit of a sly light coming into his eyes. "That's exactly what I'll say if I ever get caught in Hightown dressed like a rogue on my way to a certain mansion. It's reconnaissance, you see. Templar by day, spy by night."

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