a fishing date;

[twinfangs]

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.

Comments

[lovingvambrace]

Making the arrangements hadn't been difficult. Cullen's friend with the crab traps was all too happy to lend him a few, pleased to know that he was taking a little time off. The skiff rental also went smoothly. He would never call himself a sailor by any stretch. Handling a small boat with a single sail and oars was different. As long as they weren't hit by any nasty weather, he felt confident. If they were, the Wounded Coast had so many inlets he didn't doubt they could put ashore until it blew over.

The hardest part was getting the time off. It wasn't that Meredith was reluctant to give it to him. It was questions from his co-workers and friends, how he never took time off, and what was really going on? It wasn't until he hauled some rancid fat from the Gallow's kitchen in a small tub and stank up half the barracks that they bought the story about crabbing and left him alone.

He had the skiff packed with food and ale for them, the traps, the bait, cooking gear and dry wood just in case, and a few personal supplies as well as his sword and shield in the dry well. He spotted her on the wharf and smiled and waved to her from the boat. "I was just finishing up down here. Anything you don't want wet? Hand it down, and I'll tuck it away."