CULLEN:

He was a common enough sight at the Hawke estate that Bohdan never questioned his presence, simply opening the door and welcoming him before seeking out his Mistress to inform her of her guest.

"Cullen!" she said in surprise as she entered the main hall, "What are you doing here? I didn't think we had any plans to meet today?"

"I am sorry if this is a bad time, I hope it is not," he said hesitantly, "I know I've not given sufficient notice, but I needed some time away from the Gallows. This was the first place which came to mind."

"Is something wrong?" she asked, clearly concerned.

"No... well, nothing more than an unfortunate day," he said vaguely. Unwilling and unable to speak the truth. There were certain sensitive subjects they avoided, primarily his work and her views on the circle. He wished he would confide in her, and he hoped that someday he would be able to, but they had not yet reached that state in their relations. Some things he was simply not ready to divulge. Not yet.

"Well, you are certainly more than welcome," she said, raising herself up to kiss him on his cheek. "I was just about to eat. Care to join me?"

They dined in the kitchen, and ate simple, but well prepared fare. They both preferred this over elaborate dishes and the formality of a dining hall, he suspected. Her cook, Orana, had taken her own meal elsewhere, giving them the very privacy he was hoping for. Though it was more likely to spare the shy girl embarrassment than for their own benefit. Hawke did not seem to mind her absence, serving him without complaint.

"Is that ...?" he asked, motioning toward a familiar looking keg he noticed upon a side board.

"Ferelden Ale?" she asked, her teeth flashing in a grin. "It certainly is. Would you care for some?"

"If it wouldn't be any trouble?"

She snorted and moved towards it, "You know it's no trouble, Cullen," she replied, returning shortly with two tankards, setting one before him.

"Maker," he said out loud as he enjoyed his first sip, "I cannot believe how much I have missed this."

"When was the last time you had any?" She asked, cocking her head slightly in that adorably Hawke manner that had become so achingly familiar.

He thought back, only once since he had moved to Kirkwall, that he could recall. "A year or two after I first arrived. I rarely drink save for a glass of wine with supper."

"Color me surprised," she teased.

He laughed, tension easing somewhat. He took a deep draw, sighing contentedly as it hit his tongue. "I'd forgotten how much I used to enjoy this. It reminds me..." he felt himself trailing off, memories rushing to the surface of better times. He glanced at the woman beside him, no... not better times. Other times perhaps. Youthful times, innocent times, but certainly not better times.

"It reminds you... of?" she prodded.

"Ferelden. Of being young, I suppose. When I was an initiate it was not uncommon for a few of us to break curfew and spend more coin than we should have at the inn."

She raised an elbow onto the table and leaned against her hand, watching him with warm eyes, more blue than grey in the light of the fire. Her lips twitched, and he could tell she was tempted to tease him once more, but chose not to, instead deciding to poke fun at herself.

"I used to do the same," she said with another easy smile. "Oh, I drove mother and father crazy."

"I can only imagine that you were more than a bit of a handful," he said dryly.

She laughed again, joyfully and at her own expense. The sound rolled over him, rich and relaxing. He supposed it could have been the ale warming him, but he somehow doubted it. Her expression became suddenly curious, "Is there anything else you miss about Ferelden?" she asked.

"Mmmm," he hummed affirmatively, sipping at his ale, "the seasons."

"Really? Few would agree with you."

"Oh," he sighed, drawing out the word as he leaned back against his chair, "the tower was dreadful in winter. Standing guard, shivering in your armor and feeling as though it would freeze in place. And yet... I miss those clear, sunny mornings where the air was crisp and sharp and the snow would muffle the sounds of your movement. It seemed like you could hear for miles and miles on those mornings."

A mischievous grin spread across her face,"I know what you mean. It's the best of time year to jack deer from Redcliff. You could hear his men patrolling miles off."

He barked out a laugh, "Of course, when everyone else was learning a trade you were busy playing poacher."

She chuckled and shrugged, "I had a family to feed after all."

"How old were you?"

"Barely eighteen when father died, though I admit I did a bit of poaching before then," she chuckled and took another sip from her tankard. "The twins were not quite fourteen when he passed, those first two years were particularly difficult. Carver was able to earn a bit of coin from time to time. He was strong and hardworking, even then, but once the fields had been tilled and the harvest in there was little work to be had for him, and so it fell to me."

"What of his twin, Bethany?" he asked, "Did she not work as well?"

She smiled at him, though there was little mirth in her expression, and said quietly, "She was an apostate."

"Both your father and sister?" he said after a pause. "That must have been difficult."

She offered him a small smile and turned away, as though considering how much to divulge. It hurt that she still did not trust him with some things, though he was no better in his reluctance to speak of certain events in his own past. But he could not judge her on this, on protecting her family. He couldn't, even with their respective positions on the subject, he understood her desire to keep them close, to keep them safe. He hoped someday she would understand how he felt.

He reached for her and pulled her into his lap, pressed his lips against her hair before resting his chin atop her head. "I did not intend to bring up any painful memories," he said quietly, "I only wished to know you better. All this time and there is so much I do not know."

She relaxed against him, and they sat silently for some minutes, simply enjoying the closeness. Eventually she spoke, but her voice had become noticeably serious, "Cullen, we need to talk," she said, pulling back from his embrace and looking up at him with a shuttered expression he could not hope to read.

He felt a finger of dread curl itself around his heart, a knot form in his stomach no longer soothed by the ale or pleasant banter. It was not the first time that feeling of dread had visited him since their affair began, but he chose to ignore it. He would not be robbed of this, not now. He was not ready for things to change. He squared his jaw, "No," he said firmly. She parted her lips to respond but he silenced her again. "No," he said just as firmly as before, eyes locking with hers. "Whatever it is, it can wait." He lowered his voice, and said softly, "...please."

She smiled, he did his best to ignore the sadness he found in it, nodded and relaxed into his embrace once more.

Though she was soft and warm and pliant in his arms, the sense of unease he'd felt for so very long, but had done his best to ignore, remained. Amongst the happiness he had found with her, the tenderness, it had lingered all this time. Ignored and pushed aside in favor instead of enjoying what he could find with her. But there it was, glaring at him so boldly once more.

He wrapped his arms more tightly around her and pressed his lips against her hair.

This sweetness, it cannot last.

It wasn't discomfort over their differences in perspective, it was more than that, it was something dark and hidden that he had been ignoring for too long. Hawke was keeping something from him. Something big, something which would change things, and Maker help him, he did not want anything to change this.

Just moments before he had been picturing her riding like a banshee through a snow covered forest, the dressed corpse of a deer flung over the saddle. Could picture her, pale cheeks flushed from exhilaration and icy winds, hair loose and flowing freely behind her. He could picture her, both of them, back in Ferelden. He could find a position at a Chantry, Redcliff perhaps, or even Amaranthine. The order wouldn't like him stepping down from the circle to play guard at a chantry, but he couldn't care less what the order wanted, not when he could have this. They would have a modest house, nothing fancy, neither of them cared overmuch for opulence and with luck a child, perhaps two.

He knew, when he had allowed his mind to wander to such a prospect that she was keeping something from him. He'd known for some time but had been denying it to himself. Once in awhile her gaze would drop and refuse to meet his, she'd turn away or change the topic, and shortly thereafter smile a forced smile. The moment was usually brief, but it would fill him with a sense of foreboding that he could not entirely shake.

Yet every time that feeling rose he pushed it away.

He did not know what it could be. A child perhaps? Or even a husband, since left. Either he could look past, would look past most certainly for her. But what if...

Sweet Andraste, let it be something I can accept, he silently prayed.

He held her more firmly against him.

I will not be robbed of this.

MEREDITH:

Seated within the Viscounts office, Meredith did her best to keep the look of disdain from becoming too prominent on her face, but feared in light of Karras' report such a thing was not possible.

"You're certain of this?" she asked, the distaste apparent in her tone.

"You have my word, Commander, that it is all true," Karras responded stiffly.

Hawke. It always came down to Hawke. That woman had wormed her way into the city, climbed as high as she could, but would not rest with simply having the populace at her feet. No, she wanted more. And what Hawke wanted, Hawke apparently got.

And now Hawke had her Captain.

"He goes to her estate whenever he's able, Commander, and usually spends the evening."

If she closed her eyes she could picture them, and she felt her mouth pull into a sneer. Her hand reached down and touched the pommel of her sword. The lyrium there, red and etched with the symbol of a lion, hummed in her hand. It was like a song, that hum, one becoming more and more familiar. One which seemed to echo her thoughts and called out for the blood of that wretched Ferelden. It seemed unlikely that it would ever come to blows, but Meredith could still make her pay.

"When you return to the Gallows please send Carver Hawke to my office," she said finally, a plan forming.