Before Cullen could apologize, Lana waved it away with a laugh, "The moment I breathe fire, then you should grow concerned. Until such a time, a few villager sacrifices every once in awhile to me is all I'll need."
Chuckling at her quick rescue of himself, Cullen brushed his lips across her forehead. "Are you certain you don't want to purchase anything from this stand?"
"No, I only thought we should draw away from the horde. Unless you have a thing for 'Rivaini' rugs," Lana gestured at the garish hues and fraying edges of the knockoff options.
Grimacing from the goods as well as the fact he still had no answer for her birthday, Cullen sighed, "No, I don't. Come on, I know a small shop that has pastries nearly the size of your head."
Honor led the way through the pack, her nose permanently etched to the ground as she sniffed up every footstep from half of Val Royeaux. Mesmerized by it, Lana kept pointing at her and wondering aloud, "What do you think she gets out of all that nosing? It can't be more than a moment's scent before she shuffles past. And yet, she never stops. It's fascinating."
Unaware of her audience, Honor paused, the ridge of hair along her back lifting in a nearly straight arrow. Her head darted to the right, set in place. Cullen stopped, dread filling his stomach until his dog darted forward through the crowds and lapped up a dropped heel of bread off the filthy ground. His body slackening, he sighed, "I believe that is what she gets out of it."
Lana chuckled at their silly dog's lust for food and followed the lead towards the bakery Cullen knew of. Quaint in only the way a shop in Val Royeaux could be, it bore the bright sky blues and white valences of nearly all the others around the city. As they drew to the door Honor began to bark in staccato, her voice all but demanding someone come out and answer her. He tried to get her to quiet down, but her blasted summons worked and the proprietor of the shop bustled out. Barely glancing at the people crowding his bakery, the portly man dropped to a knee to shove Maker only knew how many tarts into Honor's greedy face.
"I take it you two stop here often," Lana said, a soft quirk to her face.
"Not by my wishes, but as you can see, she tends to demand it," Cullen sighed, watching the baker pet Honor as she finished up the last of her free meal.
After wiping off his hands upon the wadded up apron, he turned to the pair of them and in a thick Orlesian accent said, "Ah, monsieur with the silly puppy, and this must be the mademoiselle you speak so highly of."
He picked up Lana's hand and shook it gently before bowing so deep, Cullen caught a curious smirk rising across Lana's lips. Before she could finish it, the baker rose up. "What brings you by today?"
"We were at the market," Cullen said, then sneered, "attempting to shop at the market, and my...the Lady grew hungry."
"Of course, of course." He had that rosy cheeked, bright eyed face you'd expect to find on a storybook grandfather. It suited him well as the kindly corner store baker, though his love of greedy mabari couldn't be helping the bottom line. "What is your beautiful stomach in the taste for?"
Now Lana giggled, pulled in by the man's charms, "I heard tale of a pastry nearly the size of my head."
"Mademoiselle," the baker started, his eyes darting down her tiny frame that looked as if it could at best hold a grape. "Are you certain you can handle such a monstrous feast?"
"In fact, I might require two," she fake whispered near him.
Throwing his head back so far it was a wonder his deflated cap didn't tumble off, the baker laughed uproariously as if all of life was a jest and only he caught the joke. "Please," he reached a hand out and Lana took it, falling into line with the baker as he led her into his shop, "come with me. A woman of your unique distinction requires something extra special."
Cullen glanced down at his dog, who after slurping down her second breakfast was now chewing on her leg. Dipping to a knee, he ran a hand over her dark grey fur while watching Lana lean against the counter. She clapped her hands together and smiled so sweetly it drew one to Cullen's face. No doubt she was entertained by some kind of fried dough treat the baker was hoisting upon her. Turning to his dog, he sighed in the back of his throat, "Maker's breath, I don't know what I'm going to do. Honor, what would you get Lana for her birthday?"
Perking up at her name, the mabari struck a small pose, her tail pausing in its nearly continuous wag, and her nose pointing at something. For a brief moment, Cullen almost wondered if she didn't understand his request and have some idea, when Honor leapt tongue forward to slobber all over his face. He let her get a few more licks in before shoving her back and trying to wipe it all away with his sleeve.
"Yes, I get it, that works for dogs, but I'm afraid that won't give quite the right impression from me." Uncaring about his predicament, Honor woofed once, then waddled over to follow Lana.
In the end, Lana selected something fried, doughy, and covered in a pink crystalized sugar. She wasn't certain what it was, but the pastry easily outflanked her head and left a smattering of the pink crystals across her lips and down her chin. Cullen only tried a few bites before declaring it too sweet for him.
"Too sweet? How can anything be too sweet?" she mocked, turning from one of the three tables in the narrow shop to gesture at the baker. "Am I right?" He waved back, clearly agreeing with the woman who made his morning by trying some unholy concoction.
After taking another bite, and covering more of her mouth in glittering pink, she continued, "Is this another case of Cullen can't let himself enjoy anything?"
"No," he shook his head, "I have never had much of a sweet tooth. A little here and there is enough for me."
"Uh huh," she narrowed her eyes, her slitted vision drifting up and down him to see if he was lying. He knew she was playing, but Cullen couldn't shake off the guilt sitting in his gut at the moment. Somehow he had to not only find a way to walk the market alone, but also come up with the perfect gift for her.
The sound of a chair sliding closer drew his attention up from the table just as Lana leaned forward and her glistening pink lips curled around his. As their innocent kiss increased in heat, the sugar stuck to her lips melted, it's syrup dripping into their joined mouths. He couldn't stop himself from licking across her bottom lip, a curious almost peppery flavor to the sugar that should have been revolting but worked.
While Cullen bit on his lip, Lana smiled, "Too sweet for you?"
"No," he sighed, his fingers cupping her cheek, "never."
"What if I were to...?"
Cullen interrupted her before she could begin, "There are plenty of things you could do right here that would embarrass me beyond means, I'm certain of that."
Lana opened her mouth, then closed it a few times, "I was going to say let you have another bite, but not if you're going to be that way."
"I..." He tried to not crumble in on himself from the way she ripped off another section of the dough and crammed it in her mouth. "I didn't mean to imply..."
"Sweet Andraste," she swallowed and then laughed, "I know Cullen. It was a joke. Are you okay? You seemed less on edge this morning. Is it...? It's not Wednesday?"
"No, no, it's not Wednesday," he shook his head. It had to sound strange to others to overhear their code for when lyrium withdrawl overwhelmed him as the pair of them kept talking about whether it was Wednesday or not. Once a Sister walked up to them after they'd been in a heated discussion about the return of his symptoms to inform them that it was in fact a Friday and also six pm.
Lana waited for him to answer, her fingers poised over her doughy treat. "I..." he felt his fingers reaching for the back of his neck when a brilliant idea struck him. "I was hoping to find a present to send to Mia and the family for Satinalia but the market's a mess. It'd be too much for you."
"So that's what got you in a dour mood," her fingers traced along his lips, leaving the pink sugar in their wake.
"Commander Sullen at your service," he forced a smile, but Lana frowned at it.
Shaking it off, she leaned back, "Well, I'm
warm, I'm quickly filling up, and I have a new friend over there..." She gestured to the baker who was singing a song under his breath as he punched down a wad of dough large enough to smother a bronto. "Seems a good time as any for you to head to the markets and find something."
"You..." Cullen glanced around the empty bakery, "you would be safe here alone?"
She was obviously trying to not roll her eyes at that. No sparks flared up on her fist but Cullen tasted the rise of the fade building off her body. "Yes, I think I will be." Having made her point, the metallic scent and flavor vanished. "Besides," her fingers drifted down to the dog curled up under the table, "I have Honor here to help me select the tastiest pastry." His mabari woofed once, her tail thumping against the chair's legs.
"Very well, I won't be more than an hour, at most. You're certain that's not too long?" Cullen paused in rising from the table. He knew he needed to get out there, but a part of him didn't want to leave Lana alone. Some of it was fear, she wasn't up to fighting form by any means no matter how much of the fade she could draw upon, and a lot of it was not wanting to miss the time with her. More than likely she was going to get up to Maker knew how much trouble with a mabari and a baker.
"Yes," she smiled. Then reached over to grab his sleeve as if she changed her mind. Cullen was prepared to give in to her demands and find some other answer to the birthday problem, when Lana yanked him down and planted a full kiss on his lips. Breaking away, she shooed him on, "Now go before it gets to rampage levels out there."
* * *
He need not ever fear the Void again because Cullen was certain he'd seen far worse in his time at the market. Unused to shopping, perhaps not as bad as a mage but templars weren't know for perusing bazaars in their spare time, he had the brilliant idea to wander the stalls and see if anything caught his fancy. This would have been a useful idea if it were a normal day instead of the rising chaos of the streets of Val Royeaux. At one point the city guards were called in to break up two older women, both easily in their 70s, who were trying to disembowel each other for some small rock with eyes painted upon it.
Jewelry, kitchenware, cloaks, hair accoutrements, a stand of nothing but towels for some reason, each one only raised more questions than answers for Cullen. Jewelry seemed the simple answer, the go to gift, but Maker's sake what did she wear? He knew of two things Lana ever donned, one was a pendant gifted to her when she joined the Wardens that she destroyed. The other was her ring that rarely left her finger and seemed to be more a safety touchstone than anything. While a ring, or pendant, or even hair barrette enchanted to gift the wearer greater strength or dexterity would be useful it may also remind her that she wasn't what she once was. Or worse, what if she thought it was his way of saying he wanted her to return to that life she strove so hard to leave? To pick up her staff and continue fighting, killing? There was also the fact that none of the options were enchanted beyond one that glittered by light in an eye searing fashion.
Books, he knew she loved to read but that was an instant quagmire in and of itself. He suspected it would be easier to name the places in thedas he hadn't visited than the books Lana had yet to read. There were a few on mage studies and rift magic in particular published recently, but would any of those have a bearing upon her studies? Not to mention, it was supposed to be a birthday present not a 'we may require you to help us heal the veil, please prepare yourself for it' gift. Cullen wasn't a hundred percent, but something told him gifts of those type should be of the romantic variety.
Flowers were not an option. There was a single, curious stand but all that prospered upon its cart were herbs of a certain nature. He never was involved much in the contraband side of templar life, but Cullen could spot a few of the more hallucinogenic plants that mages tried to slip into their potion brewing when none was the wiser. Sometimes they found their way into the templar barracks as well, because the barrier between mage and templar was nearly nonexistent no matter how much they tried to pretend otherwise. While Lana might be excited to try brewing her own potions, he had no idea where to start and if left to his own devices would probably bring home poison again.
Wouldn't that look good? Happy birthday, have some poison. I suppose the message is 'I want this to be your last birthday.' Maker's breath. Mia'd only been gone for three days and already he was failing in his promise to her. How much more could he screw this up?
Rugs, daggers, selections of rope...all useless for his cause. Cullen paused at a sampling of paintings, some of them rather lovely sweeping vistas of fields and forests by summer's glow. He put them into the maybe pile until his fingers flipped through the stack to come upon one called "Birth of a Hero." That painting he knew far too well. Done primarily in purples, reds, greys, and a specific brown, copies of it hung in parlors across all of southern thedas. It was Lana. No, it was Solona standing upon the gutted archdemon corpse while a small ferret loomed in the foreground. He never understood the point of the ferret, she never mentioned one in her travels of the blight. Blood was splattered across the painting, but it was stylized in purple hues to try and diminish the horrors that hanging an exsanguinated archdemon corpse above the fireplace would cause upon the buyer. Never mind what it would have done to the woman who did it. Andraste, he hated this painting and suspected Lana did as well. Perhaps if they had the one Alistair mentioned, that he gave Cullen a small copy of...
A dark thought churned in his stomach as he remembered the letters the King had been blanketing Lana in. She said he was coming up with his own blighted theories for how the book he could easily pick up and read ended, but what if one of them was him wishing her a happy birthday? Crowing the fact that he remembered while Cullen failed to? Why did this have to be so Maker damn hard?
He wanted to slink back, to break away from the crowd of Orlesians and sulk alone in his misery. In some small part his brain, he knew Lana wouldn't hold it against him if he came up empty handed, but he couldn't stand himself if he let her down. Cullen was ready to abandon hope, perhaps fight for another one of the eye rocks and play it off as a jape, when something caught his eye. It was off from the beaten and crowded path, only a few people slipped past in a hurry to chase down the more flashy goods. As he stepped closer, his eyes lit up and he nearly smacked himself at the simplicity of it. How could he have never thought of this?
The shopkeep caught the glow in his eye and smiled wide. "Can I help you?" she asked, slipping back and forth on her weary feet.
"Maker's breath, I hope so," Cullen sighed. "I'd like that, and that," his fingers pointed at the offerings, the woman smiling wide as se reached for it. "But, could you have it delivered later?"
"Of course, Sir. Where and when?" she unearthed a tattered notebook and prepared to scribble something down.
"Later tonight, perhaps seven, and sent to the Grand Cathedral for Commander Cullen's eyes only." The shopkeep's widened at the mention of the Cathedral and his name, but Cullen couldn't shake off the grin infecting his face. This might work out after all.
Chapter Twelve
Surprise
When she was having a good day they dined with the rest of the chantry in the grand hall. Lana expected the clergy to be nothing but bent heads shoveling tasteless gruel into silent mouths, but the various Mothers and Sisters - most into their 60s and beyond - put raucous teenage mages to shame. On more than one occasion they had to dodge a cascade of rolls lobbed from one end of the room to the other. After waking from her nap, she expected them to head down but Cullen suggested they dine in instead. Lana was about to insist she was fine, the sleep shored her up well and she could handle a few over eager Sisters, but something in his demeanor caught her. While he could lose control of his limbs at times, Cullen was normally the very definition of stoic. He would often stand stock still for nearly hours, his eyes drifting past into the ether and those taut muscles keeping him locked in place. Probably remnants from being a templar and having to stand guard at the door or watching over one of the day long classes. But
today he seemed on edge, dancing back and forth from one foot to the other as if the ground itself were on fire.
She wasn't certain what it meant, but Lana kept her arguments to herself curious to see where it was all going. After having finished eating the filling and rich dinner, Lana tried to push back her chair but felt the thud of a dog in the way.
"Are you waiting for your helpings?" she asked Honor who no doubt was also put off by them remaining in the apartment. With her pleading eyes and wiggling body, she often secured her weight in scraps from the clergy.
"She already scammed a bone off the butcher in the market, the pastries from the baker, and I don't want to know what you ate off the candlestick maker. On top of your usual dinner. You're good," Cullen ordered, his eyes darting down at Honor who whined a moment at her master's commands.
"It will not work on me," he insisted, folding his arms over his picked clean plate. Lana watched, waiting to see if Cullen's assessment would hold up and sure enough he seemed set on it this time.
Grunting, Honor slunk away from the table, her head hung low as if this was the greatest injustice ever heaped upon a mabari. As she was about to leap onto the divan, Cullen spun in his chair and sighed, "Do not get on the..." Not listening, Honor got all four of her feet up and sat down, daring him. "I give up."
Lana reached over and patted his hand, "It's best to choose your battles with them. I've found that's also the same with Wardens."
"And soldiers," Cullen groaned, his old life playing behind his eyes. After shaking off that sneer, he turned back to her and cupped both of her hands in his. "Did you, uh, have anything important planned for the rest of the...day?"
She twisted her head at his meandering question, but answered, "Not really. I have a few new reference ideas to compare with my old books and was thinking of trying to darn up my socks."
My Love Page 110