"You ever wonder why they don't make the food better?" Alistair asked, jabbing his spoon at the menu board. "Get a real chef, or someone who's not trying to commit heinous crimes against culinarity."
Lana ran a finger along her cheek, absently tracing her scar, "I suspect that would break the laws of reality. A backdoor tavern full of villainous scum and slumming heroes possessing grand cuisine? Could you imagine families sitting around these plague ridden tables talking about how exquisite the amuse-bouche is here?"
"What is that amused bush? First time I heard it, I thought someone was talking about a hilarious shrubbery."
Laughing to the point of snorting, Lana threw her head back at the image, "Maker, yes, I'd much rather find a laughing plant on a silver platter hoisted up by snooty elves."
"As long as it's not a rhyming tree."
"Agreed," she nodded at the king who spent the marked day at her side, then her eyes trailed away to the tavern's door swinging open. Smiling wide at the gorgeous man trying to navigate around the darkened tables and hunched diners, Lana watched him for a moment before raising her hand to catch Cullen's attention.
Alistair spotted it and turned in his seat, probably expecting guards come to snag him. To his credit, he also smiled at the man approaching their table. "Maker's breath," Cullen huffed beside them, "how can you see beyond your nose in here?"
"You can't," Alistair answered, "it helps with the ambience."
"And to disguise the food," Lana snickered, lifting up her sausage. She slid up from her seat to peck a kiss upon Cullen's lips before asking, "How did your little meet and greet go?"
"Good, I hope," he ruffled his hand through his hair, knotting his curls up tighter. She flexed her fingers in anticipation of grabbing onto them later. "The grand cleric gave me an audience and I, there was a lot to discuss at the sanitarium. Some of the templars who haven't even fallen to lyrium poisoning wound up there without anywhere to go. They're interested to be certain." For this important overture, he'd forgone the armor and put on the fanciest shirt they could find - a brilliant emerald in layers of silk offset with brass buttons. She couldn't talk him into the ruffs no matter how much she insisted they were the it fashion. Not that it mattered, the man had to have whispers from behind lady's hands following his every step - he cleaned up very well. And Lana had every intention of dirtying him later.
Cullen's hand drifted away from his neck and he pointed at Lana, "How did your, uh, tradition go?"
"Very well," she answered, "barely anyone seemed to be out today doing any law breaking. A strange curiosity..." she glanced over at Alistair nose deep into his mug. At her perched eyebrow, he started, bubbles sloshing mead over his mug's lip.
"What?" he wiped at his chin. "You think I had something to do with that?"
"We ran into, what? Four bandits, two of which had terrible head colds, and instead spent most of the day sitting beneath the trees watching the merchants work."
Alistair shrugged, "Don't go giving me that eye. Bandits don't tend to follow rules from on high, rather known for it. You think I ran around the day before rounding 'em all up and promised them a shiny silver if they were good boys and girls tomorrow? Put on a little play of fake dying for the mage? I have better things to do with my time, more or less. Maybe they all finally wised up and realized this day was best for staying indoors."
"You're saying you had no troubles?" Cullen interrupted. He didn't sit, but hovered near her, his body leaning into a hand upon the table.
"Don't go gettin' your smalls in a knot, templar," Alistair interrupted. "She's still got all her tricks up her sleeve, even if it takes her longer to limp there." Lana's boot knocked into her cane below the table. She went through many iterations over the year, trying to find one that could double as a staff in an emergency. One day she stumbled out of their current lodging to find Cullen bent over a workbench, wood shavings tumbling from the sides. He gleamed as he presented his first attempt to her. It took a few more tries, a couple cracking from her heavy use, but eventually she carried a simple but elegant cane painted a threatening midnight with speckles of silver dusting like stars. Under the handle, so her fingers would drag across them every time she walked, he carved the words "Stay Safe." Maker, she had every intention of it.
Rubbing her fingers up and down her worrywart's arm, Lana smiled at him. Then she gestured to the other denizen below the table, "Besides, we had Honor with us as well. She's been coming along wonderfully for taking down bandits. Goes right for the jugular without a second thought."
Cullen cupped her fingers, his bittersweet smile beaming on her, before he dipped down to ruffle up the exhausted dog's ears. "You did good, girl."
"Nothing to worry about whatsoever," Alistair crowed. Against his own common sense, he jabbed a knife into the purple sausage and drifted it close to his teeth. Lana hissed, slapping a hand over her mouth and potentially one over her eyes as well.
"Don't, do not eat that. Maker's sake, you have no idea where it's been," she chastised.
"On your plate for an hour," he scoffed back. "If you're not gonna eat it, I see no reason for it to go to waste," and then he snickered, dropping the stabbed meat product down against the table.
Shaking her head and willing away the disgust from the very idea, Lana turned to Cullen, her voice softening as she knotted her fingers over top his on the table. "What's next then?"
He blinked, his eyes snapping back from wherever he drifted off to while gazing at her, "Oh, uh, with the Grand Cleric's blessing and some backing from the Inquisition, we have to petition the crown for land..."
"Sure," Alistair interrupted, "take whatever you need. Want an Arling? Nah, that's probably a bit much. You think you want all that space at first, and then you remember how much damn dusting you have to do. Always with the dusting. And I don't even remember getting that stupid curio."
"What?" Cullen started, his hand slipping out from under hers as he turned to the king whacking his spoon against the sausage to see what would happen. "That, I assumed I would need to... Are there not procedures necessary? Precedent to follow?"
"Probably," Alistair shrugged. "Look, if you want to scurry into the throne room, doff your hat, get to a knee, and say your spiel be my guest. No one's gonna argue with what you're asking."
"No one?" Lana asked, well aware of how politics worked.
"All right," he threw up both hands, "someone will argue because, I don't know, he wasn't hugged enough as a child. But come on, who's gonna say no to the Hero of Ferelden?"
"Who's dead, remember," Lana said, her eyes darting around the tavern. She figured if she kept herself cloaked and away from the nobility sections of Denerim she'd be safe.
"Yeah yeah, I know. Still, you should swing by the palace. We've rearranged all the tapestries in alphabetical and most poncy order. And then you can meet Spud."
"Alistair, you know I can't. Someone's liable to see me," they'd had that same argument all day.
The king seemed to finally accept she wasn't about to budge when out of nowhere he'd invent another excuse for why she must sneak into the palace. They'd gone from pies, windows, the wainscoting on the trellises, to a portrait in the attic that he swore kept getting younger. Alistair snapped his fingers and sat up, "What if I arrange a little jaunt out in the streets with Spud and you just happen to swing on by? No one'd be the wiser."
"Won't you be busy that day holding court for...reasons?" Lana jerked her head in the direction of Cullen who silently watched them not-argue.
Alistair glanced from her, to Cullen, and then back again, "I officially give you, Cullen...shit, what's your last name? Eh, doesn't matter, that's what clerks are for. All the land you're asking for. You need somewhere nice too. How about the Hinterlands? Put you near the old tower, and you'd be under Teagan, so..."
"That, uh," Cullen's eyes bulged in surprise. He'd fretted for weeks about his plans all falling apart before they even began. Having rarely dealt with politics during peacetime, the
wheelings and dealings wafted him by. Cullen was unlikely to ever become a diplomat even in his retirement. So many of their nights in bed were lost to Lana assuring him they'd find a way to make it work, and Cullen unraveling every thread she darned up.
Cupping his hand in hers, Lana smiled at him, then nodded at Alistair, "We accept."
"Great! I'll put in the, tell someone to put in whatever does the thing. I think there's an old abbey in the woods near Lake Calenhad. Pretty land, in disrepair, but pretty. Someone'll tell you where it is."
"Thank you," Cullen bowed his head, his eyes slipping closed. She anticipated a 'Your majesty' or 'highness' to slip out, but he smiled almost serenely and said, "Alistair."
The clatter of armored boots trampling through the front door drew all three's attention. Lana smiled, "Looks like your cavalcade's arrived."
"Buggers," Alistair cursed, "is it that late already? I owe someone a bedtime story." He finished off his mead and wiped the runoff from his chin.
"A bedtime story? She's not even a year yet," Lana said, shaking her head.
"Got to start them early." He grinned wide and rose out of his seat to peck a kiss against Lana's cheek. "Lanny, I'll be seeing you next year?"
"It's tradition," she said.
Sliding out of the booth, Alistair paused to pat slumbering Honor on the head, then he extended a hand to Cullen. They both shook, an acceptance wafting between them. She never thought she'd live to see the day. Bowing his head to the templar, Alistair crossed the creaking inn floor to throw his arms around his guard's shoulders. "Boys, and girls, hope it's a straight shot to the palace. I need to get a few chapters in with Spud before it's lights out. I was thinking tonight I finally tell her about the fearsome archdemon I helped slay..."
His voice faded out the door along with the king's personal guard. Cullen watched silently for a few minutes, before he leaned down to Lana, "Spud?"
She snickered, "That's his nickname for his daughter. I don't think I've ever heard him use her given one, actually."
"Huh..." Cullen stared in the king's path, his own thoughts churning. Then he turned to Lana, "You're smiling."
"I, I'm happy for him," she dipped her head down, a warmth enveloping her cheeks. "He finally got that family he wanted."
Cullen's hand caressed over hers, his fingers massaging her weary hand that knotted up sometimes when she had to rely upon her cane for too long. Some days it bothered her, accepting that she'd never be what she once was, having to face up to how much the fade took from her. But then she'd catch a glimpse of Cullen shirtless as he carted wood in for the fire, or savor his fingers digging into her calves and feet. Sighing in the back of her throat, Lana smiled even wider as she reached for him. He obliged by dipping lower, her fingers knotting behind his neck. "And I got you," she kissed his lips that tasted of Denerim soot, boiled elfroot tea, and the man she loved.
Bumping her nose against his cheek, Lana whispered, "Let's go to bed."
"With pleasure," Cullen grinned. He wrapped his hands around her bottom and yanked her up into his arms, Lana clinging tight to his neck. She couldn't stop the giggle as he huffed for a moment to adjust her, then risked a quick kiss. Together they wandered off to the back where there was going to be little sleeping.
"Honor," Lana called behind her, "bring my cane."
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Question
9:46 Hinterlands
A solitary hawk cried out through the setting sun, its wings parting the dusky air as it rose above the Hinterland trees. Cullen watched it for a time, his fingers clinging to the stones of their abbey, when he leaned too far forward. It knocked a stone loose, sending it skittering over the edge where the broken masonry plopped onto the barely tamed ground. A few of their workers glanced over, eyeing up the man supposed to be in charge.
"We'll fix it tomorrow," he said, his stone destroying hand digging into the back of his neck. "Maker, it's been a long day," Cullen groaned. Giving up on any hope of wringing a knot out, he turned away from the lanterns springing up around their refuge to face the bedroom door. They'd only moved into it a few days ago, having needed to clear out where they had been sleeping for an unexpected ill templar.
Cullen lifted the latch with his thumb and pushed on the door, only to have it stick tight. Blighted perfect. Groaning from the days worth of work spent shuffling from bed to bed, trying to clear out the always falling debris in their ramshackle stables, and then showing a Bann around for good measure, he smacked his head against the door. Mercifully, that was enough to unstick the jam, and it whined inward revealing a sight that made it all worth it.
Their room was a disaster, splintered and useless furniture piled up on one side to rot away into a dust heap. But a solitary desk of rosewood was found in a back room in nearly pristine condition. He had to sand it down and revarnish it, but it was sturdy and ready to take on its new life under their hands. All manner of missives, letters, books, research, and their piles of barely washed clothing filled the top as they had yet to find any other dressers or wardrobes. What brought a smile to his face was the plant perched on the edge. Straining to reach out the window, the silver and green leaves of the poisonous adder's hiss glittered by the setting sunlight and the water being poured across it.
Lana looked beautiful, a concentrated smile on her face as she ran thumb and finger across a leaf while humming that damn song about him under her breath. Funny enough, she wore that blue dress she'd gotten in Val Royeaux over a year ago. Ever since they took the land from the crown, she'd been dressed in tunics and trousers with the ratio of stains to rips always altering as their work stretched on. Today, she thought it best to look presentable. The Bann barely cast a glance at the true brains behind their work, but Cullen couldn't take his eyes off her.
The humming faded and she glanced up at him. Her lips lifted even higher, revealing those hidden dimples she kept secreted away. Cullen's legs wobbled from the way she stared up at him. "Long day," stuttered from his lips as he slid into the room. Turning, he tried to yank the door back but it whined even louder before failing to fully close. "Maker's sake!" he cursed under his breath, abandoning the stuck open door for tomorrow.
Lana placed her watering can down and swept across the floor towards him. He barely lifted his arms before she wrapped around him into an embrace. Maker, holding her calmed his blood in a way nothing else ever could. She rolled her fingers over his back and strained on her toes to look up into his eyes.
"We should celebrate," she pronounced, a glint in her eye.
"Oh?" At the moment, all the celebrating Cullen could manage would be the falling to the floor part. Someone else would have to handle all the carousing and drinking.
"It's our first day as a still nameless refuge," she said, waving an arm. Even through the exhaustion, her infectious smile managed to twist his lips up higher.
"First day?" he scoffed. "Then what were the past two months when we had templars in and out of the rooms."
"Practice?" Lana threw out, striking a lightening guffaw from deep in his gut. His fingers ran across her cheek, the calluses from trying to turn the decrepit abbey into something livable grazing upon her skin. Lana didn't flinch from them; she turned so her lips could press against each one. "We're official now, got the chantry's blessing, the crown's..."
"As if that was difficult to do," Cullen grumbled but generally goodnatured. Alistair was on the far side of the country, after all.
"And," Lana drug it out, her eyes rolling at his no doubt 'king sneer,' "with the Bann giving us his approval it's our first day in business. As it were."
Lightly, Cullen tugged off the flour sack she tied around her hair. Her strands burst free of their constraint, the spirals barely contained after a rainstorm moved through a day ago. Tossing it to their bowing desk, he fluffed her hair up savoring the pull of it upon his fingers. Lana's eyes slipped closed, enjoying the gentle scalp massage before Cullen tipped her head back and planted a kiss. He'd been wan
ting to do it since she slipped on that dress. Yearned to ditch the Bann, pull Lana aside, and lick every delectable curve of her skin.
She smiled, her grin almost breaking free of his lips before she rolled her fingers around his back to tug herself closer to him. A moan parted her lips, nearly primal enough to convince him he wasn't exhausted beyond measure. The tremor in his hands told him otherwise. Slipping away before he did any damage to himself, Cullen ran a finger across her cheek, trailing her scar.
"Something on your mind?" she asked, a purr rolling under her words.
"Yes," he sighed, "but all my body wants is to curl into bed."
Lana's smile didn't falter, no doubt she was as exhausted, but her eyes darted to their mattress tossed onto the floor. "More like crawl into bed."
He groaned, "Yes, I know. I'll get to it one of these days." He'd had a lofty idea of building his first ever headboard and bed frame, because that was so easy.
"Cullen," she caught his hand and pinned it in her own. Lana's fingers dug into his palm, trying to massage away the calluses sprouting calluses, "I know you will. You always finish what you start."
That wasn't true, there were plenty of things in his life he had to abandon over the years. Like her. Maker, how many times did he walk away from Lana never knowing if he'd ever see her again, if she'd ever want to see him?
The dark turn in his mood must have shone through as she brushed her fingers across his clean shaven face. That earned a momentary frown, Cullen well aware of her preferences. Cupping her wrist, he sighed, "Give it a day and it will return."
"I hope so," she smiled. "The Bann was hardly worth it."
"On that I will concur," he said, tipping his forehead against hers.
"Really?" Lana pursed her lips, drawing his attention to the succulent temptation. "Commander Cullen thinking that the nobility are overrated. I am shocked."
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