Chapter Text
He never expected to see her again.
Certainly not here, certainly not now.
She was as despicably radiant as ever.
The same easy grace he remembered inhabited her every movement. Here, at the Hanged Man, a place nowhere near fine enough for her, she seemed as much at home as before the Wardens had taken her. Her face was a bit thinner, but her eyes were luminous. He felt a twinge of something as she laughed with a feather-pauldroned refugee, a flashily dressed dwarf, and the younger Hawke sibling. Surrounded by men, holding court – even in her Grey Warden robes, she looked every bit the lady, her curls wild around her shoulders rather than pulled back severely, as though reflecting the freedom she now enjoyed as the Hero of Ferelden.
He’d heard the rumors that she’d been the new King’s lover – by that point it hadn’t mattered. She’d been a point of torment for him, and that had been but one more image for his mind to fixate on.
But he was clear of that now. He was in command of himself – in command of others. Under Knight-Commander Meredith, he’d found some sense of redemption, or perhaps justification. He’d found purpose once again, and he’d risen through the ranks. He was Knight-Captain, now, and he had responsibilities.
“Warden Surana,” he said, his voice steady.
He watched her face; she had perhaps improved a bit at dissembling, but he had certainly improved at reading. From the way her expression froze when she heard her name – the slow turn of her head, the tension in her muscles – his presence seemed neither expected nor desired, he determined grimly. The other Warden looked up, his gaze neutral but sharp on Cullen; the dwarf, Tethras, registered no change in expression -- only a shift in direction of his near-smirk from the Warden to Cullen.
The refugee, though – with his pauldrons and his too-long hair; he looked clean enough, a shock for any patron of the Hanged Man - but his narrow glare at Cullen was undisguised. Cullen arched a brow at him, his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, his attention now focused, watching, ready –
But then Raina Surana was in front of him, directly in what would have been his line of sight had she been about a head taller.
Even so, he turned his gaze to her.
“Cullen,” she said, a half-smile curving her lips but not reaching her eyes.
“Warden,” he replied.
“Raina,” she told him.
“Warden,” he repeated. “Would you mind coming with me?”
“Well, it’s Warden Commander, if you insist on the formality,” she said, her brow arching, the half-smile ticking just a touch wider. He felt his face flush, but before she could respond to his request, however, the refugee stepped forward.
“She doesn’t have to go anywhere with you,” he said, heat in his voice. “She’s a Grey Warden, you have no jurisdiction over her!”
Cullen’s hand tightened on his hilt.
“This is none of your concern, ser,” he said, his voice hard, a threat in his tone. “I would advise you to take your seat.”
“And who will make me – “
“Anders,” she said, turning to the refugee. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine, Raina –” he insisted, and she leveled a calm look at him, putting a hand on his arm. Cullen’s hand clenched tighter around the hilt of his sword.
“It’s fine,” she repeated, smiling reassurance up at him. Her voice was low, soft, but unwavering. “Please, go, sit, have another drink.”
He had not looked away from this “Anders,” but he sensed her focus turn back to him. Though she spoke to the refugee, her gaze was fixed on Cullen’s face.
“We won’t be but a moment, will we, Cullen?”
What he should have said was that it would take as long as it would take; that he needed to see her in the Gallows; that she was out of her jurisdiction. Instead, he replied, his jaw tight,
“I will not keep you long.”
The smile she gave him then still didn’t reach her eyes.
“Boys? I’ll be back in two shakes. We’ll just be over here.”
“I would prefer if we could go outside,” Cullen said, his jaw tight.
“Unfortunately, my days of traveling unescorted in the company of Templars are long over,” she said with that same assessing smile. “Though if you require privacy, I think Master Tethras might be persuaded to allow us to use his suite.”
She cast a look at Varric.
“Of course,” the dwarf replied with a measuring smile of his own. “I’m always happy to be of assistance to the Templars and the Wardens.”
“There, then,” she said, smiling up at Cullen again. “Shall we?”
There was no way to push this without forcing a confrontation he was not likely to win without cost on several fronts – and in truth, there was no reason not to meet with her here.
Besides, though it might give him some sort of advantage to have her in the Gallows, he found he very much didn’t want to see her there. Perhaps ever.
Tethras and the Hawke brother had already turned back to their game of Wicked Grace. Tethras seemed to pay them no more mind, and though the younger Hawke cast a look at them, some unspoken signal seeming to pass between him and Surana, he was already shuffling cards. The refugee, however – Anders – never took his eyes off of them, and half-looked as though he might get up to follow them.
“Ooo, Surana looks like she’s managing. Are you managing, pet?” a clear, distinctly feminine voice preceded the Rivaini pirate, Isabela. Cullen gritted his teeth and shook his head.
Of course.
“Just barely, love,” the Warden -- Warden-Commander - replied.
“Thank the Maker you’re back,” Tethras said. “Surana’s attracting a bad element again --”
“As always,” the younger Hawke added, his eyes on the deal.
“-- Anders wants to set the world to rights starting right here at the Hanged Man, and worst of all, we’re out of ale.”
“Lucky for you, I’m here to save the day,” the wench said saucily, side-stepping Cullen and giving the Warden-Commander Raina Surana a swat on the ass as she passed them both. The laughter that burst from the elven mage was the first genuine, unfiltered sound he’d heard from her all night, and for some reason, his fingers clenched reflexively.
A besotted-looking lad carrying a tray full of flagons followed in Isabela’s wake, and the pirate queen spun to pluck one off the tray and hand it to Surana.
“The mead’s for you, pet -- I’d give you one for him, but --” her eyes traveled over him and she smirked. “The good Knight-Captain doesn’t look like the type.”
“You’re too good to me, sweetheart,” Surana said, leaning in to kiss Isabela’s cheek.
“Oh, that’s a lie and you know it, I’m just trying to get you drunk to take advantage later,” the Rivaini replied with a cheeky grin.
Surana responded only with a shake of her head and a grin of her own before starting up the stairs, mead in hand, and Cullen refused to contemplate the implications of any of it.
“Come now, Anders, let’s get you a little more drunk and a lot more broke,” he heard Isabela say as they ascended.
It was quieter upstairs, and the suite was actually rather impressive for the Hanged Man. Well-appointed, comfortable, and clean, insofar as he could tell. Once she’d shut the door, Surana turned back to him, canting her head to one side.
“So,” she said, taking a sip of the mead. “Here we are. What can I do for you, Cullen?”
“I would know your business in Kirkwall, Warden-Commander,” he replied
“Would you, Knight-Captain?” she said, responding in kind as she looked up at him. “And is this interest professional or personal?”
He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight. An image of her, hair unbound as it was now, wild from his grip, lips swollen with kisses, eyes heavy-lidded as she made him promise after promise if only he’d break the seal –
He banished the image from his mind.
“It is the duty of the Templars to keep this city safe,” he replied, voice tight.
“Safe?” she said with the subtlest smirk , her head still canted to one side. “Safe for whom, I wonder? And from what?”
“Safe from all the dangers of magic,” he retorted. He said the word like a curse.
“I can assure you, Knight-Captain,” she said, watching him, “Neither I nor any of the Wardens pose a threat to any citizens of Kirkwall. Unless you’ve begun accepting darkspawn as citizens. Which, from what I hear, isn’t completely out of the question these days.”
Her smirk reached her eyes, now – a familiar sparkle of mischief from a time long past .
“When mages run loose, no one is truly safe,” he replied, not rising to her bait.
She arched a brow, her eyes narrowing again; something flinty entered them.
“Is that so? And here I’ve heard it’s the Templars running loose giving citizens something to fear. Or are mages no longer citizens?”
His hands clenched into fists. She’d heard. Of course she’d heard. She’d traded her Enchanter’s robes for Warden ones, but she’d always made friends wherever she went, and there had been many at the Circle she’d considered such.
“Come now, Cullen,” she said, her tone less biting, perhaps. Perhaps. “You know very well I passed my Harrowing without incident. You also know that as a Warden, I am not subject to monitoring by the Templars, nor beholden to any Circle. What is this really about?”
He turned from her, moving further into the room and away from where she stood .
“Kirkwall is dangerous, Warden-Commander Surana,” he said, somehow her name not as formal on his lips as he wanted it to be. “It runs rampant with maleficar, with blood magic and demons; Kinloch was nothing compared to this.”
“I highly doubt that,” she said. “Unless, of course, you’re talking about your Circle, in which case, have no fear, I’d no intention of going anywhere near it.”
He turned to her then, every muscle tense.
With a smile, she raised her flagon to him then took a sip.
A tinge of urgency that he hated with his whole heart entered his voice.
“You seem not to understand. If something happens – if anything happens, I must do my duty.”
She looked at him for a long moment, something familiar in her eyes that he could not, would not divine – then it was gone.
“So have you always, Knight-Captain,” she said, her voice hard again.
“Warden-Commander,” he said, that thread in his voice – almost a plea, and again, he hated it. He continued, quieter: “Raina. It is not safe here for you. For mages.”
He could see the tension in her muscles, and though she remained where she stood, something in her expression flickered – a flinch, he thought – but then it was gone. She smiled, then, lighthearted once more, almost as though they were old friends rather than – whatever they were.
“I do not anticipate being in Kirkwall long,” she said lightly, waving her hand. “My own duty obliges me to move on, and so I will, as will the other Wardens. But I appreciate your concern.”
Her tone was brisk, now – the tone she used for everyone, the light, almost-flirtatious, friendly way of doing business she’d always employed.
Brushing off her robes, she said, “Is there anything else?”
There was everything. There was nothing. There was –
“The Qunari,” he said, watching her.
“What about them?” she asked.
“You have had contact with them,” he replied.
“I have,” she said, that smile coming back. “I was not aware the Templars ran a spy network.”
He ignored the embedded question in the statement.
“They are another danger,” he said.
“So I understand,” she said, then moved closer to him. It took much not to step forward or back. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Should I be?” he challenged. Her jaw went tight, but before she could respond, he shook his head, made a sound of frustration.
“No. No, I am not. It – tension is mounting. It is likely to come to a head. Kirkwall is not a safe place to be at this time.”
Again, she watched him for a long time. She moved closer. Again, he did not shift nearer or farther, but he was suddenly aware of her scent – light, night-blooming jasmine, something fresh, like springtime – just the same as it had been in that other life. She put her bare hand on his gauntlet. His breath remained even.
“I am no longer yours to watch or protect, Cullen,” she said quietly, her expression serious, evaluative as she looked up at him. “But though we are perhaps not friends, I would know: are we enemies?”
“What?” he asked, balking, but unable to move from her touch. “No. No, of course not.”
He was appalled by the speed of his answer, the complete lack of thought he’d put into it. Warden she might be – no enemy of the Templars on principle, and to his knowledge, not working at cross-purposes at the moment – but that was not the question she was asking, and it was not the question he’d answered.
From her expression, he could tell she knew.
“That is good,” she said quietly. “Remember that, Cullen. I am a Warden; I am an elf; I am a mage – and I am no danger to any but they who endanger the people of Thedas.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and he did not know what was in his face, but she smiled at him again – but this time, soft, warm, genuine – as if their conversation had been resolved more than satisfactorily, or perhaps had gone quite differently than he'd understood it to have done.
“Good, then. Now, I’m afraid there’s a game of Wicked Grace awaiting me, and we Wardens have precious few opportunities to enjoy such diversions. If there’s nothing else…?”
He shook his head.
“I will not keep you,” he said quietly. She squeezed his arm, and though there was no reason for him to have felt it, he could have sworn he did before she released it.
“Very good, then,” she said, as she finally moved away from him and toward the door. Before she opened it, though, she looked back at him over her shoulder, something soft in her expression that he resisted reading.
“Be safe, Knight-Captain – and do good.”
He could only look at her, then, shaking his head as he watched her go, then followed her down the stairs before exiting the Hanged Man, something tight in his chest as he made his way out of Lowtown.