Chapter Text
The next few days were busier than she’d expected; the mages of Kirkwall were far more competent than she could have expected anyone to be after living under the conditions they had been for so long, but they still had little enough exposure to organized combat tactics.
That much, though, she’d anticipated, and she’d put together a three-day crash course for them that had her working as hard as they did.
Tactics, drills, practice, practice, practice. Not only spellwork, but efficiency; determining where mana was best spent, emphasizing the import of potions but also keeping a mind blast at hand, or in a worst-case scenario, being able at least to use one’s staff as a bludgeon if needed.
It was important for those in close quarters and at long range to at least know the basics -- battles, as well she knew, were terrible at going to plan.
She left the Amell-Hawke estate before dawn for the next two days and came back well after dark, though for the next two nights, an Inquisition knight accompanied her rather than Cullen himself. That made her smirk to herself, but she was too tired to mention it when they did happen to see each other in passing -- which was twice.
It was bloody stupid how glorious he looked in that ridiculous mantle.
The mages that would join the troops in the field left early the third day, riding out to meet them near the border Kirkwall shared with Starkhaven. Raina continued working with the mages who’d remained to defend the city proper if it came to that, but she was feeling quite positive.
Of course, she did have a tendency to overestimate matters from time to time.
Late the third day, a message from Hawke arrived at the keep informing them that negotiations had been unsuccessful, but that had been well enough time to put the mages, the militia, and the Inquisition forces in place. Aveline and Cullen rode out the following day; she remained in Kirkwall under the pretense that she was, in fact, simply there on a visit, while working with the mages to weave wards and magical fortifications in case the battle should come to the city walls.
She was grateful for the work; it kept her busy, kept her from worrying about Hawke or Carver, who should have damned well come back to the city proper to maintain their already-flimsy plausible deniability -- even if they’d both known that if she were going to demand that, she wouldn’t have let him go to the front line to begin with. It kept her from worrying about Aveline, and Kirkwall, and of course, Cullen Bloody Rutherford, who by now was a veteran of over a decade, who had been trained for war for most of his bloody life and now trained others, and who would be fine, of course. Nonetheless, when word came to the keep that Starkhaven’s forces had been routed and that Vael was planning a retreat, she breathed a sigh of relief. The Hawkes were going to stay at the country estate for another few days to put some affairs in order.
Cullen and Aveline were already on their way back to the city.
It didn’t take much convincing to persuade Provisional Viscount Cavin to have a parade to celebrate the victory when Raina volunteered to handle all the details -- and the details were easy. There were numerous mages of noble birth who knew enough of planning to make a lovely celebration, and enough nobility who wanted to throw their daughters at the High Commander of the Inquisition who were more than willing to use their contacts to make a grand display.
That the Champion wouldn’t be making an appearance was perhaps disappointing, but not a surprise; Hawke’s presence in Kirkwall had been spotty of late anyway.
Though she was at the parade to welcome Aveline and Cullen back, she carefully stayed at a discreet distance until such a time as she could retreat entirely.
Lively, impromptu parties had sprung up all over the city that night, and the Keep was no exception. That made it all the easier for her to slip away after a few rousing drinks and dances with guards and mages alike.
That night, she hadn’t seen him, and of course, that was fine, even though he hadn’t seen her in her Orlesian-elven gown in white royal sea silk and deep teal ring velvet.
Of course, as she put on her cloak to return to the Amell estate, Cullen approached her, seemingly out of nowhere.
It was a bit uncanny how quiet he was these days. One disadvantage to the lack of plate.
“I’ll walk you,” he said. A joke about the charming mini-troop she’d bonded with over the past few days died on her lips because he was looking at her with an intensity -- but also a certainty –- she hadn’t seen from him before.
“All right,” she said instead, opting not to pull her hood over her curls, since Orana had helped her arrange them quite fetchingly atop her head, golden thread woven into them that sparkled just so.
Gods, it was nice to be a civilian for a night.
Cullen had foregone his mantle and armor, at some point, and instead was wearing a dress uniform that she had to admit was unjustly flattering. He offered her his arm, and she looked up at him almost confused before taking it.
There were revelers all over the city, but the atmosphere, for once, wasn’t ominous. The relief seemed to permeate Kirkwall, and more than one celebrant had raised a cup to them as they passed.
“I came here to ask you something,” he said. “But it was something someone else could have asked just as easily.”
She smiled, looking down as they walked.
“I most likely wouldn’t have told any of your spies anything useful.” She cast him a sidelong look; he was smiling, looking forward.
“Leliana had guessed as much.”
“But I would have told her,” she said slowly, watching his face.
“She’d guessed that, too. But it would have been too difficult, she said, for our spymaster to be overseas.”
“But not the High Commander,” she said with a grin, putting her hand on his arm. He smiled wryly.
“Do you know how much correspondence that woman gets? I just had to carry a crystal with me,” he replied.
“A crystal?” she asked quizzically, looking for it already. He chuckled.
“I’ll show you later, I promise. The point of it was that it would be easier for me to get away, and as we had troops coming to Kirkwall anyway…”
“Plausible deniability?” she asked with a grin.
He nodded. “I suppose so,” he admitted.
They walked in silence for a bit, the sounds of music and laughter floating into the street from the celebrations.
“But no one had to come in person,” she said finally. “I would have found a way to tell you what you wanted to know. Either of you,” she added.
He looked at her. “You still don’t even know what we want to ask.”
She gave him a half-smile as they arrived at the townhouse.
“It probably won’t make that much of a difference,” she said as she unlocked the door. “Do you want to come in?”
“Yes,” he replied. “But I think it would be unwise.”
She sighed, looking down at the lock. She removed the key and pocketed it, then turned to lean back against the door, tipping her head up to look at the stars, shaking her head and smiling.
“You always have,” she said wryly.
“I’m leaving for Skyhold in the morning,” he told her.
She looked at him for a long moment, nodding.
“And I for Rivain. You’re commanding the armies that will help save the world. And I…” she smiled wryly. “Well, I suppose for once, I’m going to try to save myself.”
He arched a brow.
The expression grew into a grin and she shook her head.
“Well, all right, I might save a few other Wardens, too, if it comes to it, but only if they promise to wash more. Honestly, the Wardens are the best lot of misfits and miscreants in the world, but one thing you Templars had over all these beasts was hygiene. Good gods.”
His laugh took her by surprise, and how much it pleased her was absurd.
“So I suppose you’ll have to ask what you came to ask just here, then,” she said with a little smile that threatened give her away.
He sobered slightly then, nodding.
“All right. I'll come in,” he conceded. “Just for a moment.”
“Just for a moment,” she acknowledged, her smile fading just slightly as she opened the door.