howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

(no subject)

Normally by this time of year there's been at least one storm coming in from the Waking Sea that breaks the humidity -- but no, Kirkwall is unseasonably humid. Because of course it is.

At any rate, that's why Cullen isn't wearing as much plate as he ought. That, and he's in the yard, out of sight of any civilians.

It helps him be faster, he tells himself. Mostly it's just miserable, and he's quite looking forward to plunging his head in a nearby rain barrel.

(It doesn't help that Cullen is currently losing handily. Though if truth be told -- and he'd never admit it -- it feels good to lose like this, winded as he is, muscles burning as they are.)

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She gives him a sharp look but forbears to say anything about it.

"No Ci?"

Half a smile, now, as he opens the door and strides out onto the Viscount's Way. "She's young, still. And learning. I cannot guarantee she'd obey immediately should I issue a command while she's distracted. And Kirkwall has plenty of distractions."

"A good point. I have known recruits with that sort of nature."

Cassandra matches his pace, paying attention to both him and the city around them both.

"The difference being that one can generally trust a recruit not to bite a perceived offender," he says, wry. "So -- this is Hightown, as you know. It's been quieter, since the incident. The markets have moved over to the territory generally regarded as belonging to the Dwarven Merchants Guild -- they didn't get as much debris over there, and at least they can lay more claim to fair business practices than other groups operating in Kirkwall."

"Mm. I am impressed that there still are markets to speak of."

She slants a sideways look at him.

"How much did Varric Tethras have to do with that?"

Cullen's return glance is mild. "Very little, though you're asking the wrong person. They'd little to do with the Order before, and our concern has been elsewhere since. It's my understanding that his elder brother was the one who dealt with the Guild, as the head of the family. You might make some inquiries in the Lowtown markets, or send someone adequately disreputable to do it for you."

"I take it I do not strike you as disreputable enough?"

A passing noble makes a choked sound and discovers urgent business in another direction.

He snorts.

"Is that a serious question, Cassandra?"

She flashes him an amused smile.

"Leliana despairs of me," she confides. "I would be useless as one of her agents."

"It would hardly be appropriate for a Seeker of Truth to engage in that kind of... whatever it is she does."

It's better than saying skulduggery, which is what he means.

"Somehow, appropriate does not seem the right word."

There's an unmistakable hint of grimness in her tone of voice for a moment before she shakes it off.

"But I do take your point."

She does not ask about the ruined Chantry site, nor of the repair work undertaken in the area. For one thing, she is well aware, now, of just who has led those efforts, and to what extent.

For another, she is more interested in Cullen's view of this city.

"I didn't think you'd approached me due to my skill with words."

His arms folded, he looks out at the expanse of Hightown -- and, in the distance, Lowtown, the docks, and the Gallows. It's a strange feeling, to hate a place so much and yet care deeply about how others see it.

She's not Meredith. She's not Meredith. My head hurts. Blessed are the --

"Regardless. You wanted to see the city. I assume you know Hightown by this point. Where would you like to go?"

"There."

She nods toward the Gallows, looming against the skyline.

"I would understand the path that has brought us here."

All of us, she does not say, although silence carries weight. The whole of Thedas. So much has happened, and while it is not all Kirkwall's fault - far from it - still, the match that struck spark to flame and destruction was lit here.

If she's watching, she won't miss how Cullen's expression tightens.

"We'll pass through Lowtown to get to the docks," is all he says. "If something catches your eye, and you'd like to know more, I trust you'll say something."

"Yes. I will."

She marks his reaction, but does not say anything about it.

Not at first.

"... if you would rather not do this," Cassandra says, abruptly, "then --"

Stiff:

"If I gave you the impression that I'm unfit for the task, I ask for the chance to remedy that impression, Seeker Pentaghast."

She rolls her eyes and huffs out an exasperated breath.

"Hardly. I merely thought - never mind. As you will have it, then."

The safest way to respond to that is with silence.

Cullen's resulting glower does tend to mean that people get out of their way quickly.

There is something to be said for unimpeded progress.

"The streets are narrow," Cassandra observes, as they move through Lowtown. "Knife fighters must do well here."

"It's called the City of Chains for a reason."

They pass the Hanged Man. Cullen is pretty sure the tavern never actually shut down, either during the Qunari attack or after the Chantry explosion.

"When the Imperium laid out Lowtown's streets, it was to prevent the slaves working in the mines and the foundries from organizing revolts. The narrow streets, the small yards, no public common or the like -- you work, you go to your bed, you work. You follow the narrow path, wherever you go."

A few stalls in the market are open. Not so many as before the Chantry explosion, but more than there were in Hightown.

"Aveline could tell you more about what that means for keeping the peace, even before."

"How long has she been Guard Captain?"

Cassandra eyes one of the stalls, whose proprietor looks distinctly wary of the two of them.

"Surely Leliana prepared some kind of report," Cullen says, mildly. "It's been... let's see. Seven years? That sounds right."

"Several."

She shifts direction, heading purposefully for the stall.

Then why ask? Cullen doesn't say.

He knows why: she's testing him. He'd do it in her position, dealing with someone like him. Doesn't mean it feels good.

Cullen follows without a word.

The merchant still looks nervous, but launches into his patter all the same.

"Ah, serah, you have the finest taste - and a, a warrior, I can see. Permit me to show you --"

"That." Cassandra points at a dull silver ring, apparently unornamented.

"Oh, surely not that one, serah, I have much finer things, more suitable for a person of your stature --"

Perspiration beading his forehead, he throws an even more nervous glance at Cullen.