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“Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?” the young woman demanded with just an edge of surprised panic in her reasonably composed voice. Cullen caught a glimpse of her eyes as she turned toward Cassandra, as if in appeal, and found himself strongly reminded of Hawke looking at a sea of templars at her feet when the Battle of The Gallows had ended. He found he liked the comparison. Surprisingly enough, it comforted him.
Hawke stood before him, looking dazed,her resemblance to her cousin-well, cousins, looking simultaneously more and less pronounced that he remembered.
Tall and slender, she was shaking, visibly shaking, with shock and grief, relief and exhaustion, trembling in a way that suddenly and forcibly reminded him of the hollow reeds and grasses that grew along the edges of lakes.
Another form, even taller and even more spare, materialized behind her, shimmering faintly blue like the haze of a warm summer twilight, so close to Hawke that they were less than a breath away from touching, just as close as the reeds and grasses grew.
Something in the sight caught Cullen’s chest and hurt him, just a little, just enough to startle him. Of all the times and places to feel lonely and a little wistful, this was hardly one of them. But before he’d consciously formed this slightly impatient bit of self-criticism, the feeling was fading, replaced by something surprisingly akin to amusement at the look in Hawke’s eyes.
They were blazing down at him, brilliantly blue as sapphires in the sun, and nearly as blinding-bewildered and awed and exhausted...and, beneath it all, but bubbling up so it was barely concealed, panicked.
“Cullen,” she hissed down at him, “What in Andraste’s name are you doing?”
“I should have done this weeks ago,” he muttered to himself, under his breath, “if I had-”
“Meredith would have had your head for insubordination,” Hawke hissed back. Cullen hadn’t realized it was possible for her to turn even more white. “And before it hit the ground,” she continued, being a bit unwittingly brutal, “she’d have made me tranquil.”
“She’d have tried,” the white-haired elf at her shoulder grimly interjected. “She would not have lived to succeed.” Based on the surreal glimpses Cullen had had of him on the battlefield, both this night and previously, he was not exaggerating. Were the projected stakes not so high, it would have been a duel worth watching. As it was, Cullen had seen more than enough of battle already. It was time to take the first step toward peace.
“Reporting for duty, Viscount,” he retorted, loudly and clearly, projecting his voice with all the experience of more than a decade giving instructions on a training field. The words were completely steady. There was no doubt left.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hawke snapped, her eyes blazing brighter as her already fair skin further paled. “You cannot be serious. Get up-” she reached out her hand without thinking. Cullen caught it in his and ghosted his lips along her bloody, gloved knuckles. The elf behind her shot him a look half-laughing, half warning so dire it made Cullen’s bones shudder.
Still holding Hawke’s hand, Cullen rose to his feet, the templars behind him rising, too, their voices nearly drowning his out as he murmured, “All apologies, Hawke, but I am-the entire city has been debating it for weeks, and you just became their Champion. Again.”
The dwarf gave a very tired chuckle. “Curly’s right, Hawke. No one but yourself to blame.”
Hawke glanced in her friend’s direction, and Cullen took the opportunity to wave two reasonably alert and hale-looking templars over to him. He’d barely begun to issue instructions on reinstating some semblance of order and sense of safety among their number, not to mention the city at large, when the Captain of the Guard strode-well, sort of at least-over and began to aid and impede him.
The men around them began to disperse to various assigned duties.
The Guard Captain finished giving orders to a straggly-looking group of marginally-less-exhausted-looking men, clasped Hawke’s shoulder briefly, gave Cullen a look that said she hadn’t forgotten he’d investigated rumored allegations against her fitness for command, and wasn’t planning on forgetting it, then clapped him on the shoulder with surprising strength, hard enough to leave him listing on his exhaustion-softened legs, and strode away. The dark and dashing Lieutenant she’d married offered him a friendly and slightly apologetic smile and a respectful tilt of the head as he followed.
“Varric,” Hawke said, loudly enough to break into this reminiscent train of thought, “I don’t want to be Viscount, and you are not helping!”
“But, Hawke,” piped up a small, other-worldly-looking brunette, “you said just last week-”
Hawke sighed in a way that Cullen recognized as soul-deep, and shoved her unruly shock of blue-black hair our of her eyes. “I didn’t mean it literally! It was a joke, Merrill! Everyone in this damned city always seems to expect me to solve every damn-”
“Not really something we should be discussing in this particular place at this particular time,” the dwarf interjected tightly. “Hanged Man is closest. Let’s go see if it’s still standing. Coming, Curly? Sorta seems like maybe you should.”