Chapter Text
There were days Cullen missed the circle in Ferelden.
Those days were few and far between, but with nearly a decade behind him, it was easier for him to remember the good without it being sullied by the bad. For instance: Knight-Commander Greagoir. As a naive boy, he’d thought the man too hard on the mages. As a victim of torture, the thought him far too lenient. Now, with experience behind him and Meredith as his comparison, Cullen longed for the way the Ferelden circle had been run. He’d penned the man a letter saying as much, thanking him for all he’d done for Cullen and asking for any leadership advice Greagoir could offer. As Knight-Captain, he had to follow Meredith’s lead, but he at least had lenience to do what he saw fit for handling his own charges.
After the Quanri’s retreat, there had been a shining few months where everything had been well in Kirkwall. Meredith had busied herself with temporarily taking the place of the Viscount, and arranging for a new one to be chosen. Hawke had been named Champion of Kirkwall, and he no longer had to worry about his moral quandary of working with her. It would have been difficult to bring her to the Circle, but if Meredith had demanded it, he would have done it. Now Hawke was untouchable, between her title and the goodwill she’d earned among the people. That summer was the most at ease Cullen had felt in years. No mage rebellions, no templars talking of “a tranquil solution”, and even petty crime was down. He felt they were making real strides at holding Kirkwall together.
A knock at his office door drew him out of his thoughts and he called out, “Come in.” One of the newer templar recruits entered, holding what looked to be a torn piece of parchment.
“Knight-Captain. Missive for you.”
Cullen’s eyebrows raised as he took the paper that had definitely had wine spilled on it. “Missive?”
“That’s what Serrah Hakwe told me to call it, ser,” the recruit said, and Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling a tension headache coming on. Becoming the Champion of Kirkwall had done absolutely nothing to tame her insane sense of humor.
“Right. Of course she did.” Cullen paused. It was important to him to know all the names of their fellow Templars - it mattered, he felt, that their commanding officer knew who they were. So he learned all of their names, trying to make up for the fact that Meredith wouldn’t. “Thank you, Ashdown. How are you finding your duties?”
The recruit looked surprised for a second before collecting himself. “Good, Knight-Captain! Things are all right right now. Heard some rumblings things used to be worse before the Champion kicked out those Quanari sods. Happy to be here now, though.”
Cullen resisted the urge to explain what said Champion was actually like in real life to try to stem the hero worship of her, and simply nodded. “Glad to hear it. Dismissed, Ashdown.”
The man saluted him, and Cullen stared warily at the paper in his hand. Maker only knew what sort of issues Hawke was coming to him with, although it was typically something he was glad she brought up. He debated sticking the letter somewhere under his pile of papers. It couldn’t have been that important. If it were, she would have shown up with her collection of friends to ask him for help or tell him about some sort of rebellion. Unfortunately for him things were quiet at the moment, so he didn’t really have an excuse to put this off. Besides, for as… silly as Hawke was, she did truly help him out. Mostly.
Cullen,
Have a project I could use some help with. Come find me at the Hanged Man when you have a minute.
Your best friend,
Hawke
Cullen groaned, crumpling the missive - paper up and wishing he had a fire going. He did truly like Hawke, in small doses, but the woman loved nothing more than to tease him. She’d be in her element in the Hanged Man, complaining that he wouldn’t have a drink with the common folk and asking him about when he’d take his armor off. Still, Meredith would be gone all day sorting through the Viscount's affairs, and things at the Gallows were well in hand. He sighed to himself and set off for the The Hanged man, making sure to let his lieutenant know where he’d gone.
To Cullen’s surprise, the Hanged Man was fairly empty. He supposed that was a good sign, since it was far too early for anyone to really be drinking just yet. He spotted Hawke sitting by the bar, across from a person wearing a traveling cloak. Hawke locked eyes with him and grinned, making a production of waving him over. He steeled himself and walked. The woman across from Hawke turned, and he saw she was wearing an Orlesian mask. Though her traveling cloak hid most of her clothing, he noted that she was wearing Warden-issued boots and had a staff leaning up against the wall. She didn’t smile at his approach, and he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. He remained standing at the end of the table.
“Hawke,” he greeted. “Good to see you.”
“Cullen! Sit down, have a drink. Ale? Or are we feeling daring today?”
Not wanting to make a poor impression on whoever this Warden was, Cullen made the herculean effort not to roll his eyes at Hawke. “Nothing, thank you. I am still on duty.”
“Boo,” Hawke replied. The woman across from her quirked her lips up in a poorly suppressed smile. “At least sit.”
He sat. Hawke gestured to the woman next to him.
“Knight-Captain Cullen, this is Warden Recruit Revka Ruxton. Revka, Cullen. He’s from the Ferelden circle.”
“Well met, Revka,” he said. Curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, “Are you a Ferelden as well?”
Revka said, “Orleasian,” at the same time that Hawke chirped, “Antivan.” The women exchanged glances, Revka’s lips pressed tightly as Hawke laughed.
“Revka’s undercover,” Hawke explained. “Super secret that she’s here.”
“Right. Which is why you’d just blatantly lie about her origins,” Cullen drawled, unable to help himself. Revka snorted.
“We had worked on this cover story prior to your coming here, Knight-Captain. I’m not sure why Hawke is trying to change it now,” said the woman. Her voice had a slight Orlesian accent, but Cullen could tell it was put on. She directed her next statement to Hawke. ”We are sticking with Orlesian, my dear woman, because that will explain the mask I wear in polite company.”
“That doesn’t count Cullen, then,” said Hawke, and Cullen couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Revake smiled, and he almost returned it. “Also, no offense, but your Orlesian accent is balls.”
Revka’s mouth fell open and Cullen couldn’t help but laugh at the offended sound she made.
“It is not!” she protested. “I know an Orlesian accent. And this, my dear friend, is Orlesian.”
“Whatever you say,” Hawke said dismissively, waving her hand.
“I feel compelled to ask,” Cullen cut in, “Why was my presence requested here?”
“Oh, right,” Hawke replied, as if she was only just remembering. “Carver introduced me to Revka - she’s one of the Free Marches wardens. Lived here her whole life, decided to join up after she heard about the Blight in Ferelden. They finally let her go off on her own. Revka here is doing some super secret Grey Warden stuff. You know how they are, with the not telling people things.”
“Laying it on a little thick, Hawke,” Revake said, and Hawke grinned. “I have a mission here I must attend to, Knight-Captain, and can't risk having anyone recognize my face. I will need to access the Gallows at some point in my investigation, and Hawke suggested you as a reliable contact who would aid the Wardens.”
Cullen frowned. “Are you concerned about Darkspwan in the Gallows? I know there is a nearby deep roads entrance, but I never thought there were issues in the circle.”
“Respectfully, Captain, I can't advise, given it's a grey warden secret. I can say that my work won't interfere with your operations at the Circle. Hopefully I can keep this short and be gone in a few weeks, without anyone being aware of my presence here. Present company excluded, of course. All I ask is for your assistance in access to the Gallows.”
Cullen mulled it over. “I wouldn't be able to leave you alone. I'd have to supervise you at all times, even though you are a Grey Warden. And you can't have access to areas while they're being used - no interrupting a Harrowing in the Harrowing chamber, for example. Those would be my terms.”
“Perfectly fine,” Revka said. “I prefer to work without others around, and I don’t anticipate your presence divulging any of our ‘top secret secrets’, as Hawke has so eloquently called them.”
“Hey,” Hawke said, pouting. “I bring you to my favorite inn, I let you use my connections to meet my favorite templar, I think I deserve a little more respect than that.”
Revka sighed in the very put-upon way Cullen often found himself sighing with Hawke around and he felt an instant kinship to the woman. “Maker’s breath, I’m sorry. Oh, Champion of Kirkwall, I, the lowly grey warden, am forever grateful for all your assistance.”
“Could do with less sarcasm,” Hawke said. “All right, that takes care of business, right?”
“Yes,” Revka said. “Thank you again, Knight-Captain. I appreciate your discretion in this matter.”
Cullen paused, not wanting to be rude. “If I may - if your aim is to conceal your presence, I’d advise not wearing Warden-issued boots. Few would notice, but it’s something to keep in mind.”
Revka’s mouth dropped open. “That… is good advice. Thank you.” There was a pause that was just a moment too long - he shifted uncomfortably at how Revka was watching him.
“Drinks?” Hawke asked, and Cullen shook his head. He tried to reply, but Hawke cut him off. “Oh, come on, Cullen! Don’t you want to get to know Revka?”
“Hawke,” Revka scolded, and her cheeks were definitely turning pink. “I’m certain he has lots to do, we can’t hold him captive.”
“Come onnnn,” Hawke said, and Cullen paused. Revka did seem like someone he’d get along well with. And he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t admit his curiosity about Wardens. Still, Andraste herself couldn’t have kept Cullen for a drink in the Hanged Man.
“Tomorrow,” he said impulsively, almost instantly regretting it. “I am going to investigate reports of possible demonic activity out on the Wounded Coast. It is most likely nothing, but if you’ll aid me, I’m willing to have one drink afterward.” Hawke opened her mouth, looking far too victorious, so he added, “At a bar in Hightown, of my choosing.” She shut her mouth, considering.
“Still worth it. Revka?” Hawke asked, and Revka nodded.
“That sounds like a plan. I look forward to it, Knight-Captain.”
“Perfect. Meet up at my estate in the morning. Thanks, Cullen.”
Cullen nodded, relieved that he left that conversation relatively unscathed. Fighting alongside Revka would be a good way for him to gauge her, as well. His distrust of mages still lingered from his experience from Ferelden, although years at Kirkwall had given him a good sense of who could be trusted and who could not. He wouldn’t deny that Hawke vouching for her did help, as did her status as a Grey Warden, but instinct told him to be wary of any mage who wanted access to the Gallows. He supposed there was nothing wrong with delaying her until he felt he could trust her. She seemed like she’d understand, if he told her, but there was something holding him back.
He wasn’t shy about sharing what had happened at Ferelden with the templar recruits - they deserved to know what they were getting into, what a mage could do. But he kept the details sparse, and he knew Hawke would try to pry as much out of him as possible. And Varric - Cullen shuddered. Well. He’d just keep the sordid details to himself and let Revka think his distrust was just due to her being a mage.
He could sort the rest out as things unfolded.