A/N: After learning in Inquisition that Cullen was originally from Honnleath, this story popped into my mind.
The golden-haired boy had absolutely no desire to clean the thing. It was covered in bird faeces and merely stood, utterly motionless. However, the task was punishment for him picking up his father's sword and pretending to be a templar. Such exuberance resulted in the smashing of crockery. Why he thought swinging a heavy blade in the kitchen was a good idea remained beyond even the Maker's infinite knowledge.
After receiving complaints from both parents and elder sister (mostly the latter), the child had been handed a sponge and bucket of soapy water, then sent off to see to the golem in the village square. It sounded unappealing in the first place, but actually being before said stone artefact brought mild horror to his countenance.
Mustering some much-needed courage, he cautiously approached, setting the bucket down onto the grass, then bent over and dipped the sponge into the water. He prepared to begin his chore…when something shifted in the corner of his vision. Body frozen to the spot, brown eyes widened at the inert automaton.
The boy swore he witnessed its arm twitch. Ever. So. Slightly. His gaze refused to tear from it for a good five minutes, optics watering from a lack of blinking. Yet the golem did not budge even an inch.
Did I…imagine that? he wondered.
Shaking his head to return some semblance of logical thinking and reassure himself there was nothing to be afraid of, the blonde squeezed surplus water from the sponge and wandered up to the statue.
After that day, Cullen never picked up his father's sword again.