(Author's Note: This fiction references the Cullen Romance Option mod created by Cmessaz for Dragon Age:Origins as well as the prompt "Cullen and Warden watching the sun set".)
The port city of Gwaren
The Seeker Cassandra and her contingent of four armed soldiers make their way though the bustling crowds gathered at the ports.
Keeping step behind them, former Knight-Captain Cullen follows in silence, a serious look plastered to his haggard face.
Seeker Pentaghast marches them to the edge of the fishing village where they stop momentarily. The woman turns to her Templar charge. "You are free to move about as you wish. I will find you when we are ready to leave."
"Of course, Seeker," he simply says, trying to mask the fatigue in his voice.
She leads her soldiers on to another part of the port.
The tired Knight takes in his surroundings. "Gwaren," he concludes, remembering back to his first visit to the place. "I should have suspected as much." He leans on a nearby block wall, sighing.
He stares across the rippling waters to the setting sun on the distance horizon drifting off into deep thought. From recent experience, he knows one's words and actions do not always reflect one another. So if this Seeker Pentaghast is truly working for the Divine, what do they want from him? Are they looking for answers? An explanation of the rebellion? If they did ask, he would have no ready answers available to them. Even he never understood what truly happened the Knight-Commander Meredith to bring her to-
"...Held in the light that follows you..."
He frowns at his suddenly interrupted thoughts. "That tune," he says to himself. "It almost feels familiar somehow."
"...And when the silence is gone..."
He leans over the edge of the block wall, looking down at the people to find the soothing voice to the song.
Directly below him, a dark-haired individual clad in Grey Warden armor sings in a soft, melodic tone barely audible over the constant raucous.
She marches her men to the top of a nearby hill over-looking the congested port. Waiting in silence is a red-haired, pale woman wearing native garments, sporting a large bow and quiver. "You would do better to be less conspicuous, Cassandra," the woman advises.
"We have no time for conspicuous, Leliana. The Conclave will not wait for us."
The incognito Spymaster keeps her expression neutral, scanning the crowds with a watchful eye.
"You brought a Templar with you? From Kirkwall?"
"He is the last of the loyal Templars, their Knight-Captain Cullen."
Leliana ponders the statement carefully. "Can he be trusted?"
"There is potential," the lady Seeker reaffirms.
"What if there's war? Is he for the armies, or a show of force?"
"He will go where he is most needed."
"And what about his clothes? And armaments?"
Leliana and Cassandra give him a once over from the top of the hill. His Sun-emblazoned tunic and sword-stamped shield scream to the world 'Templar' even from a distance.
"There will be Templars at the Conclave," the warrior points out.
"Not from Kirkwall." In as subtle a way as possible, Leliana emphasizes the words 'not' and 'Kirkwall'. "We do not need questions where there are no definite answers. Not at this stage of negotiations."
Taking her hidden meaning to heart, the warrior makes a noise of disgust. "Fine."
"My people can find him a decent wardrobe to suit our purpose." The spy nods to a hooded soldier across the way who in turn crosses a fist over his chest and hurries away.
Cullen sees a more heavily armored Warden approaching, carrying a wax-sealed missive. "Our boat is ready, Commander."
A dainty hand takes the rolled parchment, slicing through the pressed wax, reading it carefully as she walks along side the warrior leading them to their transport.
As the both of them meet a hood-wearing third of their kind in the bend of the dirt path, the female Wardens profile is instantly recognized by him.
Without thinking, Cullen rushes in their direction. "Hey!" He yells after them, keeping an eye out for the stairs to the lower beach.
The Commander and the other two board a well-traveled rowing boat. The woman uses her staff to steady the bobbing vessel as she hops inside. The rogue and warrior hop in after, taking up an oar on either side as their Commander unties them from the pier.
Even in the distance, their simple boat is easily spotted amongst the longboats with brightly colored heraldry painted onto their hulls and canvas tops.
Cullen runs to the edge of the busy pier, cupping his hands around his mouth. "GREY WARDENS," he yells at the top of his lungs to the trio rowing away.
The staff-toting Warden sitting at the nose turns, the sunlight obscuring her face. The feminine figure stares for a moment, then grips her upright staff with both hands, standing in the lolling rowboat.
Out of an old, buried habit from his younger days, he shouts the first thing that comes to mind. "MISTRESS AMELL!" He immediately regrets his poor choice in words as his hands fall away from his strained face.
The mage Warden reacts, untying something from her belt and holding it as high as she can.
Cullen squints as the dull outline swings back and forth in her gloved hand. It dawns on him what that thing is as the orange sunlight catches the round, red jewel hanging from the segmented chain. "The necklace..." He stands there dumbfounded, his boots precariously half on and off the pier. "She-"
"Templar Cullen." A heavy hand grips his shoulder.
The former Knight-Captain jolts out of his stupor, turning to face the gruff voice behind him.
Warden-Commander Amell brings the tarnished silver necklace back to her hip, tying it securely back from once it came. The woman watches as the Templar and monochrome armor-clad figure converse for mere moments, then he follows behind her.
But not before he gives one last side-long glace.
"Commander," the Grey Warden oarsman on her right prompts. "Shall we turn back?"
"No need," she coolly informs him through a slight smile. "He heard me clearer than I expected." The mage braces herself against her staff, taking her seat.