Author's note: I am having a hard time with actually managing to write something worthwhile. So have a 'what if' situation, a small one-shot where Diana Amell wasn't a mage to begin with. I'll go back to trying to finish up a chapter eventually.
In this chapter: Who said it was magic which made someone ... well, different?
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The functions in the Viscount palace are not palatable to his person. Cullen is a simple man, straightforward. The world is drawn in a certain fashion and actions have obvious and simple connotations. In his world, to raise a hand would mean offense. In this world, the world of nobles, Kings and Queens, it can vary from a request to a dance, all the way to an offer to slit his own skin while dancing to an Orlesian ballad. It is most distressing.
He wonders briefly if his Commander notices how he very much wants to jump out the window as an alternative to yet another noble groping his butt and attempt to corral him into another dance. The way they come so close to his skin, questions asked so quickly, makes him feel nauseated as no abomination in the Tower ever did.
Cullen looks to the side.
Meredith's eyes narrow just enough to let him know her answer. Drats. She knows.
"A while longer, Captain." Tapping fingers against her armor are the only witness to her own fraying temper. "It is an important time to the city. It has been over two centuries since the last Champion has graced these halls. We must play our parts."
Even if said Champion is a mage and very clearly unconcerned about showing it. Now that the cat is out of the bag, the Champion leaves all pretenses for someone else, parading loud and clear both staff, magic and robes.
Cullen sincerely hopes no one expects him to drag Hawke into the Circle. He is sure that event would cause enough blood loss to replace all water in Kirkwall.
"And of course Hawke would draw the Amell out of woods."
Amell. Amell. That name is familiar for whatever reason. Noble, of course, Maker knows anything passing through the Keep's doors that night is a noble, even the cats and dogs which parade in silk-covered arms. Related to Hawke. Magical? Ah, his mind finally supplies, the one family in Kirkwall which apparently decided breeding mages in its ranks was a perfectly acceptable.
"Amell," Cullen repeats. "I thought she was the De Laucet widow?" Maker, may no one hear him and his boss gossip. He will never hear the end of it. "Why the maiden name?" The man finds himself asking.
"Because Maker knows she's definitely one," Meredith comments dryly. "I knew her grandfather and if we had someone as pragmatic as him in the frontlines Kirkwall wouldn't be half the mess it is. If only she bothered to make an effort instead of parading around doing whatever goes through her mind…" The Commander makes a pause and then shakes her head. "Better not. We have enough to deal with her cousin."
Speaking of which.
Gerard Hawke is not a weak man. Even as a mage, he is broad and tall, as if whoever made him had stretched and pulled and filled up until a man was left, who can only be described with the words daunting, striking and huge. It doesn't make him overly attractive (in his modest opinion) but it does make him conspicuous enough to be noticed, especially when he doesn't bother to smile.
Like in that moment.
It seems Cullen is not the only person who dislikes these functions.
"Ah, Captain, Commander." The Champion nods at the two Templars, his arm firmly clasping the woman's closer. "Allow me introduce my cousin, Lady Diana."
The Amell cousins are a study in contrasts. It isn't even the fact that the Champion is clearly a mage where the Lady feels as magical as the stone beneath his feet. Where Gerard is harsh, dark and black haired, weathered by life and weather conditions alike, Diana is soft, all of her soothing calm tones and slow movements, green eyes on a face so gentle one would doubt it has seen the harsh sun for more than a minute at a time during her life. They are nothing alike. Hawke is pure strength and power, backed up by an impressive set of skills and an elf with a ridiculous large sword. Amell is…well.
Pretty. She is pretty.
Cullen finds himself swallowing tightly. There is something in the way she moves her body, silk clad and ever so delicate, that speaks to several bodily systems which he has been forcibly ignoring for the past decade or so, reducing him into what can be aptly described as a pimply wide-eyed teenager.
Considering he is a grown man, a strong warrior and a dutiful Captain of the Templar Order, perhaps that isn't how he prefers to act if he wants to keep his job.
"A pleasure, my Lord. My Lady."
Then Diana smiles just the tiniest bit, a flash of amusement which reminds him very much of a wolf he had met once during his travels. It had been a vicious little thing which had looked at him right like she is, licking his chops just like so and then bypassed him since he was honestly not important enough to be eaten. Or messed around with. Magic or no magic, his mind whispers yes, she is his cousin.
And likely had killed her husband, hadn't she?
"I believe I had already made your acquaintance, Lady Amell."
It is nice that Meredith takes over the conversation that quickly because he has something stuck in his throat which refuses to move to allow something as silly as words to happen. Who needs them anyway? Not him. He can just stand there and stare like an idiot.
That is an incredibly long neckline. Isn't Hawke worried about all the male audience salivating into that white bosom?
"I believe we have met, yes," Diana approves gently, pushing a curl of her blonde hair behind an ear with a ridiculously soft-looking hand. "When you came to get my sister to that gorgeous place you call a Circle but most of us just call prison."
Meredith's expression doesn't even twitch. "The one you convinced your grandfather to smuggle away to Antiva, was it?"
Neither does Diana's. Somehow, he finds that Hawke moved to his side and well away from the two women. Possibly because he can see the disaster drawing itself in the horizon. Even Cullen can and he's amply distracted by… is that a slit on her dress. Just how high doesthat thing go?
"Why would I ever do something as silly as that?"
"Because your leanings towards the protection of mages are ridiculously obvious."
"I meant confessing about my hypothetical suggestions towards the betterment of the living conditions of assorted family members but that works too." Again, that smile, the edge, the very small twist that makes her feel dangerous to every nerve in his body. The ones currently being ignored because Maker knows rationality isn't work properly at the moment.
"Your cousin is a…" Cullen swallows tightly, backing away slightly from the confrontation and into Hawke. "Rather frightening lady."
The Champion doesn't bother to smile. His eyes are narrowed in the direction of the scene displaying in front of them, carefully, as if any moment either of the women is going to do something they'll all regret come tomorrow. "She would think of that as a compliment. I'm rather concerned she might poison your boss at some point tonight if Meredith continues this path of conversation." He pause briefly, a rather rough smile whispering into existence for less than a second. "Perhaps we should be pleased she's not like the rest of us. We're her with the capacity for magic. Very fun family."
"I very much doubt that."
"A shame. I must say she took notice of you. Said you seemed almost attractive enough to bother with. But if you lack the bravery to meddle with the Amells. Well."
That was either a threat or a challenge.
But almost attractive enough? He isn't sure he if should see that as a good thing. Half of him – slightly southern areas even – are very much agreeable to the idea. His mind, however, lingers on the smile which is a knife, a bare icy blade capable of disemboweling assorted targets.
"My dearest cousin, perhaps you would leave me with your Captain," he eventually hears her say clearly. "Our Lady-Commander clearly does not wish my company and I cannot claim to want to trouble such a distinguished guest." Layman's terms, cannot claim but you so know I do not want to deal with her anymore. "You did say you needed to speak."
Hawke's gaze reads clearly 'I know what you're doing and I don't like it and you do realize you're throwing two wolves together to battle it off, right?'
Maybe, he thinks as he stares at the lovely smile directed at him, the turn of her neck when she comes closer and waits for him to react as she offers her arm, maybe he should first find out if she truly killed her husband. Just in case.
"Don't worry," the noblewoman tells him as Cullen makes sure to touch just the appropriate amount. Hawke might neuter him otherwise. "He's just going to tell her he's taking over as Viscount and kicking her out of Kirkwall. I hope you enjoy the title Commander. Now, what do you think about dancing?"
Dearest Maker above, the Captain can't see if she's joking or not. He hopes she is. Otherwise he's going to hide behind her and hope the following explosion doesn't harm him too much. Perhaps just make him lose his balance a little. Not against her or her lovely bosom, of course not.
Cullen waves his sanity goodbye as he takes hold of Diana's arm. Somehow, he knows nothing will ever be the same after this moment.
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Two days after, the Knight-Captain learns he has been promoted, Hawke is ruling the city and it's highly probable Diana hadn't been joking.
