A/N: It's probably pretty obvious, but I'm taking a lot of inspiration from the British Royal Family in terms of rules Evelyn might possibly have to live by. I'm a Brit, it's the easiest point of reference, and it prevents me from having to reinvent the wheel.
That being said, I started this story and wrote the above note before the news broke this week, so this story feels very strange to be writing now. This is certainly a bit of an awkward time to have just started this fic.
Evelyn thought that the luncheon was going rather well. She could see what Aveline had been getting at when warning her that Mr Rutherford didn't seem the time to fawn over royals, but nor it seemed was he the type to disdain them. Or if he was, he was hiding it admirably well, which she could happily work with. Her feigned fumble during which she pretended not to know who she'd be sitting beside at lunch seemed to set him at ease, just as she'd hoped. It was a silly little trick, but it let people see the human behind the title. If they saw her make a mistake and laugh it off, they were free to do the same with whatever fumble they might make, and it saved a great deal of awkwardness in the end.
And evidently she'd done a perfect job at shooing away the risk of awkwardness, for she was near enough certain that he'd flirted with her. That didn't faze her much - nor did it bother her. Every man wanted to be able to sit back and boast of how he'd flirted with a princess, it came with the territory. What did amuse her, though, was how he'd blushed after doing so. That was charming. Okay, his looks did help, for he was painfully handsome - all golden hair and muscles that his suit did nothing to hide, and Maker that scar on his lip was a crime against anybody who liked men.
Of course, Evelyn could recognise all of those things without getting herself into a tizzy about them - she'd be no use to man nor beast otherwise. It was just the contrast of the blushing when added to all of those things that charmed her. As though he'd said it, and then realised that it had been flirting and flustered himself in the process. That was a strong possibility, was it not? In any case, it was endearing. That was the word. Although in her experience, men like him didn't take kindly to being called such things. They conflated it with weak.
All in all, whether the hint of flirting had been accidental or not, he had the measure of a man she could work with. Above all, that was what mattered most. As well as making him a bit more comfortable, if how he sat stiffly in his seat, poised as though he expected every piece of cutlery on the table to suddenly fly for his throat, was anything to go by. Time would be a balm, no doubt, but things might be easier if she helped them along.
"I have to confess, I've gone into this meeting hoping for a bit of your advice," she said before picking up her teacup and taking a sip.
"My advice, ma'am?"
"Of course. By all accounts, you're a real expert on this matter, and I'm ashamed of how little I ever thought of it, never mind know of it - I'm not afraid to admit that," she said.
Cullen blinked, apparently surprised by the admission, shifting in his seat.
"I wouldn't be too hard on yourself on that score, ma'am. There are many even within the Order who go into it far too uneducated on the matter of lyrium and what the addiction may do to them should they choose to leave. Or even if they don't. It doesn't surprise me that those outside of it would know little of it, all things considered."
Evelyn's lips twisted together as she considered his words. He had a point, she knew he did, but when she considered her family's links to the Chantry - and the fact that they were head of the Marches' Chantry, for that matter - she couldn't help but feel like she should have known more. That she should have done more already. But she wouldn't voice that. It was a bit personal for a lunch such as this, and she didn't want to put her newest associate in a position where he felt like he had to comfort her.
"Yes, well, I'd like to change that. I've done some digging into potential sources of information - books and the like - but it seemed best to consult you first. I'd hate to waste time looking at the wrong thing. Something inaccurate or written by somebody uninformed, you know. It seems anybody can write a book and have it on a shelf these days."
"Do you mean to tell me you're not interested in the insightful ponderings of Goldanna Clifton and her tenuous royal affiliations?" he asked drily.
Evelyn kept her face impassive - a talent she'd mastered at the age of eight - although she did almost wince at the horror that flickered across his face as he appeared to realise how few in number the degrees of separation between herself and Goldanna were…and the identity of that link.
While he mightn't have been a snob, it appeared Mr Rutherford had done his research. That or he'd glanced at a paper within the last four years. If she was ever given the god-like power to banish one thing from existence entirely, Evelyn would choose tabloids in a heartbeat. Still, she put him out of his misery with a tight-lipped smile and a slight incline of her head. This was one happenstance where she couldn't crack a joke to relieve him of his embarrassment. It was amazing how even the most innocuous of comments in a conversation such as this could cause endless amounts of scandal. And by 'amazing', she meant 'exhausting'.
Just as she was about to help the topic along, though, he cleared his throat and continued, losing his joking now.
"I know of a few books that may help - memoirs and such, to give an idea of the sorts of personal journeys the sufferers go through. There aren't many, it's considered a bit of a controversial subject to touch by the Chantry. I suppose there's a worry that those who read it may think twice about joining the Order where there would originally be no hesitation, ma'am."
"But if they're going in, surely they should go in knowing all of the terms?" she frowned.
"I agree," Cullen nodded "What's truly eye-opening, though, are the research papers. I can have piles sent over from all corners of Thedas and you may see the statistics for yourself as to the fate that awaits men and women who leave the order, right there in black and white it's very eye opening."
Evelyn listened the whole time with a frown on her face, her tea and her dainty little sandwiches quite forgotten.
"Well, then we'll know exactly what it is we have to change," she said finally "The firm is working on a secure line of communication for us for where these proceedings are concerned, but for now if you get the list to Aveline, she'll see to it that it lands on my desk."
The man smirked a little at that.
"I know it's an entire rigmarole, but it's what we've got, I'm afraid," she said.
"Oh, it's not that, ma'am," he shook his head "I'm just taken aback that it's we already."
"Was I being too presumptuous?"
"Not at all. It's…reassuring, I think. If I had to choose a word for it."
"Well, if you can leave this meeting today feeling reassured, then this meeting has been a success," she said - and she knew her sincerity had carried across when he gave a smile that wasn't even too strained.
Before any semblance of an awkward silence could sink in, seeing as that topic of conversation had come to a resolute end, she moved on swiftly.
"You're from Ferelden, aren't you? I hear a bit of it in the accent."
"I am, ma'am. Honnleath, although I never see much of it these days. It's in the south east."
"In the Arling of Redcliffe, yes, I know," she nodded, earning a look of surprise.
She raised her eyebrows questioningly in response and he leaned back in his chair a little, golden eyes considering her with undisguised curiosity.
"I'm used to having to give lengthy explanations as to where it is - it's fairly rural. Small, too. Not many know of it," he admitted.
"Ah, well in that case well done me," she teased.
"Where are you from, ma'am?"
Evelyn answered that with a wry look about them, as if to remind him that they were in her home. One of them, at least. He chuckled, shaking his head and leaning back in his chair.
"I meant where were you born?"
"Ah. Ostwick, we've a castle there right on the coast."
"Your accent doesn't give you away," he commented.
"My tutors will rejoice to hear it," she hummed "Any trace of one was ushered out, suiting their definition of speaking properly. Although it helps that we travel around so much. It makes it hard to take on an accent beyond whichever one the rest of the family has."
There was more to it than that. If she had an Ostwick accent, those in the other Marcher cities may feel like they had less of a connection to her - like she wasn't one of them. It was better to have an accent that wasn't discernibly linked to any Marcher city at all than it would to have one specific one. Yes, it may gain her a bit more support in Ostwick itself, but that wasn't worth the potential distaste it would garner elsewhere.
Voicing all of that would make them look calculated, though, and people liked calculated even less than they liked other.
"I went to university here in Starkhaven," she continued "I almost picked up a slightest trace of the accent - something in the way they roll their 'r's, you know? But I had to school that out of myself whenever I came home again for the holidays, lest my shameful secret be discovered."
"When you came home?" he frowned his confusion.
"Oh, I lived as much like a student as I could, I wasn't leaving lectures to return to a palace - I had an apartment in the city and everything throughout the semesters."
Something flickered across his face at that - something crossed between scepticism and amusement. Likely wondering what her idea of living like a proper student was, and how it measured up to the real thing. And that? That…was fair. Security issues dictated that she'd been unable to live in student halls or with a flatmate. Not just because they didn't have much of a way of being completely certain that whoever she got wouldn't be a madman-slash-woman, but because they'd be a prime candidate for spreading rumours and selling stories. The latter was a much more realistic worry.
And, of course, she had much more of a safety net. She'd never been faced with a choice between paying bills or eating, nor taking a shift at work or attending a class which was vital for a final grade. But Evelyn tried to take reassurance in the fact that she was at least aware that she'd never had to experience these worries where others would. She wasn't about to stride through the city announcing that she'd lived entirely authentically.
"I know something of what you mean, I think, ma'am," he didn't explain whatever he'd found funny, very tactfully at that "It's not the same, of course, but when I was in the Order, especially being that we tend join so young, you end up with a big group of trainees using slag or picking up turns of phrase from places they've never been to until we can't recognise who picked up what from where. Our superiors weren't the biggest fans of it."
"It sounds like a good bonding experience, though," she smiled.
He chuckled. Evelyn found herself liking his laugh - low and warm, full of genuine mirth, and oddly personal - like they were sharing an inside joke. Indeed, it had grown increasingly easy to forget that they were sitting at a long table with numerous others. They'd both barely touched their food, too, Evelyn having only taken one small bite at the very beginning so that everybody else could begin eating.
"It was. Especially when Nolan Whitlaw taught us all the lyrics to The Orlesian Empress'- er," he paused, eyes widening as he remembered where he was and who he was speaking to, a flush colouring his cheeks as he cleared his throat "Excuse me, ma'am."
"Mm, not really one for a luncheon, I take it?" she laughed quietly.
It was good to see him loosening up and finally growing comfortable. Perhaps he'd deem it too comfortable, but she didn't mind. Although she couldn't help but wonder what in Andraste's name Aveline had said to him upon greeting that had him so tense and uncomfortable at the beginning of the meeting. Or could it really just be down to the title? It just didn't feel right. Evelyn deemed herself a good judge of character, and he simply didn't seem the type to get flustered in the presence of royalty. She'd seen similar folk before - those who refused to bow or curtsy on principle, as if she'd faint in shock and fury at their preference not to observe the custom. To be fair, her brother might, so it wasn't a ridiculous assumption on their part.
"Not exactly, no," he confessed.
"Well - another time, then," she arched her eyebrows conspiratorially, and there was that chuckle again.
Yes, Evelyn was quite sure that working with Cullen Rutherford would not be much of a chore at all.
A/N: If you're a Pirates of the Caribbean fan, please do check out my James Norrington/OC fic Catch the Wind. It's a big epic beast, but it's coming to an end very soon and I don't think I've ever been prouder of a fanfic that I've written.
Otherwise you can find me elsewhere here:
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