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With tightly coiled springs that snap for anything
[He's a young, nervy thing when he steps off of the boat.
Cullen had barely broached the other side of twenty when Knight-Commander Greagoir called him into a hastily-repaired office in Kinloch Hold and had given him papers that stated, under no uncertain terms, that he was to be transferred. It came with a promotion, a new title, and other sorts of fancy phrases that all boiled down to 'the screaming every other night is starting to wear on our patience'.
Cullen doesn't blame them. He'd been wondering when he was going to be asked to leave, though he hadn't anticipated the request coming with a promotion and a transfer to a place that, in his Ferelden mind, seemed halfway across the world. Mulling over it had brought some form of clarity, anyway: he was one of very few survivors, tortured by mages, tested by demons, and very much alive after the horrors that had happened. It made him... well, he doesn't know. Respectable, maybe, by reputation if not face to face.
Because face to face, he doesn't know how anyone can see the firmness in his features and not see the terror underneath. Meredith had clapped a hand on his shoulder when he'd first arrived, taken him into the Gallows, and told him he situation- at least, she'd told him about the conspiracies, the blood magic under the cobblestones of the city, the unpredictability of the mages after news of Ferelden's circle had managed to spread.
Cullen had nodded then, understanding even as his fingers tightened on the hilt of his blade.
It's then that he's introduced to Samson- a fellow templar, someone older than him, more experienced, and someone to guide him through his first few weeks in an unfamiliar city. He appreciates the intent, even if he's not sure what to think of the man himself.
Still the days are long and Cullen finds himself in need of some company. Samson had been kind enough to point him to all the necessities- the market, the shipyard, the keep- but as Cullen approaches him after a hot shift in the Marcher sun, he has something else in mind.]
So, Samson- are there any reputable taverns in this city? [He asks this with a thin smile as he glances over the darkening streets. His fingers tighten slightly, but Cullen attempts to keep things casual. He's been here long enough that Samson has heard him yelling in his sleep at least once, not quite long enough for the other templar to learn that it's a depressingly common occurrence. Cullen doesn't want to betray his nerves, but- well, there's always an undercurrent of anxiety in just about anything he does.
He refocuses then, shaking his head slightly to clear himself of the thought.]
-and trust me, I know a hopeless question when I ask one. I just thought to celebrate a little.
Cullen had barely broached the other side of twenty when Knight-Commander Greagoir called him into a hastily-repaired office in Kinloch Hold and had given him papers that stated, under no uncertain terms, that he was to be transferred. It came with a promotion, a new title, and other sorts of fancy phrases that all boiled down to 'the screaming every other night is starting to wear on our patience'.
Cullen doesn't blame them. He'd been wondering when he was going to be asked to leave, though he hadn't anticipated the request coming with a promotion and a transfer to a place that, in his Ferelden mind, seemed halfway across the world. Mulling over it had brought some form of clarity, anyway: he was one of very few survivors, tortured by mages, tested by demons, and very much alive after the horrors that had happened. It made him... well, he doesn't know. Respectable, maybe, by reputation if not face to face.
Because face to face, he doesn't know how anyone can see the firmness in his features and not see the terror underneath. Meredith had clapped a hand on his shoulder when he'd first arrived, taken him into the Gallows, and told him he situation- at least, she'd told him about the conspiracies, the blood magic under the cobblestones of the city, the unpredictability of the mages after news of Ferelden's circle had managed to spread.
Cullen had nodded then, understanding even as his fingers tightened on the hilt of his blade.
It's then that he's introduced to Samson- a fellow templar, someone older than him, more experienced, and someone to guide him through his first few weeks in an unfamiliar city. He appreciates the intent, even if he's not sure what to think of the man himself.
Still the days are long and Cullen finds himself in need of some company. Samson had been kind enough to point him to all the necessities- the market, the shipyard, the keep- but as Cullen approaches him after a hot shift in the Marcher sun, he has something else in mind.]
So, Samson- are there any reputable taverns in this city? [He asks this with a thin smile as he glances over the darkening streets. His fingers tighten slightly, but Cullen attempts to keep things casual. He's been here long enough that Samson has heard him yelling in his sleep at least once, not quite long enough for the other templar to learn that it's a depressingly common occurrence. Cullen doesn't want to betray his nerves, but- well, there's always an undercurrent of anxiety in just about anything he does.
He refocuses then, shaking his head slightly to clear himself of the thought.]
-and trust me, I know a hopeless question when I ask one. I just thought to celebrate a little.
no subject
But Cullen’s a different sort of beast than he usually sees rolling up into Kirkwall. He’s not some wide-eyed recruit in love with the ideals of the Order or serving the Chantry (or just being a bully to mages). He’s young enough to be one of them, but his look is more haunted. It’s a look Samson’s seen on young Templar faces after facing their first abomination, after witnessing a mage fail their Harrowing for the first time. It’s the haunted look that’s left after the pretty veneer of what the Order is and does is scraped away. It’s a pain only the lyrium soothes.
But it’s worse in Cullen. Samson heard the stories about Kinloch Hold before the boy arrives, so there’s no surprise when he hears the kid cry out in his sleep, when he leaps from shadows for fear of what might be lurking in them. Samson doesn’t laugh at his fidgety nature, he can’t find it in himself to make sport of a boy who’s been through so much. That the kid even survived, it’s impressive.
He does try to be friendly. It’s clear he’s just the sort Meredith would like and, well, someone’s gotta temper that. She keeps herself cloistered away with no real idea of what’s going on in the city she’s charged to protect. Enough Templars support her, she doesn’t really need one more to be her thug. And a kid like Cullen needs someone to help him get back on his feet, not use his trauma for politics. So, yeah, Samson’s friendly. He shows Cullen around, lets him know who’s trouble and who isn’t, even suggests he hit up the Rose and work some of that tension out. It doesn’t come as shock when Cullen comes to him asking about a tavern (though he’s surprised that kid wants to use up his leisure time in any way that isn’t related to his Templar duties). ]
Ill-repute’s all Kirkwall’s got t’ offer, kid. But if you want a place you got a hope of walkin’ out of with your purse, I can think of a few.
no subject
Cullen, who had at one point begged for the Right of Annulment, had agreed with her at the time, but he's still uneasy about the whole thing, not sure exactly what to do. He's only been on duty in Kirkwall for a week or so and he's not quite in the position to heavily evaluate his stance on mages and the limited freedoms that they're offered.]
I'd appreciate it.
[So he turns to Samson for- well, he's not sure if it can be considered friendship, but companionship, maybe. Cullen knows better than to latch onto anyone, but a helpful face here and there is nice, and Samson is friendlier to him than any of the others.]
If you'd care to join me- [He gives a half shrug. Cullen doesn't really know much about his family or what he does with his free time- save for the profoundly embarrassing time that the other man had brought up the Rose- and so he doesn't really know if he's overextending his reach.]
I'd like to buy you a drink. As thanks, for showing me around.
no subject
He recognizes the need to be around someone else without it exactly being friendship. If it bothers him at all, he makes no indication. No one joins the Order to make friends. Comrades in arms don’t automatically become close; some do, but it’s not a given. So Samson’s not the guy who’s going to take offense if Cullen doesn’t want to confide his deep dark secrets. The kid probably feels awkward enough knowing people here his night terrors.
This invitation, however, that took him off-guard. His brows shoot toward his hairline and a look somewhere between surprise and amusement paints itself over his face before ultimately ending in a pleased smile. The elder Templar laughs and claps Cullen’s shoulder. ]
Now how can I turn down a free drink?
no subject
[He finds himself smiling, even if Samson's physicality is somewhat imposing- but it's been awkward among the others since he got here. A Knight Captain who's barely old enough to grow facial hair seems like a joke at times, especially with so many of his charges being older and admittedly more experienced than him.
Luckily, for most of the men, the job is taken seriously enough to let it slide. Cullen is almost positive that Samson is in that group, but he doesn't quite know enough about the older templar to be sure to be sure. Meredith had obviously seen something in him- she hadn't sent him back home the instant he stepped off the boat, so that had to speak for something.
He's not sure what that is yet, but. Something.]
Lead the way?
so sorry for the delay!
For his part, Samson’s not convinced Cullen can handle the job, but he hasn’t seen any proof otherwise, either. The kid’s practically brand new to Kirkwall and there’s so little yet for the Templars here to judge. Most of them, he assumes, are basing their assessments on his youth alone. They were all young once. That Cullen survived his ordeal spoke greatly in his favour.
But Samson doesn’t much care about that right now, not when there’s the promise of a drink at someone else’s expense. So he tours the boy through the city, to a place that’s a fraction more Templar friendly than most. Or maybe they’re just more tolerant of Samson because he’s a regular (the make the best fish-and-egg pie outside of Starkhaven). Once there, Samson gestures for Cullen to have a seat wherever he’s most comfortable. ]