sitting here with my chin in my hands thinking about Cullen working in a rehab center and helping people tbh
Honestly, it is more than half the reason I dipped my toe into that particular trope pond at all lol. I like seeing where the puzzle pieces fit in an adjusted setting, and wanting to help people is such a huge part of his motivation as a character. It's what led him to the Order in the first place, it's what made him so easy for Meredith to manipulate, and it's why he was finally able to get out. I think it's a really overlooked part of his motivations in Inquisition, honestly. Yes, he is working toward atonement (he makes that very clear), but I think he also just sees a wrong being done and wants to do everything in his power to fix it.
It just makes sense to me that he'd want to hold out a hand for people who fell into the same kind of pain. Who better to understand than someone who's been through it?
And since you mention it.....
(Snippet below)
“Mmm,” she said, and caught the waitress’s eye as she passed. “The blueberry mead, thanks. Yeah, I’m here for a conference. Not too close to home, but it was all-expenses-paid and who can pass up something like that, right?”
“Right,” Cullen said, leaning forward slightly, “The…archival conference, yes?”
“Special collections,” she corrected, cocking her head. “You know of it?”
“I was working security,” he said. “Moonlighting, as it were. I was in the hall during the talk on…what was it? The long-term effects of acidity in disposable testing equipment for Elvhen ruins?”
“Ha! Yeah,” she said, chuckling and leaning in. “That sort of thing always feels like a pitch for someone’s product, but that’s how funding shakes out. Has to get studied somehow, right?”
“As you say,” Cullen smiled faintly, caught despite himself by her own smile, by the brightness in her eyes. “I’m Cullen.”
“Cullen? I’m Emmaera. Ah, Doctor Emmaera Lavellan. I’m an expert in ancient magical artifacts, specifically refractory energy patterns and emergency diffusion strategies. Not thrilling to the general public, but I can assure you it’s a very sexy field of study for other experts. Like volcanologists are to other geologists.”
Cullen laughed, willing himself not to react to the way her voice sounded when she said “sexy;” he was a grown man, for Holy Andraste’s sake, he could get ahold of himself.
“Cullen Rutherford,” he said, and hesitated. “Ah—formerly of the Templar Order.”
“Oh? Thanks,” Emmaera directed the latter to the waitress, who’d slid a small glass of golden-brown liquid onto the table before her.
“Formerly, huh?” she said. “Explains the lyrium, I suppose. And now?”
Well—that was a more even-keeled response than he’d anticipated. Cullen shifted in his seat, reaching for his glass and taking a sip.
“I work at a rehab center during the day, and I occasionally teach self-defense in the evenings.”
“And you moonlight as a security guard at conferences for history nerds,” she finished, the corner of her mouth kicking up into a smile again. It was crooked, curling into a dimple at the corner, and he found himself watching it for longer than strictly necessary.
“Security coordinator,” he corrected, smiling back. “A glorified guard, perhaps.”
“Fancy,” she said, leaning back to cross her legs. He caught the flash of brown skin as she sat back in the rickety wooden chair, then settled her glass onto her knee.
Cullen was not especially given to speaking with strangers in bars, but he wanted her to keep talking. About anything—he liked the sound of her voice, the soft roll on certain syllables, the way she looked at him when he answered her. He just wished he could think of something to say to—
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“Which part?”
“Any of it.”
“I suppose,” he said, and paused. “Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people; that I can do that every day is…well. Yes, I like it. And yourself?”
“I don’t really help people,” she said, then shook her head. The motion loosed her hair again, and this time his eyes followed the trail of her fingertips when she traced it back over her ear.
“I mean—you meant to ask if I like the work, didn’t you? Yes, I suppose I do. Nobody else was going to do it right, why shouldn’t I?”
“Practical,” he said, and she raised one shoulder in a shrug before taking a sip from her glass.
“I guess. Stubborn, my mother would say. She’s not wrong; I am that.”
“Ah, that sounds familiar,” Cullen said, resting his elbow on his table and gesturing, “I’ve been told the same. Stubborn, pigheaded, obstinate…”
“Mulish, headstrong,” she went on, “Yeah. You too, huh?”
“To my family’s eternal frustration,” he agreed.
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