howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Several yards away, there's a snort of laughter.

(Look: Alistair likes the coat. He respects the coat. But he can also respect a good burn when he hears it.)

Having briefly departed to the kitchen, he's back with a small sack of apples. Alistair unearths one to place at Kieran's elbow. "Fortifications for the battle," he says with a quick smile, then fishes out another. "Cullen, want one?"

He holds up the apple, wiggling it from side to side to indicate.

Cullen holds up a hand: if Alistair tosses it, he's ready to catch it.

"With all the complaining you do about being cold," he tells Dorian, "I can only conclude that you're very jealous. Would you like sleeves? I'm sure we could find you some."

"And deny the good people of the Inquisition this physique?" There's a glint in Dorian's eye. "My dear Commander, you are too cruel for words."

Cullen snorts. "Do me a favor, Kieran, and mop the floor with him."

Alistair lobs the apple, digs out one more, and takes a bite as he strolls to join Cullen. En route, he makes a show of eyeing Dorian.

Then, mouth half-full, he makes the most devastatingly noncommittal noise he can, and shrugs.

(Cullen's arms are better.)

Kieran smiles up at Cullen, briefly, before nudging out one of his pawns.

Cullen's smirk broadens into a sudden, bright grin at Alistair; he thinks, I knew I liked you for a reason.

Dorian catches it, too, gaze flicking back and forth between them with amusement. But Dorian also has a sense of decorum: he refrains from comment. Instead he turns his attention to the board, saying lightly, "Ah, so it's begun. If you two troglodytes will pardon us?"

Cullen ignores Dorian in favor of nodding encouragement at Kieran, and taking a bite of his apple.

(And, just for a moment, leaning his shoulder against Alistair.)

Alistair directs a warm glance Cullen's way, gently nudging his shoulder with his own.

To Dorian, cheerful: "Sorry, were we distracting you from your efforts to sneak an extra cleric or five on the board?"

Cullen observes, "If he can get distracted at this stage of the game, they ought to be done in five minutes."

"Let me say it more clearly, then: go away, or all the curses in my native tongue that I'm about to impart to our young friend here will be aimed in your direction."

Cullen takes another bite of his apple. After swallowing: "We'll go if you promise to teach us too."

Dorian tsks. "Resorting to extortion, are we? Fine. You have a deal."

Alistair snickers. "Well negotiated, Commander," he says.

He probably should be slightly more concerned about Dorian teaching his son how to swear in Tevene, but hey, Morrigan's the one who enacts the discipline, not him. And if the little Tevene Alistair knows is any indication, it's a fantastic language for cursing.

"Kieran, good luck." He pats Kieran on the shoulder; nods to Dorian. Serene: "Dorian, the opposite of luck. Both of you enjoy your day."

He saunters out of the gazebo, munching his apple.

Cullen follows quite cheerfully.

"They'll get along well, I think."

"Quite." He grins. "Of all the potential bad influences in this fortress, I can think of far worse."

"Such as?" he asks, with avid interest.

(He's quite content to pace about the garden. Has all the makings of a good day.)

"...I was going to say Sera," muses Alistair, "but no, I'd be immensely proud of him if I woke up to find he'd pranked half the Inquisition overnight. Solas? The Orlesian merchants? That one man who always says 'hold my ale' before trying to leap over the open space on the second floor of the tavern?"

"Thank you for not including me on that list."

Alistair laughs. "No. Perhaps I'm biased, but you're a fine influence on him. For one, you're educating him on the art of genially insulting his opponent."

Beat.

"Has anyone knit Dorian a set of arm warmers? Can we find a pair and gift them anonymously? Solely out of the goodness of our hearts, of course."

"Krem would help," Cullen says immediately. "His father was a tailor."

"Really." Cheerful. "Isn't that good to know. I'll see if I can enlist him at our next practice."

He polishes off the rest of his apple.

Cullen is still working on his.

"When's that, then?"

They're talking about it -- but Cullen tries not to be the one to bring it up too often.

"Tomorrow, midmorning." He chucks the apple core into a nearby pot. "Should you be alarmed by my being out of bed at a reasonable hour."

"Not alarmed," says Cullen.

Then, giving him a small, sweet smile: "I'll miss you, is all."

Eventually, Alistair might stop going a bit red around the ears whenever Cullen smiles at him like that. Today is not that day.

Discreetly, he catches Cullen's free hand and gives it a brief squeeze. "Fortunately for both of us," he says, "I won't be gone long. And I may not even come back too terribly bruised."

(He actually sounds fairly hopeful on the last, rather than dryly resigned.)

That's a change. One leaving Cullen feeling -- optimistic?

"You think?"

"Possibly." A small smile. "Not to jinx it, but the last few sessions haven't been too awful."

Whether that's due to a spate of good days, or Alistair finally -- finally -- getting the hang of fighting like a proper berserker, he's not quite sure. But the line's been holding steady. It doesn't take as much effort to either stay at its cusp or fall back. And if a bad day shows up later...well, that'll give him a chance to try the other techniques Bull's suggested.

"Maybe one day soon you might have a genuinely good one."

Cullen -- worries. Like it's his job. (It is, generally speaking.) But he's been worried about Alistair since not just Adamant, but since Alistair brought the intelligence about the Calling to the Inquisition.

Alistair could use a win. Cullen could use Alistair getting a win.

"Maker only hopes," he says, and lets out a quiet laugh. "Maybe tomorrow will be the day, if I'm very good, say all my prayers, and don't eat my dessert before dinner."

"...I'll remind you tonight," Cullen says, stifling laughter. "You might consider washing behind your ears while you're at it."

Alistair holds up a hand. "Now, hang on, let's not take it that far."

He's grinning.