howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

(no subject)

Cullen is fine in the field. He can set up a tent, build a fire, find water safe to drink, make something edible. But he hasn't traveled enough to get the knack of what's wise to bring.

These days it makes little difference, given his status: he helps to set up camp, but there are runners and adjutants to find and fetch things. And there are few enough of them, this time -- not the massed force of the Inquisition, but a patrol's worth of soldiers and scouts and accompanying support -- that in the evenings, Cullen finds himself... restless.

It's akin to the reason he doesn't frequent the Herald's Rest, but there's no office to hide in, and no paperwork to justify staying in the tent.

At least tomorrow he and Alistair will peel off to where Honnleath used to be, to spend the night and rejoin the rest again late the following day.

(This may also contribute to his fidgeting.)

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"Hey." Low. "You're not unfit. I'd be more concerned if you weren't feeling it was an -- adjustment."

"You would?"

He chances a glance back up at Cullen.

"Yes." Calm. Firm. "It would indicate carelessness. Or worse. But that's not what's happening."

Alistair breathes out. Nods.

He tucks his face against the curve of Cullen's neck; after a moment, he murmurs, wry, "So if I scream like a child and jump two feet in the air when I hear a loud noise, you won't hold it against me?"

Cullen strokes Alistair's hair, and says, no louder, "Of course not. Unless you scream in my ear. And even then I expect I'll get over it."

He huffs out a laugh against Cullen's neck. "That's a relief," he says. "I'll try to hold off on any panic until I'm three feet away from you, at least."

"I do love you for your kindness." There's laughter in his voice. "Among other things."

More soberly: "But please -- tell me, when this happens. All right? It's safer for both of us. We can even have some kind of secret handshake if that would help."

If he can talk Alistair into it, Cullen figures, it'll probably be with a secret handshake.

"...You trust me to wield the awesome power of making up a secret handshake?"

He's starting to smile.

"Absolutely not," Cullen says, cheerful. His fingers work slowly through Alistair's hair. "But I'm doing it anyway."

A small, contented sigh. "You're the best."

He closes his eyes.

Quieter: "It's not -- awful. Not like it used to be. I'm just on edge. Feel like I need to run around a lot more. That sort of thing."

He nods a little -- carefully, since he doesn't much care to disturb Alistair.

"Well," soft, "you could demonstrate to me your wyvern-wrestling techniques, without a shirt. That way we'd both be happy."

Alistair snorts, amused. "Does that mean I have to get up and find a wyvern?"

"No, it means you have to fight an imaginary wyvern."

Beat.

"Or just do calisthenics. I'm not picky."

This is a rank lie. Cullen is extremely picky, generally speaking.

"One hundred push-ups, just for you." Solemn. "So long as you hold my feet while I'm doing the one hundred sit-ups that follow."

"You have a deal." He gently ruffles Alistair's hair. "Assuming that would help, of course."

His smile grows. "Of course it will."

A beat.

"All that said," and he nestles closer, "it's warm here and you're very close by, so I may save the calisthenics for tomorrow morning."

Cullen laughs, tightening his hold on Alistair. "As you like. -- and I mean that," he adds. "If we get cold, we have blankets. If we want to get up and move, it's not like either one of us needs a great deal of sleep. If you'd prefer to have me close by, I can be close by. If you'd rather do it by yourself, that's all right."

A little more stiff, hesitant: "I remember what it was like. Coming back to regular duty. Please don't hide it, or brush it off."

Alistair nods. "I'll do my best," he says: soft, a smidge rueful again. "You know me. Don't want to make you worry more than usual."

He returns the squeeze, gently.

"...Was there -- anything you did, that helped?"

"I'll worry more if you don't tell me what's happening." Wry. "And as for anything I did -- mostly I snapped at people who didn't deserve it and worked on not jumping at shadows. It's a little harder to get away with in plate armor. As though all the regular clanking noise wasn't bad enough."

"Bit like covering yourself in extra-rattly tin cups, I'll bet." Equally wry -- and sympathetic. "I'll...try to go for a run before snapping or jumping at anything, I suppose."

"Hence the part about telling me." He goes back to running his fingers through Alistair's hair. "Every bit of information I've got suggests the Basin is horrible terrain. It's so challenging, we had to establish Inquisition camps in the trees, because there wasn't enough even terrain that wasn't claimed by spiders or gurguts or some other... thing."

He does sound a little exasperated.

"The point being -- we nearly never have scouts patrolling in pairs or small groups. Harding has made it mandatory in the Basin. If you need to go for a run, I'll go with you if I can, or we'll find someone trustworthy. But I need to know, and please don't go alone."

Alistair makes a small, disgruntled noise at the gurgut and spider talk. "All right," he murmurs. "You have my word. No solo jaunts through the hordes of nasty beasts."

A beat.

"And if no one's available to accompany me for a run, that's when I'll start in with the shirtless calisthenics."

"...to the delight of all, I'm certain."

Cullen... sounds as though he might be serious?

Alistair tips his head just enough to look up at Cullen, one eyebrow lifted.

"That wouldn't make you jealous, would it?"

"Do I have reason to be?" Matching his tone.