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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

"Never."

He drops a light kiss at the pit of Cullen's throat.

Serene, "Besides, you always get the much better shirtless calisthenics. The private ones."

A small, pleasant frisson runs down his spine. With low laughter: "It's true. I've no complaints."

"Mm. Good."

Another brief kiss to Cullen's neck.

"Always happy to receive high marks on my performance."

Smirking:

"You seemed to be very upset when I gave you some."

As a reminder, he brushes his thumb against Alistair's throat briefly.

Alistair shivers, at both the memory and the touch.

"It was -- unexpected. That's all. Not unpleasant."

Rather far from it.

"Ah." Amused. "My mistake, then."

"And you were right. I did look rather dashing in a scarf, if I do say so myself."

"Once you knew how to tie it."

"Well, I was overdue to learn anyway."

Airily.

"So I thank you for the instruction."

"Now you too can have a vain hope of escaping something with too many frills when forced to go to Orlais on official business."

"Eugh." Alistair shudders. "Don't say that out loud. Someone might hear you and pack me off when all this is done."

"I'd like to see them try."

Is that a growl?

If it is, Alistair quite likes it.

He chuckles. "I like thinking of you fending off hordes of masked Orlesians for my sake."

"...on what grounds?"

"'Orlesians trying to kidnap me' sort of grounds." He grins. "You, dashingly swooping in at the last moment to pull me to safety. Maybe punching the masks right off them in the process."

A beat.

"No, definitely punching the masks right off them."

"I think I'm insulted that you think I'd let it get that far."

He squeezes Alistair.

"That's an offense to my honor, ser."

"Is it? Oh, dear." He's trying not to laugh. "I'm terribly sorry, Commander. I'm sure the instant any Orlesians got within ten feet of me, you'd punch them preemptively."

"That's not it at all." Amused -- and then, a little more sober, more sincere: "You're safe with me. Remember?"

Alistair sobers in kind. He nods, tucking his face against Cullen's neck again.

"I know." Soft.

"They couldn't resist bragging about any such plan, anyhow."

Cullen rubs slow circles on Alistair's back.

"That's the other reason it wouldn't get that far. Entirely too easy to foil."

Alistair snorts out a tiny laugh. "And I'm sure even if they tried to keep it a secret, Leliana would alert us within five minutes of the words 'we kidnap Alistair' leaving their lips."

"And have them drawn and quartered, or blackmailed, or both, before we had a chance to meet about it."

"An important question."

Alistair taps Cullen's chest.

"Does the blackmailing happen before the drawing and quartering, or after?"

"You don't think it might happen during?"