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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He quirks an eyebrow.

"Any particular sort of jam?"

"Josephine didn't specify. Try her on strawberry."

Beat.

"Or don't. Give the strawberry to me."

"That will be your first hint something's amiss."

Solemn.

"Strawberries raining down on your from seemingly nowhere."

"...I have bad news," he says. "That's the opposite of amiss."

Alistair heaves a sigh.

"And so I'll be doomed to forever hang from a broken winch, pelting the love of my life with fruit. I see how it is."

A sudden, crooked, bashful smile.

"The love of your life, is it?"

"Yes."

He steers his horse a little closer to Cullen's.

"Ever and always."

Cullen ducks his head, still with that smile.

(And blushing, now.)

"Suppose that's all right," he mumbles.

"Good."

Soft. Warm.

"Remind me to kiss you when we're not on horseback."

"You need reminding?" It's a crooked grin, now, even if he's still pink.

"Mm, maybe not," he allows. "I don't seem easily distractible there, do I?"

"No." Cullen clears his throat, grin getting stronger. "No, you're quite diligent."

"Part of that reputation I work so hard to maintain, I suppose." Serene.

He guides his horse closer still, letting it fall in step right next to Cullen's as if they were in a formal procession.

Cullen gives Alistair a sidelong look.

He transfers the reins to his left hand, and reaches out toward Alistair with his right.

Alistair's smile blossoms to a grin.

He takes Cullen's hand; lifts it to his lips to kiss Cullen's knuckles.

"Better than the sock full of worms."

Alistair breaks into laughter.

"And where does that rank in relation to the rose?"

"Very close."

He squeezes Alistair's hand.

"Might even surpass it."

Still laughing a little, "I'll keep that in mind."

Beat.

"Along with throwing strawberries at you."

"That's below the rose, for the record."

"Just so I have it straight, then -- "

He can't tick off items on his fingers without letting go of the reins, or Cullen's hand, so Alistair settles for wiggling a single finger back and forth as if pointing to each individual item.

"It goes kissing, flowers, strawberries dropped from above, sock of worms?"

"Yes. Perfect."

"Wonderful."

He shifts his weight -- carefully, so he neither loses his balance or upsets either horse -- so he can lean further to kiss Cullen's cheek."

Cullen laughs. "And now you're a trick rider. Well done."

"Just wait," says Alistair, cheerfully. He squeezes Cullen's hand before gently disentangling their fingers. "By the time we ride back home from the Basin, I'll be doing handstands and flips."