(no subject)

[howtoactfereldan]

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.)

Comments

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. He follows Cullen's gaze back to the fire.

"We won't. You don't have to worry about that."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's head lowers again. It's his turn to nod.

He -- doesn't want to do this. But if his brother and sisters lived through it, the very least he can do is go see.

[bringspeopletogether]

The fire pops, scattering a few sparks into the air.




Hesitant, Alistair says, "If you'd rather not go at all..."

(He's not sure how much of the side trip is for Cullen's benefit, and how much is for Alistair's. If it's all for Alistair's -- and if not going would soothe Cullen's visible unease about the whole thing -- )

[howtoactfereldan]

"We're going."

It comes out harsher than he means; he flinches, shoulders coming up around his ears. "Sorry."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's hand twitches; resettles, after a moment, and presses out a gentle circle into Cullen's back.

"All right." Still quiet. A beat passes before he goes on, "Is there anything you need to do before we turn in?"

Retreating to their tent might be the better part of valor right now, considering Cullen's state. (And his own.)

[howtoactfereldan]

"Wash up." Dejected. "Give me your bowl, I'll take care of it."

[bringspeopletogether]

Silently, Alistair retrieves his bowl and passes it to Cullen.

(He doesn't sigh, though it takes some effort.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen shifts to his feet, stacking their dishes in one hand.

He brushes Alistair's shoulder as he passes, hand lingering.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair looks up, shaping a faint smile. Before Cullen's hand slips away from his shoulder, he catches it, gives his fingers a quick squeeze, and lets go.

Once Cullen's departed, Alistair pushes himself to standing and stretches his arms high overhead. The extra weight of sword, shield, and proper armor has been a bit of a readjustment; old aches sometimes pop up that he'd nearly forgotten. Fortunately, his shoulder isn't among them. Maker willing, it'll stay that way.

He pads toward their tent.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen means to wash their dishes himself, but the cook's assistant takes them from his hands before he can protest.

Well.

Now he's... out here. Standing.





They've traveled enough that the thought of a walk doesn't seem as helpful as it normally would. Means it's time to go hide.

Cullen rubs the back of his neck and heads toward the tent.

[bringspeopletogether]

Hiding does have the advantage of more privacy. It's a big part of why Alistair suggested it.

He's seated near the back of the tent, leaning (with care) against one of the support poles as he scribbles something in a leatherbound journal. As soon as Cullen walks in, he looks up, offers a small smile, and holds out his hand.

"Come here?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen toes off his boots by the flap.

Without another word, he goes and sits at Alistair's feet, leaning his head against Alistair's knee.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair sinks his free hand into Cullen's hair, kneading gently. He sketches a few more lines in the journal.

And then he turns the book so Cullen can see and says, "What do you think? A decent likeness?"

It's a stick figure nug in a lieutenant's helmet, a long, droopy mustache falling all the way to its feet.

[howtoactfereldan]

"...a self-portrait, is it?"

(At least he's smiling.)

[bringspeopletogether]

"No, hang on, that's this one -- "

Alistair flips back a few pages and presents Cullen with another stick figure nug. This one's astride a stick figure gryphon, a sword in one paw.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen starts laughing quietly. "There it is. Perfect."

[bringspeopletogether]

Mission accomplished.

Alistair beams, ruffles Cullen's hair, and leans to kiss the top of his head. "I may not paint royal portraits any time soon," he says, "but royal caricatures I can do just fine."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Better than fine."

He closes his eyes, a smile still playing on his lips.

"Portraits all look the same."

[bringspeopletogether]

"All staid and boring," agrees Alistair. He takes up stroking Cullen's hair. "Hardly a gryphon or nug in sight. It's terrible, really."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mm."

He leans into Alistair's touch.

"If I can get out of all this without someone insisting I have one, I'll be pleased."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Oh, Maker." Alistair's laughing a little, sympathetic. "Should you need help distracting any portrait-painters so you can make your heroic escape, I'm happy to assist."

[howtoactfereldan]

"I'll have to keep that in mind."

Cullen lets out a breath. Then, more quietly:

"How do you do it? Just -- turn things better, in seconds?"

It's a rhetorical question, mostly.

[bringspeopletogether]

"I got lucky enough to find someone who thinks I'm funny."

He tucks a stray curl of hair behind Cullen's ear, smiling.

"Better together, as you've said."

[howtoactfereldan]

"We'll see if it's still true after our twentieth spider," he murmurs.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair snorts out a tiny laugh.

"Are you worried we'll squabble over who chopped off which leg?"