(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

[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?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"No," wry, "I'm worried you'll get your fill of spiders and curse me for asking you to come along."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Were I going to yell about being sick of spiders -- "

He returns to smoothing his hand over Cullen's hair.

" -- it would've happened in the Deep Roads with Warden Cousland ten years ago."

[howtoactfereldan]

"...you can't convince me that didn't happen."

[bringspeopletogether]

"All right, look, there are a lot of spiders down there -- "

That's as far as Alistair gets before dissolving into laughter.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen, grinning, stretches, and starts shrugging out of his coat in order to shed his armor. "I knew it."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Never go to the Deep Roads if you can help it," says Alistair, shaking his head. He leans to stuff the journal into his rucksack. "Darkspawn?"

He makes a dismissive noise.

"It's the endless spiders that're truly the worst."

[howtoactfereldan]

"That I believe." Vambraces gone, greaves gone. Cullen starts work on the pauldrons. "Two legs are much preferable to eight."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Precisely."

As Cullen works on one pauldron, Alistair reaches to unfasten the other one.

"Fewer eyes as well. Easier to sneak up on a darkspawn."

(...Well, aside from that bit where darkspawn can sense Wardens as easily as Wardens sense darkspawn. Oh well.)

[howtoactfereldan]

"With ranged weapons, ideally," he murmurs, and starts on his breastplate. Nearly there. Then he can stretch and sulk in freedom. "Better than spiders isn't saying much at all."