howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"No need," he says. "I'll just count as high as I can. It's like I'm telling myself a boring story."

"...you're not going to count at me, are you?"

"Of course not. You'll get..."

Hm.

"The very unadventurous adventures of Ser Bovine, who stayed in his pen all day and ate nothing but grass. How about that?"

"It's not a story unless something happens."

"I'd argue that it's still a story," says Alistair, lifting an eyebrow. "It's just not a good story. Which is rather the point if I'm trying to make it as boring as possible."

"If you were hoping I'd fall asleep with my hands over my ears, that's the way to do it."

Alistair huffs out a laugh.

"I could also argue that something does happen," he says. "Ser Bovine eats his dinner. That's a something."

Cullen glares at him.

And turns his back to Alistair, clamping his hands over his ears.

After a moment, he reaches for the thin pillow, and pulls it atop his head.

Alistair bursts into laughter.

"What," he manages, "don't you want to hear all the minute details about exactly which blades of grass he chewed?"

He wraps his arm more firmly around Cullen's middle as he scoots closer.

"I seem to remember," Cullen announces to the tent, "that Alistair liked to walk in front so that all the traps would fall on him. What a good thing to know as we enter a land full of spiders and gurguts and enemy Avvar and bogfisher dung."

Affronted: "Hey."

(He'd sound much more affronted if he could stop laughing.)

"It's important to use all information to one's advantage."

Alistair grumbles. "See if I tell you any more stories from the Fifth Blight. You're definitely getting nothing but Ser Bovine stories from now on."

"I'll just go back to reading for my entertainment." Lofty. "Kordillus Drakon is a better storyteller anyway."

Alistair gasps, with all due melodrama. "No. I never thought you capable of such a grievous insult, Rutherford. I don't know if I can forgive you."

He lets go of Cullen, rolling onto his back.

"Well," Cullen says, following suit, "when you give me Ser Bovine as evidence of your storytelling prowess, you can't blame me for reaching the logical conclusion."

Alistair holds up a finger. "The opposite of storytelling prowess, thank you. A story deliberately designed to be the worst possible."

Beat.

"That can take just as much skill as telling a good story, you know."

"Granted, but I don't want a bad story."

"Fine." He sighs. One hand meanders along until it finds Cullen's. "I'll see if I can cobble together something good and sleep-inducing. My greatest challenge yet."

"...or just good," Cullen suggests, resting their hands on his chest. "Quiet's the best thing for sleep. And it's early yet."

"A fair point."

He turns onto his side, propping himself on his elbow, and just watches Cullen for a moment, smiling softly.

"How about the legend of the mabari who became a Warden?"

"You have my attention."

He grins. "I thought I might."

Alistair shifts to get more comfortable.

"You know how it goes when a mabari imprints: they're with you through everything. So when a man came to the Wardens with a mabari in tow, there was no getting rid of her. They tried to keep her in another room during the Joining, but she broke through every hold they put on her -- so they eventually gave up and let her sit by her person.

"The Joining isn't pleasant." (Here, Alistair makes the necessary face to convey just how unpleasant the Joining can get.) "The man survived, thank the Maker, but he dropped the chalice midway through. Spilled it all over the floor. And once the mabari was certain he would be all right -- which involved a lot of whining and licking his face and probably sitting on his chest for good measure -- she knew right then that she would have to follow him. She wanted to protect her person, with all her heart.

"So when she lapped up some of what had spilled from the chalice...well, she Joined, too."

"She shouldn't have sat on his chest if she wanted him to survive," Cullen mutters. "Then what happened?"

"That's why I say probably. I find that the least likely part of the story myself."

Serene.

"The Wardens take all sorts, of course, but accepting a dog into their ranks was a new one. Nobody was sure what to do for a bit. They tried fitting her in dwarf armor -- that didn't work. They tried to stick with kaddis, but even some of the Fereldans started to complain about the stink. Eventually they had to make a special set of armor just for her -- and also serve her twice her weight in steaks every day when the Warden appetite kicked in.

"She was just as loyal as you'd expect. As her person rose through the ranks, she became his committed second-in-command throughout. It might've been the first instance of a mabari in any army attaining the rank of Constable."