howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Alistair dissolves into snickers. "Yes, I was going to say -- pretend we're not Fereldan before you answer that. Anyway."

He squeezes Cullen's hand.

"Some non-Fereldan Wardens were not too pleased with a dog outranking them. A few warmed up to her when she joined them on patrol, and every time, without fail, she was the first to sense incoming darkspawn. But there was one Warden -- an Orlesian man, naturally -- who refused to see her decency and loyalty and only saw that she walked on four legs and had a tendency to slobber when excited.

"One night, he conspired with a few others to lure her out of her quarters with an enormous beef bone. The plan was to strand her in the woods and let the beasts do their work."

A beat, for dramatic effect.

"No one quite knows what happened, but they found the Orlesian the next morning strung up in a tree, wearing nothing but his smalls, and sporting quite a few beef bone-shaped bruises all over him."

Cullen's brow furrows; he taps Alistair's hand. "She'd need thumbs for that. Who were her conspirators?"

"It's one of the great mysteries of life," says Alistair, loftily. "We may never truly know. Her person denied all responsibility when questioned."

Another beat.

"Personally, I suspect a second mabari who'd obtained a contraption that simulates thumbs."

"That does seem like the simplest and most probable option."

All cheer and innocence: "I thought so, too."

He beams.

Cullen only looks slightly pained.

"Is that the end of the story?"

"For now, I believe so. She had plenty of adventures until her Calling -- "

(Despite himself, his smile goes a little crooked.)

" -- but I'll save them for another night."

"How did she polish her armor before she became an officer?" Cullen asks suspiciously.

"Propped it against the wall, put a rag in her mouth, and went to work," Alistair answers, promptly.

"How did she have a command position without undergoing advanced weapons training?" Cullen demands.

"Who's to say she didn't? Just because her weapons of choice were teeth and claws -- "

"Ranged weapons require thumbs," Cullen insists.

"Not if they've been modified so a mabari can use them!"

"If that were true, mabari would be the most feared archers in Thedas."

"They were one-of-a-kind, custom made, and a very closely-guarded Warden secret," protests Alistair. "They knew what sort of havoc they'd unleash if every mabari in Thedas had a crossbow."

Cullen huffs.

"Fine."

(One corner of his mouth is twitching.)

Alistair, by contrast, is grinning outright.

"I'm glad my ridiculous story met with your satisfaction, Commander," he says, and pulls their hands close so he can kiss Cullen's fingertips.

"It was certainly better than Ser Bovine."

He runs his thumb along Alistair's lower lip, smile going crooked.

"In fairness," murmurs Alistair, as his eyes drift closed, "anything would be better than Ser Bovine. That's rather the point."

Cullen says, low and warm:

"I'll remember that next time you claim to want steak."

Alistair snorts out a tiny laugh.

"I don't know. Ser Bovine might be more palatable after he's been turned into steaks."

Pun wholeheartedly intended.

"Ugh," says Cullen, and shoves Alistair's shoulder.

Alistair topples onto his back, cackling the whole while.

There's so much smugness radiating from his side of the bedroll. So much.

Cullen, meanwhile, goes back to his previous position of curling up in protest, pillow over his head.

"Why," he moans.

"You suggested I come along," says Alistair, back to the innocence and light of before. "On your head be it."