howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Cullen smirks.

"Yes, I'm well aware you're only after one thing."

"More than that, I'd say," Alistair protests; his voice stays light. "It's a very nice part, yes. But only one part."

"Thank you for calling it a very nice part." Stifling laughter. "That's something, I suppose."

Alistair snickers.

So very sweetly: "You're welcome. Always happy to provide compliments as needed."

Cullen rolls his eyes, and doesn't say, They're never needed, or anything remotely like it.

(He's thinking it, though.)

"Noted." Dry.

His smile goes more lopsided. Alistair strokes Cullen's hair again, back to the uncertain care of before.

(He might have some idea of what Cullen's thinking.)

Quiet: "Do you want me to go find bait?"

"It's either that or cede some of your jerky for the cause."

Alistair snorts, catches Cullen's mouth in another short kiss, then pulls free. "I'll return with the best supply of worms and bugs a man can find, then."

And maybe once Cullen's had some time to himself, his spirits will lift back to where they were before.

Cullen wrinkles his nose as he sits up.

"How... touching."

"Only the best for you, my love."

That statement might be a smidge more effective if Alistair didn't start laughing by the end. He heaves himself to standing, claps a hand to Cullen's shoulder, and wanders closer to the trees in search of appropriately crawly things.

Cullen laughs too -- not much, and not for long, but it's something.

He returns to pulling up grass for the fire, and when that's done, he goes in search of fuel. If they're going to cook fish over coals, the fire needs time to burn.

Alistair knows damn well he has no reason to feel useless when Cullen shrinks back and goes quiet; no man can ever be happy all the time, and Cullen's...well, by nature, he's prone to moods. Tell that to the tiny little bastards in the back of Alistair's mind, though.

Luckily, they're easily distracted by digging out worms and beetles from the crevices of tree roots. Alistair's commandeered a sock from his pack -- they're right near a lake, it'll be easy enough to wash later -- and eventually tromps back with it three-quarters full and one hundred percent muddy.

Cullen, meanwhile, has started a fire, and located a stick that will serve as a makeshift pole. He's tying the line to one end when he looks up and spies the sock.

And starts laughing again. "Don't tell me that's full of -- "

As prim as he can manage, "What? Did you think I was going to stuff them all in my pockets like a savage?"

He holds out the sock to Cullen, beaming.

The image before him is so patently ridiculous that Cullen can't reply immediately.

Wheezing a little: "You look so proud of yourself -- "

"I am proud of myself."

Seeing Cullen laugh like this is a rare treat. And it's contagious: Alistair's starting to laugh, too.

"I didn't come back from my quest empty-handed, who wouldn't be proud of that -- "

"And what were you planning on doing with the excess?"

"Throw them at anything that interrupts us tonight," he says promptly. "Up to and including that bird."

He's still laughing. "Brilliant. And for your noble sacrifice -- " Grinning at Alistair. "You can borrow a pair of my socks."

"Truly," says Alistair, pressing his free (and still slightly muddy) hand to his heart, "the greatest gift anyone has ever given me. i shall wear them with pride and honor."

"And then wash and dry them before returning them."

"Are you sure?" Innocent. "I've heard mud between your toes can be quite restorative."

"...and clearly you've never seen anyone with their foot rotting off from the damp."

Alistair wrinkles his nose. "I didn't say it had to be constant mud. For weeks on end."

Disgusting, Cullen.

He flops down next to him, dropping the sock -- with a slight squelch -- within easy reach of them both.

He cannot help but wince at the squelch. (You want to talk about disgusting.)

"That's the first rule in any army worth anything. Keep your feet dry."