howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"...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."

Wryly amused, Alistair points out: "I did learn that fairly early on in my ten years of service, yes."

More because of plain old discomfort than witnessing any (ugh) rotting, granted. But still.

"I was about to be very concerned." Lightly. "Your feet are important."

"I'm quite fond of them myself. Very useful for walking, and...more walking..."

He stretches his legs in front of him, leaning back on his palms. A beat goes by.

"You can't see it through my boots, but I'm wiggling my toes right now."

Cullen laughs, soft, and gets to his feet, picking up the pole first before extending his hand to Alistair. "Bring your toes to the dock along with the rest of you, Theirin."

Alistair's smile warms. Grabbing the makeshift pouch of bait, he puts his clean(er) hand in Cullen's and pulls himself up.

He doesn't let go once he's on his feet, nor as they walk to the dock's edge.

Suits Cullen just fine. He does let go to bait the hook, though, and sits near the edge, pole held loosely in his hands.

"And now," he says, ominous, "we wait."

Alistair snorts. "You make it sound as if we're about to catch a sea serpent."

He starts to unlace one of his boots.

Thoughtful, "Though I suppose that would feed us for several months quite handily."

"We'd need another horse, though."

Mild.

"And perhaps a better fishing pole."

"Damn shame we didn't think to grab a pike from the armory before we set out." He sighs; pulls off his boot. "Would've been perfect for hauling in something that size."

Off comes his sock, which he sets aside well away from the bait-filled one. Gingerly, Alistair eases his bare foot over the side of the dock and pokes the water with his toes.

Immediately, he yanks his foot back, says, "Nope," quite conversationally, and snatches up his clean sock again.

Cullen laughs again.

"There are eels in there anyway." As though this is consolation!

"And, as we've established," says Alistair, jamming his boot back into place, "we both like my feet as they are."

Folding his legs, he leans his shoulder against Cullen's, turning his gaze out to the water. Sunlight glints here and there, in quick sparkles that disappear before the eye can adjust. Behind them, the bird resumes its twittering.

Cullen shifts the pole to one hand so he can put his free arm around Alistair, squeezing gently.

After a moment he leans in and lightly kisses the hollow of Alistair's temple.

There are -- things. Things to say. But right now especially Cullen is reminded that he's not very good at words.

Alistair smiles, soft and fond. He closes his eyes.

"How did you find this place?" he murmurs, eventually. "When you were young."

"Our farm is -- was -- south of here. Not too far. Fifteen minutes at a run."

He looks at the place the line hits the water. Nothing yet.

"You know I wanted to join the Order from a very young age. That meant I spent as much time as I could get away with at the Chantry. And my brother Branson was -- I suppose dismissive is the best way to put it. As much as a seven-year-old can be dismissive. In a fit of pique I headed toward the village, but I wanted a path where nobody could find me. And then I went over that ridge on the other side -- and there it was."

A soft chuckle. "Somehow I suspected Bran was involved."

He leans his head onto Cullen's shoulder.

"I would've stayed the entire day had it been me. Did you?"

"The one thing I know for certain about children is that when confronted with an unfamiliar body of water, every inch of it must be explored or else.

"Yes. Yes I did."

Alistair's grinning. "Excellent."

A wave slaps against the pier. The fire crackles behind them.

"...Perhaps we could go for a walk later." Softer. "Do our own exploring. If you'd like."

Cullen stiffens, just a little.

"I -- as long as we stay in sight of the lake -- "

Words.

"I don't want to see -- anything."

"I know -- "

He covers Cullen's hand where it rests on his shoulder.

"I know." Still soft. "I wasn't thinking we'd venture too far. Just -- along the shoreline."

Cullen breathes out. "I'd like that."

He leans his head against Alistair's.

"All right."

He circles his free arm around Cullen's waist, smiling faintly.

He kisses the top of Alistair's head.

"The fish could hurry," he mumbles. "So we can do more of this."