Cullen (
howtoactfereldan) wrote2017-01-14 09:30 pm
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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.)
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.)
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Disgusting, Cullen.
He flops down next to him, dropping the sock -- with a slight squelch -- within easy reach of them both.
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"That's the first rule in any army worth anything. Keep your feet dry."
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More because of plain old discomfort than witnessing any (ugh) rotting, granted. But still.
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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."
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He doesn't let go once he's on his feet, nor as they walk to the dock's edge.
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"And now," he says, ominous, "we wait."
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He starts to unlace one of his boots.
Thoughtful, "Though I suppose that would feed us for several months quite handily."
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Mild.
"And perhaps a better fishing pole."
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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.
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"There are eels in there anyway." As though this is consolation!
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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.
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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.
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"How did you find this place?" he murmurs, eventually. "When you were young."
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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."
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He leans his head onto Cullen's shoulder.
"I would've stayed the entire day had it been me. Did you?"
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"Yes. Yes I did."
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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."
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"I -- as long as we stay in sight of the lake -- "
Words.
"I don't want to see -- anything."
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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."
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He leans his head against Alistair's.
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He circles his free arm around Cullen's waist, smiling faintly.
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"The fish could hurry," he mumbles. "So we can do more of this."
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