howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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He will not face Ysalwen in templar plate.

Cullen isn't entirely sure about this whole 'sword instruction for arcane warriors' enterprise, but that's the one thing he is entirely positive about: he will not face one of his former charges like this in the uniform of the Order.

What this means is that after much dithering and fretting -- too much, he tells himself sternly; it's a simple problem, with a simple solution -- he produces simple black leather armor, a purely functional cuirass, and plain pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves.

The goal is to only be the regular, average kind of threatening.

Whatever his goals, Cullen is standing out back looking at the lake in the company of two practice swords, a wooden shield, a slim book with a plain cover, and a jug of switchel at his feet. He is frowning, as though the lake has offended him.

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She exhales a sharp huff of breath that Liranan echoes, because sometimes his elf-person is ridiculous.

But it's good to know she's doing it right, or mostly right, or right enough to satisfy Cullen, who probably couldn't be undemanding if someone paid him. In lyrium.

Ysalwen keeps her silence, however, because it is expected, and because it really is easier to pay attention to every motion of her body when she's not distracting herself with chatter. It is less easy to keep her hindbrain from dragging up things it's better not to think about, but one can't have everything.

She is not, for instance, imagining ever having to fight Cullen. Or stand against him. Or having Alistair come after her because she's done something horrible. Or --

Right. Wrist extended, movement flowing down from the shoulder to the elbow to the very tip of the blade, legs just so, abdomen just so, balance held this way for utmost flexibility in response --

And again.

(Hindbrains are like that. And that's the challenge: to quiet the whole mind. Cullen struggles with it; it's not going to get better. But time in a practice yard, time spent in prayer -- they help him.)

Quiet, when she's done:

"You're doing quite well, Ysalwen. Good work."

"I'm trying," she says honestly.

"It's -- hard to tell, from the inside."

That's not just about training, or sword work, or spellcasting, or --

Anyway.

Edited 2015-10-26 15:21 (UTC)

"I know."

Light.

"It's why I tell you."

"I figured."

One corner of her mouth quirks upward, very faintly.

"It's much better than silent miming, too."

Or interpretive dance?

"...not least because I'm not very good at it." Cullen rubs the back of his neck.

"I'm not very good at interpreting it, either."

She can do it with mabari! People are harder.

"So we're both better off."

Cullen nods, a little, and glances back out at the lake.

"I suppose... that's all I had in mind. For today."

"My arm tells me this has been more than enough."

One corner of her mouth is still faintly curved.

"You can stay out here for awhile if you like. I'll leave Liranan here. He could use some time outside, and I could use a soak in some very hot water."

Plus if Cullen does stay outside, Liranan can watch his back.

A second of hesitation.

"If you don't mind."

Cullen blinks, surprised.

"If you need someone to watch him -- of course -- "

But a mabari is an independent sort of beast. She's not -- this isn't -- for him, is it?

"Less watch than keep company. Mabari aren't solitary creatures," she says quietly, reaching out to nudge at Liranan's belly, just because. "And sometimes I am."

"If... it will help." He still looks a little bemused, but he's not inclined to press. "We'll be here."

She stands up, ruffling Liranan's ears before she turns away to head back for the bar.

"I'll know where to find you. Be good."

That last is probably to Liranan.

(Seriously. The longest soak with fragrant bath salts and really soft towels is going to happen as soon as she is inside. Count on it.)

Mabari are always good.

...on the other hand, that means she's saying it to Cullen.

"We'll try," Cullen says, dry, looking down at Liralan. "We'll endeavor."

"You'll succeed," Ysalwen retorts, something bright in her voice as she moves across the grass toward the bar.

"That's why there's two of you."

And if one of them ends up being a pillow later, there is not a damn thing wrong with naptime. Mabari are excellent for sleeping on.

It's true. But Cullen would insist to his grave that his knowledge is strictly theoretical.

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