freedom_is_grey | Building castles in the mud

"That leads me to my second question -- would you like a small chamber in the keep or in the barracks? There's space either way, you wouldn't be putting someone out."

The questions that don't need asking are mostly structured around the order in which they will see things, as that mostly has to do with Keep geography relative to this room.

The barracks would be his preference, but he's also quite sure he doesn't need to be disturbing anyone with his nightmares.

"Ah -- a chamber. If it's not... trouble. Or if it wouldn't require too much explanation."

Cullen is just going to keep pretending that Ysalwen doesn't know about the nightmares.

"It's no trouble at all. You've been traveling a long way, and this way if you leave early you won't disturb anyone's rest. And the watch change won't disturb yours."

A perfect story! Or. Something.

"Here, let's get moving and I'll ask Aggi to freshen up a chamber for you."

This is accompanied by a quick, crooked smile.

"Otherwise she'll kill me. She takes great pride in her work."

Cullen reflects that there are benefits to being in a keep run by the Wardens: his presence can be chalked up to just another secret among many.

"Let's prevent murder as much as possible," he says.

"I thank you for that," she responds, with a quick grin.

"So, down to the kitchens to steal food, since that's usually what I do about now -- and if I don't, someone comes looking -- speak to Aggi, then head for the armory, followed by the archery range? You'll see the troops then, or at least some of them. And -- we'll see who we find on the way, as well. Everyone's always running to get things done, as you probably know."

"I have some familiarity with that, yes," Cullen says gravely.

He wonders if he's dressed adequately -- but then, no: Grey Warden keep, secrets, mysterious guests allowed.

No reason to be timid, then. He straightens his shoulders. "Let's go forth and pilfer."

"Excellent."

Liranan, meanwhile, has already bounded for the door.

"I think someone here is ready to lead the way."

It's not like it's a very long stroll to the kitchens.

(Ysalwen's office is a long way from her bedchamber in an effort to prevent her from getting up in the middle of the night to look over documents just one more time.)

Attention turns briefly from preparations for the evening meal as Ysalwen enters through a side door well away from the ovens, closer to the table where a lot of choppign is happening. Some heads turn immediately back to their work, a few shoulders hunch, but among others there is a great deal of smiling and friendly 'hellos'. And a plate has been left at the corner of the table, heaped with slices of venison, the remnants of this morning's bread, and a pot of jam.

It's the hunched shoulders that draw Cullen's attention -- not much of it, just enough for him to file away the knowledge that it's worth looking into later, once he's been set loose to look on his own.

"That's what bread's supposed to taste like," Cullen declares, after sampling. "Something about the water -- it's off, where I've been."

"Maybe different mineral deposits?" Ysalwen offers. She hopes it's not something . . . bad.

"Or just the natural skill of Fereldan bakers."

She's just saying!

"Thank you, Greta. This is lovely. I'll just take some with me now and you can have the rest?"

Liranan has already gorged himself on most of the venison, save for three slices that Ysalwen saved for herself and Cullen.

"Aggi is in the main hall, I presume?"

No one is blushing at Cullen's declaration. Really.

"Oh, yes, my lady Ysa. She's refreshing the flowers since Sigrun liked them so well last time."

"Natural skill, clearly," says Cullen, smiling.

Flowers in the main hall? Also interesting to note -- it's a keep, certainly, and no doubt a fortified one... but like none Cullen has ever been in.

He looks down at Liranan. "If you keep eating that much venison you'll turn into a deer," Cullen informs him.

Liranan's eyes get wide, and his tail starts wagging even faster than before.

Will he be a big enough deer for Ysalwen to ride? That would be good! And he could gore people with his antlers! And strike them down with his hooves!

This is the greatest thought in the world!

Ysalwen puts one of the rescued pieces of venison on some bread and hands it over to Cullen.

"Now he's going to want to pull an aravel, I hope you know. Just to see if he can be like a deer already. Or a halla."

"Oh, he'd miss his teeth soon enough, my lady. Though perhaps it doesn't hurt a mabari to dream." Greta, it seems, has given up hiding her laughter.

Liranan is hurt! From whence comes this betrayal! He is done with you all!

(And thus exits the mabari, stage right. Heading for the great hall and someone who does not laugh at him!)

Cullen has himself let out an undignified snort or two.

...and makes a note to ask to see the kennels, if Ysalwen doesn't consider that an integral part of the keep already.

(It totally is.)

Idly: "I suppose it wouldn't be too difficult to fashion some kind of headdress with antlers."

"No. No, I can't -- "

Ysalwen buries her face in her hands for a moment, laughing.

"Out. Out, it's time for us to go. Now."

Though before they actually leave --

"Though if anyone here gets ideas on that score, I'm sure Liranan will be only too pleased at the opportunity to experiment."

She's just saying.

And now she is leaving, munching contentedly on a venison sandwich as she goes.

"He seemed to like the idea," Cullen protests, trailing into the corridor after her. "If nothing else it might be a good look for Satinalia."

"Does this mean Liranan gets to suggest your Satinalia costume, as well?"

Ysalwen is asking for a friend!

And being careful to keep one hand cupped under her mouth as she eats so that too many crumbs don't get on the floor.

"Only if I get to give him suggestions before he makes the final determination," Cullen says mildly, glancing about.

"And I won't be anything four-legged. Or six-legged, for that matter." Beat. "Or eight."

"Unfair evocation of giant spider imagery. I call foul."

She pauses before entering the great hall, popping the last bite of sandwich into her mouth, licking her fingers clean of juice, and then smoothing her robes and tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear.

Liranan's cheerful yip can already be heard from somewhere off to the left.

As can a sharp female voice, tinged with an accent that is distinctly not Fereldan.

"And I can see why the interest in flowers, suddenly."

That gets muttered under her breath, and then she steps into the room, her walking pace picking up into something a lot more brisk and less rambly.

"Velanna. Report?"

He's heard that name before.

And Cullen follows Ysalwen's cue, walking a few steps behind and to her right, stopping when she stops, clasping his hands loosely behind his back in a casual approximation of parade rest.

He's had a lot of practice being the (less-)bad lieutenant. It's easy enough to fall back into it, shoulders squared, expression blank.

"Who's thi -- "

The blond elven woman starts to ask a somewhat waspish and defensive question, but Ysalwen's raised eyebrows appear to cut it off at the pass.

"A party of darkspawn moving this way, Ysalwen. No emissaries, no alphas. I came back to take some of the recruits out to deal with it. It should be an easier blooding. Did you want -- "

Ysalwen shakes her head, flicking a quick glance at Cullen as she does so.

"Not this time. You'll manage well enough. Just don't take Galen, Merana, or Leomund. They're not ready, and they might never be. Tell me how they do afterward, once you're all back. See if you can beat Nathaniel's record, if you like."

Velanna nods once, sharply, shoots Cullen a suspicious and measuring look, then departs, step hitching only a little as Ysalwen lifts her voice to be heard for just a little longer.

"Sigrun's taking bets."

Cullen makes a noise that could quite easily be mistaken as throat-clearing.

Well. Ysalwen's got the knack of how to motivate her people as individuals. He'll have to tell her, later.

"Oh good," says a bustling woman with neatly upswept graying hair, a lined face, and several flowers held in one hand. "She found you. Or you found her. Never does like taking direction, does she? Not from shems, at any rate. And I was only just saying you were in your office."

Ysalwen turns, cracking a slight smile at the woman's approach.

"Aggi. And here I was just looking for you, too. Thank you for the flowers. She'll appreciate it more when she's back, I imagine. And -- I've a guest who will be spending at least the night -- Stanton, here. He'll need a room, one of the smaller chambers not on Wade and Herren's side of the Keep, please? Maybe near the library? I'm sure you know the set I mean."

Well away from any current occupants, recently renovated and repaired, and quiet.

For the nightmares that no one here is talking or even thinking about.

"Yes, m'lady Ysa," Aggi says promptly, looking the guest over once or twice -- he is handsome, after all. "Any luggage or parcels to be put in there as well? Or notice given to the stablehands about when he'll be wanting to leave?"

Ser Stanton very carefully does not assume that it's that kind of look. Of course anyone in her position would size up strangers close to the arl.

Smoothly, then, he says, "I'm afraid the answers are no, and not yet, mistress -- I hope that won't cause you trouble."

"Oh, no, no," Aggi says dismissively. "I'll just send one of the girls along to freshen up the sheets and get a fire going. Do you take a warming pan of an evening? Some people like things crisp, I know."

Nathaniel.

Ysalwen laughs quietly.

"You could ask Aggi to be ready to receive one hundred guests in two hours and she'd still insist it was no trouble, I swear."

Aggi looks skeptical. "You say that, but you and I both know, my lady, that you'd never dream of doing such a thing."

Ysalwen presses her knuckles to her mouth, eyes sparkling with badly-suppressed mirth. "Just so you admit in advance that it will not be my fault if our King ever decides to pay a spontaneous call."

Aggi actually swats at Ysalwen's shoulder with the flowers, almost reflexively.

"Oh, go on with you, then. Just know that my husband will take it out of you when yon mabari there goes to stud."

That -- is a good thing, like as not. It's not as though Cullen's spent a great deal of time in the great houses of Ferelden, to know if such things are typical for young nobles and their -- chatelaines? Is that Aggi's role?

More questions to be answered later.

"Ah -- no, mistress, thank you," Cullen says, when he can get a word in edgewise.

That is largely Aggi's role, and it's not as if Ysalwen has spent oodles of time in great houses, either. She's begun how she means to go on, however, and most here have been so relieved at Howe's departure that they've allowed it, even against previous instincts.

It -- makes for an odd little household, but still. It works!

"And now, I think, I ought to take this one around to show off the troops. Someone should see the results of all the training they've been putting in, no?"

Aggi seems pleased to agree, then gets back to making sure everything is clean and arranged neatly as a pin.

"Her husband is the kennel-master, in case you wondered. He has a breeding plan all laid out already."

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