freedom_is_grey | Building castles in the mud

Before it turns into an overall free-for-all, Cullen stands, quickly, and retreats to the wall.

He's got better sense than to get in the middle of a mabari wrestling match.

"Right, then," Ysalwen says loudly, extricating herself from the tangle.

The kennel-master whistles, too, which gets all the mabari to stop being troublesome.

Eventually.

"That's me taught a lesson, right there. Though you seem to have made a friend, Ser Stanton. I hope you've both been polite."

The mabari by his side lolls her tongue in happy panting. Liranan's person maybe doesn't have terrible taste in company.

Perhaps.

Cullen glances down at his companion and says, overly solemn, "I can only speak for myself, Commander, but I can assure you I've done my best."

The dog at his side yips, tail wagging cheerfully.

He is a very good person, this one! He knows just where to scratch!

Ysalwen shakes her head, mouth curving in a smile.

"And on that note -- toward the stables, perhaps? I wanted to get your opinion of some of the yearlings."

She'll say thank you the kennel-master on the way out, and he, in turn, seems pleased to see them go. Disruptions, you know. Troublesome for the training.

"Of course," Cullen says, straightening -- not quite coming to full attention -- and follows.

He might glance behind him, though, to see if the mabari are still circling.

(They are.)

One of them is going to watch him intently, tail wagging joyously, until he and Ysalwen pass from sight.

(Mostly him.)

"I feel as if I ought to lecture about the stonemasonry here, and point out some of the finer aspects of our construction," Ysalwen allows, once they're out of the kennels and making their way toward the stables.

Slowly.

"Twenty steps and you'll have your vantage point."

"Good," Cullen says -- and gives her a sidelong look. "You didn't bring me here for my engineering expertise, so the lecture could wait, if you'd rather."

Beat.

"Also, if you'd brought me here for my engineering expertise, I'm afraid you'd be quite disappointed."

"You'd be disappointed in my lecture, so I suppose fair's fair."

Her mouth twitches at one corner, though her gaze moves beyond Cullen to the practice yards, though she doesn't lift her hand to shade her eyes.

That would, in some ways, be telling.

Liranan, taking his cue, flops on his side and rolls on his back in the dirt.

Meanwhile, in the yard, half the troops are working with bows while the others engage in formation drills. There is more good-natured back-and-forth than there ought to be in the drilling troops. The archers, however, are being overseen by a man with fine leather armor, an easy commanding nature, and shoulder-length dark hair. None of the men and women under his command are joking at all.

The contrast is easy to see. Cullen adds another item to his mental list.

(And is quietly disgruntled at the thought that he'll have to join that in the morning without putting a stop to it.)

But all he says -- quite neutrally -- to Ysalwen: "Who is it running drill?"

"Landon."

Ysalwen's response is immediate, even as she bends over to rub Liranan's belly. He put it out there, he pays the price!

"Garevel's second lieutenant, a boy from Amaranthine made good. One of Nathaniel's friends in the Marches vouched for him. They did some mercenary work together, as I understand it. He's good in the field."

Cullen grunts, watches a few moments more.

"All right." Quiet. "That's enough for now."

Hmm.

"Is now when I sweep in so you can see how they are with me? Or is that later?"

It's --

Well.

She's not entirely sure what Cullen wants to look for, perhaps.

"That's now, if you're willing." He glances at her. "I'll watch from here. And we can speak about it later."

"Very well."

Ysalwen takes a deep breath, eyes closing for a three-count and opening again before she strides off toward the practice ground.

Liranan stays behind with Ser Stanton, sprawling at Cullen's feet.

Nathaniel is obviously the first to notice his commander's approach, but he says nothing, merely stays about his business. Slowly other heads turn in her direction and conversation dies away. The soldiers' effort at their drills redoubles, and those that are slow to pick up on the changed mood receive no quarter from their opponents.

Ysalwen, meanwhile, makes herself comfortable on a hay bale that was previously being used as an archery target, and watches. Just for a little while.

Well. That's something.

And not the worst case scenario. Worst case would be that they notice Ysalwen and do nothing.

It does take longer than Cullen would like for everyone to realize that the commander is in the yard.

"The problem," Ysalwen says at last, voice pitched to carry over a battlefield. "Is that while you were talking and laughing and focusing neither on your duties nor your surroundings, I might have slaughtered at least half of you."

It's true.

"Probably more than that, considering."

Edited 2016-02-04 01:43 (UTC)

Cullen doesn't even try to hide his smile.

Spending years learning techniques to improve one's focus means he can identify his emotions quickly, so as to let them go as necessity dictates. First is fondness. Then comes pride.

(The last, and most lingering, if he had to put a word to it: smug.)

"Amaranthine needs you to do better. I know you can, so prove it."

Her mouth twists at one corner, though the look in her eyes remains sharp.

"And try to remember that even though this is practice, the world doesn't stop just because you're in the yard."

The semi-recent invasion by darkspawn that almost saw the loss of the Keep ought to be reminder enough. For those that were there.

"Your veterans can well recall such a day, so follow their example."

It's not much of a suggestion.

"Now. Get back to it."

She'll linger a little bit longer, watching who decides to renew their efforts and who looks sulky or rebellious, and then she'll head back to Cullen.

Edited 2016-02-04 01:54 (UTC)

"I should've known she'd put a stop to it," he murmurs to Liranan. "Now the question will be whether they're still listening in the morning, when she's not there."

Liranan makes a disgruntled noise and sprawls out even more bonelessly.

Maybe Ysa will need to set them on fire! To demonstrate! Or they can plan an ambush!

Ysalwen, meanwhile, exhales again once she's close enough to relax again. (A little.)

"Well, there you have it. It's not that I want the shine off of them, but it's a little easier to value a certain set of skills when you absolutely know it's the thing keeping you alive."

Mmmph.

"...by which you mean they're undisciplined?" Dry. "Though I think that's a conversation better had in your office."

"That, and young. Well, some of them, anyway."

So speaks Ysalwen, who is not precisely old herself.

"I suppose we'll have time to look in on the stables tomorrow, if that's something you'd like to do."

Some people like horses, okay? She's learning to.

"But for now, you're right, back the way we came it is."

"I admit the kennels were my priority," Cullen says, with a small smile. "And... yes. There are certainly things to discuss."

He doesn't mean that to sound ominous?

"Oh good," Ysalwen says, cheerfully enough.

She seems to mean it?

"I'll have dinner brought to us, if you don't mind? Less opportunity for staring, which I appreciate an excuse for, on occasion. Unless you want to sit in the hall. It's -- nice. Noisy, most often."

Um.

Cullen snorts. "Yes, by all means, let's go sit awkwardly in the middle of a crowd."

"...which is to say." He rubs the back of his neck.

A lack of discipline makes him pretty... caustic.

"Yes, I think that would be my preference. Not being in the hall."

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