freedom_is_grey | Building castles in the mud

"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."

"There isn't even a bard today to keep everyone's attention," Ysalwen mourns.

Quietly.

"So your preference and mine agree quite well. Liranan will have to live with his disappointment."

Fewer pettings! Woe!

Ysalwen will catch the eye of a cook's boy making his way to the cellars and put in her request for food to be sent to her office when it is ready.

And then there they are. In her office. The fire is still blazing cheerfully and it remains quite cozy.

Cullen settles into a chair with a sigh.

"You want to tell me about this shine that they have, or should we save it until after the meal?"

"We have to do something while we wait, and this is better than staring blankly at walls."

Her smile is slightly wry, even if she bites her lip immediately afterward. Eventually she settles in her chair, fingers running along the spine of a book, not-quite absentmindedly.

"I think -- well. After Howe, and the Blight, and the aftermath, and the attacks by the Mother's new darkspawn -- if you had dreams of being a legendary hero, where would you come? We had openings, we'd lost people, we had -- and have -- storied people here that new recruits can learn from and emulate -- so there were a lot of smart, sharp, but under-experienced idealists that showed up at our gates. I like idealists, but perhaps not so many all at once."

Right?

"And -- honestly our coffers are a little underloaded with all the repairs to the Vigil that still need doing, in addition to the proto-famine we had, plus repayment and help for those that suffered from bandit and darkspawn attacks, so -- there aren't many veterans that weren't already here that are willing to work for what we can pay just now. Hence, shiny new children with bright dreams and not a lot of bloody experience."

Edited 2016-02-04 03:56 (UTC)

Cullen blows out a breath.

"Yes. That... makes a great deal of sense." He rubs the back of his neck briefly. "I was one of them, once. It's not as though I don't have sympathy. But it's dangerous for you, and lethal for them."

And glances at her. "And after that display, I suspect I'm telling you things you already know."

Small smile.

"Maybe a little, on that score."

Her return smile is crooked.

"But what I don't know is how to -- beat it out of them without making them resent me. I'm already starting off as nothing like a warrior, and rubbing their nose in my magic isn't -- going to help. So."

Cullen nods.

And says:

"You have a bigger problem than youth and inexperience, and his name is Nathaniel Howe."

"Nathaniel?"

Her eyebrows arch to her hairline, followed quickly by her brow furrowing.

"But he -- "

Ysalwen cuts herself off, trying to think what Cullen might be referring to. Nothing comes.

"How? I mean, not . . . not Howe, but -- what parts of him are problematic? I don't -- "

"The purpose of a commander," Cullen says quietly, leaning forward and balancing his elbows on his knees, "is certainly to make the difficult choices. And to oversee the training and well-being of their people. But a commander also exists, or should, at a remove from the rank and file. A one-sided remove. You should know what they're doing. Part of why I'm here is to help you figure out how to set up those communication lines. But they should see you as a figurehead. They want to make you into a symbol? Let them. They'll do it anyway. You can turn that to your advantage.

"Because it's true. You're not a warrior." He clasps his hands between his knees. "And there's nothing wrong with that. You don't have to become one to be a good commander. But that means that it's even more vital to the success of your operation here that you have seconds who are beyond reproach in their own training, and in maintaining discipline. And that's what's wrong with Nathaniel."

Cullen's voice, eyes, have hardened considerably. "He cannot lead if he only works with half your men. I don't care if he was only running drills with the archers. It doesn't matter. You don't have to be engaged directly to maintain discipline in the yard or on the field. He'd be your captain; captains have lieutenants for just this sort of thing. The new men will learn. But Nathaniel should already know better. And that he doesn't seem to, or that he left it to you to be the disciplinarian -- that's a problem.

"...not that you didn't do an excellent job at it." A quick flash of a grin. "You couldn't have done that any better."

Ysalwen makes a disgruntled noise, digging her palms into her temples for a moment.

This is not the time for talking about how she doesn't want to be a symbol, and not only because it's far too late for that.

It is, however, the time to talk about dealing with Nathaniel.

"He's more used to being a squad commander than -- "

She inhales and exhales sharply, closing her eyes.

"I think a lot of the officers are. Used to commanding small groups, I mean. I have that trouble, myself. But it means we're all poised to prefer being friendly to being authoritative."

Dammit.

"Dammit. Suggestions for overcoming that? Will just talking to them directly work well enough, or -- starting with Nathaniel, I mean. He can take care of Landon and the rest."

Maybe?

She's frustrated; Cullen is careful to keep himself calm.

"Start with Nathaniel. He's got to understand what the problem is in order to fix it. The rest... well. That depends at least in part on how you'll set up the chain of command going forward. -- although here's a question." Sitting up straight. "Is there anyone who owes you a favor with a master-at-arms or the like to spare? Even just for half a year, that would make all the difference."

The real problem is that Ysalwen expected Nathaniel to be the one to know what he was doing with training the troops, largely because of his experience in the Free Marches. Having that not be the case is --

Well.

Unpleasant.

Meanwhile, Cullen has asked an excellent question, and it distracts her at least momentarily from her irritation with Nathaniel and training exercises.

"Hmm. I would say Eamon, but I don't think he has anyone to spare, even this long after -- Redcliffe."

Um. Not mentioning possessed little boys is probably wise.

"I could get someone from Orzammar. Probably a Legionnaire, but maybe not. I'd say Oghren, but he's a drunk and a berserker, and I don't need more than one of those."

Hmm.

"Someone human -- that I'd have to ask Alistair for, and I'm not exactly keen on taking favors from Anora, even by proxy, yet."

"You'll likely want someone accustomed to fighting on the surface," Cullen says, absently. " -- listen. Kirkwall's full of refugees from Ferelden. There's Amaranthine, there's Highever, and you could send word to Gwaren -- would there be coin to see if a lieutenant or the like from the king's army who fled Ostagar would be willing to assist? And you might find some in South Reach, for that matter."

"Highever or Gwaren might do. I would say I'd have Nathaniel ask around Kirkwall next time he goes up to the Marches on patrol, but -- "

Well.

Cullen does not have a high opinion of Nathaniel just now, and Ysalwen cannot quite say he is wrong for it.

So.

Cullen raises his eyebrows. "But? Is there a reason he couldn't?"

"No," Ysalwen allows, after a moment of heavy silence.

"Save that Landon is one of his, too, and so without a specific target in mind I'm not sure I'm inclined to let him have a free hand with personnel."

She's just saying.

"That's fair. And wise." Quiet. "But you know -- there are manuals for these things. Reading alone won't make him the officer you need, but it won't hurt. If he won't take correction, and seek to do better... then you have another, more difficult problem. But if you think he deserves the chance, I suggest you give it to him."

You're both learning, he doesn't say.

"I thought I had been, but apparently not well enough."

She exhales again, rolling her shoulders.

"I'll send him, then, with an official letter in case he finds someone suitable. I hope he does."

And it might be nice, in a way, to be able to help someone come home.

Cullen's thoughts exactly.

"And... feel free to refuse." He rubs the back of his neck. "I could take a week, perhaps two, and try some things with them, in the yard. With Nathaniel watching, and assisting. It would be a stopgap, nothing more. And you shouldn't decide right away."

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