freedom_is_grey | Building castles in the mud

"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."

"No," she agrees, though there's a faint hint of relief in the set of her face. "That would be -- "

Well.

"We'll see how you get on with them in the morning? And how well Nathaniel takes the talk I've got to give him. To start."

"Yes," Cullen agrees. "This is the beginning of it. And these problems... well. I won't say they're easily solved. But they're not uncommon. If that helps, at all."

"Maybe a little."

Her voice flicks into a question just at the end.

"But only if I don't think about it too hard."

Because it's still something wrong, and it could get people killed.

He sits back in the chair.

"We'll fix it, Ysalwen." Quiet. "I promise you that. We'll make this work for you, and for them."

"I know," Ysalwen says, looking up at him.

"I do. You wouldn't do anything else. And neither will I."

She refuses to be the weak link in this chain. Not if she can help it.

And Cullen seems to think she can.

He nods. "Of course."

Then, more tentative: "You seem... inclined to -- you might not, I'm likely wrong -- but there's not blame to shoulder, here. You don't deserve blame for what you've had no cause to know. And now there's cause... you're learning."

"I know," she repeats, mouth creasing along one corner.

"I don't feel it, really. But I do know. Just -- "

What is the problem, really?

"What else am I missing?"

"We'll know more when we begin to look at how to better organize your people. But that," Cullen says, firm, "happens after you eat."

Liranan stirs from his seat by the fire, barking once in support of Cullen.

Food, Ysa. It is important!

She laughs a little, sheepishly, and rubs at her face with one hand.

"I take your point. Both of your points. All of your points?"

Her mouth curves in a wry smile.

"And since you mention it -- "

This is, of course, when the door opens and a two servants come in, each bearing a tray of food. One is for bipedal people, one is for Liranan.

Some things should not be mixed.

"Impressive," Cullen says, smiling -- both to the servants, and to Ysalwen's sense of timing.

Not Liranan's tray, though. Liranan's tray is kind of scary.

Liranan's tray has come with company!

Someone has escaped from the kennels and is now throwing herself down in front of the fire, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

"Oh, now you -- !"

Ysalwen raises a hand, waving it very slightly in the air.

"No, it's all right, it's fine. I -- we're all fine here."

Puppies, what can you do?

"I'll send her back later, it's -- the company is welcome. I think."

Is it, Cullen?

It's a mabari. Cullen is not going to tell the mabari to go away.

Cullen is busy trying very hard not to grin like he's seven years old.

"As long as Liranan is willing to share, I imagine."

The mabari in front of the fire contrives to look smug.

Liranan whuffs and flops down next to her, nosing his tray in her direction.

Fine, he can share.

He is glad Ysalwen is pleased! And Cullen, too!

Ysalwen stifles a laugh, in deference to the dignity of mabari everywhere.

"That will be fine, then. And thank you."

The servants bow on their way out.

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