freedom_is_grey | Building castles in the mud

Building castles in the mud

"My office," Ysalwen says, gesturing to the small and perhaps surprisingly cozy chamber they emerge into, the noise of Milliways fading behind them as she closes the door.

"And Liranan's third-favorite spot for napping."

The cheerful little fire crackling in the hearth -- with a very soft-looking rug in front of it -- may suggest why this is the case.

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"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.

Cullen looks down at the scene.

"How did she even...?"

"Trickery and sad puppy eyes," Ysalwen says, swallowing back more laughter and spreading some butter on a piece of bread.

"I think Liranan has been teaching her."

It's the food-sharing that makes her guess that.

Shockingly.

Edited 2016-02-05 23:47 (UTC)

"Andraste preserve us," Cullen says, as dramatically as he can.

The young mabari sits upright at that, barking twice.

She is here to help, Cullen-person!

"I think we're on our own with this one," Ysalwen ventures.

Oh dear.

"Even Liranan won't help?" Cullen shakes his head sadly. "A dark day."

"You're the only one that can save us, Cullen."

Ysalwen tries to intone it darkly, and fails miserably.

"Already being Liranan's, my hands are tied."

Edited 2016-02-05 23:55 (UTC)

Cullen's brow furrows. "And what am I supposed to do, exactly?"

"I don't know, what does one do with a mabari?"

At this Liranan barks, tail wagging a bit more slowly than the other dog's.

"Take her in hand? See what you make of each other?"

-- she's not.

Is she?

Ysalwen gets a very confused and uncertain look. It's not from the mabari.

She smiles faintly.

"It's not all that different from how Liranan picked me. And she's not promised to anyone or for anything, so -- "

The 'she' under discussion has leapt to her feet from her place by the fire and is trotting in Cullen's direction.

Determinedly.

Faintly:

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, I'm not the one you'll have to attempt to dissuade. I'm pretty sure she is serious enough for all of us."

And now the puppy is sitting at Cullen's feet, neat as you please, tail wagging and tongue lolling, her pleading puppy eyes looking at his majestic and noble face.

Hi!

Cullen looks from Ysalwen to the mabari, and back again.

"I -- you can't be serious."

The dog is very grey -- smoke-colored.

"I don't even -- live here. What's going to happen when it's time for me to return?"

"When am I not serious?"

She keeps that crooked half-smile even as she asks it.

"As for what will happen, she'll go on record as a gift to a friend of the Arl, and I'll pester you and her if ever the kennel-master decides he'd like to see if she'd be willing to throw a litter."

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