Author's Note: This story is the sequel to An Uneasy Alliance - make sure you read that story before you read this one or this won't make much sense! ;)
Also, don't forget to check out Moments, a collection of shorts and 'deleted scenes' from Toriana and Cullen's saga!
Last but not least, please leave a comment if you like the story (or if you see something that needs to be worked on, I'm always open to constructive criticism!), it's much appreciated! :)
In a clearing a couple of miles west of Kirkwall, where the grass is thick and the trees are next to none, a cool autumn breeze with a hint of the cold winter to come blows, making the grass ripple like the surface of a lake. Though the sun is out, gray clouds on the horizon hint that rain is in the future and the air has a subtle nip to it. September it may be, but the world is already preparing for winter.
Four horses of varying colors and sizes stand grazing on the edge of the clearing farthest from the dirt road, hobbled so they cannot run away. A pretty redhead in light leather armor and a black-haired man in heavy chainmail recline on the grass near the horses, talking quietly and occasionally reaching out to clasp their hands together before they separate again, casting shy looks at their other companions who they don't realize aren't paying any attention to them. A heavily-muscled man in intimidating black armor with short-cropped brown hair sits with his back against one of the very few trees around and stares at the peak of the Sundermount in the near distance, lost in whatever thoughts he may have. It is peaceful in the clearing, the murmuring of the man and woman beside each other and the crunch of the eating horses carried off with the low hum of the wind and the chirping of songbirds floating in the air all around them.
The gentle quiet is broken by a woman's irritated voice, "I can't put my heel down any more, for Andraste's sake! I already feel like my foot is about to break as it is!"
This is answered by a sigh, and then a voice that is deeper and just as irritated, but restrained into a semblance of calm, "I know it's hard, but you need to get the form right now before you get moving, or at anything higher than a trot your feet will slide out.
The raven-haired woman with a noblewoman's carriage is seated atop a rather rotund buckskin gelding with creamy tan fur and a black mane and tail (and an incredibly patient look on its face) in the center of the clearing, looking as if she'd rather be nearly anywhere but where she was. Her back is straight and stiff, her hands tight on the slack reins, and the tension is clear on her face as she scowls down at the man standing beside her horse.
The man in question, clad in heavy plate armor, has a head full of golden-edged dark auburn hair and a goatee that is only a shade darker. The expression on his face makes it clear that while he's sympathetic towards the woman, he's getting tired of her snappish replies. But still he stoically stands beside her horse, holding onto its bridle so it does not start moving and unbalance her. His other hand is resting against her booted calf to steady her, and though normally she would be thrown off by such contact, she is far too preoccupied with her anxiety at being on the back of a horse to notice.
Toriana's scowl transfers to the back of her horse's head as it shifts slightly in place, causing her to wobble precariously, and she tries once again to bend her feet more so that her heels are further down and her toes are up, but all that does is send an aching pain rising up her shins. But apparently that's exactly what her instructor was looking for, because he nods and gives her what she imagines is meant to be an encouraging smile, but only turns out looking relieved, "That's it," he says in a low, but happy, voice as he removes his hand from her leg, "Now we'll try a slow walk."
She has no time to protest before he's begun walking backwards, leading the horse beside him and keeping a watchful eye on her in case she might show any signs of being about to fall. Toriana can feel the horse's spine shift and roll beneath her as it takes step after slow step, and she tries to grip harder with her legs but that only makes the horse whinny and take a jolting hop forward as if it wants to gallop, and she barely keeps her balance in her saddle.
"Don't squeeze too hard or he'll think you want him to go faster." That's what she said, she thinks rather childishly as he speaks, "Just relax – if you're calm he'll feel it too and he'll move smoother. Right now he knows you're nervous and it's making him nervous." Cullen's voice is a gentle, encouraging thrum, but she still has to bite back a snippy reply of 'then he's a pretty stupid animal if he mirrors my every emotion without cause.' Her legs and feet are aching, and her form is not helping her keep balance one bit and she's beginning to suspect that Cullen only told her to put her legs in such a position to torture her.
Also, she hates horses.
"Don't grip the reins so tight," Cullen admonishes softly, and she tries to fix her hold on the leather strap, wondering why in the hell it matters how hard she holds the reins when it shouldn't make a difference as long as they're not tugging on the horse's nose. Or muzzle, or whatever the hell it was called on a horse – she really didn't care to learn. But she keeps the thought to herself and tries to obey the ex-Templar's instructions, knowing that he's knowledgeable when it comes to horses (or at least seems so) and she should trust what he says.
Still, her legs hurt and it's not helping her temper.
It's incredibly unpleasant to be atop a horse's back, separated only by a thick slab of leather and able to feel every undulation and roll of the creature's body beneath her. Momentarily Toriana wildly wonders why humans never bred giant Mabari to ride everywhere – they were by far much smarter, more loyal, and much more useful in a fight than a damned horse.
Did she mention she did not like horses one bit?
It was nearly two hours before Toriana could manage a swift trot, steering included, on the back of her gelding without falling off, and as she trots the horse around the clearing she feels rather triumphant – as if she'd just won some critical battle or something similarly monumental. It's a refreshing feeling. And the smile that Cullen gives her, proud and bright, sets off a fluttering in her chest that she tries to chalk up to relief that she hadn't died. Not for lack of attempts on the horse's part – despite its even temper it had thrown her off three times, and she had fallen out of her saddle four more times. Her back was sore and her wrist ached where she had fallen on it, but she felt good.
Cullen watched as Toriana rode in circles around him, and he felt a swell of pride rising in his chest. Teaching fresh young Templar recruits to fight and harness their talents was one thing, teaching the Hero of Ferelden – an independent and very capable mage – to conquer her anxiety and ride a horse was an entirely different, and far more exhilarating, thing. And the brilliant smile she shone with was just another pleasant outcome of the two hours of training.
Moiraine let out a little cheer from where she lay beside Carver and called out to Toriana, "Way to go, Commander! You look like a natural!"
This warrants an incredulous snort from Tori, but she still looks undeniably pleased.
Her horse shakes its mane and she leans forward, hands falling to the pommel of her saddle and looking a little nervous, "I think I might need a break before we move on," she mutters through stiff lips. She reins in to a stop and Cullen is immediately at her side, ready to help her down.
With a heave, one leg is over the horse's back, but Toriana underestimated the distance from stirrup to ground and begins a rapid, unbalanced descent. Cullen is there in a heartbeat, one hand on the small of her back and the other around her hand gripping the pommel of the saddle. Her feet hit the ground with a thud and she stumbles back into Cullen's chest, warranting a grunt from him and knocking the breath from her lungs.
There's a long moment where Toriana stays pressed against Cullen's armored chest, his hands still touching her even though there is no need to steady her any longer, and she can hardly breathe, her heart is speeding up and she can feel her whole body warming as if she's near a fire.
Cullen can't move. Toriana is leaning against him and not pulling away, and his breath is catching in his chest because he can feel the heat of her back even through her armor, and the smell of her hair just below his nose is so sweet and pleasant that he vaguely wonders if that's just how she normally smells or if she uses a special soap for her hair, but either way it's wonderful…
And then the moment is over; Toriana pulls away with a light laugh as if nothing happened and she was laughing at her own clumsiness. Cullen can't help a sigh as she withdraws her hand from his and stumbles over to flop onto the grass not far from the other Wardens like a limp fish. He brings her horse over to the others and hobbles it before he sits on the grass equidistant from Toriana and the rest of the Wardens (he wants to stay closer to her, but he's nervous that she'll reject it).
Toriana looks almost like a child, lying on her back in the grass and smiling up at the partially cloudy sky as if she has hardly a care in the world. It's a refreshing change from the desolation of the last couple of weeks, and he can't keep the smile from his face as he watches her bury her fingers in the green blades on the ground and roll over onto her stomach to watch the other Wardens.
She sees Carver's hand sneak over to run his fingers along Moiraine's arm, and the redhead gives him a vibrant smile through her eyelashes. Toriana can't help but grin and lift an eyebrow at them, "You two are awfully close lately…" she trails off with a suggestive lilt to her words, and wants to laugh out loud when both of them freeze and look at her with wide eyes and red cheeks.
Moiraine is about to say something when Carver interjects, frowning, "I don't see how it's any of your business," he says in as stern a voice as she's ever heard him use.
Toriana shrugs and they both look surprised that she doesn't get angry, merely says in a mild voice, "I suppose you're right." And with a startlingly light smile she rolls back onto her back and continues to look at the clouds, feeling inexplicably happy and oblivious to her companions' bewildered looks. For some reason she felt… free. Freer than she'd felt in a long time.
It was a good feeling.
And today she had learned to ride a horse.
A short first chapter, I know, I know. Next update will be within three days or so.
