"There was no word
For heaven or for earth, for sea or sky
All that existed was silence
Then the Voice of the Maker rang out
The first Word
And His Word became all that might be"
—Threnodies 5:1–8
By the time they arrived, everyone was already asleep, save for Leliana. She had been keeping watch for intruders and, after a stern talking-to about leaving important notices under dogs, left them to take up the night watch as she retired to her tent. Cousland didn't have the energy to try and insist that she stay up with them.
"I think we should go to Orzammar next."
"…Because?"
"Hey, don't make me go through the whole 'do you have something against dwarves?' shtick again."
"Fine. We're going to find the Dalish, then."
Cousland failed another pout. "Look, I have my reasons, but I'm sort of busy looking for my flask," he defended.
Alistair barely glanced over the area. "Can't you go five seconds without your stupid alcohol? We're talking about more important things now," he complained.
An infamous grin. "Aw, is 'poow Awistaw' upset because I'm not paying enough attention to him?" Cousland mocked, still crouched over as he searched for his dear flask of strong beer.
Irritated, Alistair caught the noble's wrist and forced it upward, causing him to straighten. "Yes," he said curtly.
Cousland wore an odd expression. Alistair could've sworn he was holding his breath. "Alright then," he breathed out finally, covering his anxiety up with a wholehearted chuckle. When the hand on his wrist withdrew, he let his hand fall back into his lap. "Fine. You want to know why I've been egging you on about Orzammar? It's the beer. I want to visit the dwarven city of Orzammar because they have bloody brilliant beer. Are you happy now?"
"And completely unsurprised, yes," Alistair answered. "Also, I hear their beer is piss-awful."
"Blasphemy, lies. Complete lies."
Alistair laughed. "Believe what you will."
Something about the way he smiled was disarming. Cousland allowed himself to relax, the tension in his shoulders releasing all at once. It was a relief to be able to talk so calmly and casually after having to put on a show of honorable killings and reassuring smiles the entire day. He had felt as if he were back in Castle Cousland again, putting on airs and playing the fool to impress his father's guests. If Alistair hadn't been with him that day, playing along with his jokes and letting him poke fun at inappropriate times, Cousland was almost positive he would've gone insane in that tower. He wondered if it was the same for the other Warden, despite not having the pressure of being the party's leader. He wondered if they were both just using each other to blow off steam. But, then again, perhaps that was what friends were for.
Alistair must've been telling him something, because there was an impatient hand waving in front of his face, followed by, "Aaaand you're not listening anymore, are you?"
"Nope," Cousland quipped, not looking at him. "Maker, you're boring."
"This coming from the man who can barely read a book for ten minutes straight without becoming distracted by something else," Alistair countered.
Cousland just stared at him for a moment. "I told you that joke already…? Really? Hm, this was a fast week," he mused.
Alistair hummed uninterestedly in response and propped his elbows up on his knees, staring into the fire. "Do you think Orzammar has good cheese?" he changed the subject.
"If it makes you agree to go there next, then yes, the cheese is delicious," Cousland answered. He reached over once more to grope around for his flask, this time immediately finding and grasping the lost object. Smiling triumphantly, Cousland brought it up to his lips for a victory sip.
Alistair yawned slightly. "You know what? I don't care where we go next. We could go all the way to Orzammar and back as long as we bring the rest of the party," he bargained, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes.
His proposition didn't seem to sit well with Cousland. "All of them…? Look, Al, I understand that after today you want to be extra careful, but… If dear Leliana sees me in my drunken state, I doubt she'll ever look at me the same way again," he protested.
"Honestly, I doubt Leliana will think any less of you even if you go streaking through the streets of Denerim," Alistair assured him with a chuckle. The noble's eyes brightened. "…What, are you actually planning to do this or something?"
Cousland rolled his eyes, a silent 'no, of course not'. He paused. "…Although there was that one time in Highever," he murmured to himself musingly, lowering his voice to conceal this memory from his comrade.
Despite his lowered volume, however, Alistair still heard him and cringed in disgust. "Ew. Okay. I did not need to know that," he groaned, becoming plagued with mental images forming vividly against his will.
His repulsion went ignored. "So I was thinking, perhaps I should present Morrigan with the remarkable gems instead. She'd be more likely to enjoy them, don't you think?" Cousland mused.
"I'm not sure any woman would enjoy shiny pieces of rock, to be quite honest," Alistair replied. "I'd save it for someone else, if I were you."
Cousland frowned. "Oh, but…but then I've no gifts for Morrigan except some ratty old tome," he protested, shaking his flask at Alistair to emphasize the word 'ratty.'
That's when it dawned on him. "Wait a minute—you…and Morrigan? Seriously?" Alistair bellowed in horror. "Wh-?" Cousland quickly silenced the loud blond with his newly recovered flask, slamming it into his face and covering his mouth. He shouted shortly in pain upon impact, already feeling a bruise forming where the cold material of the container pressed against his skin.
Leliana poked her head out of her tent. "Alistair, what are you yelling about? Who and Morrigan?" she questioned in a hushed voice, trying not to disturb their fellow travelers' slumber.
Cousland waved her off with a casual smile. "My apologies for waking you, dear Leliana. Alistair here has been tapping into the flask alcohol again. He can't quite handle it well, yet, I'm afraid. Would you like me to help you get back to sleep? I could tell you a bedtime story about the time I went streaking in Highever," he offered. Alistair rolled his eyes.
A trace of panic overcame her features. "Ooh, well, that sounds…quite charming, but I'll have to pass. Goodnight," she declined earnestly. With that, she retreated back into her tent.
Upon withdrawing the flask from his comrade's face, Cousland earned a well-deserved smack in the head. "Hey, it's your fault for getting loud," he defended as he swatted Alistair away.
"I don't know you anymore," Alistair sighed, shaking his head.
The noble rested the palms of his hands on the back rim of the stump as he leaned back and grinned at his fellow Warden. "Relax. I'm still the same immature spoiled drunkard you dread traveling with," he laughed, waving his hand at him reassuringly.
Alistair also rested his hands on the rim of his own stump, though he planted his hands in the front rather than the back and leaned forward. "I just don't want her manipulating you into doing something stupid. You're our leader, and if you end up becoming Miss Swamp Witch's lackey, she may as well be our leader, and Maker knows how horrible that could be," he shuddered.
Cousland shrugged. "That won't happen. Have a little faith," he spoke simply.
"…Right," Alistair agreed halfheartedly. He straightened and stood from his stump. "I'm retiring to my tent for the day. Goodnight."
Saluting clumsily at his fellow Warden, Cousland sprouted a small smile. "G'night. Try not to trip over one of your sacrificial statuettes on the way in," he joked lightly. Alistair acknowledged the joke with a short laugh before officially retiring for the night, disappearing behind the tent folds.
Remaining unmoved from his leaning position, Cousland yawned and raised his eyes toward the sky. Stars outnumbered yet never outshined the moon, whose pale light lit the campgrounds it overlooked. It was oddly larger than he had thought it to be, or had the size of the moon been different in Highever as well? He squinted at it curiously, lifting a hand to span across the width of it. His palm wasn't large enough to cover it completely, however, and he closed his fist, as if trying to crush the moon in his hand.
He spent the rest of the night like that, trying to cover the moon with his hand.
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Wynne hadn't been camping before. In fact, she had never been outside of the Circle Tower, except when she was a little girl. But, even as a child undiscovered by the Circle, she had never traveled too far into the wilderness. Of course, it wasn't her place to complain; she was a guest, a follower of Jack's, and she would be a polite one at that. Besides, camping outside would save them the trouble of wasting money on an inn. There were too many of them to fit in any of the small inns around Lake Calenhad, and even if there was room, it would be too expensive. They needed to spend those funds on more important things like injury kits and poultices.
This didn't, however, obligate her to tolerate the soil-caked yellow-stained sock she found in her bedroll that morning.
"Alistair," she said sternly, approaching him as he finished his breakfast. "What's this?"
Cheese was smeared at the corners of his mouth when he looked up to identify the item in question. Unflinching as the mucky object neared his face, he shrugged. "It's a sock?" he answered slowly, wondering if this was supposed to be a trick question.
She wagged it around for emphasis. "It's a filthy sock," she corrected. "How did it find its way to my bedroll?"
After taking a quick bite out of Leliana's cheese 'oam-lit'—or whatever the strange dish was called—he shrugged again. "Maybe it likes you? Socks are sneaky like that," he suggested drolly. Suddenly realizing her anger, he hastily added, "Anyway, it's not mine."
"What's not yours?" Cousland chimed into the conversation, taking a seat next to the blond Warden. He stole a piece of Alistair's meal and popped it into his mouth.
Unfazed by the theft, Alistair motioned towards the sock in Wynne's hand. "That," he replied simply.
Cousland chewed thoughtfully for a moment, staring at the sock while processing the foreign food's taste. "It looks like yours," he commented. He pointed a gloved finger at a stain on the material. "Look, it's still stained with blood from that one time you cut your toe on your sword."
Alistair promptly elbowed him in the stomach while the mage took a moment to peek inside the dirty sock. "It has your name stitched on it," she noted accusingly.
Cousland's stare switched to Alistair, who was now blushing brightly. The senior Warden quickly covered it up with a nervous laugh. "Oh, ha-ha…ah… Part of templar training, back at the Chantry. The men were…uh, always getting their socks mixed up," he fibbed quickly, flashing a smile. Wynne and Cousland exchanged unconvinced glances. "A-anyway, uh, sorry about that. I'll take it from you right now; one of my socks is feeling a little damp anyway. A change would be nice."
Wynne's mouth dropped open slightly as he gently took it into his own hand. "You're going to put it on? It's filthy!" she exclaimed, horrified.
"And dry! We're not exactly traveling in the lap of luxury, here," he laughed shortly. He leaned over to remove his left boot.
Before he could even slip the article of clothing on, she shuddered at the thought. "What hideous habits you have picked up…" she sighed, speeding away from the scene.
The moister sock clung to his skin with dirt and what felt like dog slobber as Alistair slid it off his foot. He cringed at the sensation briefly before tossing it to the side, fortunately not hitting anyone or anything in the process. "So, it's decided then? We're going to Orzammar and all its beery wonder?" he inquired. No response. "Jack?" Not even a grunt. Alistair turned towards his fellow Warden, who was now staring at the apostate gorging herself with food. If she noticed him, she didn't acknowledge him, instead distracting herself with her meal.
It took a forceful shove in the arm to catch Cousland's attention. He nearly fell off, but instinctively shot a hand out to the rim of the stump to keep his balance. "Geez, okay! I'm listening!" Cousland hissed, returning the shove.
Alistair rolled his eyes at the noble. "Drooling over the wicked witch of the wilds, I see," he noticed, narrowing a glare at Morrigan. She took a moment to sneer in response, food caught between her teeth as she bore them at him. He simply stuck his tongue out at her.
Cousland shrugged indifferently, unaffected by their silent argument, and leaned over to grab a plate of Leliana's egg breakfast. "You really don't like each other, do you?" he mused before taking a bite.
He continued his glaring at Morrigan, even as he responded, "Well aside from the fact that she's a complete and utter bitch… No, I don't like her at all. And you shouldn't, either."
The last part went ignored. "I think she's beautiful…don't you?" Cousland sighed, also staring at Morrigan, albeit with a softer expression. She pretended not to notice yet again and shoved a plate towards the Orlesian cook, demanding more food.
Alistair harrumphed, his glare intensifying. "Sure, beautiful just like…like something that's also dangerous, like a…beautiful…dangerous thing!" he spat, throwing his hands up in the air for emphasis. Morrigan snorted at him quietly, hiding her smirk by pretending to wipe her mouth.
Cousland gulped down his food. "You have quite the way with words, as always," he quipped.
His sarcasm earned a chuckle out of the senior Warden, despite himself. "Oh, I give up. Do what you want," he conceded, shaking his head. A smile remained evident on his features.
"And so I shall," Cousland nodded, his own smile becoming triumphant. Behind him, Morrigan stuck a finger down her throat and mock-gagged at the two Wardens, scrunching her face in disgust. Alistair attempted to ignore her this time, instead opting to steal back a piece of Cousland's own meal. Cousland wasn't as open-minded about this, however. "Hey! That's my weird egg-cheese thingy!"
Leliana grabbed the piece dangling above Alistair's open mouth and placed it back on Cousland's plate. "Omelet, Ser Cousland. It's called an omelet," she corrected gently as she withdrew her hand.
Whatever it was called, the subject moved to the back of his mind the second Leliana crossed his line of vision. "Good morning, dearest Leliana. Did you sleep well? Did you have any dreams-?" He was cut off.
"About you? No, I'm afraid not," she cut in with a giggle. Just seeing her smile had Cousland melting in his seat, muscles becoming slack and eyes glassing over with admiration. Alistair rolled his eyes, unwilling to deal with the love-struck noble a second time. He stood, not even bothering to announce his departure to gather his things, and left the two to their flirt-and-reject routine.
