My Warden (COMPLETED)

The Bronto

He'd never been so close to a bronto before, and he'd have died a grateful old man if he never had to know the experience. The beast snorted at the impotent human clinging limply to his bridle, and sprayed thick mucus across Cullen's back. Yellow as curd, most of it slopped off to the ground. His fingers tried to wipe the rest off, giving him an up close view of the snot as well as the revolting smell. Visions of slicing the creature from neck to navel flashed through his mind. How easy it would be to unearth his sword and send the clearly miserable animal back to where it belonged -- serving demons in the void.

"Ha! I think ol' George here likes ya," the woman sitting primly in the driver seat called out.

"Quite," Cullen muttered. George's eel-like tongue lolled out of his gaping mouth and slurped up the remaining mucus. It seemed an innocuous move save the lone beady eye that stared through Cullen. He caught the message 'I despise you and will do all in my power to make your life hell.' Unfortunately, Cullen was stuck in the same position as the creature, but with the added bonus of bronto snot dribbling down the back of his pants.

Lana walked further ahead of their miniature trade caravan. Using her staff as a walking stick, she'd break ahead to spy on potential dangers, then return to report to him. Or, seeing as the only eventful moment of their day long march involved bronto sneezes, she'd check in, politely sympathize, then ask about the phylactery. She trusted him to carry it wrapped in his pocket, but every half hour she'd slip back and want to see it to make sure the templar didn't accidentally sit on it or something. He'd find it annoying if it didn't also give him an excuse to speak with her.

"Know that I find you insufferable and would rather suffer a meal of gristly bronto stew than drag your carcass across thedas," Cullen whispered to George. The bronto snorted a fresh round, but the crafty human dodged out of the way this time.

"You findin' yourself a friend too there?" the driver asked. Mentally, he changed her name to 'the sitter' seeing as how he was doing all the driving of the beast while she vaguely pointed in a direction from her prim spot atop the wagon. Lana hired them from some small hamlet on the outskirts of Kirkwall. He'd hoped they'd find their own horses, but she thought traveling with company would be better advised.

"Yes, it's delightful," Cullen tried to lie, his face stone. One could hew a quarry with the sneer.

He heard a snicker from further ahead, and turned to catch Lana standing on the hill. Her hand shielded her eyes as she watched him try and play nice with their unexpected companions. A burn inched up his legs from her attention, aiming for his cheeks. Maker, he was better than this. He was no longer some flippant young man reduced to babbling tears from the approving glance of a...no, no he was still that bad. The steel in his spine melted like wax at her innocuous smile. Twisting around to face the sitter, Cullen patted the bronto's nose hoping Lana missed the red burning up his cheeks.

"Gettin' too much sun there, boy? Not surprising, yer as white as one of them undead types. You ever go outside?" the sitter shouted in her amplified brogue to anyone within a five mile radius.

"I, uh..." His work kept him in the shadows of the statues looming over all who passed through the gallows. At least he didn't wear the helmet. Most templars suffered a familiar strip of darkened flesh across their eyes from the helmet's slit. It made them instantly recognizable anywhere outside the gallows.

"It's not often we have Grey Wardens traveling with us," one of the other wanders pipped up. This one was young, in that not quite a man nor a boy stage. His eyes drifted down Cullen's armor. No, it was her armor, he was just the one wearing it. Not that he was wearing the armor she wore, that would be, uh...not a prudent thought to have. It was some warden set Lana unearthed from her belongings in the damned tavern. "Templars would draw too much attention on the back paths. I don't want to alert White early. And people tend to offer assistance to Grey Wardens."