My Warden (COMPLETED)

Ice

After walking some of the market while watching Honor draw many into her charming web, Lana spent the rest of the afternoon waiting at the bakery. Her baker friend was busy for most of the day, but he'd take a few moments here and there to thrust some new treat upon both mage and mabari with a wink and an insistence they tell him if it passed. Of course Honor approved of anything short of a five day old dead rat - and even that was optional - while Lana's palate was about as sophisticated as a finger painting. She couldn't tell the difference between a pork medallion covered in truffle scrapings verses pork butt smothered in mushroom gravy. It was all good as far as her never ending appetite was concerned.

Having nearly eaten the poor baker out of all of the remnants of his stall, the day was lengthening towards the fall of the sun when Cullen stumbled around the corner. Smiling up at him, Lana set aside the dog eared book Honor pilfered for her, "Finished already?"

Cullen tipped his head, his cheeks rosier than when she left him. Sliding in beside her, he moved to plop a hand onto the table for leverage but missed. Lana grabbed onto him before his miscalculation caused his chin to smack into the wrought iron. Laughing while hoisting him up, Lana said, "I'm guessing there were more than a few pints consumed."

"You could..." he shook his head, trying to clear the no doubt happy blue birds circling it, "something like that. Turns out there's an Orlesian whiskey that's far too smooth for the kick you get about ten minutes later."

"Oh dear." Lana'd never seen Cullen drink much. There was the bit here and there with dinner and after, of course, but he wasn't the type to snatch up a bottle and race to see who could finish it first. The poor man seemed ill prepared for the effects of whatever did him in, though the happy smile plastered upon his cheeks lifted her spirits without requiring any alcohol.

"It's...what was it called?" Cullen staggered back up, his hand absently reaching for a sword hilt that hadn't been upon his hip in over three months. "Petite Morte?"

"I, uh," Lana caught the curious glances turning towards the inebriated man who bellowed those words through the crowd, "I rather doubt that was it."

"Why?" his questioning face was so achingly naive, she didn't have the heart to explain.

"Just a thought," Lana began to reach for her cane, when she shook her head. "I'm not certain I can help guide you and myself back to the Cathedral."

"It's not an issue," Cullen tried to dismiss her concerns away and nearly stumbled backwards into a stationary chair. "I have it perfectly over control."

Stifling a laugh as the fearsome Commander turned upon the threatening chair and waved his brave fist at it, Lana slid forward and grabbed his slack one still struggling to find that missing hilt. "Regardless, allow me to help." Barely threading apart the veil, Lana slipped a small sobriety spell into his veins. Not enough to dampen the buzz he worked valiantly to achieve, but it cleared away most of the motor function issues.

Gasping as if he broke the ice diving into a freezing river, Cullen twisted his head while clarity rose in his mind. With a better control of his limbs, he stood up high and gazed about at the Orlesians curious into the drunk man's going ons. "By the void," he cursed.

"Sorry," Lana said, lifting her cane up and rising to her feet, "but I doubt I could literally drag you home and I feared you were about to reach that stage."

"No, no," Cullen worried the palms of his hands against his eyes, scrubbing them clean to face the real world, "it was appreciated. I'm...I cannot believe I let myself reach such a state of--"

Lana ran her fingers over his arm and gripped tight, "You were having fun, with your people. It's allowed."

"Not as the Commander...which I'm no longer," he smiled. "That will--"