traveller

“That is… atrocious.” Indeed, Lyrian was nothing short of absolutely disgusted but he would not voice such a thing too loudly - every culture had it’s different notions and just because it went against everything he had ever learned did not mean it wasn’t normal in the other’s life and routine. “Cooking a dragon?” Ah, he could not help but laugh; “I’m not sure I know any dragonslayers of whom could help-” 

Indeed, respect to the elderly has been on decline. Well manners are lacking everywhere when a war is going on. But he hopes some would retain them, but thats too much to ask. 

“You have no aid?” Lyrian felt himself turning almost disgusted - the Dalish thought very highly of their elders and to not aid them would be considered atrocious. Sleek brows furrowed, his hand gingerly rubbing the other’s back continually in the hope it would aid him soon enough. “Is nobody willing to merely lend a hand?” 

 “I”m just a lonely old man. in the kitchen, sure I have a lot of aid. But out here, in the wilds. No one is willing to help when I’m not a essential member. Or a important one.” Perhaps if he had kept his position...never mind. 

Cooking with herbs? Yes, he had done such from time to time but given the state of the world as of that moment he put most of his efforts into healing supplies. There could never be enough and it only seemed that no matter how many elixirs he made, there was need for more. The sound of the other’s pain had the elf moving swiftly over to him, a hand alight with healing magic of which was placed gently upon the other’s back, an offering of a vial then given; “Here… drink this - it will ease the pain.”  

Oh so he is a mage. How unexpected. Than again, he thinks elves were a lot more liberal with their mages. 

How wrong he is. 

 “Ah, remind me I should bake you something later. And remind myself that its bad to be this old without having help. Or at least be rich enough to hire it.”

“I… yes I am well, thank you.” And it was with such greeting that Lyrian relaxed enough to lift his head from it’s bowed position and then stand, herbs in hand; it seemed much as if he was not the only one gathering such resources. “You are… In need of herbs, yes?” He had quite a few spare in all honesty and a few elixirs he could certainly donate - he would only pass them out to weary folk upon the road, anyway; they might as well go to a good use. 

 “Yes. But I’m good enough on my own. These herbs are for cooking you see. Not for medicine unless the inquisition becomes rather desperate. “ Not if the ambassador could help it, thats why he loves people who can talk their way into anything. 

A shame people like her were shunned in most places. But in any case, this elf looks familiar.... 

 “I’m looking for some mushrooms, if you-

A crack as he bends a little. 

@dragonagechef  ||  Discovered the Wanderer

Collecting herbs was often something the male did for he prided himself in his healing abilities and knowledge; such things were vital for brewing medicinal potions or elixirs but he had not got as far as brewing as of yet. With a handful of perfectly cut elf-root leaves did the male raise his gaze upward to note another, in the distance and thus he froze - hesitance forwarded for he knew not if they were of friend or foe and he had left his staff astride his bag near to a tree. So he dipped his head, cautious, attempting to not be seen for the time being. The last thing he wished for was a fight; he was currently unarmed save for the small knife and he was certainly not physically strong enough to take another down.     

Its times like this, that Pascal remembers that he’s old. Old and getting tired. Already close to his sixties, it felt like tiresome work just getting fresh herbs. But what else was there to do in his own free time but more work? Medicinal herbs were important and with the rate of the inquisition and its battles, it was getting harder to acquire more materials. 

 “Oh! Hello there! I didn’t see you. Are you... alright??”

He snorted, almost inhaling the delicious biscuit that reminded him remotely of his home. His mother had a hand at making these though really they didn’t quite come out as well as these ones. Almost a richer taste, probably because the ingredients were better off.

         "She can get her own then.“ the Commander opened a drawer to hide the biscuits in them. "She’ll eat the whole plate if she knows.” He closed the drawer dusting off his hands as the question came forth. He was at a loss for words but after a moment could bring up the memory exactly.

             "Ah I don’t know if its Ferelden, there was a mage… in the circle, I guarded when I was a Templar. She actually became the Hero of Ferelden but she…She made this honey cake when she was allowed in the kitchen and she…she always gave me an extra because–“ he realized he was rambling, "I have no idea what they were or where they were from but I’ve never had anything like them since…”

 “Oh! So it was just honey that was missing. Well.... mm I don’t have much experience with that.” Despite being so visibly older and weaker, he couldn’t ask people to simply harvest honey, especially with supplies at short amounts. This was merely a gift of indulgence. 

 “The last chef said that you were happy with sugar and butter alone. Is... it just you? Because there are going to be fereldan nobles coming in soon and I have no idea what to cook. For them at least.”

there was a ulterior motive here, and why not the most financially stable fereldan here? He couldn’t well ask Prince Sebastian at any rate. 

Cullen still looked slack-jawed,    

      “My men helped with this?” he gestured to the biscuits. Still almost confused, like no one had ever bothered to do the gentleman a kind thing in his life. And it had been an absolutely hard one. Cullen sat back in his chair, papers abandoned by the inkwell. Cullen opened his mouth to protest his figure but stopped,

                “I’m sure a few biscuits won’t hurt. And if the Inquisitor catches wind they’ll be gone before I even have the chance to gorge myself, surely.” he rolled his eyes in the fondest way. He better take one now before the blonde came to check on him, she’d be eating his biscuits the moment she stepped it.

Was kindness really something that was so rare within the templar order, or was it simply in this man life. In any case it would be best to not dwell on it, he isn’t being paid to be a advisor here, thats Cullen job. He’s just paid here to cook and possibly use long dead connections when Leliana comes comes a knocking. 

 “I’m sure the inquisitor deserves a few biscuits and cakes every now and than, perhaps more after this whole... disaster is over.” For a lack of proper words to describe fighting a evil magister while he cooks in the kitchen.