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“It’s not a problem.” Krem said, smiling amiably. “Have to help the cause somehow. Won’t do much good if the Inquisitor’s out of commission. We’ll lose our pay.”
Altair huffed and leaned back against the sacks and tipped his head towards the sky.
“I shouldn’t have expected to be anything else,” he said with a small smile. “Even without me, I’ve sure the Inquisition would continue out of necessity, and Josephine would ensure the Chargers were still paid.”
“There were lots of us.” Krem said, smiling. “Military was a good way to make a life. As long as you didn’t die, you didn’t have to worry about eating.” He set Altair’s arm down, shifting to lean back and relax. “No. Could teach you some tricks. Get some basic strength. Use what you have. It’ll be work, but not impossible to keep you from dying in a duel.”
Altair rolled his wrist and twisted his arm testingly. It felt better, if not considerably more sore. He felt warm as well, despite the cold.
“Thanks for that,” he said, pulling his arm back against his body. “And for all of this, the Seeker really did a number on me.”
Krem pulled back quickly, concerned about touching too firmly. He refrained from massaging for a minute before returning to the task. He knew where not to touch now.
“Tailor’s son.” Krem said, chuckling. “I knew how to fight hand to hand. Gave me a bit of help when disarmed. Other than that, mostly determination. Not resting, not giving up, till I was strong.”
Altair took that in with a silent consideration; his devotion was admirable, and honestly, Altair was impressed.
“That’s...” he said simply, “really inspiring.” Altair had never been a tailor, or seen a tailor’s son, other than Krem, but he didn’t think Krem would count as a “tailor’s son” anymore. “I’m not sure I have that much time, thought.”
Krem was too focused on getting it right, on avoiding making Altair more miserable. A wrong move could easily manage it.
“Not particularly.” He said, particularly nonchalant. “My fighting partner back in the army showed me this. Used to be beat as badly as you. Helped Bull a couple times when it was really bad.”
Altair hissed when Krem pressed on a bruise a little too roughly.
“I can’t imagine that you were every as bad at sword fighting as I am now,” he said. In truth, Altair’s basic training received as part of his education as a noble was simple in quality, and it was nothing even close to be sufficient for military work. “I doubt they would let you fight with such poor skill.”
Krem smiled slightly. Well that was rather cocky, but it fit. And it wasn’t annoying like Bull could sometimes be. Or, perhaps, he was biased. Or he felt bad for the poor guy, all black and blue.
“Hopefully you don’t have to fight for a while.” Krem said, taking Altair’s arms and just gently massaging them. They were already full of knots around the bruises. That was going to be a mess. Especially if not taken care of. “You won’t be much good like this, bow or not.”
Altair couldn’t help but let out a soft moan. The pressure on his beaten arms felt very nice, relaxing, and exactly like what he needed. He felt his arms turn to jelly, and he smiled slightly at the Lieutenant.
“You do this for all your Commanding officers?” he teased, giving him a look.
“Probably would work harder to beat you again.” Krem laughed. It was an interesting image, at the very least. He definitely would enjoy meeting Altair’s sister.
“No. No you cannot.” He tried to stifle his laughter into a chuckle, but it was only slightly working. “It’s probably disgraceful. Unmanly or something.” He said with a chuckle. “Plus, they get close and you’re a goner.”
“There’s a lovely thing about bows, Krem,” he said, finally pulling away when Krem’s armour became too cold. “Which is that nothing gets close, if you’re good enough. And I am good enough.”
He groaned as the feeling started returning to his arms. He wasn’t good enough with a sword though, clearly.
Krem chuckled a bit at that. He could well enough imagine what a fighter Altair’s sister might be. Potentially a terror, being more skilled at him. Likely. He wondered how amusing it would be to see them interact.
“Maybe we’ll get you ready to impress her when she visits.” He said with a grin.
“I doubt anything would impress her,” he said, smiling fondly. “If I surpassed her she’d only be jealous.” His sister was really such a child, but a good-hearted one. He couldn’t help worrying about her, but he knew she would be fine.
“Can’t I just duel with a bow?” he complained, leaning against Krem.
Krem paused, stilling. Last thing he needed was Altair’s head stuck to the armor from the chill. It was unlikely, but still a weird thought. Certainly would be a fun one to explain.
“Don’t worry.” He said with a smile. “It’ll be fine. You’ll be ready to take on nobles in no time.”
Altair sighed.
“My sister would love that,” he chuckled, “she was always so eager to take on any of the challenges my father got.” His sister was s fierce fighter, but he could only hope she could become the heir their father needed. “I was never good at sword play.”
Krem laughed at that one; he couldn’t help it. He imagined the Inquisitor would have to resist being bed-ridden, with how Cassandra left him. “Sure. I have to help check the boy’s supplies and gear, anyway. It’s a couple day job if they haven’t been taking care of their things.”
He sighed and leaned his head against Krem’s shoulder, soothing the headache he felt rolling in from all the stress.
“That’ll work,” he said, “that’ll be fine.” He couldn’t imagine what training with Krem would be like, but he didn’t want to think about it right now.
“Muscle memory. Get the movement stuck in your head. Keep adding on till your body knows what to do when. It takes a while, but not as long as broken bones.”
Krem tried to stay very still as the other moved. It was like he was dealing with a nug or something–that he might scamper off at the wrong word or movement. He couldn’t remember the last time something had been this challenging. Though he also couldn’t remember the last time he did what he did to Altair.
“It’s the ice. Snow and metal.”
“Fine,” he said, more exasperated than anything. “If you think that you can teach me, then you’re welcome to.” He pressed another bruise against Krem’s armour and honestly hoped he’d be able to move tomorrow.
“If we could wait a couple days first,” he said, embarrassed and a little sheepish, “I would appreciate it.”
Krem smiled slightly, without even realizing. It was good to be leaned on, figuratively and literally. It made him happy. Without him even realizing.
“For one, I won’t hit you when you miss an action.” He said, smiling wryly. “And I’m aware of the mistakes one makes when changing weapons.”
Altair turned to look at him and gave him a look.
“If I don’t get hit, how will I learn?” he said, shifting again to a different cold spot on his armour. He hissed again. “Maker, your crap is so cold.” He shifted to turn towards Krem more to press different parts of his body to Krem’s icy armour.
Krem looked at him for a little while, wheels turning. Yeah, if he continued being beaten like this, the Inquisitor would be a puddle of jelly attached to spaghetti limbs. He wouldn’t learn anything like this.
Krem shifted a little, adjusting so nothing sharp on his armor could agitate the other. “I’ll teach you. Very least you’ll come out with half the bruises.”
Altair sighed, was he really that pathetic? He leaned back against Krem without really intending to; the chill of his armour brought relief to his aching muscles.
“Some fighter I am,” he said, “I can barely survive basic sword training, how would training with you be any different?”
Krem watched him for a moment, wondering if he should just move on and leave the Inquisitor alone. He would probably prefer that. But, then again, Krem wasn’t always the wisest.
“No. Wouldn’t be the Seeker otherwise.” He said, moving to sit behind him. Gently, he placed the back of his gauntlet to a spot that looked about to swell. The cold of this air always made the armor on the chilled side, which required several layers underneath. He just hoped it wasn’t too cold.
“Are you going to keep training with her?”
Altair hissed. Maker his armour was cold, but Andraste spare him, it felt so reliving. He left out a sigh and leaned back
“Maker, I don’t know if I can,” he replied, “would I survive?” When that particular spot on Krem’s gauntlet warmed up, he moved his arm to a different spot.
“If I don’t, I’ll look weak,” he concluded, “and I’ll just have to leanr from someone else.”
Krem noticed the ice first as it hit the ground. It wasn’t like ice was a rarity, what with the mages and the snow all around Skyhold. But to have it being used in this manner was a little more rare. He could only guess the cause.
“She didn’t hold back at all, did she?”
Altair groaned. Of course Krem of all people would be able to notice. He stooped to pick up his ice pack and resumed sitting against the sacks of Maker-knows-what. He pressed the pack to his arm. Really. Krem.
“She’s not one to hold back,” he said, a little sourly.
Sometimes being a Lieutenant was tough. While he enjoyed watching over the boys, making sure that everything was handled right and everything was survivable and missions kept coming in so they didn’t get bored, sometimes it was a little much. Only for a second, just when he was flashing back to the tailor’s son stuck in a tiny little house back in Tevinter. It demanded air.
So he walked along the battlements, just taking in the air, looking across the landscape. He could pretend he was looking out for any signs of change out there, but that was for the guards and scouts. But the breath was nice.
Up until he almost stumbled on the Inquisitor. He blinked. “Everything … alright?”
Altair coughed and straightened up, the icepack slipping from his arms. Krem really was everywhere, so it shouldn’t surprise him that Krem was here too.
“Perfectly fine!” He said, smile on his face even with lightly blooming bruises covering his body. The training today was brutal, but that didn’t mean he wanted to show it.
Krem glanced at him for a moment. Well, that was unexpected. Or perhaps it was more of an observation; it wasn’t like Altair could go check on Bull without spotting Krem. Or get a drink. Or several other things.
“Yeah. You know where I am.” He said, smiling pleasantly, but overall formally.
“Of course.” Altair smiled pleasantly and got the hell out of there with all the calm collected demeanor his life of nobility had afforded him. He didn’t know how it had become so awkward between them, especially since they had both woken up on the same bedroll the morning after.
Very expectedly, Krem was everywhere after that. In the tavern, on the training field, and in the great hall, luckily all while Altair was being pulled every which way. And even luckier, he wasn’t on the training field when Cassandra kicked Altair’s sorry ass.
She was not gentle, and she was not patient, and by the end of it, Altair was sure he had obtained more bruises than sword skill. And Cassandra probably thought him weak, and now regretted having him lead the Inquisition.
He sighed to himself, upset and more than a little down, as he iced his own bruises hidden away on the battlements.
“What kind of idiot would ask the leader of the Inquisition to duel? Er, actually, don’t answer that.” He could probably list off twenty people off the top of his head. Not that any of them stood a chance winning.
“Huh. Well … I wish you luck, Inquisitor. Don’t imagine she’d be much of a lenient teacher.”
“Thanks,” he said. While still indignant, he knew Krem brought up a good point; Cassandra was not known for her gentleness, and Altair found himself more than a little concerned for his own safety. However, in the end, he couldn’t resist spending time with the Seeker.
“I’ll... see you around then?” Though he rather hoped not, any charm and charisma he could pretend to have seemed to die around Krem.
