Archive of Our Own ^beta

“How could you be so reckless?” Cullen shouted, fist hitting the desk for emphasis.

“In my defense…” Kit started.

Cullen wasn’t having that. “There is no defense for fighting a dragon, dammit!”

Kit stomped her way around the desk and did her best to get in his face. He is almost a foot taller than she is, so it was hard, and slightly ridiculous, but unless she wanted to climb on top of the desk, it was the best she could do. “It. Wasn’t. My. Fault!”

Cullen couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or throttle her, so he took a step backward to gain some space. He then took a deep breath. “You are the leader. It is your job to deescalate situations, not make them worse by stabbing them.”

Kit blinked once, then again. She looked around the room to see if she had suddenly been transported to a place where negotiations with attacking dragons was even possible. Finding herself still in Thedas, and confused by Cullen’s suggestion she asked, “How in the fucking blue void do you deescalate a situation with an attacking dragon?”

Realizing that he’d given her an advantage, he countered. “You could try controlling the Qunari and not get into the situation in the first place. Ma Poule Mouilee, Kit. It’s not that hard.”

“You’ve never tried to control a curious seven-and-a-half-foot guy with horns, have you? Until you do, I suggest…” Kit stopped suddenly.

“Wait…” Kit thought about what Cullen actually said. “Did you just use the phrase ‘my wet chicken’ as an expletive?”

Cullen blushed and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Don’t change the subject, Inquisitor.”

Kit fought a smile. “You used the phrase ‘my wet chicken’ in a sentence, in Orlesian no less, as an expletive, and you expect me to just ignore it?” Placing her hands on the desk behind her, she hopped and planted her ass on the surface. “Not. Gonna. Happen.”

Retreating to a corner, he leaned against the wall, eyes shut tight, then pinched the bridge of his nose. This was what she did, and it amused him when he watched others fall victim. It was in parts infuriating and embarrassing when she did it to him. There was, however, no defense. She wasn’t going to give up. Best to just let her have her way, and hope that when the dragon slaying subject next came up, he’d not say something idiotic.

Who was he kidding? She fought dirty, she always has. The next time he brought it up, she’d cluck like a chicken and any discussion would be over before it starts.

Cullen took a deep breath before diving into the frigid waters of argument losing.

“When I was in Templar training, we were strongly encouraged not to swear,” he began. “It wasn’t forbidden, but it was a tradition. The story goes that sometime in the Black Age, a Knight Lieutenant came across a group of recruits having a contest to find out the most inventive phrase.”

“Okay, I can see that. My brothers and I did the same thing.”

“You won.” Cullen answered.

“Naturally… how did you guess?” she asked, honestly curious.

“I’ve had conversations with you,” he deadpanned.

With a quick tilt of her head she replied, “That’s fair.”

With a smirk and a lift of her eyebrow she said, “So, back to your wet chicken…”

“What’s left to tell? I was in class, learning Orlesian, and I decided to use Ma Poule Mouillee instead of something vulgar.” He thought it was a simple story.

He should have known better. She wasn’t going to let this go.

“So,” she smirked, looking him in the eye. “Was the double entendre intentional?”  

A moment of silence grew longer as Cullen thought carefully. Was there a double entendre involved, or was she just baiting him? Kit’s mind tended to wind its way down odd pathways, so there was no way of knowing her purpose until he asked. The question at hand was, would asking make the situation better?

He concluded that it probably wouldn’t, but it didn’t matter. She was committed to the trap now. Best spring it and get the humiliation over with quickly.  

Sighing, he prepared for the worst, then spoke. “I don’t see a double entendre here.”

She stared, absolutely incredulous that as a teenager, no one had pointed it out to him. Even more funny was the fact that no one had explained it to him since.

It took Kit a long time to stop laughing. She would almost have it conquered, then she’d look at his honest and earnest befuddlement, and she’d start laughing again.

To Cullen it lasted an eternity. Little did he know that things were about to get much worse.

Without looking at him, because she couldn’t stop giggling when she did, she asked a question. “Did you know that the words “Chick” and “Hen” are Ferelden slang for woman?”

With a roll of his eyes he responded, “Of course.”

Then it was only a matter of time. Kit knew that Cullen was a smart man. She just had to let him work it out on his own. Wait for him to connect the dots.

She could tell the moment that he got it. First, he paled, then he turned a magnificent shade of magenta. Had she not known what caused it, she’d have worried for his health.

My… Wet… Chicken…