bastardwarden:

A brow raises, if only for a moment, at the other warden’s
state. Alistair did just wake him from what he imagined 
was a restful sleep all in the name of… food. “Pray tell, 
Cousland, have you the skill to cook, or were each of
your meals prepared for you? I take no shame in 
admitting, I was of the latter sort, and as such, I
present: burned soup. Is there a chance you might
fix this? I’d rather not go to bed hungry, but I also
wouldn’t want to risk more of our supplies with my
own less-than-average capabilities.”

                   "You disturbed me because you wanted me to cook?“
There’s a flicker of irritation upon worn features, and his fellow
Warden is moments away from  being told a few select words
to get across how terrible an idea that is.  But Balfour decides
that his rest has already been ruined,   so he might as well try
and make sure that it wasn't pointlessly so.

For  a  moment,  he vanishes  back into  his tent,  then  returns
clothed before striding over to the fire. Alistair’s pot is promptly
emptied, burnt soup thrown across the grass and earning the
attention of Hakkon in no time at all. Only for the dog to turn up
his  nose  and whine,  of course.  Bal expected  precious  little 
else from the hound.

                   "Fetch me some water, then."