howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Being back at Skyhold isn't as bad as he expected.

It's still bad, of course -- but that's more because it'd be bad anywhere. Alistair takes to idle wandering around the fortress most days and nights, anxious to keep moving whenever possible, retreating back to his room every so often when he fears he might haul off and punch someone for staring too long. Word about the prodigal Warden's return spread fast: where he would've been ignored before, he gets looks ranging from curiosity to concern to outright pity.

(A few times, he's spotted the Inquisition's resident Fade expert striding purposefully toward him, only to be intercepted by the Inquisitor with some Very Urgent Business or another. Alistair's pretty sure what qualified as "urgent business" was "keep Alistair from tearing the elf to shreds, both verbally and physically." He's grateful.)

His wandering takes him to the garden most days, Morrigan's presence be damned; he just sticks to the other side of courtyard and keeps his back to her. Today, thank the Maker, she seems to be elsewhere. It's just a handful of people, Cullen over there with his chessboard, and --

Oh.

Alistair slows his approach, halting about ten feet away. There's a convenient pillar to lean against. Or maybe hide behind, but -- no, he'll just lean against it and try to look as casual as possible as he watches the lesson.

Cullen turns the board around so that the white pieces are in front of his opponent. "Let's play," he says to Kieran. "Or pretend to play. We'll go through a game. White moves first -- and to get the most advantage -- "

He indicates a pawn. "You'll want your pawn to E4. Can you see why?"

Kieran considers. His feet don't quite touch the ground, from his chair. After a moment: "You can move a grand cleric and a queen if you do that."

"Yes. Excellent. Do that if you'd like, and then we'll talk about what move I might make."

Cullen glances up, spies Alistair. Gives him a quick nod. "Warden Alistair." Calm. Friendly. "Have you met Kieran? He was kind to join me, as my regular opponent is out on maneuvers."

Kieran's dark head lifts; he watches Alistair placid, unsmiling.

His throat tightens. Alistair swallows, visibly, but nods after a moment.

"We've met, yes. Briefly." Managing a faint smile -- and managing to hold Kieran's gaze long enough for politeness' sake -- "Hello again. The Commander's teaching you well?"

"I don't know yet," the boy says, solemn. "It's hard to judge without knowing how I perform against a different opponent."

Cullen grins. "Well said."

Alistair's smile grows, despite himself. He shakes his head and casts his eyes to the board.

"Don't look at me. I never had a head for the game," he says. "X's and O's, on the other hand -- I know a few tricks there."

"You're also a dab hand at Diamondback, as I recall," Cullen says, stretching. "But for that -- " This directed at Kieran. "We should probably have you master chess, first."

Cullen does not want to deal with Morrigan at all, much less a Morrigan who is angry that the Commander of the forces of the Inquisition taught her son to gamble.

"That's a game of cards," Kieran says. "They played it at court in Halamshiral. But they played triomphe more. But that's not the same as Wicked Grace."

...maybe Cullen shouldn't gamble against Kieran for other reasons.

Up go Alistair's eyebrows. "You've played all those, then?"

He's...oddly proud. Ten years old, and Kieran's clearly a quick study already. And -- well, learning a bunch of card games at age ten sounds like something Alistair would've done if given half a chance.

Kieran shakes his head. "I watched. The servants wouldn't play, and Mother doesn't know how."

"Even if you taught her?" Cullen asks.

The boy gives Cullen a dark look. "Mother doesn't like things that would endear us to the Orlesian court."

Cullen... laughs aloud.

That's the first thing he's ever heard about Morrigan that indicates there's a subject on which they entirely agree.

Alistair snorts out a loud laugh, too.

(Hopefully, it doesn't sound quite as relieved as he feels. It's just...good to know Kieran's forming the correct opinion about Orlais. Is all.)

"Smart woman." A beat. "Don't tell her I said that. She'll never let me live it down."

Why not: Alistair pushes himself away from the column and crosses the remaining space to the chessboard. He's still moving a bit gingerly, like he's not quite sure of the relation between his body and the space it's occupying. Or like he's still got a few strained muscles that aren't done healing. Probably both.

Kieran tilts his head. "You know Mother?"

"From a long time ago," Cullen murmurs; he's noticed that Alistair is... taking an interest in interacting with other people. Something to encourage. "Alistair -- if you'd like to sit, I can walk you both through a game?"

"...If you don't mind." His smile's more crooked now. "I wouldn't want to interrupt any more than I already have."

Alistair pulls up a chair; lowers himself into it with the same care as before. To Kieran: "I traveled with your mother and the Hero of Ferelden, back -- before you were born."

"Mother liked her," Kieran informs him, kicking his feet a little. "She told me that."

Quietly, Cullen moves a black pawn to c5. If they want to know, they'll ask. If they wind up dropping the game... that's fine, too.

"I liked her, too." That's a little quieter.

Alistair flicks his eyes back toward the chessboard. He leans his elbows on his knees, studying the layout.

"These are common opening moves," Cullen says, quietly. "But don't worry about all that now."

Kieran is watching Alistair. "Did you like Mother?"

....Um, says Alistair's face.

"She was all right," he says, as diplomatically as possible.

(Even if Kieran wasn't his -- look, there are some things you just don't say to children, and actually your mother and I wanted to rip each others' throats out on the regular is right at the top of the list.)

It's already quite clear that Kieran isn't stupid. Rather the opposite.

And Alistair... isn't at his best.

So before Kieran can react, Cullen says, still quiet, "When extraordinary things happen in the world, people who might not otherwise have much to agree upon learn how to work together. It's happening now, in the Inquisition, and it certainly happened during the Fifth Blight. The work your mother does is very important, and we all know that, and appreciate it, and we're very glad to have both of you here."

Kieran's gaze flicks to Cullen. "She said you were a templar."

"I used to be," Cullen says. "Not any more."

"Templars don't like magic."

Half a smile; Cullen glances at Alistair, then back to Kieran. "It's a little more complicated than that. But I believe that mages and templars, and former templars, can be friends. And good allies. Sometimes that takes a little work. But it's worth it. It's important."

Alistair shoots a relieved look Cullen's way, silently conveying his thanks.

"Especially when the world might end if you don't cooperate," he says, dryly.

...That's probably not something he should say in front of a child either, is it. Shit. He rubs the back of his head; the motion migrates to rubbing his hair, fitful enough to make bits of it spike up between his fingers.

The thing is: Alistair is trying.

So Cullen says, also dry: "It does help to have that as an incentive, yes."

"I'm not worried about the end of the world," Kieran announces.

"Oh? Why not?" asks Cullen.

"We'd all be dead too quickly to care."

"...an excellent point."

Alistair opens his mouth. Closes it.

Opens it again to say, a bit weakly, "Er, yes. What Cullen said. I suppose."

Morrigan insisted Kieran was normal. Alistair can believe it, most of the time. And then -- well. His fingers fidget at the nape of his neck for a few seconds longer, and then, with visible effort, Alistair pulls them away.

Cullen glances Alistair's way, quickly, and figures it's going to be a good idea to change the subject.

Under the circumstances.

(Cullen did in fact notice that the Inquisitor has been preventing Solas from getting in Alistair's face, and reminded himself to thank her for it. Now it's his job to -- hopefully -- prevent Alistair from getting snappish with a child.)

He gestures at the board. "Kieran, I made a move -- can you counter it?"

While Kieran's attention is occupied elsewhere, he raises his eyebrows at Alistair in silent question: are you all right?

Swiftly, Alistair nods: I'm fine.

He will make himself be fine, anyway. For Kieran's sake. Even if no one at Skyhold save Alistair and Morrigan know the truth, he doesn't want to -- make a bad impression. Or ruin the brief one Morrigan shared with Kieran: he knows his father is a good man.

Morrigan believed she owed him that much, and Alistair cannot disappoint.

He glances over at Kieran. In profile, he definitely looks more like Morrigan than Alistair: no trace of that Theirin nose. But he gets a particular crease in his forehead, when he's thinking, that Alistair's spotted in the mirror every so often.

He gives Alistair a crooked smile, and returns his attention to the board.

Kieran eases out one of his grand clerics -- not too far. Cullen hides a smile: it's not the traditional way to counter the Llomerryn Defense, but if Kieran's anything like Cullen was at his age, he's grown tired of only playing his pawns.

Cullen, without saying anything further, moves another pawn to d6.

"So why always the pawns?"

He's not worrying at his hair anymore, but Alistair's kneading the knuckles of his left hand, one at a time, for lack of anything else to fidget with.

"Aside from -- making space. And using the expendable bits first."

Kieran looks up as well, interested in the answer.

"It's not always," Cullen says. "You could open with a knight. But the real reason -- "

He taps e4. "Establishing control of the center at an early stage is very important. The fastest way to get there is with the pawns. If it helps, think of them as the vanguard."

A soundless ah. Alistair nods. After a beat, he quirks a crooked smile. "Maybe I'll find a head for this after all."

Something catches his attention across the garden; he looks up, swiftly, just in case there's --

No. There's nothing there. (It's fine; he's safe.)