howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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Cullen doesn't care for Morrigan, and it's wholly mutual. Fortunately he has little enough reason to venture into the Skyhold garden, with the exception of prearranged chess matches with Dorian.

He's seen the child before, watching wide-eyed as people move around the garden on business, or just to rest. The child doesn't talk to anyone -- doesn't want to be a bother, Cullen guesses. He speaks respectfully to Morrigan, as far as Cullen can tell, and it's clear that Morrigan loves her son.

Still. It must be lonely.

***

Dorian went to the Hissing Wastes with some of the Chargers, to take out a nest of Venatori. Cullen forgot.

The chessboard is already set. Morrigan's boy is watching by the well. Cullen beckons him over, introduces himself.

"I know," the boy says. "The collar marks you. My name is Kieran."

Cullen laughs, quiet. "Well, Kieran -- do you play?" At the boy's headshake, he asks, "Would you like to learn?"

He's a quick study. Maybe not today, but soon -- Cullen will start throwing games.

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"Oh." He sounds nearly as startled by the clarification as he did by the original statement.

But, after a moment, Alistair ventures a tentative smile. "You may regret that when I suggest running laps around the fortress. For hours."

Cullen snorts. "I'm trapped behind this desk. The more excuse I've got to actually do something, the better."

Cheerfully, "Oh, well, that works out well, then."

Alistair adds a bit of cheese to the bread. Takes a bite. Leans back to regard the ceiling again. Another draft circles through the room, rustling the papers on Cullen's desk -- but he swears he can hear something else rustling, too, dammit. And those faint lights near the ceiling...

His chewing slows, then stops. After he swallows down the bite of food, Alistair says, "I think you have a hole in your roof."

Yeah, he's pretty sure those faint lights are stars.

"Oh, that? Yes," Cullen says, completely unconcerned.

He stretches. He wasn't kidding: he spends far too much time behind a desk.

Alistair eyes him.

"Are there not enough supplies to fix it?"

Skyhold does look a lot better than when he last saw it, but it's an old fortress, and only so much can be done at any given time.

Cullen shrugs, untroubled. "It's not a priority."

He turns enough to pull one of the knives out of the dummy (with some effort; it's buried very deeply) and uses it to slice a bit of cheese.

He lives like a disciplined, minimalist frat boy. Whatever gets the job done.

One eyebrow rises. Really? says that eyebrow. Really.

Cullen, Alistair despairs of you and your life choices.

He takes another bite of bread. "You know," he says, "Dagna's made these little plates that can keep a drink warm for hours. I could get you one for your morning tea." Another bite. "Since it's so drafty up here." Another. "With the hole in your roof."

Cullen blinks at him.

"I take tea in the great hall," he says. "With everyone else."

...when he remembers.

Alistair does not roll his eyes. He does, however, let out a tiny snort.

"Maybe I'll get one for myself, then," he says, lightly. "You're welcome to borrow it whenever you'd like."

"I -- thank you."

He regards the piece of cheese on the point of his knife.

Glances at Alistair.

"You know, if it's gone cold, you can just... drink the whole thing, much faster. Less to keep track of."

"It somewhat defeats the purpose of having a warm drink, though. Which I imagine is why Dagna made them in the first place."

He's just now starting to get feeling back in the tip of his nose. Maybe he ought to pick a better hiding place next time. Like one that isn't set right on the edge of a sharp, drafty precipice.

"...Anyway." The lopsided quirk to his smile deepens, as he looks down at his food. "I...mostly came up here to apologize, for -- interrupting the game earlier. But you're probably going to insist I don't need to, aren't you."

There's always Cullen's room, where the sharp, drafty precipice is... in the ceiling.

Cullen holds out the bit of cheese on the knife, in case Alistair wants it. "I don't see what you did that merits an apology. We were playing a common game in the open, in the one place in Skyhold besides the tavern where people go for conversation -- and you know Dorian would have welcomed an interruption, if he were there."

Beat.

"Besides that, I suspect the boy feels out of place. Or he's lonely. Making a closer acquaintance with two is better than one. -- and besides all that, I believe I was the one who called you over."

A sure sign Alistair's getting better, if only by increments: he readily plucks the cheese off the knife, nodding his thanks to Cullen.

"True," he admits with a sigh. Pulling off another hunk of bread, he folds it around the cheese. "I -- "

(Should he ask? There isn't harm in asking, surely.)

"Has anyone been looking after him? Besides Morrigan?"

Cullen leans forward to get his own bit of cheese. "You'd be better off asking Leliana -- she's more likely to know. But I've never seen him speak to anyone else. He watches people as though he doesn't wish to be a bother. And it's clearly not that he doesn't know how to interact properly with others."

He leans back on the chaise. "For what it's worth, he and Morrigan seem to get on quite well. He's well-mannered, and when she speaks to him... well." He snorts. "She's certainly kinder to him than anyone else. The most commendable thing about her, frankly."

"I'm not surprised." Soft, and more fond than he realizes. Alistair examines the bread and cheese, turning it over in his hands. It bears more than a passing resemblance to the way he worried at his knuckles before. "She's -- well. No love lost there, let me tell you. But she'd burn the world down if it'd keep that child safe."

Beat.

"...Hopefully not literally. But you get my meaning."

"Yes," Cullen agrees, and is occupied for a moment with the cheese.

"I... admit I've found it daunting, to know that so many of the veterans of the Blight are suddenly here with us." He idly rubs the back of his neck. "But none of you ever speak of it, which makes it much less intimidating. You'll note I'm not precisely asking what it was like traveling with her."

More cheese. "Plausible deniability." He grins, quick, at Alistair.

Alistair snorts out a laugh. "Get enough brandy in me some night, and you may not even have to ask. I'll volunteer it readily."

He finally stops worrying at the food and opts to take a bite instead.

Matter-of-fact, "There's not much point talking about the Blight, though, is there? Nobody cares about that anymore. It's ten years gone -- we've all more pressing matters."

"Unless that dragon really is an archdemon," Cullen mutters.

"It's not."

He sounds calmer than he has in a while, when he says that. The calm that comes with utter surety.

"It looked like one, but it didn't feel like the archdemon did. I don't know what it is, but -- it's not that."

Cullen gives him a sudden, surprised look.

The corner of his mouth turns up.

"That's the best thing I've heard all day."

Alistair smiles. "I like this," he says, with wry amusement. "Sharing good news for once. I ought to do it more often."

He takes another bite of his food.

"You could start by telling us it's not really a high dragon that spits red lyrium," he suggests. "We'd like that."

He quirks an eyebrow, rueful. "That, I'm not so sure about."

Sorry, Cullen.

"Shame," he comments, and tilts his head back against the cool stone, eyes closing.

It's been... a surprisingly long day. He shouldn't sleep. There's always more to do.

"You know."

Hesitant. Alistair's gone back to examining the half-eaten chunk of bread and cheese.

"It's...going to be a while before I'm well enough to make the journey to Weisshaupt. As long as I'm here, if you need a Warden's perspective on anything..."

Asking Blackwall might be easier, true. But the idea of having something to do makes Alistair feel less like he's about to crawl out of his own skin. It's something to focus on besides the shadows.