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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"There's that," Cullen agrees. "Counts for something, I should think."

Alistair nods. "Very much so."

More silence, for a time. He finds himself tracing his thumb over his knuckles again.

"It's easier," he says at last, no louder than Cullen, "when I'm somewhere quiet, but -- not completely alone. The Undercroft's predictable. Dagna's always there." Another quirk of a smile. "And within ten minutes you can't think of anything but how cold you are, so that helps too."

A huff of breath. "If you're into that sort of thing. ...I suppose -- "

Pointing at the ceiling.

"It's not as though I've room to make fun."

Alistair chuckles. "Whatever works, yes?"

Whatever makes it easier to bear up under...well, everything. Especially nowadays. Especially after what Cullen -- and now Alistair -- have endured.

He snorts. "Did I say it worked?"

Cullen stretches. "No matter. There's always more to do."

"Makes it slightly more bearable," Alistair corrects himself, wry. "...Have you taken a break at all today, besides the chess game?"

A beat.

Gesturing to the bread and cheese, "And this, I suppose?"

Cullen is silent.

Alistair sighs.

"Right, then." Resigned, but still smiling a little. "You and I. Fifteen laps around Skyhold tomorrow, minimum. It'll do us both good."

"Yes, commander," Cullen grouses -- but he's smiling.

"Oh, am I getting a promotion, too?"

His smile's grown to an outright grin.

"It's mere acknowledgment of the fact that you get to push me around."

Alistair's eyes widen. "That's even better than a promotion."

A low laugh. "I thought you'd appreciate that."

He snickers, nudges Cullen gently with his elbow, and stretches out his legs. Alistair's quiet, then, for a time.

Something to do that isn't just pacing around the fortress. Maybe he could do more to help the Inquisition aside from the occasional consultation. Surely he could put the insomnia and nervous energy to good use somewhere, assisting in any of the hundreds of mundane tasks that go into maintaining a fortress. Or spend some time in the library, perhaps. Read up on chess. Pass along a few books to Kieran, if he's interested.

(He's picked up the idle fidgeting again, this time tapping his fingers against his knee at an increasingly rapid pace.)

The noise takes a moment to penetrate the gentle fog of weariness that's got Cullen settled back with his eyes closed.

The noise gets faster. The pace -- he can feel himself tensing, as it gets faster.

Without opening his eyes he reaches out, covers Alistair's hand with his. "Shh. It's all right. Whatever it is."

Alistair's hand stills beneath Cullen's. He closes his eyes; exhales a long, long breath, as if he could expel the nervous fits with it. Once he's sure he's not going to start tapping his other hand to compensate, he opens his eyes.

"It's nothing." Muted. A glance to the ceiling -- to the sky just beyond -- and another quiet breath.

Cullen stays quiet for the space of a few breaths.

"Are you sure?"

"I was thinking about Kieran."

And why that should make the familiar, strangling weight settle on his chest --

"That's all."

"What about him?"

"I don't -- "

(It's like he's outside his body for a moment, watching the thoughts form into spoken words without having any input in the matter. Incapable of shutting up, as always.)

"I don't want him to think I'm just the mad Warden wandering around Skyhold. I made a bad impression, didn't I." A sigh. "I didn't want that."

"No." Cullen squeezes Alistair's hand. "Not at all. And Morrigan told him about -- what happened. He knows not to bring it up. And he likes you."

Alistair shuts his eyes. He sets the palm of his free hand against the chaise, focusing on where his skin meets the fabric. Trying to draw himself back to his body.

He wonders who told Kieran not to ask: Morrigan or Cullen. It's a kindness he wouldn't have expected from Morrigan, if she was responsible. Something else she felt she owed him, perhaps.

"I thought I might find him a book or two, from the library." A little steadier. "I don't...really know what I could talk to him about. But he seems the sort that might like a book."

"The tales we grew up with." Absently. "Dane and Hafter, and the lot. The places you've been. Griffons. Tell him where Genitivi got things wrong. Even one of Varric's serials might do."

"Maybe not Swords and Shields," says Alistair; a bit of humor finds its way back to his voice. "Morrigan may actually succeed in murdering me if I do."

But the rest -- "

Lower, half to himself, "So everything that might've made me happy to hear about when I was ten years old. All right. Simple enough. Maybe."

He taps his thumb a couple times, immediately stills it when he realizes what he's doing.

"Definitely," he says, and cracks open an eye. "And if you did want to hand him Swords and Shields, I expect Cassandra would protect you."