howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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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"And the Inquisition could ask for no better," he murmurs.

Alistair turns his attention back up to the tree branches. Something flitting between the leaves catches his eye; he frowns, slightly, and tracks its movement.

Cullen's eyes have closed in the meanwhile.

Soft:

"I didn't like getting up in the middle of the night at Kinloch. In Kirkwall -- at least I was up anyhow."

Whatever's in the leaves passes through a sliver of moonlight, resolving into a silhouette: a moth. Alistair relaxes.

"And now?"

"The busier I stay, the easier it seems to be."

Barely audible.

"Yeah."

It's more sigh than word. Beneath the fur, Alistair folds his arms closer.

"I should...encourage you to rest more. As double commander. But -- I'd be a hypocrite to argue, I suppose."

He shakes his head a little, and doesn't open his eyes. It's easier that way.

"It's the lyrium that's... troublesome. If I do too much -- "

Cullen's shoulders hunch a little.

"Before Adamant -- it was so bad that I... I asked Cassandra to find a replacement. And I nearly took the Inquisitor's head off -- threw my kit against the door right as she was walking in."

"It's -- I'm sorry, I shouldn't put this on you -- "

His fingers have threaded through his hair, pulling.

"No, it's -- it's all right -- "

Alistair's turned away from the tree, back to Cullen; it's the only motion he makes. His voice dips lower in worry.

"I didn't realize...I thought the worst was past. With that."

"The immediate danger, yes." He doesn't move. "If I push myself too hard... the, the need for it... it takes over everything. And the pain comes back with it. The headaches. Sometimes I can't move."

Alistair closes his eyes.

If he hadn't already committed himself to ensuring Cullen won't run himself ragged...well. This would be another reason.

Quiet, "Do you have anyone helping you when that happens?"

"It would be... inappropriate."

A quiet sigh.

Fussing with the fur, Alistair gets one arm untangled; gently, he sets his hand on Cullen's shoulder and gives it a light squeeze.

"I know what I'm doing or we'd all be dead, and we're not."

Barely audible again.

"I keep telling myself that."

"You're not wrong."

No louder.

"And you're not less of a commander because of...all this."

"I know."

"It's..."

Spit it out.

"Very difficult," he admits. "If I ever knew how to -- let things go, or really rest -- I don't know, any more. The dreams -- without the lyrium, they're -- very bad."

Alistair stays silent for a moment. He keeps his hand on Cullen's shoulder; squeezes it again, a little more firmly this time.

"It's not a skill you lose forever," he murmurs. Realizing how that must sound coming from him -- especially after all the coaxing it took to get him away from the ladder -- Alistair huffs out a breath. "I'd hope not, at least. And the dreams..."

Maker, it would be nice if they were all dwarves, wouldn't it.

"It's only been a couple of years without lyrium. You took it for -- a decade, almost. The spirits in the Fade will get bored of that novelty soon enough."

"It's not spirits, it's memory."

Without thinking about it, he's inched closer to Alistair.

"I know the difference."

"Still." Quiet. "The pain isn't as bad as it used to be. The dreams won't be, either."

Cullen lets out a long breath, and nods.

"Anyway."

Softer.

"I don't -- like to rest. Now you know why."

Alistair nods. Cullen's shoulder gets a gentle shake, and a pat, before he tucks his arm back under the fur.

"Are you sure we can't pester Solas into telling us how to stop dreaming forever?" It's light, and very, very dry. "The two of us together, we could probably take him."

"...if you'd like to stop Solas when he's begun a lecture in the middle, feel free."

Cullen peeks up at him, cracking open an eye.

"I'm a coward. A happy coward."

A tiny snort, and a quirk of a smile.

"A punch might do it. Could make it difficult to get any more information out of him, though."

"You might want to reexamine that particular strategy, yes," Cullen agrees. "Might turn you into a frog, for all you know."

Alistair shudders. (Perhaps a bit theatrically.) "Good point."

He's been gradually slumping further and further down the headboard over the last couple of minutes; at last, gravity wins the battle, and he scoots the rest of the way down to make himself more comfortable. He even manages it without un-cocooning himself from the fur.

Cullen opens an eye to see what all the rustling and jostling is -- and then closes it. As long as he's staying, Cullen thinks.

"Drill starts an hour after dawn," he mumbles, sleepily. "Get some sleep while you can."

"You sure it's all right if I'm not keeping watch?"

Alistair isn't quite tired enough to fall asleep, but he's on a gentle downward slope. And, to his mild surprise, he's not feeling inclined to fight back against the encroaching sleep. Probably best to take advantage of it while he can.

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