howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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.)

Cullen gives Alistair another quick, sidelong look --

Kieran thoughtfully moves his queen out, in preparation to (apparently) move to the center squares.

"An interesting choice," Cullen says, light. "You want to move your queen here, yes?"

Kieran nods.

"You might want to think carefully about that," he cautions. "It makes sense to move your most powerful piece to the most powerful place -- but what happens if i arrange my pawns, or one of my knights, in such a way that it makes it easy for me to capture your queen? Either you move her, and I can take over the center -- or you don't move her, and you've lost your most powerful piece and control of the center."

Kieran tilts his head, brow furrowing. "There's a bigger lesson there. Mother makes those too."

Cullen laughs, quietly. "Perhaps. Let's say -- when you've got a clear view of the field, it's rarely advisable to make your most important asset highly visible. With visibility comes vulnerability."

There's a slight buzzing in his ears he can't manage to shake. Cullen's words lodge in his head -- with visibility comes vulnerability -- and all Alistair can see is the bright, open sky, the walls circling the garden that let everyone cast an eye down into its center. Breathe, he tries to command himself. Breathe.

He can't let Kieran see him like this. This won't be the impression he makes on his son.

"I should -- " He pushes his chair back. "Leave you to your game. I've just remembered something."

It's a weak, obvious lie, but it's all he can think up.

-- right.

How to cover? "Yes, right." He summons up a sheepish smile. "Please apologize to him on my behalf -- I didn't mean to keep you. Let's speak later. Good day."

"Good day," Kieran echoes -- but he's busy studying the board.

Cullen gives him a nod, as his smile turns more rueful.

Alistair returns the nod. His mind's whirring: where to go? The Undercroft, maybe. Dagna's warm, and kind, and keeps roughly the same hours Alistair does (which is to say she hardly ever seems to sleep) -- and after their encounter all those years ago, she remains fond enough of Alistair not to pester him about the Fade. So long as he helps her fetch something off a high shelf every so often, she'll be fine with him hanging around for a bit.

Well. Hiding, really. Let's be honest.

"Good day," he says. Breathes. "Kieran, it was good to see you again. Don't crush the Commander too dreadfully."

Rubbing the knob of his elbow, he takes his leave. Once he's calmed down more, he'll find Cullen to apologize, if Cullen doesn't seek him out first.

Cullen turns his attention back to Kieran, and moves his pawn to g6.

He'll find Alistair as soon as he can.

"You're worried about him."

His gaze flicks up to Kieran; Cullen doesn't deny it. Cullen doesn't say anything.

"Mother said he spent a very long time in the Fade."

"He did," Cullen says, rubbing the back of his neck.

"She's glad he returned." Kieran returns his attention to the board, kicking his feet again. "She said I wasn't to ask him what it was like. She said he'd be very upset for a long time."

"Your mother is a kind woman, and she's absolutely correct," Cullen says. "Do you think -- you could be kind to him? Without asking him any questions about all of that?"

Kieran nods, and goes to move his queen.

Any ally -- even a small one -- in a storm, Cullen thinks, and closes his eyes for a moment.

It's as frigid as ever in the Undercroft. Alistair always forgets until he's already down there, staring at the icicles and watching his breath steam in front of him. Dagna, bundled up at her workbench, glances over to give him a cheerful, if distracted, smile. "Hey, Alistair."

"Hello." He tucks his arms close to himself and takes a seat on the stairs.

It's a posture the dwarf's seen before -- the I'm having a bad day and need a moment posture -- so all she says, as kind as ever, is, "There's a couple blankets in the chest over there, whenever you want one."

"Thank you," he mumbles, and closes his eyes. Dagna returns to her work, humming softly under her breath; only the occasional snippet of melody rises above the wind whistling past the cavern's mouth.

Eventually, once he stops feeling like he's about to choke, he gets up to fetch one of the blankets. Dagna looks up again; offers another smile. "Want to see what I'm working on?" she asks.

It fascinates him, the way she works so diligently to learn about a thing she'll never be able to touch -- and Alistair knows she wouldn't offer to show him her latest project if she thought it might upset him. So, cautiously, he nods, and picks his way over to her workbench, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a royal mantle.

The panic, thus distracted, slinks away. A slow retreat, but a retreat nonetheless.

Some time later, he emerges: fingers and toes a bit numb, cheeks pinked from the cold. Time to find Cullen and make his apologies.

As it happens, the commander is ensconced in his office, after a brief stop by the kitchens. Once it gets dark, he'll go look for Alistair. In the meantime... he does have some actual work to do.

It's easy to get wrapped up in, to lose track of time -- especially when one of Leliana's people comes in with the daily intelligence report.

He doesn't notice when one of the runners lights the torches in his tower, and he doesn't notice when the sun finally sinks behind the mountains.

Alistair's mostly gotten the hang of Skyhold's layout by now. (It helps that the landscape doesn't shift and warp every couple of hours.) So: up the stairs, along the walls, to the tower he knows houses Cullen's office.

If the man's anywhere, he's probably going to be here; if he's not, well. More walking will do him good.

Tentatively, he raps his knuckles against the door.

Buried in his work as he is, Cullen barks without thinking, "Enter!"

He's not supposed to hear any report from western Orlais for two days, at the very earliest -- is it a training report? Did he miss any of those today?