howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Cullen apologizing to him is not how Alistair expected this to go. He blinks, casts a faintly bewildered glance at the food, looks back to Cullen. He sounds a little bewildered, too, when he says, "It's all right. I, er. I appreciate the thought."

It's draftier up here than he anticipated. Alistair looks up as he marshals his thoughts. "I -- wasn't exactly fit company anyway."

...What in Andraste's name sounds like rustling leaves in here?

What doesn't sound like rustling leaves? There's a lot of paper in here, after all. Admittedly most of it is confined to the bookshelf. And on several chairs. And on nearly every square inch of his desk.

Cullen looks -- worried.

"You did well," he says, quiet. "You know that, yes?"

One side of his mouth lifts. Just as quiet, "I didn't, really, but thank you for saying so."

Giving up on placing the noise for now, Alistair rubs his forehead and glances around the rest of the room in a thoughtless check of his surroundings.

"How did the rest of the game go?"

He did: he recognized when he needed to remove himself from the situation, and he did it. And he made a reasonable, and polite, exit.

But Cullen figures arguing that point wouldn't help.

There's a chaise over by the practice dummy (the dummy with several nasty-looking throwing knives buried deep in its stuffed thorax). Cullen stands, picks up the cheese plate, and nudges a pile of books on the floor close enough to serve as a table. Sitting, he gestures to the other side, for Alistair.

"It was fine. He seemed to enjoy it." A little awkward. "I've -- he keeps to himself, and since Dorian's gone..." A one-shouldered shrug. "It seemed like it might be... nice. To ask. I'm sorry I didn't find you first."

Something in his chest tightens. "Find me first for -- ?"

And a quick shake of his head, as if to drive the thought away. "Never mind."

He eases himself onto the other side of the chaise. A few hours' exposure to the cold of the Undercroft has kicked his appetite up a notch: Alistair reaches for the bread to break off a piece. "I'm glad he found a worthy opponent."

"That will keep," Cullen says mildly, "until he's learned a little more of strategy."

He gives Alistair a sidelong look. "You've first claim on any spare time I can find. I should have tried harder to find you, to ask if there was something you'd rather do. That's all."

"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."