howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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He could not say how long he spent in the Arbor Wilds. Nor could he say how long he spent away from their forward camp, fighting his way through to the gates of the temple. Days, certainly. At least two. Perhaps three. Bolting down potions, to lessen the effect the red templars had on him and to help him stay awake. The potions didn't provide for witnessing the sight of a few of his ruined brothers and sisters, hearing the sound of more of them hissing his name, before Cullen and his men cut them down.

A few bad gashes, here and there. (More scars for the collection.) His right side feels like one giant bruise. It was not clear why Corypheus quit the field until Leliana's agents made it in, and found Samson, and discovered the empty well. And the shattered eluvian.

Cullen was already swatting away healers -- too many of his soldiers were worse off, and he was beyond not in the mood for magic -- when word came: Charter had concluded that the Inquisitor's party, likely in the company of Morrigan, went through the eluvian. Probably back to Skyhold.

Cullen, in Leliana's company, was examining the remnants of the bodies of the Grey Wardens when confirmation of Charter's theory arrived.

Less than an hour later, bruises and all, Cullen was on a horse headed north to the next available station to swap out his mount and keep riding. Corypheus fled the field; there's no reason he wouldn't go after Skyhold; and even if he didn't Cullen needs to know what happened --

Shadows are long, and the mountains reflecting blue and gold light, when the horn sounds and Cullen rides through the sally port. A stablehand is there, to lead the horse to Master Dennet. He's not sure how his legs are holding him up, but he's not going to stop to find out. The war room, first, and then if the Inquisitor isn't there --

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"Right now? To stay here."

He shifts a little to make himself more comfortable. (The world's -- smaller, here. More manageable. It's the sort of quiet he can appreciate.)

"...Probably lunch eventually. And a basket of puppies."

"There's pie over here."

Cullen sounds... 'pleased with himself' is the generous way to put it. A more accurate way to put it would be 'smug.'

"And wine. I brought it up earlier."

Alistair lifts his head and looks down at Cullen. (Or does his best to do so without pulling away too much.)

Reverent: "You are doing the Maker's work." A pause, then, hopefully, "And the puppies?"

Without blinking:

"They didn't want to climb up the ladder."

"Damn." A mournful sigh. "Oh well. Maybe next time we'll rig up a pulley."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"You're forgiven," he says, with a slight smile. "Especially since I'm still not king. Unless something changed very dramatically in the...however long I was asleep."

Cullen realizes he doesn't know how long they've been asleep. It's still light out -- midday? Early afternoon? It doesn't matter, he supposes.

"You still outrank me," he points out. "If that counts for anything."

"Mm." Alistair shrugs, very slightly. "That's only so I can look after you, not so I get a basket of puppies whenever I want."

"Should've negotiated better compensation." Comfortably.

"This is good enough." He stifles another yawn. "Pie, and...this."

(Being safe; being near someone who will wake Alistair because he might be having a nightmare; being near someone real.)

"If you ask me to act like a puppy, I won't do it. I refuse."

Alistair bursts into snickers, covering his face with one hand.

(Sadly, that means he's also -- finally -- let go of Cullen.)

"I can't imagine you," is as far as coherent words get.

Cullen scrunches up his face and rolls onto his back, stretching.

"Done yet?"

Alistair holds up one finger as if to say give me a minute.

"All right, now I'm done," he manages eventually, and scrubs at his eyes before dropping his hand back onto the bed. "What sort of pie is there?"

"I don't know if you deserve it."

But his hand drifts over the side of the bed to find the handle of the basket, which he then pulls up and plops between him and Alistair. "Meat and whatnot in it."

"Wonderful." Alistair hauls himself upright, sitting crosslegged, and stretches his arms overhead to crack his shoulders. Miraculously, he does not yawn this time. "Thank you."

Though several hours old, the pie still smells divine when he opens the basket. Judging by the growl it emits, his stomach seems to agree.

Cullen folds his hands over his chest, and pretends like he doesn't want another pie.

...his resolve is wavering. But if Alistair doesn't leave him one, he'll just make Alistair be the one to go get more.

More snow falls through the hole in the roof. Cullen follows the trail down to the pile of rubble.

It's possible, he thinks, he should try to put up a tarp.

It's dawning on Alistair that he hasn't eaten anything since that slightly sad bacon-and-cheese sandwich Maker knows how long ago. He tries not to wolf down one of the pies too quickly, but, well. Nothing to eat but a sad bacon-and-cheese sandwich.

Grabbing a second one, he nudges the basket closer to Cullen in case he wants to partake.

"Leave me one?" He turns his head toward Alistair. "Do you think I should try to get a tarp, keep all that from drifting this way?"

It would be a fool's errand to expect the tarp to hold off snow like a roof, but possibly a very good idea to try to angle the snow against the wall so it doesn't land on the bed with the wind.

"Yes." Decisive. "I thought about putting something over it last night, but..."

He gestures toward the snow, a bit rueful.

"I didn't have the tools. Or a tarp. Or the desire to light another candle and start a new project in the middle of the night."

"Yes, that would make the project difficult."

Thoughtful, "I mean, I suppose I could have tried to soak a blanket and freeze it to the ceiling, but..."

"But you would have given into the temptation to wait until it was almost frozen and then dropped it on my face," he finishes, giving Alistair a beady look. "Don't deny it."

Shifty look left.

Shifty look right.

Alistair whistles innocently before taking another bite of pie.