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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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"Why would they give you that information, then? That's not how you spring a trap."

"I'm a double agent." Solemn. "I only tell you this because I trust you. I'm actually in on the whole thing, too."

Cullen lets out a long (slightly theatrical) sigh.

"Typical. Everyone's lined up against me. And they wonder why I stay up here."

Alistair settles his hand on Cullen's hair, fiddling absently with the curl again.

"I could become a triple agent if you give me the badge and still let me tell jokes."

"Resorting to bribery?"

Smiling.

(He might lean his head into Alistair's hand. Maybe.)

"For shame."

"We all have our gifts," he says, cheerfully. "Having no shame is mine."

He winds his fingers a little deeper into his hair.

"Fortunately, I've got enough for the both of us." Wry; his fingers curl loosely on Alistair's chest.

A small laugh rumbles Alistair's chest. "Works out well, then, doesn't it."

He closes his eyes.

"Better together," he mumbles.

(Not quite realizing he's said it.)

Alistair's hand stills.

"Yes," he whispers, and moves his head just enough to look down at Cullen.

Who doesn't move: he's comfortable, and soothed, and safe.

Maybe he can start thinking soon. Maybe.

Alistair leans back against the pillow; after a moment, he resumes the slow, absent kneading of Cullen's hair.

(Better together. He doesn't deny it; he's just -- not wholly sure what to think about it. Maybe there's nothing to think about besides that quiet yes.)

He lets his eyes close again, listening to Cullen's breathing.