howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

He sighs. "I knew it. Ah, well."

(He also arches his neck.)

"I set up camp, catch the fish, cook the fish, produce the brandy -- but my true purpose is adornment. Could be worse."

"If you'd like me to embarrass you by telling you why I truly like having you around -- "

(His smile's gone crooked.)

" -- I can."

Cullen rubs at one eye, wincing a little.

"Would it fulfill your desire for revenge?"

"Not if you wouldn't enjoy it."

Softer.

"I'll be quiet."

He flinches. Turns his face away.

"Do what you like. I'm sorry."

"Cullen -- "

Alistair settles his palm against Cullen's cheek.

No louder: "Why are you apologizing?"

"There -- there's things you want to do, and I'm... getting in the way. Of getting even. Which you ought to do if you want."

More faintly:

"I want you to get what you need from this. From me."

Alistair sighs, very softly.

"You said something once," he murmurs, "about how you didn't want me to feel beholden. I don't want you to feel beholden, either. All right? You don't always have to say yes to me."

He strokes his thumb along Cullen's cheek.

"You're allowed to want things for yourself. Or not want them."

You're allowed to want things for yourself.

It's like a single note struck and held, in Cullen's head. It shouldn't be an epiphany.

And yet.

"Nobody's -- actually said that to me before."

Uneven.

"I'm not used to thinking like that."

Oh.

Oh, Cullen.

"Then I'm sorry I didn't say it sooner," whispers Alistair. His throat's gone tight again. "Because it's true."

"You know why I -- haven't." He presses the heel of his hand against his forehead. "None of this was supposed to happen. We weren't to seek wealth or acknowledgment." It has the steady rhythm of catechism. "Our lives don't belong to us. We serve. We sacrifice."

"I know."

Alistair heard the same lessons. Not just in the Chantry; in the Wardens as well.

"But you're not part of the Order anymore. And forgoing wealth and acknowledgment -- that's not the same as forgoing everything."

A quick breath, too bitter to be a laugh. "Isn't it? We learned -- there are different kinds of wealth. Not just gold. And acknowledgment -- Maker's breath, that isn't even an accolade. It's just acknowledgment. I'm sorry if I can't just -- get over years of training designed to make us ambulatory suits of armor. Unless you'd like to snap your fingers, give it a try?"

"That isn't what I meant."

Steady; still quiet.

"I know it'll take time. I know it's not easy."

"You think I want the Order to still have this kind of power over me?"

"No," says Alistair, maintaining the same calm. "I know you don't."

(He pushed too hard. Maker, he should've just left it at I know and not said any of that wealth-and-acknowledgment nonsense.)

He sits up, draws his knees up, rests his arms on them. "You think I like realizing I've been trained out of any possibility of a normal life? I don't. I might be a monster -- "

Cullen rubs the back of his neck.

Muttered: "But at least I've some notion of what I gave up. And why."

Alistair exhales.

He pushes himself upright; folds his legs, hands in his lap.

Hell with it. If he's already pushed --

"You're not a monster, Cullen."

"There are several dozen dead mages who would disagree with you."

The corners of his mouth tighten.

He doesn't say anything.

"At least a few of them had families. That doesn't even start to touch the innocents after the Chantry explosion. Alistair, you always want to make me out as something better than I am, but you need to realize that I'm a much better judge of my own behavior. Especially when it's about things that you weren't there to witness."

"It doesn't occur to you," says Alistair, very quiet, "that I'm not ignoring what you did in Kirkwall, just choosing to forgive you for it?"

He rubs a hand over his hair. Doesn't look up.

"I'm not some lovesick -- well, I am," he amends, a touch rueful, "but I'm not blind for it. I'm well aware you did terrible things in Kirkwall, even if I don't know all the details. I just happen to think that in the years since, you've proven yourself better than who you were in Kirkwall."

Flat:

"That might hold water if, and only if, we manage to destroy Corypheus."

Silence, again.

(Alistair is so tired. There's nothing he can say that Cullen will bother listening to. Just the same old arguments that've never worked before.

If you could see yourself the way I see you --

And Cullen clearly thinks that only an idiot would see him with any kind of grace.)

With a flash of latent temper, like a cat lashing its tail:

"Have you anything else to impart about my nature, regardless of the facts or your awareness thereof?"