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Cullen sets a brisk pace on their way back to Skyhold. He's been away long enough; he's ready to relieve Briony; he's ready to go about receiving full intelligence reports from Leliana instead of the truncated, heavily coded ones he receives in the field.

He is also ready to personally see to the laundering of his coat.

And Cullen is also ready to take at least half a day, and preferably more, to revel in solid walls and doors that lock.

As they ride through the sally port, Cullen glances over at Alistair. "I'll need to see Briony, and then I'll likely be called to the war room -- you're going to see Kieran?"

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"You've killed me," he informs Alistair. "It was a good way to go."

With poorly-stifled laughter: "Oh dear."

Alistair draws a languid spiral around Cullen's navel.

"Well, don't worry, I'll be sure to say plenty of nice things at the funeral. 'Cullen Rutherford, brave and true, definitely didn't die from a vigorous bout of welcome-home sex with me -- '"

Cullen squirms a little. He is absolutely not ticklish, and thinking otherwise is the height of foolishness.

"Don't mention the bear, either."

"Not a word."

So much for stifling his laughter. (He got most of it out of his system when Cullen grumpily explained why his coat looked especially damp that day, but let's be real: as much as Alistair loves him, a cub with mange will never not be funny.)

He splays his hand over Cullen's abdomen. "Dare I ask how the, er, new recruit is doing?"

Dignified:

"I'll have you know I was right. She's proven a very capable agent in convincing other holds to provide aid to the Inquisition."

"What a relief," is all Alistair gets out before burying his face against Cullen's shoulder, snickering helplessly.

"Horrible, rude man," Cullen says into his hair, bringing his arms tight around Alistair. "Laughing at my pain."

"Am not," says Alistair, trying for some dignity of his own amidst the snickering. He snuggles close. "I'm laughing for joy that Storvacker's conquered such difficult obstacles to become a valued member of the Inquisition."

Beat.

"The obstacle in this case being 'she's a literal bear.'"

"She has an interest in protecting her people," Cullen says with a straight face. "Why wouldn't she join the Inquisition?"

"True. Very true."

He takes up tracing more patterns on Cullen's skin: his arm this time, following the curve of each muscle.

"In that case I should commend Lavellan for being such an excellent judge of character. Or maybe Sera for influencing her. Or -- however it happened."

By the end, he's back to laughter.

"Cassandra, I think." He sounds amused. "I'm given to understand she has a way with bears. Lavellan might have done it to irk her."

"Does that mean I missed my chance to hear Cassandra make that noise? You know, the -- "

Alistair makes an exaggerated noise of disgust that isn't too far off from Cassandra's.

A quiet laugh. "She makes it frequently enough that I'm certain you'll have another."

"Never for something as hilarious as a bear joining the Inquisition, though." He heaves a sigh, no less exaggerated. "Oh well. I'll just have to content myself with my imagination."

He peeks up at Cullen, smirking.

"When it's not occupied by other things, at least."

Cullen rolls his eyes, tugs a tuft of Alistair's hair.

"I still can't believe you didn't share."

He laughs, soft and fond. "What would you have done if I did?"

Cullen considers this for a moment.

"Done my best to make you squirm and then caved like a house of cards when you did me one better. If the past is anything to go by."

Satisfied -- and so, so very smug -- "I thought so."

He closes his eyes.

"Could've been its own fun, though, I suppose. Put our imaginations to work for as long as possible, until one of us gives in and drags the other one off to the tent."

"Perhaps we'd be deemed so insufferable everyone would leave us alone."

"Mm."

Dreamily.

"A fate I'd happily endure so long as I endured it with you."

"Until the reports arrived."

"No, no," says Alistair, airily. "In this dream, we've annoyed them so much that there are no more reports ever."

Cullen makes a sad noise. "What am I supposed to do, then?"

A leer.

"Sit there and look pretty?"

"That's boring," he complains.