howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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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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"Really."

He's starting to laugh, with all due fondness.

"Twenty, then? Fifty?"

Cullen, true to form, is taking this (too) seriously.

Scowling: "All of them."

"All right, all right."

He tips his head enough to kiss Cullen's forehead.

"Point taken, Commander. All of them."

Still scowling:

"I'm not fragile."

Alistair sobers; he sighs, resting his forehead against Cullen's again.

"It's not about whether I think you're fragile," he says. "I know you're not. All right? I just -- want some part of your day to be a little easier."

Cullen can recognize when he wants to pick a fight. He can try to back off, but --

It's difficult.

"All right," he makes himself say. And makes himself not say anything else.

Alistair doesn't say anything else, either.

(If Cullen wants to pick a fight, he won't give him any more ammunition.)

He stays close, though. Keeps his hand on the back of Cullen's neck; keeps their foreheads pressed together.

"You deserve much better than me, you know."

Low.

"I'll keep pointing that out as long as I have to."

"So long as I can also keep pointing out that you're what I want."

No louder.

"Always."

"A good reason to strive for self-improvement."

A tiny, lopsided smile. "That's the other thing I'm here for," he says. "To be funny, and to bring out the best in you."

Cullen's throat is tight, suddenly. Must be something in the air.

Even more quietly: "You deserve better, and I don't deserve you."

Alistair shakes his head again, just a little.

With care, he works his fingers into Cullen's hair; starts massaging, lightly.

It's simple, really: Cullen isn't who he wants to be, so he asserts, loudly, that he is -- and the lie's enough to make him feel ill, unconscious though it may be.

And it's mildly infuriating (for reasons he can't quite articulate) that Alistair isn't having it.

I don't know how you can stand to be around me, he doesn't say. His shoulders are up around his ears. Why don't you get angry?

Very soft, Alistair says, "You deserve someone who'll look after you when you need it."

They're at a precipice again: Alistair gives it even odds whether Cullen will pull away, or go so far as to leave their bed entirely. But he still harbors a (probably foolish, by now) hope that this time -- maybe it'll sink in this time.

"And you deserve to be loved. What you don't deserve is going through all this alone."

A long moment passes.

Cullen turns onto his side, facing Alistair, so he can bury his face in Alistair's chest properly.

"Remind me of that every so often." Muffled. "And that Andraste said so."

Without hesitation, Alistair wraps both arms around Cullen, holding him close.

"Of course," he whispers. A beat; he essays another tiny smile. "For you, I'll even crack open the Chant for the first time in a decade to find the exact verse."

"Transfigurations and Trials." Without moving. "That should narrow it down."

"Very helpful to know." He runs one hand up and down Cullen's back, slow and soothing. "Thank you."

"...you knew that much, surely."

With great dignity: "I had a feeling it was somewhere in that general vicinity."

Cullen tips his head up just enough to give Alistair a very, very small smile.

"I had faith in you."

Alistair chuckles. Briefly, he touches his lips to Cullen's hair.

"One of the many reasons I'm glad you're here," he says. "Your unwavering faith in me."

(Facetious as the context may be, he says it with full sincerity.)

"And when you quote it -- "

Cullen settles back with a small sigh.

"I have faith you won't quote me the version with ham in it."

"No ham, no stew, no shallots, and no cheese," says Alistair. "You have my word."