howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Rather than a squeak, that earns Cullen a raspberry this time.

(Hey, so long as his tongue's already out.)

Alistair finishes up and tosses the cloth aside, then settles back with another pleased sigh.

Cullen's eyes are closed; he still looks appallingly smug.

"Everything you hoped for?" he murmurs.

"Yes."

He shifts to drape an arm around Cullen.

Softer: "Exactly what I needed. Thank you."

"'M glad." Edging closer, his head on Alistair's shoulder. "That was the idea."

Alistair squeezes him, lightly, as he drops a kiss on Cullen's forehead.

"So glad I'm yours," he murmurs. "Can't think of anyone better."

"I could start coming up with suggestions." Thoughtful.

"Don't do that." Amused, but sincere. "You know I won't listen to them anyway."

"Krem, Cabot, Empress Celene..."

"Not my type, definitely not my type, and if you really want me to relay the salacious gossip about my brother and Celene that turned up at Ostagar..."

"Alistair."

Patiently.

"I can't have salacious gossip. I can, however, have useful intelligence."

Beat.

"And you're just mad Cabot never gives you the good stuff."

"Whereas you have shared the good stuff." He taps his fingers against Cullen's shoulder to emphasize. "Another point in your favor."

Beat.

"And considering Cailan's over a decade dead, the gossip's of no use to anyone."

Another beat.

"...And besides, Krem's got his eye on Maryden, spend five minutes in the tavern with him and you'll see."

The gossip would be of use in the right hands. Leliana and Josephine would know exactly what to do with it. Cullen knows that much.

"Krem can do better." Cullen wrinkles his nose. "And isn't my entertainment a good use for intelligence?"

Gravely: "I suppose."

He winds one of Cullen's curls around his finger.

"Well...some months into the Blight, we went back to Ostagar. Found what was left of Cailan's body, gave him a proper funeral. And we also found some letters. One from Eamon, one from Celene."

Alistair's mouth twists slightly.

"She addressed Cailan...very familiarly. Talking of an alliance. And in Eamon's letter he said Cailan ought to put Anora aside because she hadn't borne him an heir yet." A small sigh. "Not difficult to add it all up."

"...Celene's older, isn't she?" Brow furrowed. "By at least five years. Has to be.'

"I've no idea," he says. "But it's not as if Anora was particularly ancient when Cailan married her, and they still never had children. Maybe he really did think he'd have better odds with Celene, age be damned."

Reluctantly:

"Does Leliana know about this?"

"She came along to Ostagar."

Quiet, as he continues his absent fiddling with Cullen's hair.

"So yes, she knows."

Means he doesn't have to tell her, in case they need -- leverage.

Cullen relaxes, and nods a little.

One day, he thinks, one day I won't have to think like this.

It's possible that occurred to Alistair. It might account for the next kiss he presses to Cullen's hair, and the way he lingers there a moment.

"I know those sorts of marriages aren't usually done for love," he says eventually, no louder. "But the idea of casting someone aside like that, someone you've known for years, because you don't think they're useful anymore..."

Alistair exhales.

"I can't fathom it."

(There's also the small, niggling matter of the way it would be used against Celene: the thought of the Empress of Orlais marrying the King of Ferelden would be too much to bear for the Orlesian court. Remarks about dogs and fleas, and 'barbaric splendor,' would follow. And Cullen would go about his business, because that would be his duty, and would have to keep a sharp eye out for disgruntlement in the ranks -- and would have to ignore the accusing and betrayed looks from his own people. It's exhausting to think about.)

"No?"

His eyes are still closed.

"Consider Maferath's betrayal of Andraste to the Archon."

"Well, yes, I know it happens." His mouth quirks: not so happy, any longer. "Obviously. It's more -- I can't understand what would go through someone's mind, to make that decision."

"Maferath was rooted in jealousy."

Absent.

"But I wonder if at least part of it wasn't about the desire to save more lives. Or at least that's what he told himself, to excuse it. That the Alamarri and their allies could go home to live their lives with some degree of autonomy, with fewer lives lost than if the siege at the gates continued. He could tell himself he was doing it for the good of his people, because his wife was a fanatic, and there had been enough death. A divorce isn't much, compared to that."

"Maybe."

Alistair's turn to close his eyes. Another moment passes before he huffs out a wry laugh.

"This is terrible pillow talk, isn't it. Some couples talk about -- I don't know. Kittens. Baby nugs. We talk about betrayals and divorces. Next time I'll throw in that Celene wanted to feed a nest of abandoned baby birds instead."

Cullen cracks open an eye.

With a great deal of prurient interest:

"How do you know what other couples talk about?"

Alistair musters up all the dignity he can, and says, "It's an assumption, Cullen. I did say I didn't know."

(His smile's firmed up again.)