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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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He knows the story of the second Exalted March, of course. Everyone who was brought up through the Chantry does. The massacre at Red Crossing, the declaration by Divine Renata I, the ten-year battle against the heathen elven savages, their futile last stand on the Exalted Plains. Even as a child, Alistair remembers frowning at how...simple it all seemed. How all that talk about delivering the elves from wickedness and showing them Andraste's light by -- what, killing them all? How it didn't seem right.

Just say you're attacking them because they attacked you, he remembers thinking.

And now, of course -- well. He's acquainted with Lavellan. He's met his fair share of elves, city and Dalish. He knows about Fiona.

The book he found could've come straight out of his lessons fifteen years ago, and the way it talks about the elves rings so hollow.

When he can't bear to read any more of it, he trades it for Kenric's book; soon after, though, he has to close that one, too, and tips his head back to regard the branches spreading above him.

Alistair is diligent, Cullen thinks, and he's especially diligent when encouraged to commit some kind of gentle foolery. Which means the 'report' on Cullen's desk is likely to make Cullen laugh.

He should save it to go over with Alistair. That would be best.

Absently, his fingers fiddle with the bracelet on his other wrist. He leans against the arrow-slit window, looking out at the fires in the valley.

Is it quieter downstairs, or is he imagining it?

Technically, he hasn't finished either book yet. Technically. But the odds of doing any more reading seem slim.

Alistair swings his feet out of bed and pads to the ladder; rather than descending right away, he peers down into Cullen's office, just to check.

The cool stone feels good against his head, easing the ache.

Five more seconds, he thinks.

"At what cost?" T. asked me that once. I said it costs nothing, but I don't know. I met a man who'd fought longer than I, but his mind had faded with age, and he could not answer. The point remains that I can do more. I can be more effective. We've all seen the demons, what they did. We've seen what some would do with blood. The better question is, who pays the cost if no one takes this chance?

He breathes out, slowly.

Alistair hesitates.

The ladder creaks, despite his best efforts to stay quiet as he descends.

Already, he's thinking up excuses that won't make it look like he's hovering, or impatient, or anything of the sort. Most of them revolve around grabbing a snack from the kitchens -- and asking if Cullen would like something, too, as long as he's out.

Just...some small way he can take care of Cullen when he's this worn out. Something.

Five seconds.

Cullen lifts his head, turns around --

And brightens, a little.

He drifts toward Alistair, picking up the 'report.' "Looking forward to reading this."

Unconsciously, Alistair brightens in kind.

(Some of it's relief that he hasn't disturbed Cullen after all.)

"I made sure it was very thorough," he says, meeting Cullen halfway; his fingers brush over Cullen's elbow. "No stone left unturned."

A beat.

"No, really, I flipped over a few stones in the broken tower just to make sure everything was in order."

"I appreciate your attention to detail." A corner of his mouth turns up. "I expected nothing less from you."

A soft chuckle. "I learned from the best."

He presses a small, chaste kiss to Cullen's scar.

"How do the rest of the reports fare?"

"Can't do any more without additional information, and none of it's pressing enough to disturb anyone. So yours is the only one remaining."

Alistair nods; hesitates again, just for a moment.

"Would you like to bring it upstairs?" he murmurs at last.

"That was the plan." His smile turns a little more crooked. "If you don't mind. I'd prefer to go over it with you."

"I don't mind at all." He captures Cullen's free hand for a quick squeeze. "In fact I welcome it. Come on, Commander."

Cullen hooks his arm loosely around Alistair's waist and moves for the ladder.

"It was a good day?" he asks.

He slings his arm around Cullen in turn. "It was," he confirms. "Peaceful, for the most part. Kept myself busy."

...And then has to let go so he can scale the ladder. Stupid ladders.

"I expect," Cullen says, hauling himself up after Alistair, "I'll get all the details in the report."

(He winces, a little: moving causes his head to twinge.)

"The vast majority, I'd say." He aims a grin down at Cullen. "I'm happy to fill in any gaps you might find."

He shoves the books aside as he clambers back into his side of the bed.

Cullen spies them as he goes to the basin to wash. "What's all that?"

"Ah -- " He waves a noncommittal hand toward the books. "Chasing something I overheard. Chasing my own tail at this point, I think. Nothing pressing."

"...anything... interesting?" Amused. "At the least?"

His smile, now, has gone lopsided.

"Reacquainting myself with Kenric's research on Inquisitor Ameridan," he says with a shrug. "And all those old history lessons about the second Exalted March."

A beat goes by before he adds, dry and self-deprecating, "You know, just some fun light reading as the day winds down."

Edited 2017-05-26 15:53 (UTC)

"Quite the shift from reconnaissance nugs," Cullen observes. It's a little muffled as he pulls his shirt over his head.

"A bit, I'd say." Light, as he watches Cullen. "Something something variety spice of life something."

"Mm."

Trousers off, sleeping trousers on.

"Why the Exalted March?"

Alistair shrugs again, gaze sliding away. It lands on the books.

"Heard one of the soldiers talking about something Kenric turned up in the Basin." Unconsciously, his voice goes a little quieter. "Rumor, maybe, I don't know. Supposedly Ameridan was an elf."