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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"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."

Cullen looks up sharply.

After a moment, he sits on the edge of the bed.

"He was."

Simply.

"Kenric gave me copies of some documents that Lavellan turned up. He was."

Alistair glances up, eyebrows lifting. Nods.

And quirks another crooked smile as he drags a hand over his hair. As he lets his hand drop: "Do you think the Chantry knows?"

Cullen shrugs, lifting a hand in a gesture that isn't so much what-can-you-do as it is desperation. Exasperation. Exhaustion.

"I don't think they'd acknowledge it, even if they do."

He rubs his temple.

"Cassandra wants the truth. Leliana wants justice for those who have been denied. Josephine wants to establish our common ground. All of that makes us heretics to them."

(Cullen wants -- )

His mouth twists, and he adds, more quietly, "And Lavellan is -- Lavellan."

Alistair huffs a small laugh, without much humor. "Unsurprisingly."

He draws his legs up to sit crosslegged, back against the headboard.

"It's -- strange," he admits, not much louder than Cullen. "Sometimes I almost forget about all that business with Fiona. And then I hear about things like this, and remember -- "

A sigh; he shakes his head.

"I mean it's not like I have claim to any of it, not like Lavellan certainly, but...Maker. I don't know."

It's a risk to ask, but Cullen genuinely wants to know --

"Does that -- clarify anything? About why she did what she did?"

"Not really."

Eyes on the books again.

Cullen nods, and rubs his temple.

(Might as well do it while Alistair isn't looking.)

Alistair worries at a fingernail, silent.

Eventually:

"You know they won't even let elf-blooded people live in Halamshiral? One of the recruits talked about it, when I was on patrol."

Cullen nods.

"Celene's treatment of the elves of Halamshiral was a point of contention between her and Ambassador Briala." Quiet. "Given that Celene burned the slums outside the quarter containing the palace, it's a valid grievance."

He closes his eyes.

"Might've had some distant relatives in there." Another unfelt smile. "Or at some other alienage. Or great-great-great-great-whatevers that..."

Alistair gestures toward the book on the Exalted March.

"Yes," Cullen says.

Mostly to let Alistair know he's listening.

"I wish I'd known sooner."

Quiet. (Faintly bitter; you'd have to strain to hear it, and Alistair isn't cognizant of it at all.)

"Like I said -- not like I have much claim to it. But I still wish I'd known."

"If nothing else," Cullen says, lightly sardonic, "it would have kept you out of the Chantry."

Alistair snorts a half-hearted laugh.

"Yes, but then I wouldn't've met you for twenty years," he says, finally turning his gaze away from the books. "If at all."

"No, but you'd be running your kennel and cheesemongery." Drier. "An entirely worthy trade."

"And one day a very handsome commander would walk in, looking for enough cheese to feed an entire Inquisition, and hire me on?"

Innocent.