howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

(no subject)

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?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Less of a burden for you to shoulder, at least?" Wry. "And maybe we can put some fancy hats and masks on the training dummies for Lavellan later."

Cullen almost laughs.

"I can't do that. You know that."

Beat.

"I might be able to leave a few hats and masks lying around, however. Should you decide to do anything with them."

Solemn, Alistair says, "I'm sure I'll come up with something. And then disavow any hat- and mask-related knowledge when the time is right."

"I suspect Lavellan would be a willing accomplice in that."

"Maybe I'll ask her tomorrow," he muses. "In heavily-coded phrases so no one else knows. 'The lion's mane is in the barnyard.' 'The druffalo tramples the obnoxious nobles at' wait no that one won't work."

His thoughtful tone doesn't change one iota at the last.

Cullen lets out a breath in what's close to a laugh, and eases himself flat again.

"Might need some work, Theirin."

As if it's just dawned on him, "Oh, is that why Leliana never recruited me?"

He stretches out alongside Cullen, hooking an arm around his middle.

"I thought it was because I couldn't sing."

"There can be more than one reason," he says peacefully, and slowly turns over on his side, fitting his back along Alistair's front.

A small, contented hum; he wraps his arm more snugly around Cullen.

"At least I'm not stepping in traps as often."

"Improvement with age." Threading his fingers through Alistair's.

"Does that apply to other things, too?" he asks. "In another decade, will I be able to sing?"

"You'll care less about it?" he offers after a moment.

He snorts a tiny laugh.

As he squeezes Cullen's fingers, "I'll take it."

A small, content sigh; Cullen feels rather boneless and self-indulgent as he relaxes more fully.

(He did get a lot done today, he thinks. Worth the headache.)

Good. If Cullen's relaxing, then Alistair will consider his mission accomplished.

(That likely accounts for the silence on his end, too: no use prattling and making Cullen less relaxed.)

He drops a brief kiss on the nape of Cullen's neck, smiling, and subsides.

"Sing anyway," Cullen mumbles.

Alistair's eyebrows rise.

"Really?"

"Not right now, if you don't want." Still mumbled. "End of the world. Ought to sing if you want. Hang what anyone else thinks."

This night—safe beside a fire, the three of them singing that stupid song...

"You say that now." Warm, amused -- but sincerely pleased in spite of himself.

Everything stays quiet for another beat or two. Alistair gives Cullen another small squeeze.

And then, softly, soft enough that it's felt more than heard, he starts to hum. The tune wanders in search of something familiar, but never quite finds it; maybe it's something he overheard in a tavern once, maybe a misremembered part of the Chant, maybe (most likely) something Alistair's just making up as he goes along.

Cullen closes his eyes and lets out a small, contented breath.

It doesn't take him long to doze off.

Mission definitely accomplished.

Alistair trails off as he feels Cullen's breathing sink into the deep, steady rhythm of sleep. He lets his eyes close, focusing on the rise and fall of Cullen's chest under his arm; the quiet rustle of the leaves overhead; all the peaceful little quirks of noise and touch that mean home.

Soon after, he follows Cullen into sleep.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only