howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"Yes." They reach the kitchens; Alistair pushes open the door so Cullen can enter first. "And he'll have an excellent teacher on hand whenever it happens."

Every so often, Alistair thinks of how his twenty-year-old self would react to the things he says about Morrigan nowadays. The horror! The faces! Poor twenty-year-old Alistair.

"My thoughts exactly." Cullen gives him a crooked smile.

(Cullen is right there with him.)

There's the ever-present kettle of Mystery Stew on the fire. Cullen points at it. "The path of least resistance, or we could try for something better?"

Alistair bends as close to the kettle as he dares, takes a whiff of the stew, and sighs, pleased. "I think the path of least resistance has venison today. That'll do."

There's also a basket of yesterday's bread, stale but still perfectly edible -- especially when dipped in stew. Once he's ladled out a hearty portion, he grabs a hunk of bread and an apple, then --

"Oooh, cakes!"

-- adds a fist-sized, frosted something to his tray.

Cullen looks one way. Then the other.

Then takes two. One for each hand.

(He does look rather pleased with himself.)

Alistair beams.

(Had Cullen left the cakes alone, Alistair would've snuck an extra one for him just in case.)

"Anything else you'd like before we head back?"

Cullen shakes his head. "No -- I've got a tray in the office."

Pause.

"I think." He furrows his brow. "It doesn't matter. I've got these."

That garners another flicker of concern, but all Alistair says is a cheerful, "All right."

He adds another apple and a bit more bread to his tray. (Just so there's something more substantial than cakes on hand, in the event of Cullen's tray not existing.)

"Onward to bed, then."

"I'm not carrying my tray upstairs." Cullen only thinks to say this once they're back in the office. The good news: there is a tray. It contains food a lot like Alistair's, except sad and cold.

Whatever. Still edible.

"I'll bring it up if you'd like."

Beat.

"...Unless you'd prefer we not risk spilling stew everywhere?"

"Please," Cullen says with dignity.

It is ruined by the way he promptly takes a large bite out of the frosted thing in his right hand.

Alistair smothers a laugh.

"I missed you," he says, fondly, before kissing Cullen on the cheek and settling on the chaise with his own food.

Cullen leans against his desk, facing Alistair, and has another bite before he says, "Got you a present. It's upstairs."

Immediately, Alistair brightens.

"You did?"

A flash of amusement on Cullen's face: Alistair's responses are as predictable as the seasons.

"I did."

Another bite.

"A merchant came through. She had something that caught my eye."

Alistair points at Cullen with his spoon.

"I'm going to be good," he says, "and finish my dinner, but then we're going straight upstairs."

"...you mean we're going to do exactly what we'd already planned?" Cullen asks innocently.

Without missing a beat: "Yes. Exactly."

He tears off some bread to dunk in his stew.

"Though," he continues, mirroring Cullen's innocence, "I can't imagine what you had planned beyond present-giving."

Cullen's smile immediately grows a little crooked.

"We take the night for you to rest." Soft. "I didn't expect you for at least another day, which tells me something about how you traveled."

Pause.

"And then we... ought to talk."

Alistair's own smile dims a little, overshadowed by re-emerging concern. He nods.

"Of course." Not much louder.

"But not tonight." Rallying. "Hurry up. Present's waiting."

Forcing himself back to lightness: "Right. Yes."

Fortunately, he's hungry enough that wolfing down the rest of his meal becomes an easy enough task. He drops the core of one apple into the empty bowl; picks up the remaining apple as he rises.

He holds it out to Cullen with an inquiring noise.

Cullen shakes his head, getting to his feet. "Leave all that on the desk -- I'll get it in the morning."

"All right."

A morning snack it is! Alistair tucks the apple away and shuttles the dishes to Cullen's desk. As he passes Cullen on the way to the ladder, he catches his hand for a quick squeeze.

(He always misses Cullen during those visits. Every time Alistair returns, it's as if he's trying to make up for all the little moments of touch he couldn't get while he was away.)

(For Cullen's part, he's inclined toward being a little clingy himself -- but he wouldn't admit it. That might appear that he resented Alistair's leaving... and that's the last thing he wants.)

The present has no wrapping. It sits on top of Alistair's dresser, a construction of what appears to be brown scraps of fabric with details sewn on in rough black yarn.

It is, in fact, a small golem doll, whose yarn eyes keep a sharp watch on anyone coming up the ladder.

...that's.

That is the best thing Alistair's ever seen.

(Plus or minus a bit of hyperbole, but even so.)

He scrambles the rest of the way up the ladder, eyes alight like a child on Satinalia morning. Laughing, he scoops up the doll. "Cullen, this is perfect."