howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

(no subject)

You'll have to make a decision quickly. Either don't come home and meet me in Halamshiral, or come home and have a day or two before turning for Orlais. They've called an Exalted Council. Josephine, Lavellan, and I must speak for the Inquisition in front of Orlais, Ferelden, and Divine Victoria. Two of those parties appear to be hostile to our continued existence. I will leave it to you to contemplate which two.

Be safe, Alistair, and go with my love.

Cullen doesn't bother signing it.

The library is silent. No one is in the rotunda -- Solas's rotunda, he thinks, even after all this time. There are always people in the yard, but many fewer than before.

(It's downright lonely, when Alistair travels. Cullen will never complain to him. Not after the last few years.)

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Alistair considers this.

"The rest of Thedas comes to its senses, realizes Orlais is the worst, and starts holding annual Orlais Is The Worst parades through the middle of Val Royeaux."

"And you think that's worth leaving home for." Cullen is dubious, to say the least.

Alistair considers this further.

"We could ask Sera to attend in our stead and report back?"

Cullen pats Alistair's chest. "Good man."

"She'd do a better job of sneaking books out of the library anyway."

Contented, as he covers Cullen's hand and laces their fingers together.

"True."

His thumb moves idly on Alistair's chest.

"Your other idea, I recall, had us as itinerant do-gooders. Do you still want to travel?"

Alistair opens his mouth -- and then pauses, brow furrowing slightly.

"I was going to say 'yes, of course I do.'" Softer. "But...I don't know. I want to travel, yes. But I want somewhere to come home to as well."

A crooked smile.

"You've spoiled me."

Another quiet laugh. "You needed spoiling, Alistair."

Warm, "And lucky for me, I found someone who was quite good at it."

He touches his lips to Cullen's hair.

"I suppose I'm all right," he concedes. "Could stand to improve, of course."

"As do we all." As pious as he can manage. "Fortunately I've no objection to you practicing your spoiling skills whenever you wish."

"Another nine hundred golems it is, then."

"Only soft ones, please." He gently prods Cullen's shoulder. "I don't want you hurting yourself if you step on one in the middle of the night."

"I'd say some interesting things if I did, though." He sounds cheerful about it. "Terrible things."

"...Maybe one hard golem, then," says Alistair, starting to laugh again. "Just for the entertainment value."

"Anything to entertain you." He raises his head long enough to kiss Alistair's shoulder. "My pain, your pleasure. How's that for spoiled?"

"The most spoiled I'll ever be."

He ruffles Cullen's hair.

"So long as the pain is brief, temporary, and gives me a chance to dote on you a little afterward."

Cullen leans his head into Alistair's hand. No shame.

"I suppose I could allow you to fuss a little."

A soft chuckle. "Spoiling me even further in the process."

He begins to card his fingers through Cullen's hair, slow and gentle.

"You're fussing right now." Content.

(He tightens his hold on Alistair. Given what's coming, and the days recently that he's been alone -- a preview of life without Alistair -- he could use a little fussing over.)

When Alistair reaches the nape of Cullen's neck, he keeps going, smoothing his palm down Cullen's spine.

"Next up: jam toast," he says. "Fairly certain I spotted a fresh crate of eggs last night as well."

"Suppose it's better to eat something besides cake," he says, a little glum. "As long as there's jam, then."

(He's also pressing back against Alistair's hand, not unlike a cat.)

(He notices. On his next downward stroke, Alistair presses a bit more firmly.)

"There could even be..." A dramatic pause. "More than one flavor of jam."

Cullen snorts. "I dare not hope," he says, dry. "Mm. You could keep that up, though."

"As you wish," he murmurs, and kneads the heel of his palm against Cullen's back. "...I could give you a proper back rub if you wanted?"