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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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?"

"You've only just come home," Cullen says, after a pause that's a little too long. "By rights I should be doing that for you."

Alistair continues rubbing Cullen's back, quiet for a beat or two.

"Tell you what," he says. "You can fuss over me all you like in the springs. For now...what would you like me to do for you?"

He still feels a sick pit in his gut whenever Alistair asks him that question. He's become better at combating it, but there's always a few seconds of thinking that he's about to be struck down for the temerity to want things.

After a long moment, Cullen reaches for Alistair's arm and tugs until Alistair's on his side.Then Cullen fits himself against Alistair with a shaky sigh.

Alistair curls around Cullen, wrapping him in a tight embrace.

"I love you," he whispers in his ear. "We'll make it through this."

"I might be a bear," he warns, not entirely evenly. "I'll try not to be."

"You're forgiven in advance."

A slight smile.

"I'll try to keep my fussing to acceptable levels."

"This is good." Soft. "Lots of this."

Alistair nods, just a little. "As much as you want," he agrees.