howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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

"You could also look menacing should Josephine receive any more requests for my lineage."

That's a little hopeful.

Alistair huffs a quiet laugh.

"Of course. No need to ask, love," he says. "I'll even kiss you in public if that'll help drive them off."

Dry, now:

"They'd ask you to join in, Theirin."

"Whereupon I'd hiss, 'No! Mine!', sweep you into my arms, and run as far away as I can."

Cullen starts laughing quietly.

"Yes. Good. That's the level of fussing I want."

"Wonderful." He kisses Cullen's forehead. "I'll make sure it happens within two hours of our arrival. Three at the most."

"That would make the whole thing much better." A crooked smile. "But no more than three. Please."

"You have my word."

He returns to running his hand up and down Cullen's back, slow.

Cullen relaxes, tucks his head against Alistair's chest, closes his eyes.

"You're very good at looking after me," he mumbles. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, love." Soft, and warm. "You've needed some spoiling, too."

"Maybe a little," Cullen allows.

In other words: yes. Very much.

"Just... nudge me when you're ready to face what's outside."

"Mm. Five more minutes, I think."

He patterns a circle at the base of Cullen's spine.

"Some terrible things lurk outside, but so do jam toast and cheese toast."

Cullen considers this for a moment.

"I want both."

Alistair laughs. "I think I do too. Plus those eggs. Maybe we can investigate the meat stores, too."

Cullen's stomach rumbles obligingly.

"Ought to keep us going for a while. Enough to accomplish a lot."

"Quite."

He can't keep all of the practiced innocence out of his voice.

Squeezing Cullen for a beat, "Come on, then. The sooner we eat the sooner we can get back to this. And...the other things that need to be done today, but mostly this."

Cullen inches out of bed readily enough, dresses (and decides to leave off the armor in favor of getting breakfast faster), and runs a comb through his hair.

As he starts down the ladder, he calls up, "Will the golem be joining us?"

With faux outrage, Alistair calls back, "Cullen, what sort of man do you take me for?"

He emerges into view a moment later: clothed, hair in a more or less presentable state -- and the golem tucked under one arm.

Cheerily, "Of course the golem will be joining us."

For just a moment, Cullen grins, bright and delighted.

Then: "I do appreciate a breakfast companion who isn't always trying to steal my bacon."

(Will that grin ever not make Alistair's heart flutter? Answer: no.

Maker, he's missed him.)

"I don't know. I wouldn't put it past him." He holds up the golem. "Just look at that face."

"The one that's made out of yarn?" Cullen inquires. "It would make it difficult to eat anything."

"Ah, see, that's what he wants you to think."

Is there a way to perch the golem on his shoulder? Alistair's going to try as they start their walk to the kitchens.

"And then when your back's turned, bam! No more bacon for you."

"I rather suspect someone else in the affair of the bacon."

"Are you accusing me of being a sneaky bacon thief, Cullen?"

He affects a wounded look.

"I'm hurt. Very hurt."