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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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."

Practically: "It's clearly not the golem."

"...I suppose this is the first breakfast the golem's ever attended with us, so it's unlikely he stole anything at previous breakfasts."

Alistair heaves a sigh.

"I'm afraid you've caught me, ser."

One corner of his mouth turns up.

Speculative:

"What am I going to do with you."

Alistair, by now, has tucked the golem's legs into his shirt collar and listed his head an inch to the right, but he's emerged victorious: the little doll has found a perch on his shoulder.

You know, just to give the rest of the conversation an aura of low-level ridiculousness.

Hopeful: "Something fun?"

"Something you'll like." Serene.

It is... harder than he expected not to laugh at Alistair's passenger.

So instead, he says, "The golem needs a name."

Immediately: "Geoffrey."

Beat.

"No reason. I just like the name Geoffrey."

"Seems rather stuffy."

As the word leaves his mouth, Cullen looks pained.

"Never mind. Very appropriate. Carry on."

Alistair cracks up; Geoffrey nearly slips off his shoulder with the force of it.

"Yes," he manages to intone. "You've walked right into my pun trap."

Cullen nudges Alistair. "That seems much more like my pun trap. Since I'm the one who made it."

"Perhaps," he allows, still snickering. "In which case, there's only one way for me to counter it."

He pushes open the kitchen door.

"With the delicious breakfast trap."

Cullen heaves a sigh and resigns himself to no bacon this morning.

(He does hoard the jam, though.)

As they eat, he starts absently making a list of the things that need attention. "Laundry -- armor and weapon check -- sufficient papers as necessary -- final rosters -- "

To his credit, Alistair only steals one slice of bacon off Cullen's plate. Geoffrey's fearsome gaze has finally made him behave!

"Anything I can help with?" he asks, faintly muffled by half a mouthful of eggs.

(Cullen knew the golem was a good purchase.)

"Chewing and swallowing before you speak." Still absently. "Other than that -- prepare to travel, I suppose."

He gives Alistair a sidelong look.

"Let me know when you'd like me to meet you in the cellars."

Because Cullen still doesn't want everybody and their brother knowing about the springs.

Alistair wrinkles his nose at Cullen, smiling, before he makes a show of swallowing his food.

"Around noon, I think? That ought to give me enough time to get the armor polished."

Beat.

"Unless I have to wear one of those red and blue sashed...things instead."

"Unless you're representing the Inquisition, you'll escape that fate." Cullen looks disgruntled. "Unlike some of us."

Beat.

"You could do me a favor, though, and bring something that isn't armor. Just in case."