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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Softer, then:

"The worst that could happen if we settled in South Reach is the worst that could happen anywhere we settled. You'd -- be alone, once I'm gone." (He has to stop there for a beat; his voice has begun to thicken.) "I don't think that'll happen, I think you've enough people besides me that you can call on, but -- anyway. Worst possible case."

He draws a breath.

"But the best that could happen if we lived in South Reach is that you'd have your family nearby for the rest of your days."

When Alistair pauses, Cullen tightens his hold on him.

And doesn't contradict Alistair, but --

Cassandra is occupied rebuilding the Seekers. Cullen doesn't want to be a Seeker.

Leliana is the Divine, and Cullen is fine working alongside her, but something in him balks at working for her. Something about having to follow bad orders.

Dorian is in Tevinter. Rainier isn't to be thought of. Nor is joining up with the Red Jennies. (Cole is just a big banner unfurled over the mouth of a cave that reads 'NO'.) Varric is in Kirkwall. (Also NO.) And he likes Bull and the Chargers well enough, but if Cullen is going to fight, he needs a better reason than gold.

Everyone else he can think of is in Kirkwall, a Red Templar, or dead.

He nods against Alistair's shoulder. It's a valid enough point: the worst will happen no matter what.

(Cullen's interpretation skills could use some work.)

"Think on it some more." He turns his head just enough to kiss Cullen's temple; resettles, once that's done. "If you decide you might like to -- we could go for a visit to start. If you decide you'd rather not, then we don't have to go. And either way we don't have to figure it all out right this instant."

A tiny smile.

"We can sit and soak a while instead."

Voice clogged:

"You just want me to get wrinkly."

"A side benefit to all the nice relaxing bits," he says. Cullen gets a soft squeeze. "And being in your company."

He mutters, "I'm terrible company right now and you know it."

"You're not at your best," allows Alistair, "but you know that doesn't mean I love you any less."

"Five sovereigns says Halamshiral will have us at each other's throats within two days," he mutters.

Alistair grumbles. "Maker, I hope not."

Chalk up another reason Orlais is terrible: just being in that damn country gets both of their hackles up, which makes everything that bit more worse. Alistair still feels a little sick when he thinks of their massive fight after Rainier unmasked himself.

Cullen disentangles himself enough to dunk his head under the water.

When he comes back up, he says, "Josephine says it's possible they'll leave our forces alone. If Celene and Anora want to use us as an excuse not to fight each other."

Cullen's scowl likely shows what he thinks of that hypothesis.

Alistair's right there with him, if the deeply skeptical look he shoots Cullen's way is any indication.

"If they were going to do that, they'd use their own armies, wouldn't they? Not an independent force?"

"Josephine's argument is that an army between their armies is a deterrent."

Dry.

"My argument is that if she expects Anora Mac Tir to want lasting peace with Orlais, her education in history is lacking in some crucial areas."

(Again: not Anora Theirin.)

Alistair snorts, perhaps a little louder than is advisable. "Agreed," he says. "Queen Anora's not a warmonger, but I doubt she'd tolerate Orlais putting a single toe out of line. One slight against Ferelden -- or her -- and that'd be that."

Cullen grunts agreement, and sinks a little lower into the water. The heat feels good on his neck.

"Let's make an agreement. If war breaks out between them, we stay out of it."

Beat.

"Come to think of it, that might be Josephine's plan for the Council."

Alistair slings his arm back around Cullen's shoulders. "'You're on your own, you children, see how you like it without us,' that sort of thing?"

Cullen nods, leaning against Alistair. “A valid tactic. Distract two enemies by turning them against each other so you live to fight another day.”

Alistair makes a faintly disgruntled noise. "If turning them against each other could just involve...I don't know, insulting each others' masks instead of potentially rending a few countries apart right when we finished saving the world, that'd be nice."

“Josephine wouldn’t let it get that far.” Quiet, and sure. “And I imagine Leliana would have a thing or two to say about it as well.”

"Fair points all," he murmurs.

A beat.

"...I've no idea how I'm going to call her Divine Victoria all the time. I mean, I called her 'Princess Stabbity' once. Sort of. I said she was less a Princess Stabbity type than a...you know what, never mind."

He's laughing a little, rueful, by the end.

"No," Cullen says, perking right up. "No, finish that sentence. Less a Princess Stabbity type than...?"

"Than a...how did I put it?" Snickering harder, now. "Right, an 'oooh, pretty lights!' type. Lel was trying to convince Warden Cousland to let her come along to fight the darkspawn, Cousland wasn't entirely sure about it on account of the whole 'I had a vision from the Maker that led me to you' thing, so I tried to convince her by pointing out Leliana's brand of crazy was probably pretty harmless."

Cullen breaks out laughing -- pretty hard, too. It's a few seconds before he manages to get out, "We all say things we live to regret, Alistair. It's all right."

Alistair beams. Loftily, "I'm not saying I regret it, I'm just saying I may slip up and call her Divine Stabbity someday."

“As though her former scouts aren’t already.”

"Oh, good, then I've nothing to worry about," says Alistair cheerfully, leaning his head against Cullen's.