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 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.

"I'll procure a friend for Geoffrey if you call her Divine Stabbity in Cassandra's earshot."

Immediately: "Done."

Best partner ever.

Cullen lifts his hand out of the water for Alistair to shake.

(His fingers are pretty wrinkly.)

Grinning anew, Alistair clasps his hand in a firm shake.

He turns Cullen's hand over in his palm to admire the wrinkles. (They nearly match his own.) "Yes," he muses. "The pickling seems to be coming along nicely. You may be nearly done."

Alistair is working so hard to distract him that even though everything still weighs heavily on him, Cullen can't quite keep from smiling.

(Something previously unthinkable, in the time Before.)

"What happens then?"

"I wrap you in the warmest bearskin I can find."

He traces his fingertips across Cullen's palm.

"No use spending all this time warming up in the spring if you'll immediately be cold afterward. Then maybe -- hm. Haul you back up to our quarters?"

"A long way to go," Cullen observes, fighting a shiver at Alistair's touch. "It would help to move myself."

"You're not suggesting I'm incapable of carrying you the whole way there, are you?"

Laughing a little.

"No," Cullen says reasonably, leaning into him. "But you are the one who complains about all the stairs. Shouldn't I help out by not being dead weight?"

"Mm. Put it that way, I suppose it would be a kindness."

He lifts Cullen's hands so he can kiss his knuckles.

"All right. A warm bearskin, hauling you up to our quarters with your assistance, and...having a nice nap?"

If he has to feel fragile and vulnerable, thank the Maker that Alistair's the one taking charge of him.

Cullen nods; he doesn't quite stop a small sigh. "Can we?"

"Of course," he murmurs. "...You know, I even bundled one of the bearskins up with my laundry by mistake, so I really can make good on that bit."

He drops another soft kiss on the crown of Cullen's head.

"Come on."

Cullen carefully gets to his feet and starts wading toward the ledge.

"...seems like the kind of thing you'd notice."