howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"...M'kay."

If Cullen insists. (Not that Alistair needs much encouragement at this point.) He leans up to kiss him, small and sweet.

"Love you too, love," he murmurs, and five minutes later, he's sunk into sleep.

Cullen exhales, slowly, and manages to wait approximately seven minutes before his mind begins racing.

The good news is that it's on a pleasant topic. He can try to track down Mother Giselle after Lauds. They could do it before the Council starts. The thought appeals, very much.

It's a much more pleasant reason than most for the delay in sleep. Cullen will take it.

The next morning, a slight groan heralds Alistair's return to the land of the waking. He squinches his eyes tighter against the encroaching headache.

Stupid sunlight. Stupid ale. Stupid Bull's stupid birthday and stupid Alistair for thinking he could out-drink stupid Dalish.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

This is, unfortunately, something Cullen overlooked while planning.

He is looking very resplendent in the stupid formal uniform, however.

When Alistair wakes, Cullen is leaning against the doorway, arms folded, amused.

Quietly: "Well, Theirin? Do you live?"

...Well, that's a sight for sore eyes.

(Sore heads, as the case may be.)

"Mrgh." He digs the heel of his palm against one eye. "Half-live, I should think. Whole-live once there's breakfast."

And maybe a healing draught before Bull finds him and tries to force that Qunari hangover cure on him.

Not this morning, then. Maybe once he's no longer needed in session.

"I've bad news." Lightly. "Downstairs your choices are porridge, and bread and cheese. What can I bring you?"

Alistair wrinkles his nose.

"Anything but porridge. Please. Don't inflict that on me," he says.

Cullen laughs softly, and shifts himself upright. "Never. Back soon."

He pulls up a smile, lopsided but genuine. "Thank you, love."

And once Cullen's gone, he flops back onto the pillows with a louder grumble as he tries to will the hangover out of existence.

Cullen returns with bread, cheese, and a steaming cup of tea. He puts his burden on the table beside Alistair, and bends down to kiss the top of his head.

Alistair's smile grows. "My favorite," he murmurs.

Tea seems like a good idea first. He takes careful sips; his stomach grumbles, but not overly so. Good. If this hangover denies him cheese on his wedding day, he'll be quite vexed.

...His wedding day.

"How long before the Council?"

"An hour." Regret crosses his face. "It... probably this afternoon? Unless you want to eat on the way to finding a revered mother."

Alistair winces, rueful. "Probably best I don't," he admits. "I'd rather have a clear head when I say my vows anyway."

Cullen can't quite quash a dopey grin as he rubs the back of his neck.

"Which reminds me." He clears his throat. "I said I'd ask again. Is this something you want?"

Even through the hangover malaise, Alistair's whole face lights up in a bright smile.

"Yes." He holds out a hand to Cullen. "I want to marry you. I will."

Cullen takes his hand. He's pinked, some; he has to clear his throat again before he says, "All right.

He lifts Alistair's hand to his lips.

"All right," he echoes, soft and warm.

He slips his hand to the back of Cullen's neck, drawing him down for a proper kiss.

When it breaks, he leans his forehead against Alistair's.

"You're killing me, Theirin." Low. Content. "You know I can't stay."

"I know." He tips his head back to kiss Cullen's forehead. "More of this after. We'll get an early start on the honeymoon."

Beat.

"Also," cheerful, "I know you hate the outfit, but you do look quite dashing all dressed up like this."

"Ugh." Cullen straightens, scowling. "You were doing so well."

"Sorry." Laughing a little, creakily. "Sorry, love. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

He snags a bit of the bread.

That earns Alistair a small smirk. "Really. I'd like to hear your best idea, then."

"I'm not sure I need to share."

Another bite of bread; he mirrors Cullen's smirk.

"You seemed to have quite a lot of good ones last night."

"Those were my ideas," Cullen says placidly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Now I'd like to hear yours."

"Mm."

As casual as he can, punctuated by a sip of tea.

"Well. You did mention coming to me in private to ask for more correction, yes? I wonder what I might have on hand to help with that, aside from my...hands."