Cullen (
howtoactfereldan) wrote2017-10-23 10:14 pm
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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.)
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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All told, it doesn't take very long at all.
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Ten paces away from the chapel, Alistair can't contain himself any longer: he falls into delighted laughter, wraps his arms around Cullen, and spins him in a circle.
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They circle to a halt, but only so Alistair can take Cullen's face in both hands and kiss him soundly.
"Husband."
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Another kiss. (He's getting teary-eyed again.)
"I love you. I love you so much."
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(Amused, too.)
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"I'm a very lucky man to find someone who loves me that much," he manages. "Want to go somewhere that's not the middle of Halamshiral?"
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.... :D!
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It's early enough for the tavern's crowd to be a little thin. One or two people nurse their own hangovers; Grim's sprawled over a table in the corner, snoring faintly.
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Beat.
"You have work to do later." Smirking.
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The color in his cheeks may be a bit higher, though.
"I've a lot to make up for."
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"And work I'll do gladly," he murmurs.
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Grinning, he returns the squeeze.
"You have a deal."
(The barman, elbows on the counter top, continues to eye these proceedings with obvious amusement.)
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In absence of a crowd, Cullen suspects, they might have to buy their own drinks. Shameful! (But he's also not willing to wake up Grim.)
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If no one's around to buy them a drink -- so far -- then Alistair's going to buy something nice. Aside from ale, most of what the barman's got are fancy Orlesian wines and Tevinter liquors, but tucked away on a dusty shelf corner is the jackpot: a nearly full bottle of West Hill brandy.
Two glasses, the entire bottle (they can savor it in the privacy of their quarters later in the likely event they don't finish it now), an empty table. Alistair fills both glasses and takes a seat.
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Softly:
"To what comes after. May it be peace."
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And then says, peacefully:
"And if we could avoid it being fifty mabari in a cheese shop, that would be nice."
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With exaggerated hopefulness, once he recovers: "What about two mabari in a cheese cellar?"
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