howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Alistair nearly chokes on his drink. (Fortunately, none of it goes up his nose. One: a waste of good brandy. Two: that sort of thing stings.)

With exaggerated hopefulness, once he recovers: "What about two mabari in a cheese cellar?"

"I'm glad to hear you find that blissful." Mild. Cheerful.

"One mabari in proximity to a small cheese shelf?"

He's laughing again.

Cullen has more brandy, and slips his other hand into Alistair's.

"Whatever pleases you, husband."

Cullen has discovered a new tactic in his Ways To Get Alistair To Be Quiet arsenal: call him husband.

Alistair's already bright grin widens as the giddy glee comes rushing back. It knocks him speechless; he leans his shoulder against Cullen's, squeezing his hand.

...Being Alistair, he rallies out of the speechlessness soon enough.

"Husband." Soft. "You can call me that all the time now."

"To be fair, I could have called you that at any point." Smirking. "It just... lacked ceremony."

"The ceremony's important." Alistair sips his drink. "Some would say the ceremony's the entire point of the thing."

Beat.

"So are you going to tell Mia, or shall we turn up at South Reach with a cheerful 'surprise, meet your new brother-in-law'?"

"The latter, I should think. Though I suspect she won't be too surprised."

He chuckles. "Perhaps not."

After a little more brandy: "Did it ever come up? In your letters?"

"Not directly," Cullen says after a moment. "Your continued presence in them seems to have been enough to indicate it. And that first one I sent her, telling her you'd write -- "

He shrugs a little helplessly. Smiles, a little helplessly.

"That's a declaration, coming from someone like me."

His smile softens. "Yes."

Alistair reaches to cup Cullen's cheek.

"I love you." Half-laughing, "You'll be hearing me say that a lot more than usual the next few days. I hope you're prepared."

"I shall persevere somehow, I suppose," Cullen says with a sigh.

(He also leans into Alistair's touch.)

"They'll sing songs about your fortitude, I'm sure," agrees Alistair solemnly, before he leans in to kiss Cullen.

He does his best to keep it relatively short; they are in public. Even if there are very few people around, comparatively speaking.

Murmured: "I'd rather they didn't."

In the corner of his eye, he sees one of Leliana's operatives -- former operatives? -- moving past with purpose. Something's wrong with that, but -- Alistair's right there -- he can't quite put the pieces together.

"Maybe just whistle a brief tune, then. No names attached."

Another quick kiss, and Alistair returns to his drink.

"Even better."

A pause.

"Are we... evading talk about literally anything else? If we are -- that's fine by me, but..."

Alistair's smile quirks.

"I thought you wouldn't want to talk about it," he says. "And, well...celebrating."

He lifts his glass to indicate.

"But if you do -- "

"My curiosity's overcome my loathing," he says, wry, and glances about.

Lowering his voice: "Was Teagan always this... difficult?"

"...Difficult how?"

In other words: no. Alistair begins to frown.

"Showing his disdain for the Inquisition in terms suited to you or I discussing Orlesian parties." Softly. "There's opposition, and then there's disgust. Josephine may be the diplomat, but even I know the difference there."

His frown deepens. Alistair folds his arms atop the table.

"No," he says, keeping his voice low to match Cullen's. "Blunt, sometimes, but diplomatic enough to keep it to private conversation. Granted, the last time I saw him was during the Blight, but...that doesn't seem like him."

Cullen nods. "That's... what I thought."

Beat.

"He's also wearing a terrible hat, for what that's worth."

Alistair snorts, faintly amused. "I'm a little less worried about that than the rest of it."

He sips his brandy, thinking.

"Would it be worth me talking to him? I was hoping to say hello to him anyway while we were here; I could just be a little more pointed about it."

"Don't mention your connection with me," wry, "and it should be fine."

(The words twist his gut, a little; it's too familiar, assuming people would be better off disavowing any relationship with him.)

Airily -- but completely serious -- "I'll tell whoever I damn well please."

He nudges Cullen's shoulder.

"Anyway, he saw me arrive with the Inquisition, he's probably already formed his theories on where I stand."