howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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."

Cullen's mouth tightens, just a little.

Quietly:

"He's the closest thing you've got to family that isn't mine, Alistair. Think before you throw that away."

Alistair sighs; his gaze drops to his glass.

No louder: "Teagan may have gotten cranky in his old age, but not so cranky that he'll disavow family because of a difference of opinion. That's all this has to be. I'll ask why he hates the Inquisition so much. That's all."

He looks up at Cullen.

"And if he thinks I'm biased because I'm married to the Commander, so be it. At least you'll have a little more information to work with during the Council."

Hopefully.

Alistair may be looking up, but Cullen is looking away.

"If you're determined." Still low. "Speak with Josephine first. For my sake. In case there's some sort of strategy she has that speaking with him might disrupt, or support."

Beat.

Then, more carefully: "I'd think you'd want him to support disbanding the Inquisition, at any rate, or at least the military."

It's a line cast upon the waters, and Cullen isn't sure whether or not he wants Alistair to take it or ignore it. He is sure that he hates not speaking plainly, but --

When in Halamshiral.

Alistair nods. "Of course."

At the next, he smiles, faint and crooked.

"The Inquisition's done a lot of good. If I objected to independent armies on principle I wouldn't've joined the Wardens. I...think if the Inquisition stays intact, it'll have to put some rules in place so it doesn't end up like Weisshaupt. But I'm not sure getting rid of it altogether is the best idea."

"Would it be best, then," Cullen asks softly, "if -- no matter what the outcome of this Council is -- I stepped down?"

It's a step farther than he's thought about -- asking do I want you of the Inquisition, rather than do you need me -- but --

Alistair breathes out. He takes Cullen's hand; squeezes his fingers, gently.

"I don't know," he admits, just as quiet.

(The selfish part of him: yes, of course, I've spent two years sharing you with the Inquisition, I don't want to spend the rest of my short life that way. Alistair will never give voice to those thoughts.)

"Is that something you'd want to do?"

"Yes."

It takes him a moment.

"I -- have no more desire to be leashed. It's different than the Order, better than the Order, but -- "

He's speaking to the tabletop. "I've found purpose in my life, at long last. I want to follow it. And that means stepping down. If there's anywhere to step down from, after this."

Oh.

Alistair's throat bobs. His limbs feel weak with the sudden rush of relief; the realization that a thing long desired -- and long since dismissed as impossible, brattish, not to be thought of -- is within reach after all. More than that: that it's a thing Cullen wants, too.

He laces their fingers tighter. Wraps his free arm around Cullen's shoulders, drawing him close.

His voice is only a little thicker than normal. "Then you should do it."

Cullen laughs a little helplessly, and carefully slides his glass on the table.

"Means there's not much point in moving a griffon statue into our tower, Theirin."

"That's all right." Peaceably. "I've got Geoffrey. He's much more portable anyway."

More laughter; he sits back in his chair, and picks up his glass again. "Right. Foolish of me. Have you written Kieran about him yet?"

Outside, Leliana's operative comes back the other way, moving fast.

And that's what's wrong. (It clicks into place, just like that.) They're supposed to be sneaky, that's the entire point. And there's the operative, visibly in a hurry, in the middle of Halamshiral.

Cullen frowns a little, but lets it go. He'll ask Lavellan, later.

"I have." Alistair beams. "Geoffrey, the softest and smallest of the golems, has gone venturing out into the world to see if he can find others like him. No luck so far, but fairly soon he'll run into a pair of nugs that'll...help him out..."

He trails off as he notices Cullen's frown.

"All right?"

Cullen looks sidelong at Alistair, then leans in and murmurs:

"When you see one of Divine Stabbity's people in a hurry, something's happening. Nothing to fret about yet."

He settles back. "I wouldn't tell Geoffrey he was soft and small. You might hurt his feelings."

Alistair smothers a laugh at Divine Stabbity -- only to burst into snickers at the next.

"They're completely accurate and objective descriptions!" he protests. "Geoffrey doesn't let them stand in his way. He walks through life like a golem a hundred times as big."

"...so he stomps through life, you mean?"

"Precisely." Cheerful. "Of course it's more like stomping through life with pillows on your feet, so it's a rather quiet stomping, but he dreams of a day when his stomps will shake the ground."

"Perhaps he should seek out allies hardier than nugs," Cullen advises, in his professional capacity. "If that's what he's working toward."

Loyally: "The nugs love him no matter what. They're all right with a little ground-shaking. And Geoffrey's promised not to step on them once he's big and heavy."

Cullen puts up his hands. "All right, all right. You're the golem expert, clearly."

Alistair beams, then sneaks a kiss onto Cullen's cheek.

"I knew my focused studies in small, silly toys would come in handy someday," he says. "Thank you for facilitating it."

Beat.

"And tolerating it."