howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"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."

"It's who you are, Alistair." Resigned, and fond. "And I love you. So..."

Cullen shrugs.

"Got to do better than just tolerating it, don't I." Crooked smile.

He huffs a laugh, his smile warming.

"Still feels a bit miraculous sometimes." Soft. "You falling in love with me and all that."

He hooks his arm back through Alistair's again.

"I have many faults," Cullen says, no louder, "but no one can say I don't know a good thing when I see it. Or when it steals my bacon, as the case may be."

"It's true." Solemn. "The bacon theft was just an elaborate ploy to get your attention. The delicious food was only secondary."

Cullen laughs.

"I suppose it's as close as you could get to pulling my braid and running away."

"Unless you ever grow this out."

He runs his fingers through Cullen's hair. In deference to the whole being-in-Halamshiral-for-professional-reasons thing, he keeps the tousling to a minimum.

"It may be the only way to save yourself from my dastardly, thieving ways."

It's still a little too much; Cullen cringes and pulls away, patting his hair back into place, until he realizes that was... literally the point of what Alistair did.

Then he makes a face at Alistair.

"Could shave it off. Might do, if you get ideas."

Alistair affects a shocked look.

"Nooooo no no no." Laughing. "I'll behave. Anything but that."

"Maybe I'll do it anyway," he muses. "It does grow back, you know."