howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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."

Alistair's pain look shifts to one of cheerful blandness.

"We'll have to find lots of hats for you so you don't catch a chill," he says. "Maybe I'll ask Teagan if he has any to spare."

He would cede defeat if it wasn't so patently ridiculous.

"Right," Cullen says, mildly. "I suspect that would end in him setting his collection on fire, lest I pollute them with the shame of my position. A worthy goal. Shall I go find the razor?"

Alistair splutters.

"I'll ask Sera to make you a hat," he warns. "An obscene one."

"She'd be too thrilled by the opportunity to produce something in a timely manner." Peaceful. "By the time she perfected it, I'd have too much hair to bother with a hat."

"Damn it."

He's laughing, though.

"Can't I just ask nicely that you please not shave you hair?"

Cullen is also laughing quietly. He lifts Alistair's hand to his lips.

"Of course, Theirin." Warm. "That's all it takes."

Alistair's smile goes a bit sappy. "Oh good," he murmurs. "Makes things much easier."

He tips his head up to kiss Cullen's forehead.

"Please don't shave your hair, husband. I'm very fond of it."

Cullen's eyes close at the kiss; his smile is warm, and lingers.

When he opens his eyes, his smile goes a little crooked, and sweeter, and he says, "Well. If you insist."

"Commander!"

And Cullen sighs, and turns to look at --

Charter. He wasn't expecting Charter.

"We've something that needs your attention." He can't read Charter; at least that's not out of the ordinary. "If you'll come with me?"

Cullen nods, and gives Alistair an apologetic look. "I'll return as soon as I can?"

Well. Back to reality.

Alistair squashes the familiar pang -- it's gotten easier to ignore over the years -- and nods.

"Go on," he says. He steals one last brief kiss. "You know where to find me."

"In the most predictable place possible." He squeezes Alistair's hand, smirking a little, and follows Charter.

Well.

One of the antaam in full armor --

That's a sight Cullen could have gone without ever seeing again. At least this one's dead.

The Iron Bull has no explanation, but observes that this one is not part of the beresaad, as we could expect. Inquisitor Lavellan tracked him back through an eluvian in the upper palace, Charter says. She's gone through, to see what else she can see.

Of course she has, Cullen mutters, and rubs the bridge of his nose. Right. I'll go speak to Captain Farrow. Could you prepare a list of places you'd like patrols? I'll send him to you.

Of course, Commander. She turns to go. Cullen rubs his nose again.

Why the antaam? Not how -- an active eluvian likely explains that one -- but why?

In the corner, Grim stirs, but only long enough to roll onto his belly and continue snoring. Alistair finishes his drink and kidnaps the brandy bottle for later.

Where is everyone? If the Commander himself can safely duck out of the Council for a time, it stands to reason Alistair would see at least a few familiar faces scattered about. But as he heads back to their quarters...nobody.

Something's not right.

Alistair stays in the house just long enough to plonk the brandy bottle on the nightstand. Ostensibly, he'll head over to the market to see if there are any books Cullen might appreciate. If he happens to overhear any gossip in the meantime? All the better.

At the very least he can delegate the immediate response to Farrow. No time like the present to start transferring responsibility.

(And yet, whispers a voice. Something new is beginning.)

Once he's sent Farrow over to Charter, he goes to look for Alistair. Not in the tavern -- not in their rooms -- perhaps he's gone to try and find Teagan, given the suspension of the council?

On his way up toward the palace, movement catches his eye. There.

"Alistair -- "

Immediately, Alistair turns; he's at Cullen's side in a moment.

Low: "All right?"

"Follow me." He slips around the corner, and doesn't speak again until they're safely in their small rooms.

Cullen keeps his voice low anyway. "A dead Qunari soldier is in one of the outbuildings by the tavern. He arrived through an eluvian. Lavellan is investigating."

Alistair blanches, visibly. He swallows hard.

(It's easy to crack jokes about eluvians when they're shoved away in a dusty storage closet somewhere. Less so when they're active; far less so when, apparently, random Qunari are walking through them.)

"Anyone spoken to Bull yet? I know he's Tal-Vashoth now, but -- "