howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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 -- "

"Yes. He doesn't know why, but he identified the soldier as part of the antaam -- but not part of the beresaad." Cullen rubs the back of his neck again. "Not part of the vanguard. If I recall correctly -- and it's been a long time -- "

He gestures in the direction of his shoulders, his feet. "Parts of the armor looked like a scout's. Ashaad? I think that's the one. Whatever one it was that Saemus Dumar ran away for. Charter's supervising Leliana's people, and I've got Farrow for the guards.

" -- but the point." Cullen makes himself focus again. "Point is -- look, you know I'm not stupid enough to ask you to stay here, but if you go out... please do it armed."

He's already nodding. "Of course."

Fiftfully, Alistair drags a hand through his hair.

"You'll tell me if I can help?"

"Yes." Cullen steps in, resting a hand on Alistair's hip. "Honestly, right now I'm not sure what I can do to help."

He's trying to sound light, even a little amused. "We need more information. Until we have it, all we can do is be ready."

Alistair does his best to join in: with a wan, self-deprecating smile, he says, "Oh, excellent: waiting. My favorite part."

He settles his hand on Cullen's upper arm.

Cullen smiles a little, and pulls Alistair in, folding him into his arms.

It's been nearly three years, and the likelihood that the eluvian will lead to the Fade is small -- but Cullen hasn't forgotten the day Kieran went in. Far from it.

(That, and it's the first time they've been really alone since they entered the chapel.)

Alistair breathes out, tucking his chin over Cullen's shoulder as he tightens the embrace. He closes his eyes.

"Thank you," he mumbles after a moment.

It's never a bad time for a hug, but right now, Alistair needs one. Then he can get back to the business of shoring himself up.

"Always," he murmurs into Alistair's ear. "Always."

Let Alistair move at his own speed, he thinks. They have the luxury of time now; maybe not so much later.

Another moment passes. Another long breath. Alistair has curled his fingers into the back of Cullen's shirt; now he loosens them, smoothing down the fabric.

"All right." No louder.

They don't know much yet. Maybe the eluvian doesn't connect to the Fade at all. And if it does -- Cullen would never order him there. Ever. Alistair's known that for years.

"You'll warn me first if you have to walk into that damn mirror? And you'll stay safe?"

"Of course." He touches his lips to Alistair's temple. "I have to tell you, Alistair -- I don't think it's likely, that I'd have to walk in. We don't have enough soldiers in the honor guard to warrant my joining them. And we certainly don't know enough to warrant going through one on the offensive."

Alistair nods. "All right."

He relaxes his hold on Cullen, a little.

"Good." More wry, "Perhaps I'll try that novel plan where I don't immediately jump to the worst idea I can think up."

Cullen laughs softly. "A good plan, Theirin." He settles his arms low across Alistair's back. "I approve."