howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Cullen doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Is it -- can I -- is it all right to... talk about it?"

"Of course."

Gently surprised, as he pulls back enough to look Cullen in the face.

Cullen looks -- tired, and nervous, and resigned, all at once.

"I don't want to put things on you that you can't carry right now."

Alistair rests his palm against the side of Cullen's head.

"I'm all right," he murmurs. "A bit of a shock; that's all. I can carry it."

Cullen lets out a small sigh, and pulls back just enough to undo the buttons on his tunic.

"I've never known a Qunari warrior to travel alone." Simply. "Not the antaam. If there's one, there are more. So... where are they?" He lifts a shoulder, helpless. "We can prepare against that to some degree, so that's fine. For now. But what we need to know is why."

His gaze flicks up to Alistair. "If it's the antaam, they're here on the Arishok's orders. You knew him. Any thoughts?"

"Sten?"

He frowns.

"Honestly, I've no idea. Cousland's the one who knew him best. He tolerated the rest of us, at most -- like you'd tolerate camping in a swamp for a few weeks. He's far more loyal to the Qun than even Bull was before he went Tal-Vashoth."

Beat.

Wry, "Which I'd suppose you'd have to be if you ended up the Arishok. But I wouldn't expect him to depart radically from whatever the last Arishok may have wanted to do. Or planned."

Dry: "The last Arishok lost the Tome of Koslun and never returned to Qunandar."

"...All right, then there'll be a radical departure after all, because I expect Sten will be more competent than that."

Equally dry.

"Given how that ended..."

Cullen shrugs roughly.

"I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or not."

"Neither am I." Low. "I could try to get a line of communication through Cousland, but I don't know how much that would help. Or even if we'd have enough time."

If the antaam don't travel alone, it's not a matter of if more will show up, but when.

"There are eluvians." Tired, again. "We don't have time. Honestly, Alistair -- " He rubs at his eyes. "I just... wanted to be done. This happens every time."

Alistair exhales. "I know, love."

He wraps his arms around Cullen again.

"I know."

Cullen lowers his forehead to Alistair's shoulder, letting out a long, shaky sigh.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," he murmurs. "This isn't your doing."

One hand rises to cradle the back of Cullen's head, fingers gently working through his hair.

"We'll figure it out. And we'll make it through together."

Cullen's shoulders slump at Alistair's touch; he clings more tightly.

"Every. Time."

"I know," he whispers again. The hand on Cullen's back rubs a slow, gentle circle. "It's absurd. It isn't fair. This entire trend can drop straight into the Void."

He kisses Cullen's temple.

"But you don't have to endure it alone." Striving for lightness, "And this gives us even more reason to get a mabari or two: should it happen again, we can yell, 'Barkspawn! Attack!' and know the situation's in good hands. Or paws, I suppose."

Mumbled: "Two. Less of a chance one will prefer us to the other one."

A quiet chuckle; it rumbles his chest. "No argument here."

Good. That's a good sound.

He relaxes further, leaning against Alistair. Softer, he says, "I'll be all right in a minute."

"Take your time."

He keeps up the slow circles between Cullen's shoulder blades.

"As much as you need."

"If I did that I'd stay here forever," he mumbles. "Not feasible, Theirin."

Alistair's smile skews closer to a wince.

"As much as is feasible, then," he murmurs.

It's tempting -- too tempting -- to curl up with Alistair on the chaise. To wait for whatever horrific chaos is about to ensue. To make someone come find him and bring him away.

Instead Cullen lifts his head and kisses Alistair -- soft and sweet, as though it could be the last time, as though the love is what he most wants to remember.

And then he turns away, starting to do up the buttons of his tunic. Brusque, hoarse: "Get your arms and come with me?"

A quick, sharp nod, as one soldier to another. "Right."

Alistair keeps his gear in their bedroom; he still finds it easiest to stash a weapon within reasonably easy reach during the night. A brief departure, then; when he returns, sword and shield are firmly buckled in place.

Being safe trumps being inconspicuous right now, until and unless he hears otherwise.

Cullen's retrieved his own sword; he looks up when Alistair returns, and nods approval.

Quietly: "Charter's been monitoring our operations from an outbuilding since we arrived. We should go there first."

And if the circumstances warrant Cullen needing a shield, he can get a standard issue shield there.

(It doesn't, Josephine pointed out, match the tunic, and should thus be avoided except in direst emergency. Whether this is a dire emergency... well. Charter will know better than Cullen.)