howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

"Completely," he agrees, no louder.

And then, fervent, but still quiet: "Damn it."

Under other circumstances, Cullen might try to say something sardonic. Might try to put on a stiff upper lip.

Nobody's watching except Orlesian gossips, and it's not as though they can do any more harm than what's assuredly coming.

"The miracles had to run out some time." He leans in against Alistair. "And the other thing she's uncovered -- she doesn't even have her gods with her. The Qunari say they're blaming the whole thing on agents of Fen'Harel -- who was real. With the rest of them. Elven magisters, who turned tyrant, before Tevinter ever existed. She's going to her death knowing everything her people taught her is a lie."

That's --

Barely audible: "Oh Maker."

It's a cruelty beyond comprehension; a betrayal too deep to fathom. The mere idea of it settles over Alistair like a weight and drags his gut lower. And to have it happen right when Lavellan might be trying to seek comfort in the face of her impending death?

There has to be some way to fix this, he thinks blindly, knowing very damn well there isn't. Won't ever be.

"With all luck she'll be too busy knifing the Ben-Hassrath to feel it," Cullen mutters.

A comfort so cold it isn't any comfort at all.

Alistair can't say anything. There's nothing to be said. Eyes burning, he leans his head atop Cullen's, watching the landscape below without seeing much.

"I suppose." His voice is thick. "There's little point in... staying on call. Like I've been all day."

She could still come back, protests a weak voice. (It sounds very young.)

"I suppose." His own voice isn't faring much better; he swallows, trying to clear it. "Should we go in?"

"We can. I don't -- it might be better. To be in private."

Alistair nods. Squeezes Cullen, gently, before unwinding his arm from around his shoulders.

"Come on, then," he whispers as he reaches for Cullen's hand.

Cullen seems something close to adrift as he lets Alistair pull him inside. A plain jacket, now; he starts to struggle out of it.

"At Haven." Slow. Careful. "At the end -- I told her. The only choice left was how spitefully we ended it." He closes his eyes for a moment. "I hope she listened."

Alistair helps Cullen out of the jacket; when it's done, he takes Cullen's face in both hands, touching their foreheads together.

(It's an anchor point. It helps, a little.)

"I'm sure she did," he whispers. "She's -- " She was? No. Not yet. "The sort to take that advice."

Cullen swallows a despairing laugh. "Yes, dropping a mountain on her enemies certainly points in that direction."

Alistair cracks a tiny, humorless smile. It fades quickly.

"Wish dropping something heavy on the Anchor would work as well as that."

Cullen pulls away -- he's tired, he doesn't want to stay on his feet. He goes to the chaise instead, dropping down, giving Alistair a look somewhere between despairing and pleading.

His mouth twists into a wince. "Sorry," he says, low and bleak, and moves to join Cullen. "I don't -- I don't have anything to say."

He leans his shoulder against Cullen's.

"Except the obvious. This is horrid."

"I can't think." His shoulders are slumped, head down. "And I can't stop thinking."

Alistair nods, helpless. He curls an arm around Cullen's waist.

"Can I -- help you think about anything else? If you're going to think?"

He leans, heavy, against Alistair, turning in toward him.

"I don't know." Barely audible. "I -- what would you -- do you have a plan?"

"I don't think any of my usual plans will work, unfortunately." He runs his hand up and down Cullen's side, slow, comforting. "Just...know I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere. And I love you."

Cullen nods.

After a moment he picks up his legs and swings them over Alistair's lap, and settles in close, resting his head in the crook of Alistair's neck. It's childish. He doesn't care.

Very quietly:

"Don't let them leash me. If they make noise, like they assume I'll stay -- run with me?"

Say it.

"Don't let them give me..."

Without hesitation, Alistair wraps both arms around him. He listens -- and pulls in a quick breath.

"Never." With quiet fierceness. "We'll run as far as we need. Farther. I'll never let them do that to you, love -- I swear it."

"I've no idea what they'll do." Barely above a whisper. "What they think they can get away with. If it comes -- it will happen fast."

"I'll be ready, then."

He moves one hand enough to cup the back of Cullen's head.

"At a moment's notice. Packs for both of us and the quickest route to the stables. They will not leash you."

No louder, thin:

"You'll come for me?"

And thinking all the while: What will I do when he's gone?

"Yes." Firmly. "I promise. I'll come for you no matter what."