howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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."

Cullen's shoulders hitch once. Twice.

He doesn't answer -- just curls in tighter.

"I've got you."

His tone gentles. He draws Cullen closer.

"Shh. I've got you. You're safe with me."

He's cold. Alistair is -- warm. Right now Cullen isn't convinced he'll ever be warm again.

His fingers curl into Alistair's shirt. "I'm sorry," he manages. "I should -- I'm sorry."

"You don't have to apologize, love." He touches his lips to Cullen's hair. "You're all right. It's all right. Shhhh."

Unconsciously, he's begun rocking Cullen, just a little.

Small:

"What are we going to do?"

Alistair breathes out. Pushes down a despairing I don't know that threatens to bubble up.

"We're going to stay here for now." Quiet, and as steady as he can make it. "We can't do anything until we know what's going to happen. And once we do know...we'll decide. We'll run if we need to. I've some idea of safe places we can go -- I used them after Clarel exiled me."

A tiny, halfhearted smile.

"And they're not all as miserable as Crestwood. Promise."

Slowly Cullen loosens his grip on Alistair's shirt, and settles his head more comfortably on his shoulder.

If Alistair knows what to do... Cullen doesn't have to.

He smooths his fingers over the wrinkles he created in Alistair's shirt, and nods, a little.

"I've a rough idea of where Cousland is, too."

He smooths Cullen's hair: gentle, meditative.

"We'll narrow it down if need be. She'll always provide shelter if we need it, or know how to get us there."

"Rather be on the run with you than anyone else," he mumbles, eyes closing, nestling closer. "You're good at it."

"Comes with the Warden territory."

He works his fingers a little deeper into Cullen's hair. Keeps moving his hand.

"Right after the Joining we all get little guidebooks. 'How to Survive on the Run.' Quite handy."

(It's either a weak joke, or trying to make light of the truth: that's one good thing about no home and no family.)

Cullen sighs softly. For a moment his smile is there, faint.

"Can I borrow it?"

A soft chuckle. "Of course," he says. "What's mine is yours, husband."

"Mm."

It's a good thought. Cullen lifts his head just long enough to press a kiss to the underside of Alistair's jaw.

Alistair's faint smile grows. He resettles his arms more securely around Cullen; presses another kiss to his brow.

"Can't imagine anyone I'd rather be on the run with, either." Soft.

He's still cold. It's a little better, but --

It's why he doesn't say something like Geoffrey has more experience.

Instead he slips a hand inside Alistair's shirt, smoothing his fingers idly, without intent, over Alistair's chest -- an anchor that allows him to be absentminded, to rest. Like he used to do with the coin.

The coin's still there, just above Cullen's fingertips, resting on its chain as it has for two years now. Not a day goes by where Alistair doesn't wear it.

Despite the lack of intent, he has to take a careful breath at Cullen's touch. His heart drums steady beneath Cullen's palm.

It's enough to make Cullen withdraw his hand. "Sorry," he whispers, curling in on himself.