howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

Alistair hums again, contented, and closes his eyes.

That uncertain feeling at the pit of his gut subsides. Cullen's good work, as usual. There will be time to nudge that again later, too; all he has to do now is wait.

Cullen rests his chin on top of Alistair's head, and does his best not to think about anything at all.

So when Josephine knocks, Cullen says, quietly, "Come in," and doesn't bother moving at all.

Josephine looks harried -- but something in her face softens at the two of them.

She says quietly, and precisely:

"Lavellan has disbanded the Inquisition. Effective immediately." Beat. "In front of the Council, so there's no taking it back."

Alistair cracks open an eye as Josephine enters -- which soon turns into him sitting up, keeping hold of one of Cullen's hands as he stares at her.

"Disbanded it?" he echoes. "Completely?"

"I'd expected something like it," Cullen murmurs, more to himself than to either Alistair or Josephine. "What next? We'll need to negotiate, I assume -- turning over Suledin Keep is one thing, but Griffon Wing will be far trickier."

"Yes." Cullen can see, now that he's looking closely, how frayed Josephine looks, and feels a sharp pang of guilt: what else could he have done to help her? "The Inquisitor -- Lavellan -- has requested we meet on the belvedere, just before sunset. Until then..."

"We will all rest," Cullen says, gentle but firm. "We have our orders. Rest, Josephine."

She tightens her mouth for a moment -- but then acquiesces with a nod. "Yes. Until then."

Alistair nods as well -- a little dumbly. Cullen may have expected it; Alistair, at best, considered the option at very brief length before dismissing it as implausible. The Inquisition ending by force, or coercion, or the wishes of the Council: likely enough, yes. Lavellan herself ending it, though?

What's left behind, after the news hits, is an odd, weightless feeling, where one could either soar or fall but has no idea which. Josephine takes her leave; the noise of the door clicking shut finally pulls Alistair back to awareness.

Back to awareness of Cullen, specifically.

He squirms around on the chaise until he's facing Cullen in full. Watches him, wordlessly, hand still linked with his.

Cullen runs his thumb over the back of Alistair's hand. Meets his eyes.

Smiles, crookedly.

"If the Inquisition was so easy to infiltrate," he says softly, "it makes no sense to preserve it when the spy network remains mostly intact, and when the armies will be of no use. And Lavellan has done enough."

He takes a breath, and lets it out. "We'll have to negotiate with Orlais to ensure places like Griffon Wing will remain occupied, lest bandits or worse take them over. But you and I will return to Skyhold. And then..." Cullen runs his other thumb over Alistair's lower lip. "And then."

Edited 2018-01-28 03:44 (UTC)

And then: an after. An end.

(A beginning.)

Alistair nods again. He exhales, breath shaking faintly -- and when the right words still don't present themselves, he surges forward to kiss Cullen, hard.

Cullen twines his arms up Alistair's back, drawing him closer.

It surprises him, a little, that Alistair should be wordless about this. (Not that he's complaining.) It's -- it's the best possible outcome. Cullen will be free to leave, in perhaps as soon as a few weeks. They can go wherever they like. Do whatever they like.

(Cullen might have to request time to allow him to sleep for a week.)

"We made it," he breathes, half-laughing, bright-eyed, when the kiss breaks -- though he doesn't stop kissing Cullen for long.

Between the kisses that follow: "It's done. We're all right. We're -- "

We're free, he almost says, but it gets caught in another delighted laugh, and silenced on another long kiss.

A difference between them: Cullen doesn't quite dare to hope.

"It's not quite done." Cautioning. "When we leave Skyhold and aren't followed -- "

That sobers Alistair, but only slightly.

"Almost done, then," he corrects himself, taking Cullen's face in both hands. "Not much longer."

And at that -- Cullen smiles, small and sweet.

"We can have whatever we can't carry sent to Denerim. Until we have a place."

"Yes."

He's laughing again, beaming bright.

"We really could start building our mabari pack if we wanted."

Cullen settles his hands at Alistair's hips. "When we have a place," he says, stern.

(But still smiling.)

"Have to have a place to put them, don't we."

He heaves a sigh, which does absolutely nothing to disrupt his grin. "I suppose if you insist."

Alistair leans in to kiss Cullen again.

Softer, "Our own place. As many windows as we can afford. Space out back for the dogs. It could really happen."

"What's this about windows?" he murmurs. "I thought you were interested in the golem figures and griffon statues."

"Well, yes, those can go out back." Practical. "Like a little statue garden."

"More windows means more cold, Theirin."

"But more sunlight," he counters in a murmur, touching his forehead to Cullen's. "And a better view."

Cullen laughs quietly.

"So... the Fallow Mire is right out, then. That's what you're saying."

He descends back into snickers. "Yes, love," he manages. "Completely out. I'm so sorry to crush all your dreams."

"You know, we could occupy Griffon Wing Keep. Just the two of us."

Alistair puts up his eyebrows.

Drier, but still amused: "That's a little too far out in the middle of nowhere for me, I expect."

Cullen puts on an expression of Great Understanding. "So you want to be closer to Orlesian civilization. Well, there's always Montsimmard -- "

"Ugh," says Alistair, emphatic, and pulls away.

(Still grinning.)