howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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.)

Cullen laughs, softly, and takes the opportunity to get up. He saunters toward the bedroom, not bothering to look back -- just takes off his boots, and starts with his shirt. Muffled: "You've forgotten the most vexing problem, Theirin."

That's all the invitation Alistair needs: he's on his feet a moment later, trotting to keep up with Cullen.

"Oh?" Briefly, he hops on one foot as he works at his own boots. "What's that, then?"

Shirt gone, Cullen settles his hands on his own hips, looking at Alistair with calm intent.

"However are we going to manage to get a proper hole in the ceiling?"

Immediately: "A maul."

He succeeds in yanking off his boots and chucks them aside.

"Or throwing heavy rocks at the ceiling. Or getting an even heavier rock, handing it to a dragon, and letting it drop it on the house once we're both clear."

Cullen folds his arms across his chest.

"That would preclude," he says, "getting a cover for when it rains, Theirin. A problem."