howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

(no subject)

You'll have to make a decision quickly. Either don't come home and meet me in Halamshiral, or come home and have a day or two before turning for Orlais. They've called an Exalted Council. Josephine, Lavellan, and I must speak for the Inquisition in front of Orlais, Ferelden, and Divine Victoria. Two of those parties appear to be hostile to our continued existence. I will leave it to you to contemplate which two.

Be safe, Alistair, and go with my love.

Cullen doesn't bother signing it.

The library is silent. No one is in the rotunda -- Solas's rotunda, he thinks, even after all this time. There are always people in the yard, but many fewer than before.

(It's downright lonely, when Alistair travels. Cullen will never complain to him. Not after the last few years.)

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If he says anything, he'll lose it.

(If he disagrees, Alistair won't listen.)

So instead Cullen shakes his head, a little, and clings tighter. As though that would do anything at all.

Alistair breathes out, and holds him close.

"I love you," he whispers. "And there are a lot of reasons I agreed to marry you. Remember that."

I'm an unemployed lyrium addict with a bad attitude and no sense of humor, he thinks.

"Still leaves us with you not getting what you need," he mumbles, voice wavering a little.

(The Inquisition is disbanding. Cullen needs -- something to worry about.)

"I don't want my needs to come at the expense of yours." He kisses the top of Cullen's head. "Especially in bed. We both ought to be able to enjoy ourselves. Not just -- tolerate it, or feel obligated."

(It's been a long while since he's thought of that night with Morrigan. It's rather difficult not to think of it now.)

"You think I don't enjoy giving you what you want?" Cullen mutters -- but doesn't stir otherwise, or raise any more truculent complaint.

Gently:

"I do, but you didn't seem to be enjoying it five minutes ago, love."

There's no comeback to that which is both good and truthful.

Cullen pulls away, some -- not far.

"Fine." Tired. "Then what? What can I do?"

Alistair lets him, albeit not without a small pang.

"You can stay with me here," he says. "You know I always enjoy your company. Even when it's not -- athletic."

A beat.

"I promise that's enough for me when you're not up for doing more."

For lack of a better way to hide, Cullen closes his eyes.

"Fine," he says again, fainter. "It's still like I've failed you, but fine."

The silence stretches a bit longer than is comfortable.

(Alistair's closed his eyes, too.)

Not much louder: "Is there any way I can make you believe that you haven't failed me?"

No.

But I can stop sulking about it, Cullen thinks, bitterly. Act like a grown man who's well aware that everyone has much bigger problems.

"No," he says -- marginally calmer. "But if you don't care, I suppose there's not any use in me wringing my hands over it."

"All right."

Alistair...doesn't sound too happy about that. (But there's nothing he can do about it, either.)

Briefly, he tightens his embrace on Cullen. "I'm sorry. Should we -- rest, for a bit?"

"Don't apologize." And that's a little sharp -- and he does pull away, now, rolling over on his back to stare at the ceiling. "Maker's breath."

Well. There's the answer to his question.

Alistair rolls over, too, putting his back to Cullen, hooking one arm underneath his pillow.

So that's how it's going to be.

There isn't even any work to do.

Isn't there a training area near the tavern? Cullen wonders. He could really use the opportunity to hit something.

He should be used to it by now. He knows it isn't his fault when Cullen turns snappish at the slightest hint of sympathy. But -- well. If they're talking about failing one another, that always feels like he's failed Cullen.

Too bad the things that might make Cullen less snappish are things like force him to serve you against his will and stop believing he's a decent person.

Alistair takes a long breath. Lets it out, slowly.

"Look."

Very quiet.

"I just didn't want you to feel as miserable as I did that night with Morrigan. That's it. We can talk about the rest later."

Cullen doesn't move.

He slides his gaze toward Alistair's back.

"The difference being," he says, no louder, "that I want to do it. For you. Because I love you."

Alistair turns enough to look over his shoulder. He rolls onto his back in short order -- the angle's too awkward to watch Cullen like that for long.

"But you shouldn't have to give up your own -- " Your own comfort, he almost says, but Cullen will just echo the rejoinder from earlier. Alistair gestures to him, helpless, plaintive. "You had reservations. And that's fine. I want to know, I don't want to guess about it and do something like..."

Not like Morrigan, maybe, but like that other trip to Orlais two years ago, when even while Cullen was weeping in his arms afterward he kept insisting it's fine, it's fine.

Very tentatively, Cullen reaches for Alistair's hand.

"I know. I -- thought about that. And I thought -- you'd have a problem with it, if I wanted to stop and didn't say anything. So I knew -- I know -- I have to say something. But having reservations doesn't mean 'stop.'"

It does to me, he wants to say. But that wouldn't be helpful.

(And -- maybe Cullen has the right of it, moreso than Alistair. If your first time starts with do this or you and/or your best friend will die and ends with scrubbing your skin for a good two hours...maybe people who don't lose their virginity like that can have reservations about the act and shrug them off without much trouble. Who's to say?)

Without hesitation, Alistair twines his fingers around Cullen's. Even softer: "I don't want to hurt you and not even know it."

"I know."

He lifts Alistair's hand to his lips.

"There's no malice in you. Never has been. I rely on that. I know I can rely on that. Always. But Alistair -- haven't we hurt one another before? It's an unavoidable part of this thing. This marriage. And we're still here."

A wisp of a smile appears. Alistair nods; squeezes Cullen's hand.

"Still something I'd like to limit when I can," he says, with a lightness that's only a little forced.

Gravely:

"I appreciate it."

He chuckles -- a quick, helpless sound that takes him by surprise -- as the barely-there smile blossoms to a full grin.

Alistair leans in to kiss Cullen.

He slips his free hand around the back of Alistair's neck with a hum of contentment.

(Much better than all the talking, if you ask Cullen.)