howtoactfereldan | (no subject)

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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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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.)

When it breaks, Alistair curls an arm around Cullen, scooting lower to rest his head against Cullen's chest.

Even Alistair has to concede that some things -- like kissing his husband -- definitively outrank talking. At the moment, so does holding on to Cullen and nestling as close as he can.

He brings his arm around Alistair, smoothing his palm up and down Alistair's back for a moment before settling.

"Beastly, wonderful man," he murmurs with great affection.

His smile warming anew, Alistair plants a small kiss on Cullen's chest.

"Your beast," he says. "And I love you, too."

With his free hand he strokes Alistair's cheek.

"Getting better at translating for me all the time." Warm.

Alistair chuckles, leaning into the touch.

"Years of practice," he murmurs. "I can really say that now. Years."

"To be fair," Cullen says after a moment, "after my second year at Bournshire, you could say that."

"Yes, but my studies weren't so focused as they've been recently."

He traces a fingertip down Cullen's chest, idly.

"Too busy making up new verses to the Chant."

Bland:

"I admit, your focus does seem to have improved somewhat."

Alistair snorts a tiny laugh, resting his palm over Cullen's heart.

"I have the proper motivation nowadays."

"A steady supply of cheese?"

"Cullen." Very seriously. "If that were true, I'd be eating cheese right now."

He taps a finger against Cullen's chest.

Cullen prods Alistair's hand. "The appearance of small golems?"

He captures Cullen's hand, smiling. "Only happened once so far, so I'd say it's too inconsistent to be properly motivating."

A beat.

"Delightful as Geoffrey may be."

Edited 2018-02-09 01:46 (UTC)

"Right. Six more, at the first available opportunity."

"I'm not complaining -- "

Through laughter.

" -- but I don't see how seven small golems will help improve my translating skills."

"By delegating your work, obviously," Cullen says, surprised.

"Ohhhh, yes, of course."

Alistair muffles another snicker against Cullen's shoulder.

"How could I not have realized? So foolish of me."

It tickles, a little. Cullen wriggles some with a huff of breath.

"You're used to working alone," he says, generously. "It's only logical."

"True, true." He tips his head enough to look up at Cullen. "Very fortunate I don't have to anymore."

A beat.

"...I'm talking about you there, not the golems, by the way."

Cullen raises his eyebrows.

"You'd get more done with the golems."

"If I were working on a particularly difficult translation, though," says Alistair, cocking an eyebrow in reply, "it would be easier to go straight to the source and ask what he meant."

"He might even tell you." Solemn.

Matching his solemnity:

"What a kind and generous man. He must love me very much."

"He's very susceptible to this," Cullen says, and squeezes Alistair's rear end.