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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"And I'm sure they've no idea how to properly train a mabari around here anywaugh!"

You may not want to kiss Alistair until he has a chance to wash his face, Cullen. It's covered in dog drool now, thanks to an enormous lick from the mabari.

Cullen just smirks.

"I wonder what you thought was going to happen."

"Exactly this," Alistair confesses, sputtering, as he scrubs his face with his shirtsleeve.

(The delighted grin hasn't abated.)

Satisfied in its investigation of one of its new friends, the mabari trots to Cullen's side to begin sniffing his boots. They smell somewhat similar to his first new friend, but just different enough to be interesting. Hmm.

Cullen laughs quietly, and extends his hand for investigation. "Hello. Been here long?"

The mabari whuffs, sniffing Cullen's hand like he's trying to inhale half the air in Orlais. He finishes the examination with a few licks of Cullen's fingers and the same pet me! nudge he gave Alistair.

"No collar," observes Alistair. "...You don't think they abandoned him?"

Cullen turns enough to achieve the optimum angle for scratching behind the ears with enthusiasm. "Would you put it past them? ...did they?" he asks the mabari.

The mabari heaves a forlorn sigh, grumbles, and works his head more firmly under Cullen's hand. It may be as close to a yes as one can get from a creature that can't speak.

"No," says Alistair, with a remarkably similar sigh, "but I like to think even they would have the bare minimum of decency not to do it."

Cullen harrumphs, and crouches enough that, were the mabari a human, he'd have his arm slung around the mabari's shoulders.

"Well. Least we can do is get him a square meal, don't you think?"

Any dog worth its salt knows at least three synonyms for the word food, and this one is no exception. His whole hindquarters swing from the force of his tail-wagging as he barks twice, ecstatic.

"...I can't say no to that face," says Alistair, laughing. "Let's."

The shops around here include a few vendors of the meat-on-a-stick variety, fortunately. Three of them ought to suffice for their new canine friend, right?

(Alistair, always and forever, will be a soft touch.)

Make it four. One is for Cullen.

He leans against a nearby wall, regarding his stick, formulating a plan of attack. "Would every forced march in the sunshine included a mabari."

"Oh, come now," Alistair chides, gently. He's taken a seat next to the mabari, scratching the dog's back as their new friend wolfs down his food. "It's not that bad, is it?"

"It could be worse," Cullen allows. "Company's all right, I suppose."

He grins at Alistair, open and bright.

Alistair beams up at him.

"I'm relieved to hear it," he says. "I'm sure Barkspawn is, too."

So much for the grin. Cullen groans as though mortally wounded.

"That can't be his name."

"Cousland made that exact same face when I suggested it for her mabari," says Alistair, mournful. "Will I ever meet someone who appreciates a good pun?"

He's still smiling, though, as he pats the dog's ribcage.

"No, it won't be his name. I'll think of something more dignified. Assuming his master doesn't come along and snatch him back from under our noses."

Cullen is preoccupied with his meat on a stick, so it takes a second for what Alistair said to fully process. Then he double-takes -- and quickly slides the rest of the meat off the stick and down to the mabari.

"You can't mean...? Really?"

Thoughtful. Not outraged.

Alistair shrugs a little, watching Cullen hopefully. Definitely-Not-Named-Barkspawn snaps up the proffered food and sets to with a pleased grunt.

"We can't leave him here if he's been abandoned, can we? As you said -- it's half a miracle he hasn't been shot yet."

Cullen glances down to the mabari. Looks back at Alistair.

And snorts.

"Well." Dry, as he thinks of all the things they'll have to do before they -- leave Skyhold forever. "In fact. Why not."

Alistair brightens even further.

"If no one's come calling for their mabari by day's end. And I promise I really will give him a decent name."

"If I don't approve," Cullen says, pointing at him, "I will absolutely name him Kordillus Drakon. I mean it."

"Noted," says Alistair, laughing.

After giving the mabari one more scratch behind the ears, he hops to his feet so he can hug Cullen, quick but earnest. Best husband EVER, says the gesture.

It's a small enough thing, to let him have it. Alistair won't be his for long. Alistair should have everything Cullen can give him.

He's even good at keeping most of this from his face.

"You're also in charge of bathing him."

"A small price to pay." He cups Cullen's face in both hands. "Thank you, love."

The mabari looks up at them; with another rumbling boof, he gets to his feet and tries to wind himself around both men's legs.

Cullen pulls away so he can glance down.

"Alistair," he says, patiently, "your hound is trying to trip us."

"Bit difficult to trip us when we're standing in once place," Alistair points out, amused, but does give the mabari a small nudge. "Yes, I'll continue paying attention to you once I've kissed my husband. I promise."

Suiting action to words, he pecks Cullen on the lips.

"And remember," to Cullen, softer, "what's mine is yours. Until it comes to bathtime."