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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"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."

Cullen glances away, smile going crooked, and steps back. It doesn't do to break a promise to a mabari.

"Right," he says, soft.

It's not like it's Alistair's choice. It's the mabari's choice.

Alistair...isn't entirely sure what to make of Cullen's expression.

The mabari, on the other hand, has very clear expectations of what must happen now that there's enough space between Alistair and Cullen: he butts his head against Alistair's knee, and refuses to stop until Alistair's back on the ground, laughing, giving the animal a vigorous belly rub.

Cullen leans back against the wall again, watching the sky.

Absently:

"I hope he likes stairs."

Alistair snorts. "Well, we won't have many in our house in the countryside, I hope. He'll only have to put up with the stairs for a little while."

"Put in ten staircases."

A faint smile.

"Just for you."

Alistair groans heartily, thumping his forehead onto the mabari's side. The dog takes this as his cue to crane around and try to lick Alistair's hair; he yelps in dismay, straightening up as fast as possible to avoid any more damage.

"How is it?" he asks, gingerly touching the top of his head.

Cullen keeps his expression very solemn.

"Fine." Neutral.

(It is not fine.)

Alistair wrinkles his nose as he tries to comb the dog drool out of his hair.

"I'm not sure I believe you."

Blandly, he says to the sky, "Oh dear."

"I can tell you're just devastated by that news," answers Alistair, serenely. "If you come down here I'll comfort you properly."

The mabari pants, happily. Does that mean two people might be giving him a belly rub soon? It's almost too much to hope!