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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"Someone ate my lunch," Cullen says, stonefaced.

He smothers a laugh.

"Would you like me to buy you another lunch, my dear?"

"No." Cullen scowls at him. "It's too late."

Beat.

"Also I'd give it away."

"Ah, yes, there's the man I married." Fondly. "I knew you couldn't say no to this face either."

He frames his hands around the mabari's face.

Cullen looks at this display, and reflects that not so long ago, Alistair was doing that to him.

He is not sure he wants to ponder that too closely.

Alistair beams, cheerfully.

Point made for the moment -- that Cullen can be just as soft a touch as him -- he gets up, leaning against the wall shoulder-to-shoulder with Cullen. After a beat, he idly takes his hand.

A sidelong look.

He wants to ask if Alistair's finally had enough of this whole 'visible in public' business. But --

Easy enough to just let Alistair have this.

Alistair eyes him back, smiling.

"What?"

Cullen shakes his head a little, gaze sliding off into the distance.

"Nothing."

"...All right."

He turns his head enough to touch his lips to Cullen's hair. Not wanting to be left out, the mabari scoots closer so it can lean against both their legs.

Cullen looks down at the mabari. Up at Alistair.

Wry:

"What have you brought upon us?"

"A wonderful new friend to accompany us through life's journeys?"

Winning smile!

"He's not allowed on the bed."

Immediately: "Done. You're first in my heart and the sole other occupant of our bed."

He squeezes Cullen's hand.

"It would be best," Cullen says, with another sidelong look, "if he were banned from the bedroom entirely."

Pause.

"Of course we'll compensate with a bedroll of his own."

"Probably a wise move." Laughing a little. "Maybe we'll get a fancy pillow for the bedroll to make it up to him."

"It would be only fair," Cullen agrees. "On one condition. It doesn't come from Orlais."

"Oh Maker, no," says Alistair with an exaggerated shudder. "He'll return to his roots as a proper Fereldan dog and forget this sorry, extended stay in Orlais ever happened."

That gets a smile out of Cullen, finally.

"I wonder if we could even manage to leave tomorrow," he muses.

A hard-fought victory! Alistair's smile warms.

"I've no objection," he says. Glancing down at the mabari, "What about you? Want to leave this wretched city tomorrow for somewhere far more civilized?"

The dog's stubby tail pinwheels in glee.

"It's not likely," he cautions. "Unless the two of you want to go ahead of me...?"

"Of course not." Gently, he nudges Cullen in the side. "We all go together. I wouldn't leave you behind."

Cullen wrinkles his nose at Alistair, shifting on his feet.

"But you could. If you wanted."

"I could," he allows, and lets go of Cullen's hand so he can sling an arm around his shoulders. "But I don't want to."

A beat.

"I could be in favor of taking our new friend back to our quarters to settle in, though."

Cullen slumps with relief, letting out a long breath. "I didn't want to ask."