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.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"When it's time."

He swallows.

"Don't go to the Deep Roads."

Alistair goes very still.

Carefully:

"Cullen, you know what will happen to me if I stay past my Calling."

"Not that." His arms tighten again, in reflex. "We'll -- ask a mage for help. A potion. Just -- just so you're not alone. In the dark."

His stomach drops. Alistair feels a cold, sick chill as the blood leaves his face.

He takes a breath in; releases it, slowly, and tightens his embrace in kind.

You can't ask me to do that, is his first thought, and one he absolutely cannot speak aloud. Not with Cullen in this state. But -- he's turned his back on so much of the Wardens. He broke his oath in countless ways since he decided to follow the Inquisition instead of Weisshaupt. The Calling will be his last chance to hold up a tiny sliver of the vow he made during his Joining: in death, sacrifice.

He's known he will die in battle for fifteen years. To die in his bed instead, by his own hand, even if he isn't alone in the dark --

"I." Helplessly. (He can't say any of this to Cullen.) "Let me -- think about it?"

Cullen nods. Miserably.

"If we have the time," is all he says. It's a little choked.

"We do."

There's far more quiet surety to those words. He rubs Cullen's back, slow.

"We will."

Cullen shakes his head --

And then stops. There's little point.

"If I could ask you something?"

He swallows.

"Not -- of you. Just a question."

"What is it?" Barely audible.

He breathes out.

"Cousland and I still talk about her work." Quiet. "Trying to find a cure for the Calling. She's...more vague about it than she used to be. But I've known her long enough to read what she isn't saying."

Chin atop Cullen's head, Alistair watches the far wall.

"She's exploring darker roads. Blood magic, possibly. Or -- not quite blood magic, but close. Older." The cold sinks deeper into his stomach as he works to get the words out. "If that were the only way to stop the Calling, and I took it, would you ever be able to look at me again?"

"Yes." Immediately. Bewildered. "Of course. Just -- don't get possessed, all right?"

Cullen lifts a hand to scrub at his face. He feels, suddenly, on the edge of hysterical laughter. "That's -- a bit too far."

Alistair breaks into a shaky laugh -- more relieved than he'd admit.

"No, no, none of that. No possession. You have my word."

He resettles his arms around Alistair. (Tighter.) "I don't -- if -- if it works, if there's a chance..."

Cullen makes himself take a breath.

"If -- it costs a life. I want to know who."

So Alistair isn't alone with it.

So Cullen can know who to thank, and pray for.

Alistair nods.

Softer, "I'll tell you. You have my word on that as well."

Hopefully it won't come to that. Hopefully whatever Cousland finds will be...well, much as Alistair hates to admit it, will be closer to Morrigan's ritual. Repugnant, but wihout any loss of life attached.

Tentative:

"The, the cure -- it's something that could actually happen?"

"We both know one Warden who never went through her Calling."

A slight, lopsided smile.

"So yes. It could happen. It already has."

"I don't think I can make myself count on it."

"You don't have to," murmurs Alistair. "It's -- still something of a long shot, I'll admit. Even if it's not an impossibility."

He touches his lips to Cullen's hair.

"But Cousland and I will do everything we can to find a way. Fiona's been difficult to find, from what I understand, even with Lel's help -- but I've a feeling I'll have an easier time getting a response from her. I hope. And from there..."

Well. They'll see.

Cullen nods a little.

Without much hope:

"We need a forwarding address, then. So she can find us."

"Yes."

He smooths light circles along Cullen's back with his palm.

"Shouldn't be too difficult, I'd think."

Thin, sad, barely more than a whisper, he says, "I'm so tired, Alistair."

Alistair closes his eyes. Hugs Cullen a little tighter.

"I know, love." Not much louder. "I'm sorry."

"How are they supposed to get their lyrium now. Without the Inquisition." His brow creases. "Rylen. Belinda. The rest of them. They can't just -- go back to the Chantry."

Alistair gnaws his lip, briefly.

"The Inquisition's contacts won't vanish with the Inquisition's disbanding, will they?" he asks. "Maybe someone could approach them as an independent party. Get the lyrium that way."

"I don't know." Even as he's tangled up with Alistair, his shoulders hunch, his head lowers. "I haven't -- others have handled it, for the Inquisition. For a long time now."