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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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."

Which makes perfect sense: don't put the recovering lyrium addict near the supply lines.

"I could handle it. If you'd like."

"I'll -- tell Josephine. She'll figure out something. Cassandra will figure out something." Voice thick. "I thought the goal was to get shut of all this."

"It is," Alistair admits. "But the Inquisition won't stop dead right this instant. Lavellan isn't the sort to abandon everyone to fend for themselves; there'll be an orderly wind-down."

A beat.

Quieter, "No one will have to go back to the Chantry."

"We'll see," is all Cullen says.

Cullen asked him to let it alone, and Alistair agreed to do so.

So he doesn't say anything more, much as he may want to: just keeps up the gentle strokes along Cullen's back.

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