[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair surprises himself: he adapts to the Basin a lot quicker than he expected.

The camps feel -- snug, he decides. In a good way. Trees overhead, a limited number of egress points, a vantage point so high it puts every night by the ladder to shame: they're not the stone walls of Skyhold, but maybe they're the next best thing. After an initial restless night or two, he sleeps soundly.

(Knowing he's surrounded by lots of people with sharp, pointy weapons? Also helpful.)

Joining the patrol rotations seems like a decent next step. No point in being in the field, especially after all that training with Bull, if he's just going to twiddle his thumbs all day.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

"You're welcome to try it."

Less cheerful. More saccharine.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair snorts. "No thank you. I have some sense of self-preservation."

He chews another bite of food, considering.

"If you had to give up your coat or your quills, which would you pick?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Quills," Cullen says promptly. "Easier to replace. This had better not be the first step in a plan, Alistair."

[bringspeopletogether]

"You have my word: it's not." He lays a hand on his chest. "Just curiosity. Speaking of -- "

He points to Cullen.

"I've always wondered. Where did you find that coat?"

[howtoactfereldan]

A sudden, crooked smile, then.

"Had to find something that wasn't templar armor, didn't I."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Got dragged into a master armorer's workshop. This... somebody'd had it made up, special order, and never came back for it. Thought it suited. -- I mean, thought it would do. Since we knew the Conclave would happen in Haven. Appropriate for the climate."

(When he gets nervous, or awkward, or -- paradoxically -- thoroughly comfortable, he sounds far more like he came from southern Ferelden.)

[bringspeopletogether]

As he listens, Alistair's smile warms.

"Their loss, your gain," he says. "I think it suits, too."

(He might be a smidge biased in that assessment, but still.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Pinking a little, and staring very hard at the pages in front of him:

"It's functional. That's all. I've enough vices without adding vanity."

Beat.

"More vanity. Before you say anything about my hair."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Not a word." Still warm. "...I'm not sure if it's a good or bad thing I'm too far away to mess up your hair right now."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Eat your food, Theirin."

He's still focused on the work in front of him, but his mouth twitches suspiciously.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes, Commander."

The warmth's shaded to laughter; Alistair digs into his meal, letting the tent lapse into blessed quiet.

[howtoactfereldan]

And thus allowing Cullen to finish up what he was working on when Alistair returned.

(It's -- difficult, spending your life as an ascetic in a religious order, and then trying to adjust to the expectations of the world outside. The coat makes him distinctive; he knows that. And he can defend it: being easy to spot is helpful when you're trying to build an army one drill at a time.

But something just... doesn't sit right, about choosing something to wear because you think it makes you look good.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair scrapes his plate clean; there isn't much to wash up after. He'll bring it down for breakfast tomorrow. For now, he sets it aside.

Then, quietly, he joins Cullen at his desk, chin propped on his arms like before.

Call his presence a tiny little alarm clock beeping out a five-minute warning.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen flicks his gaze in Alistair's direction, with a small smile.

He moves to make his customary list of things to do when he returns to his desk.

As he writes, he slips his hand in Alistair's hair.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair hums, very softly, and leans into the touch. His eyes drift closed.

It's taking a lot of willpower not to interrupt. So long as Cullen keeps doing that, though, he'll stay quiet.

[howtoactfereldan]

That is, admittedly, at least part of the reason Cullen is doing it.

(The other part: he wants to, and he can.)






Shortly thereafter, he sets down his quill, leans down, and kisses the top of Alistair's head. Soft: "All right."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair opens his eyes, smiling. He lifts his head.

Before Cullen can move too far, Alistair catches the collar of his shirt, gently, and tugs him back down for a proper kiss.

[howtoactfereldan]

When it breaks, Cullen is laughing quietly. "Give us some warning, will you? One of these days you'll give me whiplash."

(Teasing. Thoroughly.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair cards his fingers through Cullen's hair; his smile blossoms into a grin, no less teasing. "So what I'm hearing is I should yell very loudly right before I kiss you?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Try it and see," Cullen advises.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair takes a deep breath, as if winding up for a particularly lusty yell.

Very quietly: "Aaaaaaaaaaaah."

Smooch.

[howtoactfereldan]

"It does nothing for me."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair dissolves into laughter.

"Right," he manages, "good to know, we'll cross that one off the list then -- "

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen rolls his eyes good-naturedly, stands, and nudges the low stool under his desk with his foot. "I shouldn't remind you to eat if you're going to get riled up like this."

[bringspeopletogether]

"And sent me on a brisk walk to retrieve it," says Alistair. He shakes his head, mock-mournful. "Now I'm wide awake again. The Monster of Bad Jokes has been unleashed upon the camp. What have you done."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Something I deeply regret." Dry; he folds his arms and surveys Alistair with a raised eyebrow.