Alistair (
bringspeopletogether) wrote2017-06-01 01:00 pm
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[sandbox]
Back to Skyhold. Back to work.
Alistair resumes training with the Chargers a few days after his and Cullen's return; the company got back from Halamshiral just before the Basin group showed up, Bull explains, so he was giving them a rest before picking up exercises again. Krem fills Alistair in on all the details as they're exchanging blows. Some of it is just Orlesian Worst Game Ever nonsense, but since it ends with a whole lot of shamefaced nobles with no mercenaries to their names, Alistair's pretty damn pleased.
(Maybe he can get the new mercenaries in on his plan to dress up the training dummies in Orlesian garb. Hmmmmmm.)
Cullen's in a war room meeting by the time Alistair's done. He throws some water on his face and heads for the kitchens -- maybe he can split a small meal with Kieran before Morrigan's return.
Alistair resumes training with the Chargers a few days after his and Cullen's return; the company got back from Halamshiral just before the Basin group showed up, Bull explains, so he was giving them a rest before picking up exercises again. Krem fills Alistair in on all the details as they're exchanging blows. Some of it is just Orlesian Worst Game Ever nonsense, but since it ends with a whole lot of shamefaced nobles with no mercenaries to their names, Alistair's pretty damn pleased.
(Maybe he can get the new mercenaries in on his plan to dress up the training dummies in Orlesian garb. Hmmmmmm.)
Cullen's in a war room meeting by the time Alistair's done. He throws some water on his face and heads for the kitchens -- maybe he can split a small meal with Kieran before Morrigan's return.
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He's pretty certain it's as much as Cullen will tell him. And Alistair's aware, even more acutely than usual, of how fragile this moment is.
A careful nudge: he slides his hand around Cullen's, palm-to-palm, and links their fingers together.
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Finally. Every word comes out slowly, stuck in molasses.
"But I had to."
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"I know."
The table's pretty fascinating. Maybe Alistair will join Cullen in looking at it for a while.
"I -- wish you'd said it sooner. I meant it, when I said I don't want to burden you."
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"I'd hope we can aspire to a little more than that," he says.
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"Such as?"
(It's beginning to sink in that he said something he shouldn't have to Alistair, and then immediately ran off and did something that he knew would make him feel like hell for the rest of the day. Crime, and punishment.)
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Alistair draws a slow breath. Lets it out, just as slow.
And says, carefully, "Is that really all you think this is? Burdening each other?"
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Cullen shrugs roughly, and passes a hand over his face, as though trying to wake himself. "Everything."
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Back to the quiet calm of before.
"Some things are. Not everything. That -- " He lifts his chin, eyes on the ceiling, to indicate the music they can't hear anymore. "That wasn't a burden. The exact opposite going by the looks on all their faces."
A pause.
Even quieter: "Including yours."
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And drops Cullen's hand to go with it, returning to his spot against the shelves.
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He stalks forward and takes a seat in the chair, armor clunking against the wood.
(He hunches over, head low, fingers running through his hair.)
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"Cullen."
To the cobweb-ridden table.
"I want to help. I know you won't let me. The best help you'll let me offer is keeping out of your way until all this is through. You can't carry me anymore -- that's fine. You shouldn't have to."
A breath.
"But if you really think we're just burdens to each other, then you have to know it goes both ways, and I can carry some of yours."
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"I went to see Samson because it's the last chance, like as not."
Muffled; he hasn't moved. The words are careful. Deliberate. Gauged.
"You have the luxury of appearing frightened."
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As careful as before, he steps back toward Cullen. Kneels in front of his chair.
Stays quiet.
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He chances another touch: to Cullen's knee this time, palm settling atop his armor.
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"I should -- calibrate the trebuchets. I should have done that this afternoon."
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