[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

Skyhold gets quieter and quieter as the days move on. It's not a complete stand-down; there's cleanup to do, stragglers to round up, the same sort of business Alistair remembers from the months after the Blight. The Thaw, as Wardens call it. Thedas is thawing again, but the fortress only grows colder for it.

He won't lie: he'd feel warmer if Kieran and Morrigan were still there.

When Cullen suggests a vacation, Alistair lights up, only to deflate slightly when he realizes they'll be "vacationing" in Orlais. There's business to attend in Val Royeaux -- not the sort of business that'll keep Cullen occupied from sunup to sundown, but enough to require an in-person visit for a week or so. On the one hand: Orlais. On the other: he can't argue that time away from Skyhold, especially in Cullen's company, will help.

...So will the cheese, probably.

(Look, as Alistair has said many a time, he is a very predictable man.)

They room at a small place in the university quarter that's downright plain for Val Royeaux. Libraries for Cullen, a cafe around the corner for both of them, limited contact with people trilling about whatever stupid, petty scandal's hit the court this week -- it could be far worse. Alistair takes to writing his letters at the cafe, usually accompanied by some flaky pastry or another.

Today, they're cheese-filled. It's hard to descend too far into a personal funk when you've got a cheese-filled pastry.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen looks up, confused for a moment. He blinks up at Alistair. "I -- all right?"

(A good third of his mind is still occupied with integrals.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair cracks a tiny, fond smile. "All right," he agrees, before pressing a kiss to Cullen's hair. "Love you. Have fun with your math."

Exit a Warden, stage left.

[howtoactfereldan]

What?

Cullen's still bemused. And, he notices, the soup's uneaten.

It takes about half a minute after Alistair's gone for Cullen to rub a hand over his face and reach for the bowl.

[bringspeopletogether]

By the time Alistair returns to their quarters, the letter's dry enough to require no sanding. He folds it, seals it, sets it aside.

Leliana's birds will always find me, said Morrigan -- but that was before Leliana received word she'd been chosen as the next Divine. There's time yet, to be certain. How will the arrangement endure once she's officially stationed in Val Royeaux, though? It might be strengthened, with all the extra power afforded to her...and it may just as easily degrade under all the extra responsibility heaped upon her to match.

So much for that pastry staving off the funk. He's in no mood at all to put on a cheerful face for Mia's letter, and if he starts writing to Cousland in this state he'll use up all the paper in Orlais.

Alistair settles for belly-flopping on their bed and burying his face in a pillow. If he's got the room for himself for a bit, might as well indulge the mood in the hope it'll pass faster.

[howtoactfereldan]

Earlier that week Cullen had visited a tailor that Vivienne would never recommend in a thousand years: she caters to chevaliers, and the stuffier ones at that. Even chevaliers need civilian attire.

Enough engineering, he thinks, and he can afford to give up on the soup. Cullen picks up the pastry instead and leaves the cafe behind. Time to pick up his jacket, and perhaps to find something frivolous and indulgent for Alistair on the way back to their lodgings.

[bringspeopletogether]

Unfortunately, the mood takes its sweet time in passing.

Alistair rolls onto his back, scrubs at his face with both hands, and lets his arms flop to either side. A few minutes later he yanks at the blankets and sets to work burrowing underneath.

...Yes, he decides after a moment, he's going to burrow all the way underneath.

Whenever Cullen returns, there will be a suspiciously Alistair-shaped lump under the blankets, plus one pillow missing from the headboard. (Might as well drag a pillow into his makeshift cave while he's at it, right?)

[howtoactfereldan]

An hour later, Cullen returns, jacket folded over his arm. He's bearing a small paper bag that smells strongly of burnt sugar.

He spies the lump; his brow furrows.

The jacket and his papers go on a side table. He bends to take off his boots. And then, at last, Cullen and the small paper bag alight on the bed. He doesn't bother trying to get under the blankets -- just stretches out in his sock feet, folding his hands on his chest.




He might go out of his way to shake the contents of the bag.

[bringspeopletogether]

The lump stirs.

A tuft of reddish-brown hair emerges.

Slowly, Alistair pulls down the blanket just enough to reveal his eyes and nose, and peers up at Cullen.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen gives Alistair a sidelong look.

"They're for you," he says, quietly. "But if you don't want them..."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair pulls down another inch of the blanket so he can say, hopeful, "There's more than one?"

[howtoactfereldan]

In response, Cullen holds up the paper bag, and rattles the contents for emphasis.

[bringspeopletogether]

Wordlessly -- and with the corner of his mouth starting to twitch upward -- Alistair extracts one arm and holds out his hand toward the bag.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen passes it over, and tucks both hands behind his head, content.

Sugared almonds were the right call, he thinks. One point to me.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair peeks inside. Inhales deeply; lets it out in a pleased sigh.

Pushing away more of the blanket, he wrangles out the pillow from the depths to return it to its proper place. More squirming ensues: in short order, Alistair's curled up next to Cullen with his head on his shoulder, picking almonds from the bag one at a time.

"You're the best." Softly, after a moment. "Thank you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen works an arm around Alistair just enough for him to run his fingers through Alistair's hair. It's sheer hedonism, and for once Cullen doesn't feel awkward about it, or ashamed of it.

"Sometimes I'm all right," he agrees, smile crooked.

[bringspeopletogether]

He stretches into the touch, a little, like a cat looking to have its ears rubbed.

"Just think," he murmurs, "I might've lived the rest of my life under those blankets if you hadn't shown up. You've done the world a great favor." A beat, just long enough to pop another almond into his mouth. "Or possibly a great disservice."

[howtoactfereldan]

"What's wrong with being under blankets?" Cullen asks mildly.

At least his wince is nearly entirely internal. If this is because of what he did at the cafe --

[bringspeopletogether]

Without missing a beat: "Gets too warm in the summer."

Another almond.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen huffs a laugh.

"We live on top of a mountain in the Frostbacks, my love," he murmurs against the top of Alistair's head. "There's no such thing as summer."

[bringspeopletogether]

A small grin. (It might be a little doofy.)

"True," he allows. The grin fades; a sigh follows, as he fiddles with the rim of the paper bag. "And hopefully by the time we're back there I won't be so...grumpy. No need for blanket caverns anymore."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mm."

Cullen considers this. Reconsiders a few things from the cafe.

(Maybe -- maybe it's not entirely his own fault?)

He returns to running his fingers through Alistair's hair, slow and heavy. "Tell me about it?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods a little -- not enough to shake off Cullen's hand. He keeps toying with the bag.

"I was writing to Kieran," he says. "Earlier. It's -- sinking in that I may not ever see him again. By the time he's grown and set off on his own I..."

His mouth twists.

"Well. It's already been nearly twelve years since I took my Joining. Maker knows how much longer I have, especially since I lived through a Blight." A breath. "At least I had some time with him, and I'll keep writing until he tells me to stop, but...I don't know."

[howtoactfereldan]

Yes.

What happened at the cafe makes a lot more sense, now.

There's no outward sign of Cullen's reaction.





"Write a second set of letters."

Quiet.

"To be delivered -- after. With the things you want to say, but can't right now. It'll help you, if nothing else." Beat. "And you might consider, in a few months... telling him that."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods again. Curls closer.

He can count on one hand the number of times he's even mentioned his Calling around Cullen, let alone discussed what it means for them. With his split from Weisshaupt -- and with finding someone who will very likely outlive him -- it twists his gut in a way it hasn't for years. He hates thinking about it. Hates talking about it.

It's why he makes a grab for some kind of lightness when he says, "Yes. That seems like a far better strategy than hiding under a blanket forever."

[howtoactfereldan]

And why Cullen answers in kind. "I've been told I'm not terrible with strategy, once or twice."

(There's always the chance that Cullen might outlive Alistair, but not have the mental faculties to know it.

As far as he's concerned, they're both aware that any time they have at all is a gift, and any domestic fantasies are mere bedtime stories to keep the worst of the shadows at bay.)