[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

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair huffs a breath, his smile turning more rueful.

"I must not be thinking clearly," he says. "All this Orlesian air. Clouds the mind. That's why they really wear masks: to block it all out."

[howtoactfereldan]

"...unless you'd like me to get you some soap?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"I'll use the proper soap I've already got like any good Maker-fearing Fereldan would, thank you."

Despite himself, the smile's growing.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's laughing more, now. "Of course. How could I ever think otherwise."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Must be that Orlesian air again." Serene.

He moves a little closer, shoulder touching Cullen's, as they navigate the crowds. Some yards ahead, a not-insignificant chunk of people breaks off to head for the main square; a steady stream of people follows.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Yes," Cullen says, cheerful, "let's do get under cover before it exacts a further toll." They're not that far from their rooms; Cullen isn't quite paying attention to the crowds.

[bringspeopletogether]

Thinking of Warden Lucas leads to thinking about Adamant, leads to Alistair's senses edging up toward high alert. His eyes track the crowd, neck craning to see where they've left. Nothing there, it seems.

And where they're going -- he can glimpse, just barely, what looks like half-built scaffolding.

Well. His mouth twists. Orlais does love a good, savage show as much as the rest.

Whatever. They'll be at their rooms soon, they've got the rest of the evening to themselves -- if he's holding Cullen's hand a little more tightly than previous, what of it?

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen notices, that's what.

When they return, and Cullen's bolted the door, he glances at Alistair.

Light: "Get ready for bed. Shirt off. I'll be along once you're done."

Light -- but expecting obedience.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's eyebrows rise. Smirking faintly, he taps a fist to his chest, then moves along to the basin.

Trousers off. Shirt peeled away, flung carelessly aside. Finding another pair of trousers after he's finished washing up might be unnecessary, but he does it anyway: Cullen only said the shirt ought to be gone.

He settles onto their bed, waiting.

[howtoactfereldan]

"On your stomach," Cullen says absently, going through much of the same routine. The only real deviation: he rummages in a bag and turns up a small tin.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes, ser," says Alistair, and does as he's told. Stretching all the way to his toes, he pillows his head on his arms and watches Cullen with idle curiosity.

[howtoactfereldan]

For a moment Cullen stands over him, sliding his fingers through Alistair's hair.

Then, careful, he eases onto the bed, and straddles Alistair's thighs. There's a soft metallic rustling sound, and then the sudden scent of elfroot. Cullen dabs a little onto his fingers, rubs his hands together, and starts to rub Alistair's lower back -- slow, intense, in a way meant to release tension without causing pain.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's eyes slip closed; he exhales a long, slow breath. Cullen's weight steadies him against the thoughts eddying around his mind. The scent of elfroot calls up memories of open fields, tall trees, fresh water.

Much better than the feel of that rough-hewn figurine in his hand, all those months back.

He concentrates on his breathing as best he can. Starts to relax, in time, as Cullen's hands do their work.

[howtoactfereldan]

For a moment, Cullen traces the line of a scar on Alistair's back. He doesn't say anything, though.

(He's trying to decide whether to press him on his moods today. Perhaps... not quite yet.)

After a moment he dabs a little more salve on his hands, and begins to work on Alistair's shoulders.

[bringspeopletogether]

A soft, appreciative hum. Alistair shifts a little, getting more comfortable.

Eventually, mumbled against his arms: "Needed this. Thank you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Not quite yet.

Instead, Cullen laughs quietly. "Whatever gave you the impression I was doing this for your benefit, and not mine alone?"

(He also squeezes Alistair's shoulder briefly when he says it.)

[bringspeopletogether]

"The elfroot."

He turns his head enough to aim a tiny smile up at Cullen.

"Would've left that out if you just wanted to get your hands all over me."

[howtoactfereldan]

"You expressed your dislike of Orlesian soaps and the like." Cullen raises his eyebrows. "Given the choice between some scented oil or other, and elfroot, I thought you'd prefer it. Only fair, if I'm spending the evening feeling you up."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair snorts an equally tiny laugh, returning his head to his arms. "Much more preferable, yes," he admits.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Then we'll reserve the terrible floral thing for hard times." Cullen runs a fingertip straight down Alistair's spine. "Noted."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair shivers, arching into the touch by a measure or two.

"Or the never times," he says, still with that trace of laughter. "Never's good, too."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen returns to work, digging his thumbs into the muscles close to Alistair's neck.

"If you insist." Smiling.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair subsides into another quiet, pleased noise; it trails off into a sigh.

The more Cullen works, the easier it becomes to just -- stay present. Same as most of the times they're alone together, he supposes. Maybe if he's lucky, he can hold onto that feeling after Cullen's done and stop all this damn wallowing.

[howtoactfereldan]

Soon, perhaps. If he can gauge where Alistair is, mentally, once Cullen is done.

It's worth a shot. "Tired?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Mm. A little," he admits. "Not terribly."

More relaxed than tired, he thinks. Another sign of Cullen's good work.