[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]

Stay or go, stay or go -- he has to shut his eyes so he can try to focus. To think.

"Kitchen," he decides, after a few too many seconds.

Being left alone sounds like a worse proposition than moving somewhere else. He thinks. Maybe.

[howtoactfereldan]

"All right." He keeps his voice low, and is the first to move to the door. It means turning his back on Alistair; it hasn't escaped Cullen that the first thing Alistair did when Cullen spoke was position himself for defense.

As he pads down the hall: "I could use a nice cup of tea myself."

[bringspeopletogether]

If he follows Cullen down the hallway, he won't be able to see anything behind them. Something could attack in a matter of seconds. There's no escape.

He stands, rooted to the floor, struggling to breathe. When Cullen is nearly to the kitchen, Alistair follows, quickly.

[howtoactfereldan]

First things first: Cullen pours Alistair some water, putting the mug down on the table. He then turns to start the process of making tea: chamomile, he thinks. If Alistair wants some, fine. If not, it won't keep Cullen awake.

Wait a little more, a voice whispers. A little longer.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair hesitates a beat. He pulls out one of the free chairs; forces himself to sit; draws the mug closer, after another beat, to drain its contents.

It tastes -- fine. Not like the brackish water of underground caves. Not like the rotted, algae-coated ponds in the Fade.

He hunches his shoulders, staring down into the cup.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen glances over his shoulder briefly.

And says, still by the hearth:

"Was it a nightmare?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"I don't know."

He scrubs a hand down his face.

"Not quite. Do you ever -- right before you fall asleep. If you're thinking about something too much. It's not exactly a dream, but what you're thinking becomes...you can't quite keep your grip on it anymore, and it becomes more vivid?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"It's... been some time. But yes."

He leans back on the table, half-sitting, arms folded, facing Alistair. "What is it?"

[bringspeopletogether]

He shakes his head, unable to answer right away.

(He's avoided talking about it for so long. Why break the streak now?)





At last, low: "The Calling. That's all."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen exhales very slowly.

After a moment he reaches out, letting his hand curve along Alistair's jaw.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair lifts his head, meeting Cullen's eyes.

His throat bobs; he covers Cullen's hand, seeking out the crooked line of his knuckles.

[howtoactfereldan]

Well. It was a good run.

I wouldn't change anything, he thinks. It feels as though he's wrapped in cotton wool.

Cullen should confirm.

"It's happening again?" His voice is even.

[bringspeopletogether]

"No."

He squeezes Cullen's hand. The question pulls him further out of his own thoughts: quicker, now, he brings Cullen's hand down to clasp between both palms, some of the focus returning to his gaze.

"No," he says again, quiet and firm. "I'm fine. I'm not hearing it. Only thinking about it too much."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen closes his eyes in relief.

"Well." Light, now, but not entirely even. "Could be worse, then."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Much," he agrees, and kisses Cullen's fingertips. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Scare isn't quite the right word, but it's also beyond not the time to get into that.

"It's all right," he says softly. "What about it, then? It's been -- on your mind?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods.

"It didn't used to bother me this much." A small, unfelt smile. "We all die in the end, don't we? At least I'm fairly certain of how, even if I don't know when. I was all right with it. Mostly. Even when Corypheus -- "

He wiggles his fingers beside his head.

"Before I knew it wasn't real -- even then it was a bit like, 'well, suppose that's that.' Afraid, a little, but not can't-breathe sort of afraid."

Not like now.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen curls his fingers around Alistair's hand. "What changed?"

[bringspeopletogether]

A halfhearted shrug. "Adamant, most likely. The Fade, I'm sure."

He laces his fingers with Cullen's, eyes on their hands.

"Rather desperately wanting this to last more than a few years." Trying to lighten it to a weak joke, he adds, "We haven't even started collecting our mabari yet."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen lets out a quiet laugh, and squeezes Alistair's hand.

Then, tentative: "Would it help if -- I've thought about it. I've been thinking about it. We don't have to talk about it, if you'd rather not."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Not talking about it seems to end with me waking up and trying to drink our entire well dry," says Alistair, with another quirk of a smile. "Worth trying the other option. If you're -- all right with that."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen nods.

"It might happen tomorrow," he says simply. "It might not happen for another twenty years. I might not have quit the lyrium in time to keep from losing my mind. The Venatori could blow up this house. A strange artifact under Skyhold might kill us all in an instant. It matters. But it doesn't matter. Does that make sense?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"...Somewhat."

The crooked smile stays put.

"We all die, so let's make the most of it?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Inelegant, but something like that." It comes out on a laugh. "More like -- the odds were always stacked against us, and still are, and the best and most spiteful thing to do is to enjoy this as much as we can, for as long as we can."

Cullen strokes Alistair's hand with his thumb. "But perhaps we should consider the mabari collection. I'm afraid I'd have to draw the line at war orphans. Mabari are much more self-sufficient, should the worst happen."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's smile grows, straightening out as he huffs a tiny laugh.

"I suppose I can agree to that," he says. "Good thing I hadn't finished any plans for a war orphan wing on our farm."