[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 sighs softly and presses a kiss to Alistair's jaw.

Safe, he thinks, a little bleary, and settles down again. Nowhere to be until noon.

[bringspeopletogether]

The kiss pulls him back from the edge of sleep; "Mm," he says eloquently, and then, very soft: "Good morning."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mm-hmm," Cullen agrees, and doesn't move.

[bringspeopletogether]

Not entirely awake, then.

Alistair chuckles, brief and warm, before curling his arm a little more securely around Cullen.

[howtoactfereldan]

What was that? Oh.

"Do that again," Cullen demands, sleepy. "'S nice."

[bringspeopletogether]

"...Do what again?" asks Alistair.

By happy coincidence, he's laughing a little as he says that.

[howtoactfereldan]

"That." Content. He runs his fingers over Alistair's ribs.

[bringspeopletogether]

That elicits another soft hum from Alistair.

"So long as you keep doing that," he murmurs, pitching his voice a little lower to rumble his chest appropriately.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Beginning to think," Cullen mumbles, "we should stay like this all day."

The sun is up, but the sun isn't out; if Cullen tilts his head a little, he can see the overcast sky. A gray day makes him feel tired, and if it's raining... well. A good day to stay in with tea.

[bringspeopletogether]

"No objections from me."

Gently, he runs his palm along Cullen's spine.

"...Might have to get up briefly for food. But only very briefly."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen exhales, long, and leans his forehead against Alistair's chest. "No." A plaintive murmur. "No."

A sharp knock on their door is shortly followed by a Starkhaven brogue. "Commander, it's urgent."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's back stiffens.

Muttered in Cullen's ear: "We're not home. I stubbed my toe and you had to take me to the infirmary. The kitchen door turned into an eluvian and we fell through it and ended up back at Skyhold."

Ugh, reality, why. And what could possibly be so urgent this early in the morning? There wasn't supposed to be any urgency on this trip, damn it.

[howtoactfereldan]

"If it wasn't real they'd have waited until noon."

But he does allow himself just one moment to cling to Alistair, as tightly as he can.

"I'm sorry."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair hugs him back, no less tightly, and buries his face in Cullen's hair. He breathes in as if the air could push his disappointment down, deeper, to where it didn't feel so much like a jab to the ribs.

"Don't apologize," he murmurs. "Go do your commander things. I'll be here."

[howtoactfereldan]

One more more instant before he lets go and rises, shoulders drooping. Cullen reaches for his shirt and pads down the hall.

He'll pull it over his head on the way.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair pushes himself to sitting, leaning heavily against the headboard. He drags a hand over his hair, then down his face as he lets out a long sigh.

It's always going to be like this, isn't it. he thinks. It feels like all the exhaustion of that poor night's sleep has landed on him in a single thud. He aches everywhere. There's no 'getting better after the war.' It's just this.

No telling when Cullen will be back. Maybe he should make some breakfast. Tea, at least.

Or he could just stay in bed a little while longer; that works, too.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen is, at the least, back long enough to pull on real trousers, his boots, and his armor.

He also looks like a vengeful god of severe weather while he does it. And he doesn't say anything at all.

[bringspeopletogether]

That's...certainly a step or two away from the dejected look when he left. Alistair eyes him. The commander rage is not to be prodded, but --

"You'll tell me later?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's head shoots up. He makes himself take in a deep breath: it takes the edge off.

"I don't want you hearing this from anyone else," he says -- low, and furious, but not at Alistair. "And Maker knows it's all over Val Royeaux already. If I tell you now, promise me you'll take care of yourself today." His mouth twists. "Until I come back."

[bringspeopletogether]

The furrow between Alistair's eyebrows deepens.

"Yes," he says. "I promise."

What else can he say?

[howtoactfereldan]

This is a terrible idea. And yet -- it's worse for Alistair to hear this from anyone else, and unimaginable for it to happen anywhere in public.

One glove on, and Cullen was working on the other: he stops, and takes Alistair's hand in his bare one instead.

"Blackwall isn't Blackwall. He's an Orlesian war criminal. And he's not a Grey Warden."

[bringspeopletogether]

There's a faint, hollow ringing in his ears. For a beat, Alistair's face is completely blank.

"He never..." Dawning comprehension, then. "That's why. I couldn't -- "

Grey Wardens can always sense their own. Whenever Alistair crossed paths with Blackwall, something felt -- off, but he couldn't place his finger on what. And now he understands.

Because Blackwell isn't a Warden at all. Blackwell never took the Joining. Never swore the oath. Never --

The comprehension's outpaced by disbelief; by disgust; by fury that ignites like a wildfire, all while his grip slowly tightens on Cullen's hand.

[howtoactfereldan]

Alistair needs the whole truth. Cullen doesn't want to keep the Inquisitor waiting, but if he explains it's Alistair --

It doesn't matter. He has to go. But with this much -- Cullen can rebel this much. Put Alistair first for just a little while.

He holds Alistair's hand. Waits.

[bringspeopletogether]

I'm going to kill him, he thinks, with a chilling calmness. Nearly says it aloud until he pictures how Cullen might react. It'd likely be by telling Alistair that no, he can't do that, and Alistair's pretty certain that if he hears that the rage might explode like it hasn't in months, and --

And he needs to keep it together enough to take care of himself. He promised.

He's breathing harshly, a little unsteady, but that's all. Alistair links his fingers with Cullen's in a deliberate effort to stop crushing his knuckles.

[howtoactfereldan]

"There's little enough reason for anyone to be aware of the internecine buffoonery in the civil war." He keeps his hold steady on Alistair's hand.

"So I'll summarize. His real name is Thom Rainier. He was an officer in the Orlesian army. He took money to order his squad to kill another officer, one Vincent Callier, as part of the Game. Callier was with his family, including his children. Rainier and his men killed them all, then he let his men take the fall for it. He revealed himself on the gallows in the Summer Bazaar early this morning and was taken into custody. We're not yet sure what happened to the real Gordon Blackwall, but there's no indication we should believe he still lives."