[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]

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."

[bringspeopletogether]

Yes, he decides. He's definitely going to kill the man.

Alistair digs the fingers of his other hand into the mattress.

"He told me," he says, low and tightly leashed, "that he knew Duncan."

[howtoactfereldan]

This is precisely why, Cullen thinks, he wanted to tell Alistair himself, in private.

"I can suggest to the Inquisitor that she speak with you before she renders any decision." Only a little calmer. "If you want."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods, short and sharp.

Then, abruptly: "I want to speak to him too."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's lips tighten.

"I can't promise that." More slowly. "But I'll try. You have my word."

[bringspeopletogether]

That's -- probably the best Alistair could've hoped for, given everything.

Another nod, not quite as sharp. After a few tries, Alistair loosens his grip on Cullen's hand; doesn't let go entirely yet.

[howtoactfereldan]

Even promising he'd try -- it's not anything Cullen would do if he weren't furious himself.

As it is, Cullen doesn't let go, either.






Softly, now, and concerned: "Will you be all right for a few hours?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes."

In all honesty, he's not sure he will, but he can't very well ask Cullen to stay. He'll just -- find something softer to punch than the walls. Or some paper to rip up. Maybe there's some half-broken crockery somewhere he can hurl against a fence.

Alistair forces himself to take a deep breath, then another. He meets Cullen's eyes. "I'll be all right."

(...Maybe he'll write out the most inventive ways he can think up to kill Blackwall -- Rainier -- and shred the paper once he's done. Setting it on fire might work too. Hm.)

[howtoactfereldan]

"If -- if she brought Cassandra or Varric with her -- do you want me to direct either of them here to wait with you?"

[bringspeopletogether]

He shakes his head. "I'll be all right," he says again, quieter now.

Kind as Cassandra and Varric may be, he doesn't want to be around either of them when he inevitably loses his temper.

Alistair squeezes Cullen's hand in a feeble attempt at reassurance. "I promise."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Find a soldier if you need me." He covers Alistair's hand with his gloved hand, for good measure. "I'll come as soon as I can. I -- honestly, whatever's going to happen today is between the Inquisitor and Celene, it shouldn't take long."

[bringspeopletogether]

"All right."

His ears are still ringing, but he's breathing more steadily. A few hours. That's all. Less, if they're lucky.

"I will."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's throat tightens for a moment.

Softly:

"I'm sorry."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair lifts his free hand as if to ward off the apology. He shakes his head again, very slightly.

Apologies aren't going to help anything, especially when Alistair's main job for the next couple of hours is keeping himself together.

He reaches up to clasp Cullen's shoulder, tugging him down just far enough to kiss him on the forehead. "I'll see you soon," he whispers.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen breathes, nods, lets go. He picks up his glove and his gauntlets and -- and goes.

Outside a small enclosed coach waits. An adjutant, waiting inside, has a copy of Leliana's report. Cullen doesn't say anything -- just starts reading. Lavellan will have questions. Cullen would like to have at least a few answers.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair puts his feet on the floor. Puts his elbows on his knees; his head in his hands.

"Fuck," he says, low -- and then louder, "Fuck. Fuck!"

He lashes out to slam his fist into the headboard. Remembering himself -- if only just -- the next few punches land on the mattress and pillows before he lunges to his feet and storms for the kitchen.

All those years of Black -- Rainier playacting, like it was a Maker-damned game, while the real Blackwall lay dead somewhere, while Alistair sacrificed himself for the futile redemption of the Wardens, while he's sitting around waiting for his Calling to come. I don't fear the Calling, he remembers the man say -- yes, well, of course he wouldn't, wouldn't he, because he has nothing at all to fear. It won't ever happen to him!

(Dimly, Alistair's aware that he's spitting those words aloud as he digs through the cabinets for something old and smashable.)

[howtoactfereldan]

By the time the coach arrives at the prison near the Summer Bazaar, the Inquisitor has already arrived (according to the guard) and is questioning Rainier now.

Cullen nods sharply -- and catches the guard's expression. Not smug, not condescending, not amused. Sympathetic, even. Not what Cullen was expecting. Then again, perhaps it's not a surprise when you've just defeated the eldritch darkspawn magister who was trying to collapse the sky.

He can read the device on the guard's collar. Corporal -- what can we expect?

If left to our custody, he will not live much longer. Perhaps a few days. The corporal's voice is rough, but quiet. The hanging which was to occur this morning will be carried out in much the same manner. To do anything else is a matter for the diplomats, no?

Yes, Cullen agrees. Thank you. Has he said -- anything about the Warden he pretended to be?

Warden Blackwall found him after the business with Callier and recruited him. But they were set upon by darkspawn before Rainier could go through with it.

Cullen snorts before he can stop himself. And he lived, while a veteran Grey Warden died?

That is the man's story, the corporal says, stonily.

He'll have to do better than that, Cullen mutters. He can hear footsteps coming from the lower prison.

[bringspeopletogether]

Everything in the damned cabinet's immaculate. Of course it is.

Fucking Orlesians.

Alistair kicks one of the chairs hard enough to upend it. Just enough of the blinding fury dispels for him to collar the rest and drag it down; he braces both hands on the table, gripping the edge tight. Let the anger burn inward, he orders himself. Don't set the whole city on fire.

(Satisfying as that would be.)

He can hear Cullen's voice in his head: You're a soldier. Alistair breathes in, breathes out, as one hand clenches into a fist atop the table. A soldier, yes, just like Blackwall, just like he pretended to be --

He gives the downed chair another kick before dropping into the upright one.