[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]

The other problem with that urge to keep walking: it's so often accompanied by thoughts that sound seductive in the moment, and horrifying later.

Like: Cullen would be fine on his own.

Like: He was right to call this a burden.

He'd be happier without it. Without me.

If his mood weren't so dark, they'd merely be self-pitying nonsense, but...well. It's different, once the anger finally gutters out and leaves him exhausted and despairing.

Nobody bothers him, even when the only movement he makes for hours is a quick, fitful scrub at his cheeks. Alistair's grateful for that much.

The stars have just begun to emerge when he finally drags himself to his feet and trudges home.

[howtoactfereldan]

Textiles. Stationers. A vintner. Useful things, of good quality, none too Orlesian -- and a treat. (That would be the wine.) It takes several hours, but Cullen is well satisfied. Add some caramels and crystallized fruit for the children, and that's all done.

Except for one thing. That requires a detour further into the university district.









He's out much later than he intends. He guards the little parcel under his arm very closely, even while he's drinking brandy and playing chess in a pub. No wonder people drink to forget their problems, he thinks, as he starts the walk back to their rooms in the dark.

Cullen isn't weaving, exactly, but he's meandering. Alistair might not even come back tonight. Might as well drink. It'll make it easier to fall asleep.

[bringspeopletogether]

The lamps near the front door aren't lit -- but a few candles are, in deference to the need for some light.

There's a brighter illumination coming from the kitchen, though.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen leaves his parcel on the small table he's commandeered as his desk, and blinks in the direction of the kitchen. If it's the fire, it ought to be banked, not left blazing unattended.

So he wanders that way, singing under his breath, "C'est la reine d'Anderfels qui dit a son mari, j'aime bien le champagne mais je préfère ton vit..."

(He had a good time.)

[bringspeopletogether]

The fire is indeed lit. Unattended, not so much.

Alistair, hunched over the table with a mug of tea clutched in his hands, looks up, blinking, as Cullen meanders in.

...Well, at least one of them had a nice night, from the looks of it.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen blinks back.






He points at the fire. "'S bad to leave it unattended." His voice is more... languid... than usual. "Glad you're here."

[bringspeopletogether]

It's...pretty much impossible for Alistair not to crack a smile at that. Tiny and pained, yes -- but it's a smile.

"That's why you keep me around," he says, quiet. "To watch over the fire."

He nudges out another chair with his foot.

"Come sit?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Alistair is on the receiving end of a wary look. It's the kind of thing that belongs more in a pantomime being played to the back row than on Cullen's face.

"I'm a little drunk," he warns. "Just a little."

Alistair doesn't want to talk, does he?

[bringspeopletogether]

"I'd noticed." Dry -- but a little amused, despite himself. "A little."

He takes a swallow of his tea.

"That's why I thought you might do better in a chair."

[howtoactfereldan]

Now Cullen shifts from foot to foot.

"You can be alone," he says, tentative. "'S okay. I understand."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair lifts one shoulder in half a shrug.

"I've been alone most of the day already," he says. "It's not as fun as I expected."

[howtoactfereldan]

Inebriated as he is, Cullen recognizes that any retort to that is a bad retort.

He takes the indicated chair and leans on the tabletop, head on his arms.

[bringspeopletogether]

Several moments go by before Alistair scoots his chair a little closer.

Hesitantly, he reaches out to rest a hand on Cullen's arm.

[howtoactfereldan]

Without lifting his head, Cullen makes a sound that is probably interrogative: more what is it? than why are you touching me?, though.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Nothing." Soft.

Should he apologize now? Probably better to save it for when Cullen's sober, he decides reluctantly.

"You had a good evening, at least?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Woeful: "I got beat four times."

Cullen should probably mention that it was at chess. He's pretty sure he already did that, though. "But they taught me a song. But you don't care about any of that."

Pause.

"I didn't think you'd be home tonight."

[bringspeopletogether]

Seeing as Cullen didn't stumble in here sporting a black eye or two, Alistair's...pretty sure he's talking about a game?

"Poor man." Gently, he moves his hand to rest it atop Cullen's head; he's quiet for another beat before going on. "I've slept in enough stables in my life. I like beds better."

[howtoactfereldan]

Mumbled: "Could've found another one."

[bringspeopletogether]

Soft: "It wouldn't have had you there."

[howtoactfereldan]

"'M not pre-- presuming." His shoulders hunch. Since his head is on the table, what this really means is they scrape along the wood.

It's an interesting feeling, and he's not used to having his armor off, so Cullen does it again another two or three times.

[bringspeopletogether]

His mouth quirks, without any humor. Alistair runs his fingers through Cullen's hair, still moving more tentatively than usual.

"I shouldn't really presume, either, I guess."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen doesn't move.





"C'n sleep here," he offers. "Might do it anyway."

[bringspeopletogether]

"You'll wake up with a hangover and a crick in your neck," says Alistair. "That won't do."

His hand keeps moving.

"Do you..." Hesitant. "Want me to join you, when you go to bed?"

(The one potential advantage of Cullen being drunk: maybe he won't deflect with a do as you'd like. Alistair can hope.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Now Cullen shrugs roughly.

"Ask yourself that. Not me."

[bringspeopletogether]

Well. It was worth a try.






"I'm sorry, Cullen."

Barely audible. His hand's gone still.