[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]

Not long after, crackling sounds drift from the kitchen as Alistair re-stokes the fire. The clunk of a hanging kettle follows.

Then: sizzling, as the smell of toast, eggs, and some rashers begin to build.

[howtoactfereldan]

For a few minutes Cullen isn't sure if he wants to throw up or go challenge Alistair to a duel for his breakfast.





Leaning toward the latter, he decides. Good. When Alistair's done, Cullen will do for himself. Or go out and get someone else to do it for him.

[bringspeopletogether]

When everything's done, he dumps all of it onto a plate for himself. No telling when Cullen will wake up, and cold toast is disgusting.

He does set a jar of jam in prominent view once he's slathered some on his toast, though. (Even now, he's making reflexive peace offerings. Andraste's ass.)

He wolfs down his breakfast so fast that the tea's still hot enough to scald his tongue when he's done. He'll bring it into the bedroom, he decides, and...who knows. Contemplate his pack while he finishes drinking it.

[howtoactfereldan]

Very carefully, Cullen pushes himself upright.

All liquids stay where they are supposed to, and show no signs of inverting themselves. Good enough.

He rubs at his face, and considers whether he wants to fight this morning, or whether he wants to not fight, or whether he wants to spend the entire day out, or possibly whether he wants to walk straight into the Waking Sea and make his home under the waves.

[bringspeopletogether]

Which, naturally, is the exact moment Alistair emerges from the kitchen.

He pauses mid-step; carefully lowers his foot, taking in the sight.




"Morning."

Low; guarded.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen drops his hands.

Level:

"Alistair."

[bringspeopletogether]

Well. That's about what he expected.

Alistair takes a long breath, watching Cullen another moment. Then he continues on to the bedroom in silence.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen rolls his eyes -- and then winces, sharply. "Ow."

All right. Best not do that again.

(The Waking Sea is quickly becoming the most attractive option.)

He raises his voice. "Do you want to get this over with, or not?"

[bringspeopletogether]

It would be remarkably easy to slam the bedroom door like a petulant child and lock himself in there for the day. Alistair can't quite bring himself to be that petulant.

So, after another beat's silence, he steps back into the room. (Minus the tea. Too easy to turn it into a projectile, if things go poorly.) Alistair folds his arms and leans against the wall.

"Fine." No change in tone. "You first. Feel free to pick up where you left off last night. Somewhere about me abandoning the Wardens, I think?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen has the good grace to wince at that.

Still. "Not quite," he says, even. "But that's getting at my point. You're still hung up on what it means that you're not taking orders from them, when what it means is that you're not taking orders from them. And in the meantime you resent anyone else with duties that don't revolve around you. I wish you'd just -- go on and take the bleeding punch already. It's far more efficient than tiptoeing around your resentment. -- and not your sadness, or your grief, but your resentment. Or sulking."

[bringspeopletogether]

"My resentment -- "

He leans his head back against the wall.

"You could have cut to the chase and said 'the Inquisition comes first, Alistair.' Much more efficient." He scrubs a hand over his face, tiredly. "Yes, fine. I resent that I don't get to spend as much time with you as I'd like. I resent that no one can take the easy path and just stab Rainier through the eye. I resent circumstances and recognize you can't punch a circumstance, Cullen. I'm not going to turn you or anyone else into a punching proxy."

[howtoactfereldan]

Sardonic:

"The last four times I said 'the Inquisition comes first, Alistair' didn't sink in. Any other strategies to recommend? Or are you going to turn on me like you did Lavellan, because I refuse to attempt to manipulate the Inquisitor?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's turn to wince. He looks away, shoulders hunching.

"No." Subdued. "There's -- look. There's history there. It's not the first time someone suggested the Joining as a punishment. The last time it happened was at the Landsmeet, with Loghain."

Wow, that wall sure is fascinating.

"The reason being, 'well, we need every warm body we can get, and he might die during the Joining anyway, so why not?' Ignoring that Loghain was the reason we had so few warm bodies to begin with." He rubs the back of his neck. "It was too close to home. And -- that's not an excuse. I know. But it's why I...well."

Had to go for a walk.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen gingerly eases up further, so he can lean back against the chaise and listen.

It's the first time the Hero of River Dane has come up. And like everything else in Ferelden... it happened while Cullen was otherwise occupied. He's never thought about it much.

(He's listening. Wearing his Listening Face, eyes focused on Alistair with only his usual, everyday amount of guard, as though he's receiving an important report.)

"That makes sense." Quietly. "It does. I'll maintain it's just different enough not to apply here, but it makes sense. Rainier isn't Corypheus, and he's not Loghain. If that story's true, you could just as well think of it as carrying out the real Blackwall's final wish."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. His eyes stay on the wall.





"You were wrong." Low. "I am sorry. Maybe not for what I said, but how I said it. I'm allowed to apologize to Lavellan for that much, I should think."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Then you're sorry for what you did to Lavellan," Cullen says curtly. "But not anything else."

[bringspeopletogether]

"And asking you to talk her out of it."

He slants a brief glance Cullen's way, trying to gauge his reaction.

[howtoactfereldan]

"And telling me to talk her out of it. And ordering me to talk her out of it. No. You're not sorry."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's jaw clenches.

"If you're planning to spend this whole argument telling me how I feel -- "

[howtoactfereldan]

"I'm not telling you how you feel, I'm telling you what you did."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Then what do you want?"

He pushes himself away from the wall.

"I shouldn't have done it. Fine. It was unbecoming and dishonorable and -- and I should have comported myself better. I'm a soldier. I understand that, you've made it plenty clear to me before. I am sorry, no matter how much you want to insist otherwise, and it won't happen again!"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's mouth tightens.







"To what degree," he says, finally, "is your regard for me dependent on your belief that you ought to be able to manipulate me?"

Cullen's had enough of that for several lifetimes.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair stills. Some of the anger leaches from his face.

(Some of the color, too.)

"None." Soft. "None of it, Cullen."

[howtoactfereldan]

"How can I believe that?" Simple, matter of fact, quiet.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's throat bobs.

"I've never expected you to say yes to me." No louder. "I've hoped. Everyone hopes they'll be in agreement, don't they? But I don't expect -- anything. You have your own wants, and needs, and -- and knowledge. So do I. If they don't align -- "

A helpless gesture.

"All that means is we disagree. You're your own man."