[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]

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."

[howtoactfereldan]

"It's one thing when it's porridge for breakfast. It's another thing entirely when it's a matter of honor. Or, or integrity. Surely you see that."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I do."

Everything feels very -- distant.

"You talk through it, then. You don't just...give in. You don't expect the other person to give in. That's not how it works."

Even softer: "That's never been how I've wanted this to work."

[howtoactfereldan]

So Alistair thought Cullen compromising his integrity was an option.

He looks away.

[bringspeopletogether]

"I couldn't think."

More unsteady, now.

"I'm sorry."

[howtoactfereldan]

A long moment passes before Cullen says, toneless, "All right."

[bringspeopletogether]

Everything Alistair wanted to say feels very...insignificant now.

He should go. Not -- go go, not like he was thinking, but -- to the bedroom to get his tea. To give Cullen space.

He can't move.

[howtoactfereldan]

"I'm going back to sleep." No change. "When someone comes to the door, I'll get it."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair forces himself to nod.

Barely audible: "All right."

He pushes himself away from the wall. The bedroom door clicks shut behind him.

[howtoactfereldan]

If Alistair wants to pretend like nothing's changed, Cullen... might as well honor that. He's got to think about it more. And he's got to think about it more when he's not hung over.

Gingerly he eases himself back down on the chaise and closes his eyes. Nothing is spinning, which is a good start.

[bringspeopletogether]

Maybe Cullen's right: Alistair should have taken the punch. It would have caused less hurt in the long run.

The weight of what he's done sits cold and heavy in his stomach, making him wonder if he's about to sick up his breakfast. It's -- it may not be the worst thing he's ever done, but it's close. Very close.

I wouldn't forgive me, either.

Drinking his tea is a guarantee his breakfast will come back up. Alistair curls on his side instead, drawing the quilt around him to try and ward off the chill.

[howtoactfereldan]

It's been some time since he's felt the need to use the Chant as a way to shut everything else out of his head. But he does it now, timing the words to his breaths.

If nothing else, it quiets his mind, just a little.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair closes his fingers around the coin at his chest.

This isn't something you can fix. He's used that mantra before, but there's a quiet finality to it now. Cullen will tell him if -- and to Alistair, it feels a very distant if -- he can make up for this. There's nothing Alistair can do.

Shouldn't have assumed the Calling would be what ended this, he thinks, distantly.

[howtoactfereldan]

Midmorning someone knocks at the door. Cullen rises in his sock feet to take delivery of a dozen bolts of cloth, enough fine paper and pens and ink (in a few different colors) to outfit a platoon of Josephines, and six bottles of brandy.

Cullen is not tempted to steal any of the latter.

It all goes on the chaise, where he regards it with some wariness.

[bringspeopletogether]

By then, Alistair's tea has long gone cold -- but he also doesn't feel quite as nauseous as earlier. He drinks it mechanically, eyes on his pack the whole while.

He should probably unpack it. It won't take long to repack if Cullen asks, anyway.

Setting the mug aside, he gets to work, no less mechanically.

[howtoactfereldan]

Breakfast. Finally.

His hair is a disaster -- he knows that much from the expression of the woman who delivered the cloth -- but the extra few hours of sleep did wonders for his hangover. And now Cullen is ravenous.

His turn to pad into the kitchen, to find ham and a few eggs.

[bringspeopletogether]

Soon enough, everything's back where it belongs. Alistair pulls on a clean pair of trousers; washes his face; considers his reflection (exhausted, eyes red, hair a mess) before picking up his razor.

Not like he's planning to go out today, but maybe he'll feel better if he goes through the motions of being presentable.

He's starting to feel less like he's giving Cullen space and more like a prisoner. Very, very quietly, Alistair eases open the bedroom door a crack to peer into the main room.




That...is a lot of cloth.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen, in the kitchen, is contemplating the destruction of his breakfast and whether he should make another. The ham was quite good.

Soon after, a pleasant sizzling sound comes from the kitchen. Also a pleasant sizzling smell.

[bringspeopletogether]

As if remembering that yes, food is a good thing, and no, he hasn't eaten since early this morning, Alistair's stomach lets out a pointed growl.

"Stop that," he mutters toward it, without much feeling -- but he does nudge the door open a little wider, considering his options. Maybe he can sneak out while Cullen's occupied and fetch some lunch of his own. He did go to all that trouble of making himself presentable, after all.

...Damn it, that ham smells really good.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen emerges with ham and eggs piled on some bannock. He has just taken a very large (and somewhat undignified) bite of his open-faced sandwich.

He looks at Alistair for a moment.

And then, expressionless, starts chewing.

(Mildly mortifying.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair fidgets.

(If literally anything else had happened in the past twenty-four hours, he'd crack some kind of gentle joke. But...no. Not a chance.)






"Quite the delivery," he mumbles at last, lamely, as he nods toward the chaise.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen swallows.

"'S not for me," he says, between bites.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Mm." A long pause. "...Josephine?"

This is so awkward that he might dig a hole straight to the Deep Roads and start his Calling early.

[howtoactfereldan]

"My siblings," Cullen says, turning his attention to the window.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Right."

Well, that's...that's good. That Cullen did that. Working on those relationships and...everything.





Tentatively: "Your hangover seems better."