Alistair (
bringspeopletogether) wrote2017-07-01 04:58 pm
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[sandbox]
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.
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.
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Still sheepish -- but starting to laugh a little as well. Alistair pushes himself up, then leans across the table to catch Cullen's mouth in a quick kiss.
"Back shortly," he says before dashing from the kitchen.
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He makes a noise associated most closely with Cassandra and rises himself. If they're leaving early, he ought to start gathering his things.
(And estimating how much weight his new texts and treatises will add to his saddlebags.)
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He jogs back to their rooms with the paper-wrapped package under one arm, feeling lighter than he has in days.
Much as he'd like to break into the cheese immediately, he probably ought to store it in the kitchen until tomorrow morning, if only so their bedroom doesn't take on the smell. He deposits it there before moving on to the bedroom.
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(He's also humming one of the Orlesian drinking songs from last night.)
Other articles of clothing are neatly and tightly folded to exacting standard. It's a shame that the stack of paper in the window seat seems quite... high. Pity Cullen's horse.
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"I'm almost afraid to ask for details."
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He joins Cullen at the window, leaning his shoulder on the frame.
"It's staying in the kitchen tonight. Less temptation and less smell." He nods to the stack of papers. "Need to load some of that into my bags?"
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Tentatively he moves behind Alistair, resting a cautious hand on his hip. "Not much left of it to do."
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(It feels -- remarkably nice. Like they've spent far longer than a day and a half apart.)
"Shouldn't take me long to do the same. I might put it off 'til morning."
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"If you sleep until midmorning, let's see... that'll put us on the road by sundown, if we're lucky."
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"I swear upon my freshly-purchased wheel of cheese," he says, gently prodding Cullen's hands, "that I'll be awake before sunrise."
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"You won't convince me it ought to be eaten, Theirin."
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"More for me, then." Beat. "Unless I wake up after sunrise, I suppose."
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Slowly, with care, he slides a hand to cradle the back of Cullen's head. His fingers loosely tangle in his hair.
"Though I have to say -- " Laughter still trails through his voice. " -- you sound a little too pleased by the prospect, ser."
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"When we're back home," he murmurs, "you might go a full day without mentioning cheese."
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He works his fingers a little deeper into Cullen's hair; begins kneading, gently.
"It seems likely."
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"That doesn't mean you're free of all my prattling, you know."
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Softer, as his hand slips back down to cover Cullen's. He closes his eyes.
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