[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

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen finds himself smiling. Just a little.

"A circle?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"There could also be some lines." Cheerful. "Like so."

The pattern on Cullen's back changes: two parallel lines up Cullen's back, ending at his shoulders.

"Might throw a diamond in there if we want to get really crazy."

[howtoactfereldan]

"I trust you." It comes out on another sigh -- a much easier one; he's finally letting himself relax. "Whatever you pick."

[bringspeopletogether]

"And if it's accompanied by me listing all the strange things Ruff dragged back to camp for us?"

Both hands at the base of Cullen's neck now; smoothed out and down to the bottom of his ribs; together again near the base of his spine.

[howtoactfereldan]

He breathes, in and out. Again.

"The price of safety is often steep."

[bringspeopletogether]

"On occasion," he murmurs, and bends to kiss the back of Cullen's neck. "Not right now, though."

And with that -- wonder of wonders -- Alistair lets the room fall into quiet. (He's having plenty of fun sketching out new, inventive shapes on Cullen's back, anyway.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Whether it's the quiet, Alistair's touch, or some combination, it's not long before Cullen falls asleep.

Peacefully.

[bringspeopletogether]

For several moments after Cullen dozes off, Alistair keeps running his hands along his back: slower, again, tapering off to a light touch at the small of his back. As he lays down beside Cullen, he slips his arm around his waist.

"Love you," he whispers.

And soon enough, he's joined him in sleep.

[howtoactfereldan]

When Cullen wakes, it's dark outside, he's shoved himself up against Alistair, and he's ravenous.

For one brief, giddy moment, he contemplates what might happen if he bit Alistair, in what's clearly a universal signal for 'let me go, I'm hungry.'

Then he thinks better of it, and winkles his arms tight around Alistair instead.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair makes a small, questioning noise in his sleep -- someone's close, but it's a nice sort of close -- and leans his head against Cullen's.

A few seconds later, he mumbles something that sounds like s'not my birthday though.

[howtoactfereldan]

An opportunity has presented itself.

"Yes it is," Cullen whispers back.

[bringspeopletogether]

"S'not Wintermarch," he insists. "It's too purple."

This, apparently, makes perfect dream-sense.

[howtoactfereldan]

"It's purple enough," Cullen returns. "Happy birthday."

[bringspeopletogether]

"...if you say so," mumbles Alistair, sounding highly skeptical of this claim.

Wait. Why does this person suddenly sound like Cullen?



Oh. Huh. That's right.

Sleepily, Alistair cracks open one eye.

[howtoactfereldan]

"You never told me what you wanted for your birthday."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair smiles, small and drowsy.

"A puppy," he mumbles, solemn. "No, two puppies."

[howtoactfereldan]

The war's over, Cullen thinks. Maybe not a farm, but surely...

"That's right," Cullen says. "I forgot to get you anything. You'll have to wait on that one, I'm afraid."

[bringspeopletogether]

"S'okay." He squeezes Cullen. "I can wait."

A beat.

"...When's your birthday?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Inquisition secret," Cullen returns. "Now budge up, I'm famished, and if you don't move I'll have to take a bite out of you."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair wrinkles his nose.

"I'll learn it someday," he says, as he does the requested budging up. "And when I do: more flowers when you least expect it. Or...completely expect it, in this case."

If food's going to be a thing, Alistair should probably (finally) put on some clothes. He shuffles to the wardrobe to retrieve another robe.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen stands and stretches luxuriously. "What if I told you it was in the dead of winter?"

He picks up a candle and starts wandering down the hall.

[bringspeopletogether]

Serenely, as he trails behind: "I'd fold you little paper flowers and hand them over while exclaiming, 'Winter birthday twins!'"

[howtoactfereldan]

"How come you get dogs while I get flowers?" Cullen complains.

[bringspeopletogether]

"No reason there can't be both." Cheerful. "Dogs could carry the flowers to you."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Those are your dogs." In the kitchen, Cullen reaches up to a hanging basket and pulls down an apple. "Dogs last much longer than flowers."