Alistair (
bringspeopletogether) wrote2017-07-01 04:58 pm
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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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Unfortunately, his stomach -- apparently put out that there is both an apple and jam bread right there which Alistair is ignoring in favor of other pursuits -- growls again, more insistently. Alistair breaks the kiss with a rueful laugh, leaning his forehead against Cullen's.
"Right. Dinner first."
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He takes a sizeable bite of the jam bread.
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"I had leverage," Cullen says, pointing at the wheel of cheese. "Doesn't count."
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He finishes off the slice of bread.
"It'd be my desire to get out of Orlais. Fun as it's been to quietly stick it to them by parading around all elf-blooded and everything."
(The last is a bit drier, though still cheerful enough.)
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But not necessarily brush it to the side with selective verbal engagement. His commentary is horribly limited by his surprise.
"Ah," he says.
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Light, "I'd still rather throw porridge off the highest building in the place, but this'll do."
He bites into his apple.
"...Maybe I could set something up so porridge-y vengeance will fall five minutes after we ride out of town."
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Cullen waggles four fingers at Alistair. "And finally, I should note that I know nothing and disavow everything."
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Any innocent inquiries about whether Cullen would like a little bread to go with his jam will be tabled for the time being.
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He leans against Alistair. (Both hands are busy.)
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There's still a little bit of jam on his finger; just as idle, he licks it off before returning to the apple.
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Softly:
"Ought I to ask about parading around all elf-blooded?"
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He waves the half-eaten apple in a dismissive gesture. The rueful note to his smile returns.
"I was joking, is all. Haven't really been announcing it while throwing confetti about, or anything of the sort."
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Cullen's searching for words again. "Mm. It doesn't feel the same as the rest of what you say. It's -- sharper. Does that make any sense?"
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He doesn't sound doubtful. More like he got caught doing something he shouldn't.
(Alistair's very aware of his tendency to joke away deeper hurts, or serious concerns. Apparently -- without being quite cognizant of it -- that still includes the other half of his heritage.)
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He leans his forehead against Alistair's temple. Softly, he says, "You could finish fortifying yourself."
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He slips free to cut more bread for himself -- and, after a moment's consideration, unwraps the cheese wheel to slice off an accompanying bit.
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Smug:
"I had a bet with myself, and I just won."
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He's trying for bland, but can't hide his amusement that well.
"What did you win?"
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"I'm still savoring it, I'll have you know." He points to Cullen with his newly cheese-ified slice of bread. "Just...getting a bit of a head start on that savoring."
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