[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]

"Oh, yes, of course, my mistake."

Another kiss on the shoulder; he grazes his teeth along Cullen's bare skin, lightly.

"I am absolutely making designs on your virtue, then. Your sparkling, flawless, untouched virtue."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen closes his eyes and arches his neck with a soft sigh.

"Not untouched, surely," he murmurs.

[bringspeopletogether]

He slips a hand inside Cullen's robe, splaying his fingers over his chest.

With more badly-stifled laughter, "Is that what you were doing in your cot at the Chantry, then."

[howtoactfereldan]

A hand clamps on Alistair's wrist.

Mildly:

"Not endearing, Alistair."

[bringspeopletogether]

He sobers immediately, making no move to fight Cullen's grip. Quieter, more contrite: "Right. Sorry."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen lets go and curls in on himself, a little. Away from Alistair -- but not too far.

After a moment:

"It's still... close to the surface. Everything from back then." More stiffly. "Best avoided."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Of course." Soft, still. "No more of that from me. You have my word."

He doesn't reach for Cullen, nor make any move to pull him closer. (Let him come back in his own time.)

"...We've established most of my jokes are too terrible to bear anyway."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen aims one slightly baleful eye over his shoulder.

"Tell me that's not about Storvacker."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I swear it's not." He holds up a hand. "You have my word on that as well."

There's a time and a place for Storvacker jokes, and this definitely isn't it.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen harrumphs and resettles.






"I suppose that isn't... unbearable."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Occasionally my jokes are just the right amount of bearable," he agrees, with a slight smile.

Cautiously, he rests a hand on Cullen's side.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen reaches back for his hand to pull it more snugly around him, inching back to his former position at the same time.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair lets out a quiet, contented sigh, relaxing against Cullen. He laces their fingers together and squeezes.





"Where do you suppose Storvacker will go once we've got our farm and our pack of dogs?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Back to her hold, I imagine," he murmurs. "She's very important, you know."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes." A beat. "Also very pretty. For a bear, I mean."

[howtoactfereldan]

Where Alistair cannot see, Cullen is making a decidedly epic face to express skepticism -- nay, disbelief -- at Alistair's rank flattery.

After a pause only a few seconds too long:

"I wouldn't know," he says mildly.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair snorts a tiny laugh.

"One thing I've always admired about you, love," he says, as he gives Cullen a light squeeze, "is your diplomacy."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen chokes.

"That's..."

What's the word he's looking for.

"Downright tragic," he finishes on a laugh.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's laughing, too.

"Keep in mind," he says, "that the mere thought of sending me on a diplomatic mission would probably make Josephine burst into tears. Never feel bad about your diplomacy when I'm around."

[howtoactfereldan]

"She'd rather send you than me." Wry. "People actually like you."

[bringspeopletogether]

Loyally, as he hugs Cullen closer like a stuffed animal:

"I like you."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Diplomacy is for people you don't like." Cullen sinks back into Alistair, boneless. "Leave me to show them which one's the pointy end, where I belong."

[bringspeopletogether]

"So...that's a no to my overly complex plan to infiltrate Orlais with nothing but a fake mustache, ingratiate myself with the nobles, then give you everything you want when you arrive to negotiate."

[howtoactfereldan]

"If you can accomplish it," Cullen says, oh so very mildly, "I shall do my part."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Wonderful," he manages around a fresh wave of laughter, then kisses Cullen's earlobe.