[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]

"I seem to remember you mentioning something about my handsomness as well."

Beat.

"And possibly my humility."

[howtoactfereldan]

"All of those things," Cullen agrees. "Especially your humility."

[bringspeopletogether]

Satisfied: "I thought so."

He closes his eyes; starts stroking his thumb over the side of Cullen's hand after a moment.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen stifles a yawn.

"Resting?" he mumbles.

[bringspeopletogether]

"I think so," murmurs Alistair.

He's definitely hitting that warm, comfortable stage where -- fun as other activities might be -- sleep seems just as nice.

"Sleep well. Love you."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Love you too." Barely audible. "Wake me if you need... anything."

[bringspeopletogether]

"I will."

He yawns, expansively.

"Only serious things. Not...puppies. Or whatever. Promise."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Thanks."

It sounds much more like mmks.

[bringspeopletogether]

A soft rumble of laughter. Alistair squeezes Cullen's hand one more time, then drifts into silence.

And soon after, sleep.

[howtoactfereldan]

One of the shutters must have opened a little in the night, because Cullen is awakened by a thin beam of sunlight right to the eyes.

This makes him whine like a sulky toddler. Only briefly, but it's very heartfelt.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair, having endured no such sun-related abuses, remains fast asleep.

While Cullen's whine isn't piercing enough to wake him up, it does nudge his brain a little: unconsciously, he hugs Cullen closer, letting out a soft sigh.

[howtoactfereldan]

Oh. That's... really nice, actually.

Cullen inches down just enough that the light isn't in his eyes any more and settles again.

(For once there's no accompanying feeling of I don't deserve the comfort. Alistair has him; he's safe; he's grateful.)

[bringspeopletogether]

The sad truth of a sunrise: eventually, the sun moves.

Which means twenty minutes later -- give or take -- it's Alistair's turn to crack open an eye, get hit in the face by the same beam of sunlight, and let out a displeased grumble.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen didn't quite achieve proper sleep -- just mild dozing.

He presses his head back against Alistair's shoulder, as it's easier than trying to move his hands. The noise he makes is probably meant to be calming and reassuring.

[bringspeopletogether]

The grumbling fades: less subsiding than reorienting. A few moments pass in silence before Alistair hums, small and contented, and touches his lips to Cullen's hair.

"Morning," he mumbles.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen hums his assent: it is indeed morning.

Since his arms are occupied, he slips his foot between Alistair's ankles, hooks it around Alistair's heel.

[bringspeopletogether]

Yes. Good. Alistair is pleased with this arrangement.

...It'd probably be better if he squirmed out of the way of that sunbeam, though. He does so, with minimal fussing, then resettles and squeezes Cullen's hands.

(All told, a much better start to the day than yesterday.)

[howtoactfereldan]

A soft sigh. His eyelids are heavy -- very heavy.

He'll just close them again for a moment.

[bringspeopletogether]

This is perfect, thinks Alistair drowsily. A soft bed; Cullen in his arms; no priorities, for either of them, but staying right here. It's the sort of memory one would draw on for comfort when they're slogging through a swamp by day and sleeping on a cold bedroll by night.

The sun continues its track across the pillows. Alistair slips into a doze, back out, back in again, the whole room taking on a hazy dreamlike quality as the moments blend together.

[howtoactfereldan]

Perhaps half an hour passes before Cullen, still mostly asleep, presses his hips back against Alistair.

(It's instinctive, born from a nice, idle dream -- which is a pleasant change of pace for Cullen.)

[bringspeopletogether]

...Oh. Well. Hello, there.

Alistair drifts back to more-or-less consciousness. One corner of his mouth twitches into a smile; he shifts his embrace to draw Cullen even more securely against him.

[howtoactfereldan]

Yes. Good.

Cullen arches his neck with a happy hum.

"Nice man," he mumbles.

[bringspeopletogether]

A soft laugh rumbles his chest. He shifts his arms lower, settling them across Cullen's belly -- the better to get a little extra leverage when he rocks forward, just a bit.

"I try to be," he whispers in Cullen's ear.

[howtoactfereldan]

Another hum, louder.

"Alistair." That's softer. "Yes."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair hides a grin against Cullen's hair.

More pressure, then; he keeps the rocking slow, and gentle, but there's no mistaking his deliberation anymore. (If there ever was.)

Low, "I trust you'll tell me if I ought to find the oil?"