Chapter Text
The Winter Palace is almost like from a fairy tale. Everything is straight from the children books; white marble walls glitter and glimmer, gilded stairs, vast colourful gardens, seas of vibrant flowers, golden lion statues standing majestetically on the edges.
Everything is so glamorous and magical.
And at the moment, Alistair hates everything in it. Orlais, sweet Andraste. Why. Why him.
It itches under his skin, claws his bones, gnawing and jittery. After greeting the committee, Alistair very hastily retreated into the gardens, just to breathe a bit.
Damn this bloody Exalted Council, he grumbles biting his thumb nail. Also, Teagan’s there, too, which is another problem entirely, and ohh boy, he hasn’t aged well… He’s become really cranky since the last time…
“Warden Alistair!”
Alistair blinks, momentarily panics, because nope, he doesn’t fancy talking flat pleasantries with Orlesian nobles, thank you very much, but it’s not a creepy mask approaching, but Cassandra.
The Seeker looks healthy; there’s a bronze glow on her scarred cheeks, and her eyes seem bright, even if under tightly knitted eyebrows. She’s probably just as displeased to be here as Alistair is, and he takes comfort in that.
“Seeker Pentaghast!” he greets her cheerfully. “Isn’t everything so warm and sunny and stabbing and political?”
Her mouth forms into a sour grimace. “Ugh, don’t remind me. I already had to chase three nobles away with a sword – ugh, this is intolerable”, she grunts. “How about you?”
“Well, you know; dodging creepy people in masks. Also trying to eat without them judging me for my manners.”
Alistair’s mind wanders back to Cullen, and violent surge of longing nearly knocks the air out of his lungs. Is he close? Is he all right? Is he even here? His letters told that he would be here, and it would be pretty unlikely if the Inquisition’s Commander doesn't show up, but still…
It’s been so long, Alistair thinks, so long that his teeth ache and nails hurt, taste of salt bitter on his tongue.
They have been apart for weeks now; the matter of Cousland’s search forced Alistair to depart from Skyhold (not that he agreed with any of it, but he’s her second-in-command, so what can he do), and then there was a dragon, because of course there was, and fire and drakes, and Maker’s breath, why does this always happen to them?
(Well, to Cousland, and she didn’t even bang any gongs this time.)
And now finally, they’re in the same city, finally, finally, and Alistair thinks he’s almost splitting in half with the raw force of it.
Maybe his poker face isn’t as good as he would like to think, because Cassandra’s expression softens into a teasing smirk, which bodes no good for Alistair.
“Don’t worry, he will be here”, she says, obviously amused, and Alistair turns crimson.
“Lady Pentaghast, how dare you, I have – I – don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh, please. I have been forced to watch Commander’s pining for weeks now, so I do know how a man in love looks like. It is ridiculous. Sweet, but ridiculous.”
“Yes, that sounds like us, but never mind that, he is here?” Alistair asks, giddy and excited in the most childish sense, but he couldn’t give a bloody damn about that.
“Oh, yes. Scowling and annoyed with the whole ride through the city, let me assure you. Also according to our lady Montiliyet, there has been several marriage proposals for Commander, as well.”
Alistair’s jaw drops. “What?”
Cassandra’s expression remains dryly amused.
“Oh, yes. It seems like Orlesians are very interested in him.”
“You’re teasing me. This is awful. I’m suffering.”
She pats his shoulder.
“I would not worry – he develops a headache every time we approach the Winter Palace”, she tells him.
“But Orlesians visit Skyhold, don’t they? They don’t stay in the Winter Palace – Val Royeaux, whatever – especially the – the interested kind.”
“Cullen is very determined to avoid nobles, Orlesian or otherwise. The Inquisitor is quite annoyed with him.”
“So, um – sorry, not to sound completely desperate, but where is he?”
“He’s most likely exchanging preliminary reports with Leliana – oh, there he is.”
Alistair’s heart skips a wild beat. It’s Cullen, walking along the cobble stoned garden path toward them – he’s changed into more formal clothes and he has tired circles around his eyes, but the way his expression softens, lights up, when he sees Alistair…
He approaches them. “Alistair”, he says, his tone a little bit rougher than usual. “Hello.”
“Hi”, Alistair beams, his heart pounding and fluttering in a mix of longing and utter, explosive joy.
Cassandra eyes them, like she’s very done with them. “Nice to see you, Cullen. Was Leliana in the garden?”
Cullen blinks. “Um, yes. Everything all right?”
“Fine, now stop asking about me, Commander. Do try to be careful”, Cassandra orders them, flashes a wry grin and takes her leave. They both look startled after her.
Their gazes return to each other, like a magnetic pull, and they smile.
“Are you okay?” Cullen asks, because of course he does, he cares so much, and he’s having a headache again, Alistair can see the way his forehead creases, how he frowns ever so slightly.
“Yeah, I am. Sick of caves and dodgy people, who lie about dragons, but okay.” He’s not sure which one of them leans first, but they’re finally embracing. Cullen feels warm, solid, familiar, and Alistair buries his face into the crook of Cullen’s neck. He’s safe. He’s home.
“I missed you”, he whispers and pets absentmindedly the back of Cullen’s neck, cards his fingers through his hair. He feels Cullen relax into the embrace.
“I missed you, too.”
“Did the creepy sparrow return now that I’m not there to glare at it?”
Cullen snorts in laughter. “I’d say so, more than once.” He cradles Alistair’s face on his palm, brushes the freckled cheekbone with his thumb.
“But – but, don’t distract me with your face – you have slept, right? You look tired.”
“I have”, Cullen replies and Alistair squints at him. “I have. You can ask Cassandra. She's very suspicious that I don't keep a regular sleeping schedule.”
“'Cause you kind of don't. Irregularly regular. Okay, okay, I'm joking. I believe you.” Alistair leans forward and presses a chaste, slow kiss on Cullen’s mouth. It’s their first kiss after all these weeks, and it’s like sinking into warm water – comforting, lovely, relaxing.
“I can’t wait till this is over and we can leave”, Cullen murmurs against Alistair’s lips.
“Me, too. Ooh, boy, you have no idea, I keep getting heart attacks. I’ve told the tale of Cousland at least three times already.”
“Oh?”
“Yes.”
“How is she, by the way?” Cullen asks, when they head to sit in a reclusive alcove, away from curious glances and all the gossip. They intertwine their fingers.
Alistair grimaces. “She’s fine, ‘course she is, because she completely dodged this whole Exalted Council thing, which I think is all rubbish, and no, I don’t care how many drakes and ogres we fought, she should give her opinion about this whole mess.”
“How so? She’ s not in the Inquisition, officially at least. Much like you, love.”
“I know, but – I think it would give Teagan at least a pause. Get him to listen. Anyway, she’s fine, we got further in our investigation, and I think we’re finally getting somewhere. ‘There’s always a weakness’, she liked to parrot at me. Which is true, ‘course, and very comforting to hear when an ogre is frothing at the mouth and coming for us.”
“An ogre – Maker’s breath. Can you tell what you’ve found?”
“Yeah, but not here, sorry. I don’t trust all this…marble. It’s probably listening.”
“Good point.” Cullen kisses Alistair’s temple and runs his thumb over Alistair’s knuckles. Alistair sighs softly with contentment and leans against him. They enjoy quietly Orlais’s summer warmth, seeping into their skin.
“I’m glad you’re here”, the Warden murmurs finally. “We should take a vacation after this.”
“Where would you want to go?”
“Uh…didn’t think that far ahead, to be honest? I’d just…I’d be fine with a cottage in the middle of nowhere and just…just enjoy the peace and quiet.”
Cullen pulls back slightly to gaze at his partner’s face. This isn’t the first time they’ve had this discussion, but it holds a special kind of yearning in their hearts. A dream. A goal. What they desperately want, why they’re willing to tear through all the stress and agony.
“After the Council”, Cullen agrees quietly. “Whatever will happen to the Inquisition.”
“Yeah. Let's see this through.”