Chapter Text
“You found a mabari?”
Trevelyan jumps, startled and beside her, Cassandra can barely hide her snort of amusement. They catch a glimpse of Alistair running towards Cullen, who – like a true Ferelden, truly – has found a big mabari in the Winter Palace’s gardens, of all possible places.
“Well, he’s not mine”, Cullen points out matter-of-factly, but his ears turn red. “A merchant found him abandoned, since they don’t have mabari in Orlais… maybe they grew tired of the novelty…?”
“Heathens! How dare they, look at how well he can fetch – oh, he can probably fetch a moose, never mind your stick”, Alistair beams and scratches the dog behind the ears. The dog – a huge animal with sleek gray fur – closes his eyes and leans against the Warden’s palm.
Cullen sighs. “He’s not supposed to fetch it…”
“You’re such a good boy, a big, handsome boy, you are!” Alistair coos at the dog and kisses the top of his head. “D’you wanna take him back to Ferelden?”
Cullen’s lips twitch into a warm smile. “Well, I did promise Mia we would pay her a visit.”
“Oooh. She’s gonna spoil him rotten.”
“Remember who you report to”, Cullen tells the dog firmly, and Alistair bursts out laughing; his eyes are shining, crinkled, lips curled into genuine joy. Cullen glances at him, satisfied and pleased that he’s managed to make his partner laugh.
“Don’t worry, we’ll be bribing him with pork”, he says and presses a sweet, slow kiss on Cullen’s lips. “You found a dog.”
“I found a dog”, Cullen agrees, grinning into the kiss.
“You big softie.”
“I’m not arguing with that”, Cullen chuckles. “Just don’t tell Sera, she would have a field day with that one.”
Alistair wraps his arms around Cullen’s neck, holds him in an affectionate hug and brushes his nose against Cullen’s. They are usually very private about their affections, but the stress, separation and nail-aching anxiety about this Exalted Council make them on edge, so having each other around finally is a blessed comfort.
Maybe that’s why Cullen’s expression softens, becomes mellow and handsome, as he very quietly murmurs: “Marry me.”
A beat. Deafening silence for a second.
Then, Alistair’s breathing hitches painfully in his throat, his jaw drops, and he tightens instinctively his grip on Cullen’s shoulders.
“Wait a minute – you’re asking me to marry you?”
“Yes, I am”, Cullen answers calmly, his gaze observing closely Alistair’s face, gauging his reaction.
“We are in the Winter Palace”, Alistair hisses, almost panicked. “Qunari are probably gonna blow us all up and then trample all over us, and you’re asking me to marry you?”
“I’d rather have it without Qunari invasion, but yes. I am.”
Alistair stares at him for a beat – and then crushes his mouth against Cullen’s, pulling him into a kiss, laughing almost hysterically with relief.
“Oh, yes, thank the Maker. I’m in. Very much so. Do you know how many times I’ve dreamed about this?”
“Oh, you have?”
“Yeah, and I’m not apologizing for it. We’re really doing this?”
“Are you willing, Alistair?”
“Oh, am I willing? I was willing, when we were thirteen! Totally dreamed of our own house, too. No pressure, I’m just saying there’s no way an impending Qunari disaster will stop me.”
“Perhaps not, but you are a Warden, love.”
Alistair pauses, his warm gaze finding Cullen’s, soft and gentle.
“Yes, I am. But I’m also a veteran of the Fifth Blight, and I fought beside Cousland in it. I’m her second-in-command before anything else. I’m helping her. I’d like to see them try to stop me, Warden-Commanders be damned. They can send me a strongly worded letter if they have some disaster ahead of them again. You know, whining. Because it always happens. But until it does and until I ignore it, you can’t get rid of me, Cullen.”
Cullen brushes gently Alistair’s cheek with his thumb. “Aren’t you being a little rebellious.”
“Right back sassing the mages, yep. Well. Wardens. Why not everyone else, too, while I’m at it.”
All tension that he hasn't even realized there even is, drains from Cullen, and he leans forward and captures Alistair’s mouth in a deep, intimate kiss, nudging their noses together.
“Sooo…what are you gonna name him?”
“I haven’t thought that far, yet.” A pause. Suspiciously squinting eyes. “Oh, for Maker’s – you are plotting something, aren’t you?”
A slow, giddy grin makes it’s way onto Alistair’s face. “Listen, Cullen – he could be Barkspawn the Second.”
“Maker’s breath.”
“I know! Brilliant, isn’t it?”
“You are not going to call our dog Barkspawn the Second.”
“Oh, so, it’s the Second part that bothers you, is it?”
“Try Barkspawn in general.”
“Okay, maybe not, then. Just throwing it out there, I do have a list.” Alistair beams at him, all soft and warm in his happiness. “You make me really happy, you know that, right?”
“I always hope so”, Cullen murmurs and brushes Alistair’s cheekbone with his thumb. “You make me happy as well, Alistair. Ever since Templar training.”
Lovely golden rosy flush spreads on Alistair’s cheeks. “Aww, you had a soft spot for me? We were so gangly and awkward, Maker.”
“I remember.”
“We’re getting married.”
“Mmh-hmm, we are.”
“We’re getting married.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Maker, Knight-Commander Alec would totally have an aneurysm if he heard about this.”
“I think he’s actually…dead?”
“May he spin in his grave.”
“Alistair.”
“He was really grumpy, though.”
“Do we really have to talk about him?”
“Yeah, I mean, you just proposed, it's...kind of a big deal? Try a life long dream, maybe. Okay, I’ll stop. I love you, hi, you look very handsome.”
Shaking his head in fond exasperation, Cullen tilts Alistair's head again and presses a deep, tender kiss on his mouth.
“Can we do it now?”
“Now?”
“Yes, now! I'd rather not wait until a scary qunari army comes charging at us.”
“Fair point. I don't have a ring for you right now, though.”
“Pfft, who cares? I don't have one for you, either, so you'll have to wait. Just so you know, I'd love a silver ring. Would that be too fancy?”
“And here I thought I would have to carve one out of tree.”
“Huh, not bad? Iron bark, maybe?”
“Or that dead birch over there.”
“My own husband! I can't believe you!”
“I was not serious - ”
“A ring from a dead birch. Well, I don't marry you for money, you know. ”
Laughing, they lace their fingers together and start walking toward Divine Victoria's small army of clerics.