#pcrseverance

Alistair continues to look around the room critically, not a hint of regret on his face. "Somebody had to do it," he announces, "because have you seen this place?"

Obviously Cullen has - he lives here - but it certainly feels as though he's never actually seen the space or put in any effort to decorate or enhance it at all. It wouldn't be terrible, as the other blond clearly had decent tastes, if there had been at least a little repair or a little planning. But, Alistair thinks, he clearly hasn't made time to take care of himself or his own personal spaces. It should be a surprise, but it's not.

In his distraction the king narrowly misses a fallen timber, but only by nearly falling on his own face. He lets out a noise of startled frustration. "You're going to kill somebody in here, Cullen."

Injury Prompts

Myrna clenched her jaw; she failed to hold his hand with a less punishing grip in her efforts to ward off the pain in her hip, but an effort was made. Damn Templars and their damn swords and arrows, and fucking shit this was bullshit and—

She knew this next part was going to hurt worse, it always did, but she had to keep a brave face for everyone. Creators forbid their Inquisitor cry from pain or let out any noise of protest from it.

It seemed like the arrow had missed the important parts, but she knew she wouldn't be walking for a few days without help once they got this damn thing out. If they did. Gods, she hoped it wasn't embedded in the bone or she was going to scream a litany of swears and pray infection took her quickly so she wouldn't have to deal with this.

Okay, so she was being over dramatic; Myrna felt like she was entitled to it in this situation.

"You just want me staring at your pretty face, is all," she joked through gritted teeth, trying and failing to smile at Cullen. It was make a horrible, ill-timed joke or burst into tears the moment the physician cut into her hip to try and dig out the arrow.

Fucking hell, couldn't they have gotten her something to bite down on?

She squeezed harder and clenched her eyes shut. Fuck fuck fuck.

A nest was the best way you could describe Ashe's current situation. One of the nooks in the library had been entirely taken over by the Inquisitor. She sat there cross legged on the floor, a blanket draped over her shoulders in an effort to shield her from the cold, and she was using the armchair as a desk. Books were strewn about her as well as scraps of parchment with notes scribbled on them.

It was said with such... nonchalance, for a moment Fenris thought he might have misheard. The words had been slightly slurred, muffled by the pillow beneath Cullen's head. They laid together in bed, their legs entwined, and Fenris' long fingers wove through Cullen's hair, sleepily distracted by the way the curly strands wrapped themselves around the digits.

He must have misheard. It was early yet, only the faintest of light on the horizon, and they'd only just begun to stir from their sleep.

Fenris didn't reply right away, and instead drew in a soft, sighing breath, his free arm wrapping around Cullen's middle to draw the larger man back against his chest. The move buried Fenris' lips against the nape of Cullen's neck, pressing firm, and purposeful kisses for several long moments as he turned the words over in his head again.

He didn't know if Cullen could mean it, or at least truly mean those words at their face value. Cullen had been candid with Fenris, as much as he could, with what he'd gone through before they'd met. The trials he'd endured.

And now, in the face of the words that still did not fade from his ears, Fenris struggled, unsure if he could say the same. He cared for Cullen, more than he'd thought himself capable of. But it was, perhaps understandably, difficult to repeat back.

And so he didn't. Not now, at least. He allowed the worry to bleed away, to focus on what was, which was Cullen warm and sleepy in his arms. He pressed another kiss to the back of Cullen's neck.

@pcrseverance liked for a small starter

~ Solas knocked politely at Cullen's door before entering the Inquisition commander's office. ~

~ " Commander, " he greeted with a nod of his head. " Cassandra asked that I attend to you. " Though the Seeker had kept her usual demeanor of strength and formality, the worry she felt for Cullen had been obvious. " She...told me that you had stopped taken lyrium, and asked if there was anything I could do to alleviate your symptoms of withdrawal. " He took a step closer to the Commander, eyeing his pallid complexion and tired eyes; it was obvious he was not well. Solas was not certain why he hadn't sought out any of the other healers sooner. ~

There's something about Cullen's promise that breaks something inside of Alistair. Maybe it's because nobody ever stays: the hero left, their companions left, his parents left, even his own people abandon him as soon as they catch wind of Alistair the person rather than Alistair the King of Ferelden. But here is the Commander, required by no oath of loyalty or obligation, swearing to always be there for him.

He's always known there's something different about them. About the way they speak together, about the feelings the other man invokes in him, even the lengths to which he is beginning to realize he himself would go for the blond.

Every moment they've shared plays in his mind and he realizes, with horrifying clarity, that he needs Cullen. He wants the other man beyond the capacity with which he thought he could. Wants him to mean it.

Injury Prompts

He had tried to dart into a shadow to avoid the sword swinging at him; Cole didn't move quickly enough and wound up with a gash on his leg. It burned like fire, and any movement jostled it, causing him to grimace in pain. He had managed to disappear long enough to buy him a few moments to catch his breath, just enough time for Cullen to finish off the armored Venatori where it would be safe to come out again.

Cole limped to him, only to be immediately ordered to sit so Cullen could look at his leg. He didn't fight him, didn't argue that he was fine and not to worry about him; he just accepted the help and plopped down on the nearest log.

That didn't mean he wasn't struggling to hold still as Cullen wrapped a bandage around his thigh. It hurt, damnit. Of course he was moving away from the source of pain.

Then there was the fact that he was skittish around Cullen as it was and wanted to bolt; he knew the man's heart, that he meant Cole no harm, but a small part of him questioned 'what if?'