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Alistair fidgeted with the ends of his reins. It was a testament to the temperament of his horse that it ignored him. The monotonous drone of some letter or another filled the air, but he couldn’t bring himself to concentrate on it. It was either a complaint about some minor squabble or a needlessly complimentary missive seeking to gain his good graces. Either way, it would be delegated out to somebody that wasn’t him.
But he did need to listen to it, because if he didn’t listen, it would ruffle somebody’s feathers. He wished that he didn’t have to listen though, because he had more pleasant things to be thinking about.
“Your Majesty?” the drone coming from his attendant turned into a question.
“Do whatever you think best,” Alistair ordered. “And stop reading while riding. I don’t want you to break your neck.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
Alistair held in a sigh. Leofrick was overly fond of titles, and overly boring as a companion. But boring also meant he wasn’t one for gossip. And he needed to keep things as quiet as possible among the peerage.
Cullen wasn’t a secret, open or otherwise. But anything too romantic could set tongues wagging, and Alistair had better things to do than chase court gossip. Surprising his lover was high on that list.
Of course, going to see Cullen was a bit of a trek. Although the parcel of land the Divine had granted Cullen for his rehabilitation clinic was on the edge of Ferelden, it wasn’t particularly close to the palace. This made arranging surprise visits a bit of a chore. People tended to notice the King of Ferelden riding through the countryside.
No matter how meticulously he planned his trips, somebody always managed to get word to Cullen before he arrived. Today was going to break that streak. He’d left under cover of darkness and avoided every village possible. To keep a search party from being sent for him, he’d taken a small entourage so that his more senior court members wouldn’t worry about him.
His course avoided the main roads, villages, and towns. His main worry was now either dying of boredom as Leofrick went through the backlog of correspondence that he’d brought with or being too sore from riding when he arrived. Much as Alistair liked to remind his entire court that he was a former Grey Warden and member of the Hero of Ferelden’s band, he wasn’t immune to aches and pains.
More importantly, he had plans for when he arrived. Plans that didn’t involve being too sore to move.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Cullen groaned as he sank into his chair. Papers and documents littered his desk. How he could have even more correspondence than when he’d been leading the Inquisition’s forces was beyond him. But he believed in his cause and had been through the withdrawals of lyrium. So he wasn’t giving up.
It was just that he wouldn’t mind there being less paperwork involved. It seemed that everyone of any sort of importance wanted to share their opinions about his work - from the steadfast who believed that he was blaspheming the name of Andraste to those who believed all who had once been templars should die excruciating deaths.
He’d been tempted to set fire to everything more than once, but he couldn’t risk losing actually important information in amongst the swarm of unneeded opinion. Although Divine Victoria supported his efforts and the Inquisition’s remnants did as well, the support of wealthy patrons was always welcome. They could use new bedding before winter.
Mustering the courage to begin sifting through the mess of letters, Cullen pulled a random piece of parchment off his desk and was promptly interrupted by a knock on his office door.
“Ser,” the young woman who opened the door greeted him. “You’ve a visitor.”
“I’m busy,” Cullen said, gesturing at the insurmountable wall of paper between them. “Can’t somebody else tend to them?”
The young woman laughed and blushed. “Uh, no Ser.”
That was more than odd. Blushing wasn’t common among the workers. If they hadn’t seen death before coming to this clinic, they saw more than enough while at it. Which meant that he truly did need to go see to his new visitor. He just hoped that it wasn’t another Orlesian out to make advances on his ass while using the guise of making donations to his cause. Or another Ferelden out to seduce him to prove that he was somehow unfit to touch a single strand of hair on Alistair’s head.
The Fereldens annoyed him more than the Orlesians. Vapid interest in his soon to be fading looks was easier to dismiss than the active dislike of his very presence. He could see the arguments against him. His titles came from the Inquisition. There was no royal blood in his veins, and being a man meant he couldn’t bear children. But at the same time, he couldn’t give in to the pressure to break off his dalliance with Alistair. He was too precious to him.
Cullen tried not to think about what was on the other side of the door as he made his way out to the stables. Taking a fortifying breath, he summoned the insincere but politically acceptable smile that Josephine had taught him, and stepped out into the fading light of the outdoors. A few, swift steps carried him out to see a rather well put together horse being divested of its saddle. Somebody rich then. Joy of joys.
“You know, I thought you’d be happier to see me,” a familiar voice purred from the shadows. Tried to purr, anyway. Alistair’s voice wasn’t built for purring.
Cullen startled. He wasn’t able to hide the smile that came to his lips even as he rubbed at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I, uh, um. What are you doing here?”
“Surprising you,” Alistair answered as he came out of the shadows. “Although, I had hoped for a more enthusiastic welcome.”
Cullen didn’t resist as Alistair’s hand pushed his out of the way and claimed space on his neck and began to pull him in. “I’ll make it up to you,” Cullen promised.
Alistair responded by pushing a kiss onto his lips that was entirely improper. The stable hands were whooping. Alistair’s entourage was gasping. Cullen couldn’t be happier.