"Another."

Cabot glanced at the mug which had been slammed onto the counter in front of him, then back up at the man who had put it there. "Are you sure, Commander?" he asked, his normally implacable voice tinged with just a hint of doubt.

With a scowl, Cullen planted his hands on the flat plank of wood between them and leaned forward, glaring at the dwarf for good measure. "Did I stutter?" he growled. The headache was making it rather difficult to concentrate, but at least the ale made him not care - about the physical or emotional pain. "Another!"

The bartender gave a little shrug and reached for the mug. "If you insist."

Abruptly another hand reached out and snatched the mug, pulling it out of reach. "He doesn't, actually, thanks all the same," said a man in a easygoing voice.

Cullen rounded on whoever had come between him and his next drink. "I don't need your-" He stopped, eyes widening when he saw who had spoken. "You!" It was like meeting a ghost from the past - a past he really would have preferred to forget.

"In the flesh. Bruised and battered as it may be," Alistair answered with a grin. He did appear to be a bit worse for wear - the hems of his clothes still bore the mix of snow and mud common to those recently arrived at Skyhold, and a healing bruise was evident on his cheek. A griffon was emblazoned across his chest on blue and silver armor, a detail which Cullen blinked at as Alistair leaned on the counter and remarked, "I heard tell that you're Commander of the Inquisition Forces now. I take it you got well away from Kirkwall after that whole business with Meredith?"

"Yes… Yes, Seeker Cassandra asked me to join the Inquisition," Cullen answered almost automatically. His gaze dropped to the griffon, then moved back up to Alistair's face. "So they took you back, then."

Alistair glanced down, his hand rising for a moment to splay across the griffon. "Yes, they did. Anora insisted I not return to Denerim, or 'consort' with the Bannorn. As if I'd want to," he muttered under his breath. Then he shook his head. "Never mind that. It took me a while to track you down once I got here. I certainly never expected to find you trying to get falling down drunk. Especially not after all those lectures you gave me back in the Hanged Man." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Have a place we can talk in private?"

Cullen scowled fiercely at Alistair, but when he found himself catching the edge of the counter to save himself from swaying too much, his cheeks darkened in embarrassment. "My office," he said shortly.

It wasn't the easiest walk back to his office, knowing that Alistair was likely watching him exactly as he'd watched Alistair back in Kirkwall. He could imagine the pity in the Warden's gaze, remembering how he'd felt to see the companion of the Hero of Ferelden, one of the Wardens who had saved Thedas from the Fifth Blight, reduced to a joke of a drunkard in a lowly Kirkwall tavern.

What am I, then? A failed Templar, a man who had helped the Viscount of Kirkwall to end Meredith's reign, perhaps, but then deserted the city. Commander of the Inquisition Forces, but with no Inquisitor to lead them. Oh, yes, a great improvement, he thought bitterly. I just waited longer to make a fool of myself.

"Careful," Alistair said in a singsong voice as he reached out to prevent Cullen from falling as he stumbled at the bottom of the stairs leading to the ramparts. "Wouldn't want to make that nose of yours any more red than it is."

Fighting the urge to rub his nose, Cullen paused a moment to get his bearings, turning to Alistair to cover his momentary unsteadiness under the guise of attempting conversation. Before a word came from his mouth, however, his attention was drawn to the conversation of two men standing nearby.

"He helped turn it around?" The man's voice was incredulous. "He never did."

"That's what Detton is saying. Helped, and then ordered the guards to make sure he got any blame for it."

"Could be a trick. He's a Tevinter." The first man didn't sound so certain, though.

"Detton doesn't think so, and he's telling people the same. Don't know what's going on, but... Shit. Maybe he's not so bad?" He grabbed the first man's arm and tugged him down to the courtyard. "Talk to him yourself, you'll see."

Cullen frowned as he considered the exchange. If one of those men isn't Leliana's agent, I'll eat my cloak.

"Everything all right, Rutherford?" Alistair asked, glancing after the two men.

"Hmm?" Cullen blinked, then nodded. "Yes. It's fine. We're almost there."

Almost there took them up the stairs and into Cullen's office, where he went straight to his recently-installed sideboard and uncovered the brandy. "Drink?"

Again a hand reached past him and took the top of the decanter from his hand and replaced it, then tugged Cullen away from the drinks with an inexorable pull towards the ladder. "No, and neither will you. Come on, let's get you in bed."

"'s too early- Ah, it is too early," Cullen said, hastily correcting himself.

"To drink? I agree, but here you are anyway." Alistair was clearly brooking no arguments as he dragged Cullen to the ladder. "Now climb, or I'll throw you over my shoulder and heave you up like a Honnleath bride."

Cullen's cheeks darkened, and he hastily began to climb the ladder. "I should never have told you about that," he said darkly.

"Well, you did, and now I get to tease you about it endlessly," Alistair called up as Cullen climbed over the edge of the platform. A pile of papers caught his attention on his bed, and he picked them up to see if it was anything which required his immediate attention. The sound of the ladder creaking didn't really register until he heard Alistair clear his throat.

Cullen, guilt plain on his face, looked up at Alistair, standing with arms crossed and eyes narrowed. "I was just-"

"That doesn't look like you're going to bed," Alistair pointed out sternly. "That looks like you're trying to sneak in some paperwork when you're not in the mental state to do it justice."

Cullen glared at him, partially for invading his privacy, and partially because Alistair was absolutely right and he knew it. Still, when the man leaned over and took the papers from his hands, he didn't object. "Since when are you my keeper?" he groused instead.

"Since the moment when you pulled me out of the gutter in Kirkwall and at least got me into the Hanged Man," Alistair told him, pulling Cullen's fur mantle from around his shoulders. "Even if you didn't recognize me at the time."

"You're never going to let me forget that, are you?" Cullen said with a sigh. Still, getting the fur off felt… good. Like something had been lifted from his shoulders. "You hardly looked like the Warden I'd seen in Kinloch Hold." Nor was I in the state of mind to really think beyond the demons, then, anyway, he thought with a shudder.

"No, but I can hardly blame you," Alistair mused as he began to work at Cullen's breastplate next. "I didn't look like that Warden, or the Templar recruit you also might have recognized. 'Drunk bum stuck on his ass' is a far cry from either of those." Hefting the breastplate up, he looked around for a place to put it. "Andraste's flaming knickers, the stand is below, isn't it?"

Cullen finally smiled, the first genuine one since Alistair had started taking his drinks away. "'Fraid so."

"Maker, you don't have to be so smug about it," Alistair complained as he set it down next to the bed, then patted the mattress. "Sit. I'll get those boots off."

"I am prefe-perfectly capable of doing that myself," he protested, then yelped as Alistair poked a finger in the middle of his chest and forced him down onto the mattress.

"I thought so too, back in Kirkwall," Alistair told him, then crouched to wrestle the heavy boots off. "And I was as wrong as you are."

"You're not playing fair." Cullen would have added more, but a wave of dizziness washed over him and he quickly put his hands on the mattress behind him to compensate.

"I'm not going to ask how many drinks you had," Alistair said quietly as he tugged the second boot off, "or when you started drinking today. I'm not going to ask how long it's been since you've had a proper rest, or looked at yourself in the mirror. I don't need to." Setting the boot next to the other one, he settled back to sit on his heels and met Cullen's gaze. "I heard what happened, and I heard the other rumors." Reaching out, he squeezed Cullen's knee with a sympathetic look on his face. "I'm sorry."

Cullen's eyes squeezed shut, and he took a deep breath. "So am I," he said softly.

Rising to his feet, Alistair settled himself onto the bed next to Cullen. "Do you have anyone to talk about her with? Anyone at all?"

After a moment of forcing himself to consider the question, Cullen finally said, "I do, I just…" His voice trailed off.

"-haven't actually talked to anyone. No, no, I get it," Alistair said with a sigh. "After I left the Wardens and Ferelden, it took me a long time to find anyone to talk to. Well… to listen. All the way to Kirkwall, in fact." He glanced at Cullen. "Some fool of a Knight-Captain, actually."

Cullen shook his head. "Truer words were never spoken." Blinking slowly, he pushed himself forward so that his forearms rested on his knees. "I remember how I pitied you," he admitted. "I mean, you weren't the best Templar recruit, but you were a solid one. But then you became a Warden and had the bad luck to be with Amell." Cullen shuddered slightly. "That man..."

"The less said of the Hero, the better," Alistair said in a neutral tone, then frowned. "Though… that reminds me. Leliana, is she… well?"

Pressing a hand to his forehead and trying to will the growing throbbing away, Cullen asked, "How do you mean? She serves the Inquisition with dedication, as we all do."

"It's just that the last time I saw her, she was-" Alistair paused, then shook his head. "Maybe I'll just talk to her myself. We did travel together for quite a long time, after all. And besides, that's not the point, is it? The point is that… Well, you listened to me when no one else would. If you need someone to talk to…"

Craning his neck to look at Alistair, Cullen asked, "Why are you here anyway?"

"I'm the Warden who's been working with Viscount Hawke, remember?" Alistair asked. "Fine fellow. Knows all the jokes about drunks, you should hear him when he's on a roll." The sarcasm in Alistair's voice was palpable, enough to make Cullen chuckle. "But, as I learned during the Blight, you learn to work with the people who want what you want no matter how much - or little - you like them personally. So… that's why I'm here. Because the one thing I do have left in the world, the Grey Wardens, are… well… getting into more trouble than they really are prepared to handle, and the trouble leads back to Corypheus." He sighed and stood, beginning to pace along the bottom of the bed. "I'm not sure what the leadership of the Inquisition is like right now, but Hawke and I decided you need to know what's happening."

"Where's the Viscount now?" Cullen asked, tensing up. True, he'd fought alongside the man, but that hadn't made their relationship an easy one.

"With that mage from the Imperium. The one with that green thingie in his hand now." Alistair paused his pacing. "Dairren?"

"Dorian," Cullen said, then started to stand. "Dorian of House Pavus. And please tell me you didn't leave the two of them alone together."

When he swayed and started to tip over, Alistair quickly stepped to his side and grabbed Cullen's arms. "This is really one of the worst places you could fall from," he said with a deep chuckle, "and I don't want to explain how I let the Commander of the Inquisition Forces accidentally fall to his death, all right?"

Cullen chuckled weakly as he leaned into Alistair for balance. "Not my intention."

"So perhaps you should go to bed?" Alistair said pointedly. At Cullen's sigh, he reached past the man and tugged down the blankets, then pushed Cullen lightly. "In you go." As Cullen grumbled and climbed onto the mattress, Alistair asked, "Why were you so panicked about Hawke and this Dorian fellow, anyway?"

Cullen collapsed onto his stomach, eyes closing as he tried to ease the growing pounding in his head. "The Viscount… hasn't had the best luck with mages," he said softly.

"Huh. I don't recall anything in particular. I mean, the man's got a sharp tongue, but-"

"It was after you left," Cullen said curtly. And something I definitely don't want to talk about. "Thanks for helping me get up here," he said in a grateful tone of voice, both for distraction and because it was the truth. "I might have done something foolish, either at the tavern or here in the office."

Alistair grunted, and Cullen rolled over to find Alistair with his hands on his hips and staring down at Cullen's armor. "You would have. Trust me, I know. The only difference would have been that people would forgive you for your behavior. You have good friends, Commander," Alistair added, giving Cullen a pointed look. "You should take advantage of the fact."

Cullen flushed at the mild reprimand, a bit of belligerence finally working its way through. "Easy enough for you to say," he snapped. "Easy enough for anyone else to say."

"If you think you're the only person in the history of Thedas to lose the one person that made life worth living," Alistair said mildly as he bent down to pick up the breastplate, "you'd better think again, Commander." Straightening, he headed to the ladder and awkwardly lowered himself over the edge, breastplate balanced on one shoulder. "We'll talk tomorrow, Commander. There's a lot you need to know, when you're capable."

The last stinging comment found no target, as Cullen was still dwelling on Alistair's first sentence. You'd better think again. For some reason, those words stuck in his mind, and all he could think of was Mailani smiling up at Dorian on the battlements in that odd dream he'd had the night before, and the depth of sadness in Dorian's voice just before Cullen had awoken. The one person that made life worth living. Did Dorian have any friends? Suddenly the question seemed important to ask, even if he had no answer.

The question followed him into his dreams, making them even more restless than usual.