[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

No Orlesian nobles pounded down their door to demand their hound back, so when Alistair and Cullen left Halamshiral, the newly-dubbed Gruyere happily trotted alongside their horses.

A few weeks after -- which included some quiet conversation, a few orders placed with a few merchants, and almost an entire extra pack of gifts slung over one of their mounts -- Gru just as happily trotted along as they turned for South Reach.

Years of correspondence led Alistair to build an elaborate image of Cullen's family in his mind; Mia, perhaps, more fully realized than the others, but everyone with a name and a voice to match their letters. They're...not wholly inaccurate? But Mia's definitely shorter than he expected, and one or two of the children a little louder.

(Mia's voice, however, adopts exactly the pitch he imagined it would when Alistair brings up the whole I'm-your-brother-in-law-now thing.)

It's a nice place. Just the right kind of rambunctious, with all the kids running around; just the right kind of homey.

If only Cullen weren't -- well, reacting more or less precisely how Alistair worried he'd react to the reunion.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen is pretty sure he's going to suffocate. That's what the seemingly permanent constriction in his chest indicates, at least.

Mia is tired, and looks entirely too much like their mother. Branson isn't the scrawny brat Cullen remembers; he's taller and broader-shouldered than Cullen, he fills every room he's in and then some, and his sense of humor might actually be worse than Alistair's. Rosalie spends most of her time bent over sewing and patchwork, being as she (along with Bran's wife) prefers tailoring to farming, and every time she rubs her eyes Cullen is consumed with a wave of fury that they didn't get a decent pair of magnifying spectacles in Halamshiral. Even if he couldn't have known -- he should have known.

Cullen is -- scarred. Literally. Figuratively. And he feels as though he's drowning in all the noise, in his own fears of what can't be said to any of them.

It's easier to just -- not say much at all. It doesn't make any sense that not saying much should feel as though the words are locked in his throat.


I -- nightmares, he said to Mia, after the fuss and fury of their arrival had faded into getting ready to wind down for the night. We don't want to disturb --

He can't miss the shadow that crosses her face, but she nods, and points them to a spare bedroom they'd put on the big house two years ago: it's small, but nearly its own private quarters, seeing as it only shares one wall with the rest of the house.


The children make it easier. The only thing they demand of him is his undivided attention while they attempt cartwheels and the like after a late supper. He demonstrates that he can make clumsy daisy chains; that results in wildflower jewelry for all of the children, and (as they insisted) a crown for himself. Cullen isn't aware of the rakish tilt to it as -- the children having scattered for the evening -- he retreats to their room, and shuts the door.

There are days he misses wearing the armor. (It reminded him of who he was. What he was supposed to be, and to do.) This is one of them.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair sits at the desk, chin pillowed in one hand as he taps his quill against the paper. (There isn't much on the paper beyond a few sentences and a couple blotches.) Gru, napping at Alistair's feet, pricks his ears and raises his head as the door opens.

Alistair looks over, too -- and his whole face lights up at the sight of the flower crown.

"Your Majesty," he intones, sketching a bow.

[howtoactfereldan]

"What? -- oh." Cullen raises a hand, aiming to touch the back of his neck, and brushes against one of the flowers. "Yes. That."

He hooks it with a finger and transfers it to Alistair's head with a tired smile. "Looks better on you."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair wrinkles his nose, amused, and tilts the crown to a similarly jaunty angle. "I've been threatend with worse crowns, I suppose."

He tugs Cullen down for a brief kiss.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen keeps going, falling into Alistair's lap. He's not wearing his armor; he won't feel guilty about it. Instead he winds his arms around Alistair.

[bringspeopletogether]

From Alistair: a small yelp of shock, quickly dissolving into laughter.

From Gru: a sneeze, as he heaves himself clear just in time.

Alistair returns the embrace with interest, drawing Cullen closer. Murmured in his ear: "Should I ask?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen leans his head against Alistair's. He shrugs one shoulder.

"Tired," he says softly.

He'd like to add something to that, something to clarify, to soften -- the children ran him ragged, he's feeling fine (more like blank) but exhausted -- but nothing coalesces into words.

[bringspeopletogether]

Which may as well be a no.

Alistair nods. Gently, he works his fingers into Cullen's hair. "Seems you had some fun with the children at least," he offers, not much louder.

[howtoactfereldan]

A bare sigh, as he tilts his head toward Alistair's hand. "They put me to work," he murmurs. "Apparently no one else is capable of braiding things. Or watching their attempts at acrobatics."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Taxing, indeed." An audible smile lights his voice. "I'm sure Gru could be an assistant observer should you ever need one."

The mabari rumbles his assent, hooking his chin over one arm of the chair.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen detaches a hand long enough to scritch Gru behind the ears.

"We'll put you to work tomorrow," he murmurs. "They can practice making chains of flowers for you."

[bringspeopletogether]

Gru squinches his eyes shut, pleased, as his tongue lolls in a canine smile.

Alistair laughs softly. "A collar and a crown," he says. "Or maybe he'll come back in a full set of flower mail."

[howtoactfereldan]

"...will that make you jealous?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Not at all." Comfortably. "He's earned that crown."

(Gru looks downright smug by now.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen laughs, the sound rusty, and touches one of the flowers on Alistair's. "And you've already got one."

[bringspeopletogether]

Cullen's laugh may be creaky, but it lightens Alistair's heart as if it were a full-throated guffaw. He grins, warm, and brushes his thumb over Cullen's cheek.

"Exactly," he says. "It'd be cruel of me to hoard all the crowns. Especially since I don't have much place to put them -- soon the whole room would be stuffed with flowers."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen turns his head enough to kiss Alistair's palm. "Would that be such a bad thing?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Not unless you're the sort to sneeze around too many flowers, I suppose."

He sneaks another small kiss.

"And you don't seem to be."

[howtoactfereldan]

"True." Softly. Then: "Am I too heavy?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Never," murmurs Alistair. He draws his fingers through Cullen's hair again. "I trust you'll tell me if you want a more comfortable pillow at some point, though."

Gru flops down at their feet with a huff. Apparently the humans are going to withhold more scritches until they're done canoodling. Gross.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Maybe. -- I interrupted something," he mumbles into Alistair's hair. "I can be somewhere else if you'd like to finish."

It's only fair. Considering.

[bringspeopletogether]

"It's nothing pressing."

His fingers keep moving in slow, gentle strokes.

"Just another draft destined for the fire. I could use the break."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen nods a little, and stills. He could press. He could ask about it.

But words aren't quite connecting. A complete thought hovers just out of reach. It's far easier just to sit here, feeling his own pulse slow down to something less frenetic.

[bringspeopletogether]

"I have some tragic news."

He whispers it with the outsize affected sorrow that warns of an incoming joke.

"Gru got to taste a bit of his namesake today, and he hated it."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Another argument in favor of him being my dog, and not yours." Amused.