[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

[bringspeopletogether]

"You know it does to me."

He squeezes Cullen's hand, gently.

"You don't have to talk about it, love. But you can if you need to. Any time."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's face crumples a little. He nods. Steps in. Slips his arms around Alistair, clinging.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair wraps his arms around him in kind. No less gentle, he runs a hand up and down Cullen's back.

"I love you," he whispers. "I'm here. It's all right."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen buries his face in Alistair's shoulder, and makes himself breathe.

"I know." Muffled. "I know."

[bringspeopletogether]

He keeps rubbing Cullen's back, slow, and touches his lips to the top of his head.

"Can I do anything for you?" Soft.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen shakes his head.

"Just... don't want to talk about it."

[bringspeopletogether]

"All right," he murmurs. "I'll prattle enough for both of us." A slight smile. "It's what you keep me around for."

A beat.

"Until it gives you a headache, anyway."

[howtoactfereldan]

"It is not," he mumbles, tangling one hand in Alistair's shirt.

[bringspeopletogether]

Were Cullen in a less fragile state, Alistair would offer a teasing rejoinder: ah, so it's only for my arse, then, I knew it. It's not the time.

Instead, he hugs Cullen a little closer.

"Well, whatever the reason," he murmurs, "I'm yours for good."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's breath catches.

He shakes his head in flat denial.

Don't lie to me. Don't.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair closes his eyes. Cradles the back of Cullen's head.

For as long as I'm alive.

It's the best he can offer; it's not something he can say right now, either.

[howtoactfereldan]

Alistair is happy here. Cullen can't ask that they leave.

Even if they did -- there's nowhere to go.









"I'm tired," he manages finally.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods, a little unhappily.

None of that unhappiness makes it to his voice, though, when he says, "Then let's go to bed." He smooths his palm over Cullen's hair. "Come on, love."

[howtoactfereldan]

Slowly Cullen pulls away. He doesn't look at Alistair as he drifts toward the bed, undoing the closures of his jacket.

(Hunched into himself again.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair watches him go. With a silent sigh, he runs his fingers through his own hair and follows.

He doesn't need much prep for bed: he's alread in his linen trousers, since it seemed unlikely he'd venture out again after he settled down to write those letters. (Or try to write them.) He strips off his shirt -- maybe Cullen's favorite view will cheer him up a little as well? -- and yanks off his socks before settling onto the mattress, turning toward Cullen without hesitation.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen isn't paying much mind to the view, which is a pity. He's changing in silence, movements spare and sparse. He doesn't stop to fold his clothes; his boots are knocked over on the floor.

Gingerly he sets himself down on the bed, his back to Alistair, and takes a moment to let out a breath before stretching out on his back to stare at the ceiling.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair scoots closer, but doesn't say anything for a moment.







"So," he whispers at last, "what sort of trebuchet things should we look for tomorrow?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen shakes his head, closing his eyes.

It sounds like altogether too much work. Deeply impractical. Wasteful.

[bringspeopletogether]

Well.

Alistair breathes out. Tentatively, he reaches for Cullen, settling a light hand on his chest.

[howtoactfereldan]

At Alistair's touch, he flinches -- but only because he wasn't expecting it. He then covers Alistair's hand with his. (His fingers are cold.)

[bringspeopletogether]

The spark of worry when Cullen flinched quickly extinguishes itself. Alistair quirks a tiny smile -- a little rueful -- and rests his head on Cullen's shoulder.

It isn't like Alistair expected everything to be sunshine and puppies as soon as Cullen returned to his family. But if he's being honest, his concern over the self-imposed estrangement has deepened considerably. Part of him did believe it would be easier than this, he realizes. Like all Cullen had to do was see, in person, that they really did love him as much as their letters proclaimed.

(And with Alistair's Calling due any year now, if that letter Alistair keeps writing and rewriting bears no fruit -- Cullen needs people who will love him. People he knows are safe.

People he can lean on when it's time to mourn Alistair's passing.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen leans his head against Alistair's He lets out a long, shaky sigh.

(There's a deep-banked anger that he has no interest in stoking: things were fine until Alistair's question made him start thinking.)

[bringspeopletogether]

Cullen doesn't want to talk -- not about heavier matters, not about lighter ones like tiny trebuchets. Quiet seems to be the order of the evening.

Alistair counts the beats of Cullen's heart beneath his palm. Lets them match up to a melody in his head -- some tavern song or another he heard in Redcliffe years ago. Absurdly, despite the Fade being long past, he finds it easier to fall asleep with Gru standing guard...or, well, probably snoring in his bedroll already, if he's being honest. Still: dogs can hear far better than a man, and their teeth are as sharp as any blade.

He doesn't do much but drowse, though. If Cullen needs him for anything -- anything -- he wants to be ready.

[howtoactfereldan]

His sleep is fitful. Cullen twitches. His fingers grasp at nothing; his breathing grows ragged in bursts.

At least it's familiar territory.

[bringspeopletogether]

Whenever the noise or movement stirs Alistair from rest, he rubs the nearest patch of Cullen's skin he can reach, murmuring sleep-blurred reassurances. S'okay; or, I'm here. Or sometimes just small, soothing, but ultimately incoherent noises.

Two things finally rouse Alistair for good: first, the rhythmic scratching of Gru pawing at the door, and second, the smell of something mouth-wateringly good drifting from the kitchen.