Alistair (
bringspeopletogether) wrote2018-03-16 10:35 pm
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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.
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.
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A few moments of contented silence pass.
"...Could maybe do with dinner eventually, though. Just to keep our strength up."
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Cullen, however, is not stirring.
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"Agreed," he says, and smooths down Cullen's hair. "Go back to sleep, love. I'lll wake you when my stomach starts growling."
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A beat.
"If I think of a good joke, however, all waking-you-up bets are off."
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"Don't leave?" It's a little hesitant.
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Soft: "I won't leave. I promise."
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"What is it?" Even softer.
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"Anything this good won't last."
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"Perhaps not," he whispers. "But we can try to enjoy it while it does, can't we?"
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"As long as you don't leave me for cards." He's trying.
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He runs his hand up and down Cullen's spine, slow, meditative.
"Cards don't appreciate my jokes as much as you do."
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(Trying takes a little less effort, apparently.)
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All's quiet, for a few moments.
"I'm working on a letter to Fiona." No louder. "To -- see if she might help. With the Calling business."
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"Do you think -- she would?"
He can't stop himself from feeling hopeful. He also can't stop himself from feeling as though this is a last-ditch effort, so it's stupid to hope.
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He tucks his chin over the top of Cullen's head.
"If I can -- I don't know. I don't want her to think I'm reaching out because I want to be her son, but I've a feeling she won't help unless it's out of some familial obligation." A crooked, humorless smile. "Half the drafts I burned had things like 'I still don't like you' and 'no I don't forgive you' in there."
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"What sort of favors?"
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