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.

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He drifts closer. There's not far to go.

Once Cullen is close enough, Alistair touches Cullen's elbow, lightly.

"I didn't want you to do all the work yourself," he murmurs. "But if you need to keep busy, I won't interrupt next time. I'm sorry."

Cullen freezes.

Nods.

And sits next to Alistair, leaning his forehead against Alistair's shoulder, and nods again.

Alistair wraps an arm around Cullen's shoulders, leaning his cheek atop his husband's hair.

His free hand seeks out one of Cullen's and twines their fingers together.

Alistair isn't angry with him. That -- that's what matters. Alistair is his purpose. That should be all the purpose Cullen needs, until -- well.

Until it isn't an option any more.

(He could go to Cassandra, then. They don't need him here. They welcome him, but they don't need him.)

His shoulders hitch once -- but only once.

"I love you," Alistair whispers. He rubs Cullen's shoulder, as if to quiet the hitching. "I love you so much."

We're going to get through this, he wants to say. It's all right.

But when the way through ends in Alistair's likely death -- well. It's not all right.

He tightens his grip on Alistair's fingers in reply.

Then, hoarsely:

"We need a real place to settle."

Alistair nods.

"Close to here?" Not much louder. "Or somewhere else?"

"Here's fine." He shifts a little in Alistair's arms. "I -- I need something constant. Quiet. Either -- work all the time, and don't think, or make a place it's -- safe. To think."

A soft mm of understanding. He keeps pressing slow, gentle strokes into Cullen's shoulder.

"And we'd both prefer you not work yourself to exhaustion every day, I expect," he murmurs. "We can use the time we've rented this place to look for a more permanent one. Does that sound all right?"

Cullen nods.

Mumbled:

"Too old to haul all that water. Something modern."

A quiet laugh rumbles his chest. "Yes," he agrees. "And until then, I'm sure Gru would be happy to fetch a few buckets from the well."

Alistair rumbles; at the sound, Cullen relaxes, just a little.

"Were you planning to rig the winch for him?"

"Of course. Maybe set it up like a spinning wheel -- you know, a little pedal he can trod on to turn the crank. I'm sure the neighbors wouldn't mind."

Cullen blinks.

"All right." Softly.

"You can tell I've no idea what I'm talking about, can't you." Gently amused. "Ah well. Point is: yes, there will be no more need to haul water, whether that's because we live somewhere modern or because of our helpful dog-in-waiting."

"You could do it." Mumbling. "I think. It's possible."

He snuggles closer. Just a little.

Alistair wraps his arm around him more snugly to compensate.

"You think so?" Chuckling softly again. "Could be something to work on when I'm bored, I suppose. All the little devices Gru can deploy to earn his keep around here."

"I could help." Still quiet. "Could try, anyhow."

"I'd like that."

He murmurs it into Cullen's hair.

"Very much."

Cullen lets out a boneless sigh. "At your order."

Alistair's smile warms. He tightens his embrace a little.

"When you're up to it," he says, still soft, "I think we ought to venture out for dinner. What do you say?"

Food probably won't fix Cullen's mood, but it certainly won't hurt.

"All right." It's tentative. "Can you -- do all the talking?"

"Of course," he says. "As much chatting and rambling as you'd like. No need for you to talk at all."

Cullen starts to shift upright. "Let's go, then."

The sooner it's done, the sooner he can be in a place where no one looks at him but Alistair.

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