[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

The letter he finally sends is maybe a little more impolitic than it ought to be, but if he doesn't send something now, he'll still be writing when his Calling arrives.



Fiona,

Ivette Cousland is looking for you. The name might ring a bell. Hero of Ferelden? Slayed the Archdemon some years ago?

Anyway. She's not having any luck, so I thought I'd try my hand at getting in touch.

Cousland's been searching for a cure for the Calling these past five years or so; she even retired as Warden-Commander of Vigil's Keep so she could pursue her research better. She knows your leaving the Wardens wasn't like mine. You didn't just walk away from Weisshaupt: you managed to un-Join somehow, with no ill effects. You're our last, best lead on the matter, so you can understand why she's rather eager to speak to you. It's very likely she doesn't have much time left, what with it being almost a decade and a half since her Joining and living through a Blight.

Frankly, I don't expect I have much time left, either.

Cullen and I are in South Reach these days. I'll always know where to find Cousland, if you'd rather speak with her directly. For all our sakes, I hope you'll be in touch.

--Alistair





Two weeks later, a raven knocks its beak against their window frame.

This is a matter best discussed in person, says the note attached to its leg. I can be to South Reach by the end of the month.

It's signed only with the letter F. Alistair spends the next few hours talking up a nervous storm, hands digging in his hair, half anxious, half furious. (This is exactly what he didn't want: for her to read this as an overture. For her to think she could have any claim to Alistair's time, Alistair's space, outside of giving him and Cousland the information they needed.)

Then he writes a letter to Cousland and sends the raven on its way.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

At which point Cullen -- who has been outside all day, tinkering with a device that should pump water directly from the well into the kitchen -- appears in the door, wiping his brow with his shirtsleeve.

He doesn't enter the room yet. Just gives Alistair a questioning look.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair tries to compose himself, offering Cullen a wan, mostly humorless smile.

He holds out Fiona's note.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen takes it, reads it.

It... doesn't actually clarify anything. The hand's familiar enough; he knows who sent it.

"This is a good thing," he says cautiously. "Isn't it?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"I was hoping it'd be more like 'wonderful, I'll be sure to meet with Cousland far, far away from South Reach and she can tell you all the details later,'" says Alistair with a long sigh. "But yes. It's the start of good news, I suppose."

He scratches the back of his head. (His hair, after all that fidgeting, looks a fright.)

"I just wrote to Cousland in case Fiona didn't send her a raven as well."

[howtoactfereldan]

The evidence of fidgeting is... indeed apparent.

"Good," he says simply, and steps close enough to smooth down one side. The letter goes on the table, an afterthought. "We can house them, if they don't mind rough living. Maker knows we know how to set up a decent tent."

[bringspeopletogether]

He relaxes somewhat at the touch; his crooked smile gains slightly firmer footing. "I doubt Cousland would mind," he murmurs. "Fiona can find her own lodging if she objects."

Maybe she can find her own lodging anyway! Alistair can dream!

[howtoactfereldan]

"Yes." Cullen strokes a thumb over Alistair's cheek. It's much easier to worry about Alistair than it is to contemplate the prospect of the coming failure, and the justified despair. "And we've enough advance notice that we don't need to worry about the particular arrangements today."

As if Cullen isn't already mentally making those plans.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes," he agrees. Turning his head, he kisses Cullen's palm; sighs again, quieter. "I'll do my best not to rip all my hair out before then."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen gives him a crooked smile, and runs the pad of his thumb over Alistair's lower lip.

"Good. You'd look rather foolish."

[bringspeopletogether]

There's a lot to get through. It takes a few days.

Ivette's a methodical researcher, collecting every scrap she can that might lead to a cure: tales told first- and second-hand, passages copied from books ages old, all of it separated out into different sections of her journal. They're interspersed with copious notes of her own linking thoughts, ideas, and story together. Some of it splays out like a tree; other sections cross-reference numbered pages and a few of the unnumbered loose sheets tucked into the back of the book.

(Alistair learns to be very, very careful about those loose pages. Early on, he unfolded one, caught sight of the name Nathaniel and a few choice words not typically spoken outside the bedroom, and, his whole face aflame, scrambled to shove it far away from the rest of Ivette's notes.

After that: if it's folded, he will not touch it, thank you.)

Cullen -- when he's not too exhausted to hear it -- gets a brief recap of each day's work when he returns home. Otherwise, Alistair tries to be...present, more than anything. Quiet when Cullen needs it, aimless chatter when he doesn't; a hot meal on the table; the usual attempts to look after his husband without tipping over into fussing.

Maybe he's domesticated. Alistair doesn't care a whit.

These might be some of the last days he has with Cullen, and Alistair will do everything he can to make those days a little easier.




Just before sunset, a handful of days after Ivette's arrival, another figure walks the path to Cullen and Alistair's home. She travels on foot, with a hood drawn over her head; the staff strapped to her back gets more than one wary look from passerby, as they try to determine just how wide a berth to give her. (It could be a perfectly mundane weapon. Not a mage's staff. But -- )

Inside, beneath the kitchen table, Gru cocks an ear. He lifts his head -- then the rest of himself, padding to the front door with an inquisitive rumble in his chest.

All the same, Alistair nearly jumps out of his seat when the knock finally comes.

[highnever]

Ivette looks up from where she's poking at a pot of some leafy vegetable at the fire, and claps Alistair on the shoulder as she passes. "That's what comes of being domesticated," she says, cheerfully enough. "Awareness is the first thing to go. Shall I answer it?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair scowls, mostly good-natured; the corner of his mouth twitches up before too long. "By all means," he says, waving a hand toward the door. "I'll be over here staring obliviously at the wall should you need me."

Gru takes a seat by the door, whuffs, and waits expectantly for the person with opposable thumbs to help him out here.

[highnever]

Ivette ruffles Gru's ears briefly and reaches for the latch.

The figure on the other side is her own height, which comes as a small surprise. The hood obscures the face, but the staff poking over one shoulder is obvious enough.

Ivette does manage to resist the urge to fold her arms, but she also doesn't move out of the doorway. It's definitely to keep Gru from being overly enthusiastic at strangers. Definitely.

She does let a small smile escape, though it doesn't linger. "Grand Enchanter, I presume?"

If it's not Fiona... well. This was going to be interesting no matter what.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's back stiffens, despite himself.

"Not any longer," says the mage, wryly, as she takes down her hood, revealing pointed ears and close-cropped dark hair. "But yes. And you must be Warden Cousland."

Slowly, Alistair breathes out. Pushes himself up from the table.

"Is Alistair -- " begins Fiona, only to stop when Alistair leans into view above Ivette's shoulder. Something flickers in her eyes, too quick to catch, but she holds his gaze.

"Hello," says Alistair, with all the calm he can force into those two syllables.

[highnever]

Ivette, approximately five foot nothing, stands in the doorway like one of the very best of the Hundred Pillars.

She glances over her shoulder briefly at Alistair, and makes a decision: time to take command.

"You must have had a long journey. Can we offer you refreshment?"

Some lessons her mother was able to instill. Some. Hospitality is vital is one; when you choose a side, make it clear all the way to Tevinter is another.

[bringspeopletogether]

Even Alistair, clueless as he often is in things like diplomacy, catches the meaning of that we. Fiona -- having lived a life that necessitates the Game -- spots it a mile off: there's a subtle change to the quality of her smile as she nods acquiescence.

"That would be very welcome," she says. "Thank you."

As Gru does his level best to squeeze past everyone to get a better whiff of this stranger, Alistair shoots Ivette a brief, grateful look. (If a little embarrassed as well. It's his home, he should be able to hold it together enough to be a good host, and yet --

Well. He's still grateful.)

[highnever]

"Water? Wine? Tea would take a moment, but we can certainly manage. -- Gru, my darling, let her come inside before you sniff her to death. -- and might I ask what title you'd prefer us to use?"

Because they'll be keeping things on a formal level, if Ivette has anything to say about it. Formality is a shield; it's one Alistair can use as well, with -- just a little guidance, maybe. She gently nudges Alistair's shoulder as she leans down to restrain Gru, and then shuffles them out of the doorway. Out of Fiona's way.

(Of course she thinks of her parents. Of course she does. But when one's been in the west, living rough for a long time, the life of a teyrn's daughter, or sister, seems like a tale someone else made up.

And yet she can't help but feel the specter of her mother settling on her shoulders like a cloak. A welcome one.)

[bringspeopletogether]

It's still dark when Alistair wakes. He tosses and turns a moment before resigning himself: he's up for good. Extra tea will have to be the order of the morning -- once it's actually morning, and not just the silvery, barely-light darkness that means sunrise is still at least an hour away.

He forces himself to settle. One arm around Cullen, he tries to match his breath to his husband's. It's a better way to occupy his mind than literally every other available option.

Once enough of the stars have faded that he won't feel too ridiculous getting out of bed, he brushes a kiss over Cullen's temple, mumbles something about making breakfast, and disentangles himself.

[howtoactfereldan]

Remarkably enough, Cullen doesn't stir. There's something to be said for hard physical labor for a few weeks without pause.

[bringspeopletogether]

Good. At least one of them will get some rest. Still, Alistair finds himself hesitating a moment, taking in the sight of Cullen fast asleep, resisting the impulse to draw him close again.

He exhales, almost silently. Right. Four people and a dog will need to eat soon. There's eggs, and bread from the baker's that hasn't gone stale yet, and -- other things. Yes.

He leaves the bedroom door open a crack when he leaves, the better for Cullen to hear Alistair moving around whenever he wakes up. Soon, the quiet noise of things sizzling and bubbling picks up.

[howtoactfereldan]

And the smell. Don't forget the smell.

Cullen drags himself into the kitchen, having forgotten to put on a shirt. He's moving stiffly; everything hurts. Sleep-graveled: "Tea?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair pauses mid-chop of a potato, directing a small smile Cullen's way. "Kettle's on the fire," he says, and abandons his task in favor of curling an arm around Cullen's waist. "Ought to be ready soon."

And once it's empty, Alistair plans to refill it at least twice more.

[howtoactfereldan]

He sinks against Alistair without thinking about it, rubbing his eyes. "Thank you," he mumbles. "C'n I help?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair hms, considering. (And suppressing the urge to say stand there and look handsome. That can wait until Cullen has some tea in him.)

"Tend to the bacon?" he asks. "We'll probably have to make a second pan when Ivette and Fiona are up."

Nobody deserves cold bacon for breakfast. (Well, maybe Fiona, but he's trying, damn it.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen nods, shifting with visible effort, and shuffles over to the pan.

"Need to see Bran." Still mumbled. "Won't take long. It's raining, isn't it."