[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

[bringspeopletogether]

"True," says Alistair, thoughtful. He rubs Ivette's arm, briefly, before loosening the embrace. "If you did, you might have to endure him making a terribly sad face at you for the rest of your stay. Breaks your heart, it truly does."

Gru woofs agreement.

Before anything more can be said vis-a-vis the state of Gru's bad side, however, the door creaks open, admitting a slightly sleep-touseled Fiona into the house. Immediately, Alistair tenses.

[highnever]

And immediately, Ivette is on again, like the last five minutes never happened. "Enchanter! Good morning. We were just discussing the proper allotment of bacon among us. How many pieces would you like?"

A quick squeeze of Alistair's waist, and she slips away, turning all her attention to Fiona.

[bringspeopletogether]

Guilt twinges under Alistair's ribs again, but briefer this time. He bends his head to finish fussing over the potatoes.

"Oh -- " Fiona, it seems, did not expect to the full force of Ivette's hospitality so soon upon waking, but in half an instant, she's drawn herself a little straighter and put on a smile as well. "Good morning. Just -- two, I suppose?"

She makes an effort to smooth her hair.

"Is there anything I can help with?"

[highnever]

"I think we've just about got it handled -- though I hope it won't be too much of an imposition to ask you to get your own tea?"

She glances at the door to the bedroom.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Enchanter." Because Cullen's just come out of it, freshly shaved and impeccably put together. "Good day. Ivette. I'm just off to speak with my brother."

He quickly takes in Alistair's posture, Ivette's breeziness, Fiona's ruffled demeanor. Cullen is possessed of an experienced tactical eye.

Which is why he goes to Alistair and murmurs, "Don't wait on me. I'll be back soon. If I can't scavenge something from Mia, I'll make my own when I'm back." And kisses Alistair's cheek. "Soon," he repeats.

[bringspeopletogether]

It's remarkable how Alistair's demeanor shifts with Cullen nearby; how quickly the set of his shoulders relaxes, the tight blankness of his expression smoothing away into a faint smile.

...It also doesn't hurt that Cullen, as usual, cleans up very nicely.

He nods. Catches one of Cullen's hands long enough to give it a squeeze. "All right," he says, no louder. "I love you."

(Fiona, rather than watch this display, has moved on to the kettle to fix herself a cup of tea.)

[howtoactfereldan]

Then she'll miss Cullen quickly lifting Alistair's hand to his lips, in lieu of words.

The sky is leaden, and there's a distant rumble of thunder as Cullen slips out the door.

[highnever]

"Now, where's those plates," Ivette says, a little more loudly than she needs to. Smooth, Ivette.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair, who'd been watching Cullen go, breaks out of his spell; he huffs a small laugh and says, "Here, they're -- "

Soon, three plates have been loaded down with the morning's spoils: bacon, potatoes, eggs, bread for sopping up the yolks if folks are of that mind. (Alistair always is.) He pours a cup of tea for himself and Ivette as they all cluster around the kitchen table.

He wants to wolf down every bite his food in a fit of nerves, but forces himself to pick at it slowly. Perhaps by the time he's done, Cullen will be back. A man can dream!

[howtoactfereldan]

It might take a little longer. Cullen makes it into Mia's kitchen just as the first fat drops begin to fall.

Enchanter's here, he says to Bran, low. Alistair wants me there. I'd hoped -- the weather means --

Bran waves him off with his fork. Can't set posts in this, nor mortar. We'll have a few days, I should think.

Cullen's shoulders slump in relief; Bran eyes him a little warily. You didn't think I'd be cross, did you?

I made a commitment, Cullen says. Stubbornly.

Go soak your head, Bran says, cheerful, and slugs him in the shoulder.

Cullen says something in response that isn't quiet enough, resulting in Bran rapping his knuckles with the fork, delighted nieces and nephews, and Cullen dropping an entire sovereign in a newly established swear jar.

He treks back to Alistair in the pouring rain, but seeing as he's got a carefully wrapped parcel of currant scones with him, he can't bring himself to mind too much. Even if he's going to have to pull out an old quilted gambeson from the bottom of his trunk to be decent among company.

[bringspeopletogether]

Fiona, murmuring a wry excuse about needing tea before she's fit to converse, doesn't say much as they eat their breakfasts. Alistair has a feeling it's a white lie; he doesn't remember seeing Fiona among the more haggard-looking Skyhold residents who'd cluster around the tea carafes every morning as soon as it made its way to the great hall. Much like Ivette taking the lead on hospitality, however, he can't bring himself to be anything but grateful.

At some point, they'll have to stop walking on eggshells around each other. It can wait until Alistair knows whether or not he'll die in the near future, though.

One thing at a time.

When everyone's done, he gathers their plates with a mumbled excuse of his own: he'll do the washing up.

[howtoactfereldan]

So when Cullen comes in, soaked to the skin, it's to a quiet domestic scene. Not a very homey one, though.

"Right," he says to Alistair, a little awkward. "Let me dry off, and I can see to those?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair looks up, his expression shifting to mild alarm at Cullen's dripping-wet state.

(Too wound up to even properly appreciate a soaked Cullen. What is the world coming to?)

"If you'd like," he says. "Can I -- no, you've got a handle on it, I'm sure, it's just a towel and...yes. Right. There's bacon for you when you're back. Cold, but it's there. And more tea -- ?"

Apparently, a meal with little to no speaking means it all comes tumbling out later.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen laughs quietly. "Yes." And aims a crooked, warm grin at Alistair. "Proceed with your work, Theirin." It slips out without thinking; it doesn't even occur to him that Fiona's there. "I'll stop dripping and take care of everything."

[bringspeopletogether]

(Fiona's grip tenses on her teacup at the unexpected nickname; she forcibly relaxes half a beat later.)

That smile chases off another handful of Alistair's nerves. He finds himself mirroring it -- and wishing, for a fierce but fleeting moment, that he could wrap his arms around Cullen and just stay there, ignoring their guests for the entire rest of the day. Or just a couple hours, maybe. Enough for him to regain his footing as they face whatever Fiona will say.

"All right," he says. "Thank you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen squeezes Alistair's hand and heads back toward the bedroom.

[highnever]

"Well!" Ivette says brightly. "Shall we begin?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Fiona exhales. Sets down her tea with a single perfect clink.

"I believe so," she says, and Alistair -- all his excuses extinguished -- sets down the dishtowel he'd been using to dry off the plates. Silently, he takes a seat next to Ivette, leaving a chair empty on his other side for whenever Cullen returns.

The silence stretches an extra few beats as Fiona gathers her thoughts.

"You must understand," she says at last. "When I tell this -- I am still not entirely certain, to this day, what particular confluence of magic and chance and -- " A swift glance to Alistair. "Even you, perhaps. How that all came together to stop my Calling. I have my suspicions, but even Weisshaupt couldn't pinpoint the exact cause." A dry smile. "I suspect there would be far more of us who avoided our Calling if they did."

She folds her hands behind her mug.

"So I'll tell it as completely as I can, and I hope you'll forgive me for what seems like meandering."

[highnever]

Ivette reaches down to a small bag she brought inside, picks up her research journal -- with a few of the loose pages positioned awry -- and drops it on the table. A pen set follows next.

"At your leisure, Enchanter."

(She thought better of saying we're all ears.)

[bringspeopletogether]

She nods.




"One of our own had been taken by the darkspawn." Calm. Measured. "The brother of my Warden-Commander. We had some idea of where he was, but no knowledge of what we might find in that particular section of the Deep Roads." She holds Alistair's gaze a moment until, visibly uncomfortable, he pretends to be fascinated by Ivette's notebook. "King Maric did. So Warden-Commander Genevieve asked if he would be willing to serve as our guide -- and he agreed.

"Before we set off we were gifted brooches by the First Enchanter of Kinloch that would supposedly hide us from the darkspawn." The corner of her mouth twists. "In reality they served to accelerate the taint in all of us. Within several days all of us could hear the beginnings of the Calling, except for -- "

She stops. Presses her lips together, briefly, before continuing on.

"Except for Duncan."

Alistair's head shoots up. "Duncan?" he repeats, not quite comprehending. "Duncan was with you?"

Fiona nods. "Yes. He was."

[highnever]

Ivette looks up from the notes she's taking. Looks at Alistair.

"Thirty-odd years ago," she says, softly. "Yes? He'd have been... not a Warden for very long, then."

She glances down at her notes again. "Why would Maric risk himself and the throne in that way? Was there really no one else who could go?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Fiona sighs, softly.

"A question we asked as well," she murmurs. "Bregan -- Genevieve's brother -- had information that could begin a Blight if it fell into darkspawn hands. Swiftness was paramount, and Maric saw it as part of his duty to protect Ferelden. Beyond that, only he and one other -- Loghain, I believe? -- knew where to go. So..."

She spreads her hands.

"Maric went."

[highnever]

Ivette looks sidelong at Alistair, doing some quick arithmetic in her head.

Casually: "That would have been... let's see. Queen Rowan died in 9:8, yes? And Maric permitted us to return to Ferelden in 9:10."

So no doubt he believed Loghain would make a good regent for a young Cailan, who would barely be out of short pants. Explains why Maric wanted a suicide mission, she thinks.

"So... after Rowan's death, then."

[bringspeopletogether]

Absent, and slow for now, Alistair's begun to tap his thumb against the table. He's gone back to watching Ivette's journal.

"Rather soon after, yes," says Fiona. "And...I'm certain that was part of it as well. He was not a happy man when I met him, much as he tried to pretend otherwise."

It isn't a pointed remark, not like that, but Alistair stops tapping his thumb all the same.

[highnever]

"My father -- " Her voice is steady. "From everything he said about the days of the rebellion... it's not clear if Maric was ever a happy man."

She's not looking at Alistair.

"They weren't close, not like Loghain and Maric were, but... close enough."




(Cullen, she's sure, has heard all of this. He comes out of the bedroom with a fixedly calm expression she ruefully recognizes, and goes to attend to the dishes.)