[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]

Alistair huffs a laugh -- it only wobbles a little -- and lets his hand drop.

"Please, Maker, yes," he says. "I don't care how early it is."

[howtoactfereldan]

Without another word — but a small, sideways smile — Cullen pours a modicum of brandy into a nearby mug and slides it to Alistair.

“All yours, Theirin.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Thank you, love."

He wraps both hands around the mug, as if it were a cup of tea he could draw warmth from, and leans his shoulder against Cullen's. (Sags against him, really.) He takes a sip, and another.

He...probably ought to say something. About five different options are busily churning through his mind, none of which cohere enough to -- well. Be coherent. So, we have letters to write. So it may be worth daring to hope, a little bit.

So I'm still incapable of being anything but selfish, or able to keep myself together, and I'm sorry for that. Again.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen wraps a steadying arm around Alistair’s shoulders, and kisses the top of his head.

“All done.” Quiet.

[bringspeopletogether]

"For now," he agrees with a soft sigh. He lets his eyes close. "For a little while."

[howtoactfereldan]

“Until this evening at least.” He squeezes Alistair briefly. “When we have to make dinner.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Ought to get more bread for that," he mumbles, half to himself, before taking another sip of brandy. "And...other things."

A crooked smile.

"If there's one thing I miss about Skyhold, it's being able to stick your head out the door and ask someone to fetch you dinner."

[howtoactfereldan]

A disgruntled sigh. “It did rather make remembering to eat far more simple.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Very."

A little more brandy.

"...Wonder what would happen if we asked Gru to fetch us dinner."

[howtoactfereldan]

“He’d bring us a stick and something rotting.” Cullen doesn’t bother with a mug — just the bottle. “If we stay here a while — we could consider setting something up with the tavern, where we send him down to carry something back.”

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair brightens, a little. "We'll need a basket," he declares. "Or tiny mabari-sized packs we can strap to his back."

He settles more comfortably against Cullen.

"And yes, I'd hope we'd be here a while." A beat; then, more tentative -- and more hopeful, "Longer than we may have thought, when we first moved here?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen lets out a breath.

“Perhaps.” Quiet. “If we’re planning on making this permanent... this house isn’t ideal. But it will serve, for a little while.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes."

Still tentative; still hopeful. Listening to Cullen breathe in, and out, as the brandy starts to warm him.

"Somewhere a little bigger, perhaps. More room for Gru to run."

It's -- been a while since Alistair has spun out any stories of what life might be like after. A long while. With the Inquisition gone, the only after was doomed to end with Alistair gone as well, and the larger his Calling has loomed, the quieter he's fallen.

But he's still carried the hope, unvoiced. And it feels...different now. It has the weight of true possibility, not just fervent desire.

[howtoactfereldan]

“Actual room for guests,” he murmurs. “Not only stables. A practice yard.”

A small chapel, he thinks. He’s — not sure how he feels about the Chantry any longer, but he would prefer not to interfere with whatever local practice the clerics have going on. (He’s not certain whether he could sit through a service with others at this point. Too much to sort out, in his heart and mind.)

“And a garden. At least at first.”

[bringspeopletogether]

A near-soundless laugh.

"Start small and work our way up to a proper farm?"

[howtoactfereldan]

“That’s the notion,” Cullen replies, because he won’t say it’s got to be something I can manage on my own if none of this amounts to anything.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Perfect."

He finishes off the brandy; sets his mug aside, the better to hook an arm around Cullen's waist.

"What else should we have?"

[howtoactfereldan]

“Workshop,” Cullen says immediately. “For the construction of small siege engines.”

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's whole face lights up in delight.

"How small are we talking about? Mabari-sized? Geoffrey-sized?"

[howtoactfereldan]

“Mabari-sized, of course.”

Cullen raises a brow.

“If you’re very nice to me, Geoffrey-sized.”

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair presses his free hand to his heart.

"I swear I will do a superbly nice deed every day until we have our new house," he says. "And our new workshop."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen kisses his cheek.

“Start tomorrow.” Warm. A little wry. “You can have today off.”

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair wrinkles his nose at the kiss, smiling, and leans his head against Cullen's.

"Still my favorite." Soft.

Then, after a beat: "Should at least get that letter written to Morrigan today. But nothing more taxing than that."

[howtoactfereldan]

“Do that and I’ll get the letters done to Dorian and Dagna.” Cullen lets his eyes close. “Then we... won’t do much. It’s raining. I can walk the letters down to the tavern for the next messenger and bring back dinner.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Mm. Wonderful."

He squeezes Cullen, lightly.

"I'll...lounge aggressively in front of the fire with Gru. Assuming Ivette ever brings him back. And I'll make sure there's tea for you after you've walked through the rain."