[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]

Cullen stills.

No louder, half a question:

“All right.”

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods, very slightly.

"Because you stood in front of the Maker and Andraste and swore to them you'd stay at my side for the rest of our lives."

His voice thickens, in spite of himself. He's laced his fingers with Cullen's where they rest on his chest; tightened his grip, unconsciously.

"And I still wake up most mornings and wonder if this is the day you'll grow so tired of me that you leave."

[howtoactfereldan]

You haven’t, Alistair said. Cullen makes himself stifle his first, second, and third responses.





“Well.”

Still very quiet. His thumb strokes Alistair’s hand.

“I haven’t. And I won’t.” Beat. “You know — every time I’ve asked for quiet, or said it’s not a good time to tease — you’ve backed off. Immediately. Every single time, without fail, without question. I’ll never grow tired of your care and consideration, Alistair. We’re different men. But we fit around each other just right.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes."

His eyes have begun to sting. He takes a moment to breathe through it, willing the tears back; willing the ache in his throat to ease up.

"And that's -- an exceedingly rare thing for me. It's...it's commonplace for people to grow tired of me, isn't it? I think I wonder if he'll leave me and it's, it's as if I'm watching the weather roll in. It's that idle a thought. I wonder if it'll rain today. I wonder if he'll leave me."

No hope of the ache going away, it seems.

"There's some very fundamental bit of me that's broken, Cullen, that -- I'm always thinking like that even when you're the one who asked me to marry you. And that it hardly even hurts when I do."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen exhales slowly, and wonders how far away Fiona’s got by now.

“I’d rather it didn’t hurt.” Low; he slips his hand out of Alistair’s hair to rub his back in slow circles. “You know — it’s part of why I know I can trust you with my heart. Because you know what it’s like to be a little broken, too.”

He lifts their joined hands, and touches his lips to Alistair’s knuckles.

“Better together. Remember?”

[bringspeopletogether]

He's fairly certain that if he tries to answer, his voice will be thinned so badly by the knot in his throat that Cullen won't be able to hear him.

Alistair nods instead, silent, then hides his face against Cullen's chest.

[howtoactfereldan]

He turns just enough to kiss the top of Alistair’s head.



Reflective:

“I think I shall start giving you a forecast. You might wonder, daily, if it looks like rain. Or if I shall leave you. Well, you can hear the rain on the roof.”

It’s quite loud, actually.

“And I shan’t.” Another kiss. “Every day, my love.”

[bringspeopletogether]

A tiny, choked laugh follows that, more breath than anything else. Alistair presses as close to Cullen as he can.

Muffled, after a moment: "S'a good forecast. I like it."

[howtoactfereldan]

“Then you’ll love tomorrow’s,” he says into Alistair’s hair. “I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but chances are very good it’ll be exactly the same.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Happy to have the surprise spoiled," he mumbles. "In this case."

He turns his head with a sigh, resting his cheek against Cullen's chest. Faintly, nearly hidden by the rain, he can hear Cullen's heartbeat.

Softer, then: "I wish you didn't have to reassure me so often. I want to be -- stronger, in this. Can't even blame it on the Fade, it's just how it's always been, apparently."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen goes back to trailing his fingers through Alistair’s hair.

“It’s only been different for you the last few years.” No louder. “Hard to overcome a lifetime of habit.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"And you won't lose patience with me, if I fall back into that habit?"

[howtoactfereldan]

“No.” Immediate. Calm. Decisive. “You’re just checking the forecast. That’s all.”

[bringspeopletogether]

He sags in Cullen's arms, one hand curling absently in the fabric of his shirt.

"All right," he murmurs. "Good."

[howtoactfereldan]

“Just tell me you want to know the weather.”

He covers Alistair’s hand again.

“That’s not so hard, is it?”

[bringspeopletogether]

Finally -- at last -- a smile quirks Alistair's mouth.

"Downright simple, I'd say." He weaves their fingers together once more. "And for the actual weather I'll just look out the window myself."

[howtoactfereldan]

“Probably more reliable than any weather forecast I’d make. Or just... guess at.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Doesn't have to be reliable. Funny works, too. 'Oh, look, it's raining fish, ought to drag the nets outside so we'll have a nice dinner.'"

[howtoactfereldan]

“...I will leave the net-dragging to you.” Cullen says this on a laugh. “And cleaning the fish.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Should it ever rain fish, my love," says Alistair, magnanimously, "you have my solemn vow I'll be the one to handle all the catching and cleaning."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen pats Alistair on the head, and privately vows to rope Branson in on a conspiracy to drop fish in front of the windows.

“I can ask for nothing more.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"It's the least I can do if a handsome man has promised to stay with me."

He lifts their clasped hands so he can kiss Cullen's fingertips.

[howtoactfereldan]

“The very least,” Cullen agrees, dry. “But I shan’t complain.”

[bringspeopletogether]

"Is there more I can -- ?"

As soon as he says it, Alistair winces. "No. Sorry. I know you were joking. My sense of humor may have gone into hiding this morning."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen lets out a long breath — more rueful than anything else. He tightens his hold on Alistair for just a moment.

“It’ll turn up.” With an audible smile.