Alistair (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bringspeopletogether) wrote2018-06-23 09:32 pm
bringspeopletogether) wrote2018-06-23 09:32 pm
[sandbox]
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.
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.
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A soft sigh; then, half-mumbled, "Keep doing that? Feels nice."
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If Alistair could just drift off for a little while — it might help, Cullen thinks.
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He doesn't drift, really. But for now, he seems inclined to be quiet, and be still, as Cullen holds him. To just -- exist, in a space where he doesn't have to worry about anything beyond the walls of their bedroom.
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He can’t help smiling at the ceiling at that thought. Just a little bit.
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The rain continues its steady drumming. Cullen's there, a warm weight safely tethering him in place. And he really did have an appalling night's sleep, he thinks drowsily. Maybe a nap wouldn't hurt before he writes that letter to Morrigan.
And so about ten minutes into the quiet, Alistair finally dozes off.
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He stills his hand, and leans forward just enough to kiss the top of Alistair’s head.
It might be best, he thinks, if he spends this time mentally composing his letters. The faster he can get that done, the more time he can spend getting chores done — and the more time Alistair and Ivette can talk.
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An hour or so later, Alistair wakes with a sharp intake of breath.
The rain still drums on the roof. It's like being back in the Basin: on some rainy nights, the drops struck their tent so hard it was difficult to hear much else. For a moment, he curls tense, tries to take stock. Warm bed. No tent. No Fade rifts in danger of opening up around them.
No reason he can't just -- calm down and go back to sleep, except for literally everything else that's happened so far today.
What if I didn't move for the rest of the day, he thinks. Maybe Gru can write the letter. Morrigan might enjoy it more.
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It’s not new, waking like this. Cullen was expecting it.
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(He's not going to leave.)
Alistair shivers, a little, and closes his eyes to try and will himself back to sleep. Which...just results in him being tense with his eyes closed.
"Not sure I can," he whispers apologetically, after a moment.
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“I’m afraid if you’re not sleeping, that means we rise and do work.”
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He leans his head on Cullen's shoulder.
"I should get the letter over with. Not sure how much to put in writing, though."
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“I don’t see that there’s anything to hold back at this point. Do you?”
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He hooks one ankle around Cullen's, as if to reassure himself further that he won't go far.
"We already have to be careful what we write about. When we're planning visits and the like."
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He'd never forgive himself. A lot of people would probably never forgive him, either.
Quieter, after a beat, he adds, "That doesn't mean I'd do nothing. I'd -- go talk to her in person. Something. I wouldn't just let it lie."
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"Any draft I write, I can throw in the fire if Ivette thinks it says too much." He sounds like he's reminding -- reassuring -- himself. "Not as if a raven will snatch anything I write out of my hands before the ink's even dry."
He wrinkles his nose again, a little.
"Which does mean I ought to get up and write the draft. Even though it's warm here. And you're here."
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"Well," gravely, "then of course we can't have that. There's been enough to be getting on with already today."
He nudges Cullen gently.
"Budge up, love."