Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There’s a promise of thunder in the air. It’s in the way clouds have drawn overhead, thick and black, obscuring any signs of the full moon’s glow. It’s in the way the air grows close and heavy and humid, smothering the scent of honeysuckle and evening primrose. It’s in the way the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as a shiver of electricity runs through the air, moments before a blinding white bolt crashes against the distant mountaintops.

He pauses to watch the light fade from the sky, purple tinged in the lightning’s wake, the sky’s deep rumble following. He pauses, counting;
‘…five…six…seven…’

Another flash, brighter this time, and despite its danger, he smiles, always fond of thunderstorms and their stark, terrible beauty. They remind him of younger days, of curling up against Mabari in their kennels, nestling into the soft fur of large wardogs as storms lashed against the cliffs of Redcliffe castle. The dogs had never spooked at the noise, merely cast an annoyed glance at the flashes of lightning before allowing him to snuggle against their fur, sleeping the night away.

But there’s no dogs to keep him warm and safe tonight, just an anxiously snorting horse beneath him as the storm rumbles closer and he realises, as the whispered rush of the approaching rain greets him, that he’s going to have to find shelter, and soon. There’s none back the way he’s just come, only empty fields of recently harvested crops, and he reasons that there must be a farmhouse somewhere nearby. Or perhaps even just a barn.

His horse, Cadfael, snorts once more, and he takes the hint, pressing his heels into the stallion’s sides and guiding him up the dirt track that lays before them.

He hasn’t seen anyone for days, splitting off from the small band of wardens he had been leading, in order to track down a rogue party of darkspawn, whilst his men had gone underground to root out the larger host. Just in case the damned creatures got any ideas.

In hindsight, he thought, it had been stupid to split up. But the risk of just a handful of darkspawn making their way to anywhere near civilisation was too great, and so he had decided to chase them on his own, lest they do some damage. Except he hadn’t seen, nor felt, any sign of darkspawn for days now and he wondered if he’d read the signs wrong, maybe taken a wrong turning?

It doesn’t matter now. It’s late and it’s dark and he’s about to be thoroughly soaked through, if he doesn’t get a move on. Grimacing, he nudges Cadfael into a trot. The problem with warden armour was that it chafed something terrible when it was wet, not to mention that getting the rust out of scaling was an utter nightmare.

Relief floods him as he rounds a large drystone wall, the sight of a cluster of small squat buildings, most likely farm outbuildings and the main residence, cheering him. They’re dark, but he pays it no mind. If his estimates are correct, and they have been known to be on occasion, it’s well past midnight and anyone with any sense was tucked up in bed hours ago. It might be summer, but in the shadow of the Frostback mountains, it was rarely warm and the nights were all but guaranteed to be frosty. When it wasn’t thundering, that was.

He can hear the patter of rain now, and a glance up to the sky confirms it, the droplets falling in a heavy sheet that’s racing along the dirt track, towards him.

‘Marvellous.’

It’s the only word he can manage to get out before the rain is upon him, breathtakingly cold, lashing at him, drenching him so thoroughly that the shirt beneath his armour is plastered to his skin in mere moments. Beneath him, Cadfael balks at the deluge, threatening to rear and unseat him, and he grips the reins, flattens himself against the animal’s back and nudges him onwards once more. The sheer force of the rain makes it difficult for him to even raise his head, water running into his eyes, dripping of the tip of his now thoroughly red nose and he trusts the horse’s instincts to find shelter enough to let him decide the way.

Cadfael makes his decision, stopping a few minutes later under the creaky remains of what looks like a barn, huddling in against the wall. There’s not much of it left, most of the building’s walls lying as rubble around them, the wooden floor above little more than a few planks now. But it’s enough for the horse, for now at least, and he slides from the animal’s back, landing with a squelch, he grimaces, his boots already swimming in rainwater.

Pulling the saddle from Cadfael’s back, he dumps it heavily to the side, knowing that it is bad for the leather, knowing he’d be shouted at by both Dennet and the tackmaster when he returned to Skyhold and being entirely unable to care about either right now. So long as his mount had shelter and could dry off a little, he didn’t see any issue. Leather could be replaced easily. Good horses couldn’t.

With the animal dried off with a rag which was tucked in the deepest reached of one of the saddlebags, he nods to himself, satisfied that it will stave off the cold from his companion, before he turns back to survey his surroundings.

He had thought that the dilapidated barn was old, perhaps passed from hand to hand by generations of farmers until it was nothing but a worn out husk. The black streaks of soot on the cobblestone walls tell a different story, one that he’s not the least bit pleased by as he makes his way through the remains of the building, towards where he guessed the main farmhouse would be.

It’s one of the few times he wishes he wasn’t right.

Through the crumbling walls of the barn, the scene of devastation paints all too clear a picture, and he picks his way through broken beams of wood, trying to ignore the state of the animals that had been housed here. It proves difficult when the stench of blood becomes so strong that even the downpour can’t wash it away, even more so when he accidentally stumbles onto something soft and fleshy. A glance down tells him that the sheep, torn in two, couldn’t have been dead for more than a few hours, its insides still pink and glistening.

Extracting a now grotesquely sticky boot, he staggers out into the farmyard, a nearby flash of thunder illuminating the squat building enough for him to find the entrance.

The doors is open wide, and hanging from its hinges, most of the wood splintered from the force of something crashing into it. He doesn’t need to go inside to know that the darkspawn he’s been tracking have been here, leaving their mark in a trail of blood and destruction.

He presses inside anyway, hoping that there might be someone left alive, someone he can help, but even as he steps in, he knows it’s a false hope.

The room is so dark that it’s impossible to see anything and he reaches back to the door, pulling a strip of wood free, binding its top with rags and dousing it with limited quantity of oil he carries with him. A strike of stone on stone, and the rag ignites, filling the room with flickering orange light.

Grief floods his chest at the sight, guilt following close behind as he looks about the farmhouse’s kitchen. Its inhabitants are barely recognisable as people anymore, a bloodied tangle of flesh, bone and cloth, positioned close enough together that he tries to block out the image of them huddled together in fear as the darkspawn came crashing through the door. There’s a hurtfully small lump at what he can only guess was a married couple’s feet, and it’s all he can do to bite his lip and steel himself against the thought of a child dying at the hands of such monsters.

A tremor racks his shoulders and chest, a dry breath tearing at his throat as he fights to control himself, turning away from the grisly scene. There’s nothing he can do for them now, save hope he can hunt down the horde come morning and make them pay for what they’d done to the young family. His hand falls to his sword, twitching in anticipation, and it takes effort to still himself, to pull his hand away and turn his gaze elsewhere.

He wonders idly, as he makes to leave, if he should stay in the farmhouse, if it counts as disrespectful to the people he’s failed to protect, and decides that it is, and even if it wasn’t, he can’t bring himself to stay in a house where there are bodies that are barely cold.

With a shaky breath, he makes for the door, intent on seeking out somewhere less traumatic to rest, when the faintest detail catches his attention.

There’s a door to his left, half broken down, but still standing, still closed. Something in his gut makes him turn towards it, his gloved hand reaching out to push at the wood, testing. It’s damaged, but it holds, and he notices the lock, somehow still intact despite being bent inwards, the key on the floor nearby.

Someone had locked it from in here, had taken great pains to ensure that whatever was in the other room was safe, despite the darkspawn breaking through.

The key is sticky with fluids as he picks it from the floor, fitting it into the warped lock which gives way with a twist and a clunk. The door swings inwards to reveal the family’s single bedroom. It’s bizarrely pristine in comparison to the chaos of the kitchen, a neatly made if rustic double bed dominating the room, a smaller one a few feet away. And there, in the corner, a small cot.

He steps into the room cautiously, almost afraid that tracking bloody, muddy bootprints into the room will shatter the peace in here, even as he crosses the threshold. No such thing happens but he winces still as floorboards squeak underfoot, feeling his heart rise into his throat as he looks at the crib, stopping when he’s mere feet away, afraid to peek inside in case...

In case of what? He asks himself, shaking his head. Either there would be a babe…or there wouldn’t.

A carefully placed foot has him creeping forwards, his breath shaky with nerves once again, until he finds himself peeking over the top of lightly coloured wooden railings and pastel coloured bedding. There’s a bundle inside, and he retreats quickly before creeping forwards again, closer this time, until he gets a clear view.

There’s still a bundle inside, a tangle of soft cotton and woollen wraps, more material than baby…but it’s there. It’s there and it’s small and pink and sleeping and most importantly, breathing. Utterly undisturbed by the chaos that had occurred on the other side of the thin wooden wall, unaware of the devastation that had been wrought on its parents and sibling.

His heart and breathing falter again, wonder and joy colliding in his chest at the miracle before him that somehow the sleeping infant had managed to avoid detection by the darkspawn, and he slips closer now, wincing at every noise his boots make, every slosh of water and creak of wood, terrified of waking up the tiny person.

Indecision seizes him again as he gazes at the tiny figure. He can’t leave a baby here, in the wake of destruction and terror, he knows that he or she will die within hours if not cared for but…but he’s never looked after a child before. Maker, and it’s not even a child, it’s an infant, tiny and fragile and precious. It needs levels of care that he’s never considered before, feeding and changing and…milk. Maker’s breath, the babe will need milk and where is he going to get that from out here?

He doesn’t even know how old it is, can’t even begin to guess as he looks down at the bundle. But…but he has no choice, does he? He can’t leave it here because his care, inadequate as he’s sure it will be, is better than no care at all.

A heavy breath has him stilling again, the noise that’s slipped past his lips loud enough to disturb the child and it writhes in its swaddling as it’s face contorts and he knows within moments what’s going to happen and he’s still utter unprepared when it does. Blue eyes, impossibly large and impossibly round flutter open, land on him a moment later, a look that has his breath falling completely silent again.

And then the cry comes, a high, full bodied wail that makes him flinch away, despite the way it tugs at his chest.

It’s pitiful and heartwrenching, and although he knows that the cry is for the babe’s upset sleep or empty belly or, Maker forbid, a full nappy, a part of him grieves again for the loss of the infant’s mother, lying cold in the next room.

Instinct is what drives him to act, no knowledge on his part because he’s never even held a babe before. He’s not sure if he’s even been in the same room as one recently, his life filled with busy adults rushing about with important tasks with no time to consider family life. He reaches out anyway, pausing despite the cries when he realises the leather of his gloves is stained with blood. Tugging them off until his cold hands are exposed, he sets his torch to nearby oil lamps so he can see and have both hands free.

And then the moment comes, procrastination and discomfort set aside to do what needs to be done as he slides an arm under the tiny body, the other supporting a sparsely haired head, lifting the almost weightless package into his arms, cradling it against his chest when he’s clear of the cot.

It cries still and he frowns down at the wriggling infant, panic rising as he tries to soothe the babe.

‘Shhh, shh…it’s alright, little boy…or little girl…I suppose you could be…it’s alright…’

The bundle isn’t even as long as his forearm, its head easily contained in the palm of his hand and he shifts, curling his free arm underneath, the way he’s seen mothers do from time to time, cradling the body more securely. Cries abate a little, quieter, softer, somewhat appeased, as the child is brought closer to his warmth, and in a flash of inspiration he sets the swaddled babe down again, flinching when cries return in full force.

He shrugs his breastplate off as quickly as he can manage, pulling the thick leather and steel of his armour away from his torso before scooping the babe up again, bringing it back to rest against his chest. His shirt is damp and cold and he knows it’s not the best for little babies, but there’s little else he can do right now. But even as he thinks it, his instincts prove right, the infant quieting at the presence of warm solidness, secure in his arms.

It doesn’t go back to sleep, much to his surprise, instead staring up at him with unnervingly blue eyes.

‘Well…there we go little one,’ he hums quietly, his thumb gently stroking over wispy, dark hairs. ‘It’s not so bad is it? I’m not so scary, am I? No, I’m just a big dumb man who made all this horrible noise and woke you up. That was mean of me, wasn’t it?’

There’s no response from the infant, save for uncomprehending blinking, but he continues anyway, easing his own nerves as much as the child’s.

‘I’ll let you go back to sleep, how does that sound? I’ll put you back in your cosy bed and in the morning, I’ll…I’ll take you away from this horrible place and find some nice people to look after you, how does that sound?’

The little forehead creases for a second, displeasure present for a moment before the baby looks back up at him again, a faint coo following its stare.

‘Me? No, no, no, I can’t look after you. Not for long anyway, I can only just look after myself and I’m a grown man. Not a very well grown man, but a grown man still. Now if Cullen was here…there’s someone who would know what to do. Or the Inquisitor…or…anyone other than me, really. I’m not very good at these sorts of things…’ He shifts the miniscule weight in his broad arms. ‘I’m not good at a lot really but…I can always find someone who can help. I’m good at that.’

He sighs into the silence, pursing his lips as he looks down at the helpless babe.

‘I haven’t even figured out if you’re a boy or a girl yet. But I bet you’re a girl…you look like a pretty girl…I better hope that you are a girl now, hadn’t I? Because if you’re not, you’d have every right to be mad at me. I…’ he fidgets slightly, ‘I guess there’s only one way to know, isn’t there, but…not yet. And I’ll probably mess up all these nicely wrapped blankets if I did. Best not…not unless I really need to.’

There’s another soft coo, likely the only response he’ll get tonight and he smiles lightly.

‘You know, you’re the first person I’ve spoken to for a while who’s let me just ramble on like this. Most people tell me I talk too much and then tell me to be quiet. Maybe I should spend more time with little people like you? Oh…but you see, I’ve been rambling on and on like this, and I haven’t even introduced myself have I? That’s rude of me.’

He stands up again, carefully cradling the infant to his chest, walking back to the cot, trying to disturb his new charge as little as possible.

‘Well then, little one, you should know that my name is Alistair, and I’m very pleased to meet you. I know I haven’t found out your name yet, but here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to put you back into your bed here and then while you’re sleeping, I’m going to have a look around and try and find out who you are. Does that sound good?’

There’s no real response, just as he expects, only the blinking of eyes, and he lays the child back into the cot. A moment of indecision grips him and he holds his breath, wondering if he’ll have to comfort the babe again, but then those huge blue eyes blink, eyelids drooping heavily and within a few moments, he feels completely alone in the silent house.

Straightening and sighing quietly, Alistair looks around the room again, wondering where’s best to start if he’s to care for this little life as best as he can.

Chapter Text

Alistair wakes with a start. Or rather, he wakes startled, a noise that’s unfamiliar and unpleasant ringing in his ears and he stumbles up bleary eyed from a tangle of blankets, whipping around, trying to locate the source.

He remembers when his eyes fall on the cot again and he shuffles towards it, finding the crying babe inside, right where he left it. The cries are more desperate than they were the night before, not just the complaint of disturbed sleep, and he worries at his lip before he scoops the little bundle into his arms with more confidence than the night before.

‘Ok little one…what’s wrong, hmm? It’s far too early for all this noi…oh.’

The smell hits him, a clear indication of what’s wrong, and he splutters slightly, taken aback by how something so small can produce such a stench, eyeing the red faced and wriggling child. He has no idea how to change a baby and the thought of having to do so fills him with more fear than revulsion, because what if he gets it wrong?

But then…how can one get changing a nappy wrong? It’s just swapping cloths over…right?

He moves back to the bed, laying the squirming and still crying bundle down onto it and taking a deep breath before gingerly tugging at the swaddling. It comes loose easy enough, revealing layers of wrappings, and he works his way through them steadily, aware of the scent getting stronger as he does. When he gets to the final thin blanket that covers the little body he pauses, dreading what lies beneath. There’s already wetness leaching through, darkening the white cloth, and he turns his head to take another deep breath before pulling the final piece of cloth aside.

He doesn’t even know where to begin when he finally reveals the mess the infant’s made of itself, so much smeared and spread around its lower body that it’s almost completely masked by it. But the baby is still wriggling, still wailing, and he has to do something for it, stench or no stench. Pulling the soiled cloth from around the squirming child he wipes away as much as he can of the initial mess with it before throwing it to the side somewhere. But still, there’s so much of it that he knows cloths won’t do much to help. He needs to get a bath, somehow, and he wraps the baby in spare cloths as best he can before positioning it as safely as he can in the centre of the bed.

The brief search of the house he had managed to conduct, after careful disposing of the bodies of the rest of the family, had proved useful. In the corner of the room, there was a small iron tub, one that could easily – and probably had been – used for bathing the little ones. With a glance over his shoulder to the whimpering bundle, he heads outside to the nearby well, collecting a few buckets of water before depositing them in the tub.

Dipping his hand into the water, he winces, feeling just how achingly cold it is. It would be far too cold for his new charge, and in all honesty, he’s not sure if his ears can take much more crying at the moment. He’s still blinking the sleep from his eyes as he moves the bath into the kitchen, setting it in the fire pit to warm before returning to the bedroom.

The semi-swaddled body is still in the centre of the bed, wriggling and squirming, though it’s whimpers are softer now as he crosses to it, before carefully sitting down beside it. He frowns as he looks at the babe, wide blue eyes focused on him now; tiny pudgy hands free of the blankets, curl into fists briefly, stubby legs kicking restlessly and Alistair slides his arms beneath the smelly, sticky little thing once more, holding the child to his chest.

‘What am I going to do with you, hmm?’

Legs kick again in response, bright blue gaze held steady. Soft gurgles are his only reply.

‘Well, yes, I agree, we’ll get you cleaned up first but…’ a heavy sigh and he looks to the narrow windows where dawn’s pale light is filtering through ‘…Maker, how am I going to get you somewhere safe? You’re going to need feeding soon aren’t you? And I don’t have anything you could eat…where am I going to find milk out here?’

There’s no response of course and he shakes his head to himself, standing from the bed with the slight weight of the babe cradled carefully in his bulky arms as he moves back to the kitchen. He can still smell the blood, the death, despite his best efforts to remove the odor by leaving the small house’s front door open. He hopes the little one doesn’t pick up on it…and hopes that he or she doesn’t start to miss the mother who’s now only ashes on the early dawn breeze.

The water in the little tub is just about warm, he finds as he cautiously balances the baby in the crook of one arm, reaching out with the other to test the temperature, and with something akin to satisfaction, he pulls the iron bath from the fire pit. Water sloshes onto his feet as he does and he frowns before kneeling in the puddle. It isn’t like he doesn’t need a bath himself, anyway. It had been days since he’d made a proper camp and he’s fairly certain that it’s only the smell of the baby’s state that is masking his own reek of stale sweat.

He rubs idly at his chin, feeling several days’ worth of growth as he does, and decides that once he’s sorted the child, some sort of attention to his own personal hygiene is in order.

But he still has the babe to care for first and he pulls away the few wrappings left, discarding the soiled material in the fire before gently lowering the baby into the water with a soft splash. He sighs in relief when there’s no crying, little one happy to splash at the warm water with flails of pudgy arms, head and neck cradled gently in his broad palm.

Grabbing a rag with his free hand, he attempts to wash away the viscous waste clinging to delicate skin, frowning to himself when it doesn’t come free easily. And somehow, the smell gets worse when it finally does lift away, as if freeing layers of stench that had been trapped beneath the horrid substance. It takes a considerable amount of resilience of his part not to gag at the unexpected smell and he holds his breath as he continues to wipe at soft skin, until finally he’s happy that he or she is clean.

With the water stained a questionable green-brown, he lifts baby free of it, looking down at the now spotless little thing.

‘Oh…so…so you’re a girl then…’ he mumbles to himself, uncomfortably, unsure where the boundaries of common decency start, and he hurries back to the bedroom with the newfound little girl, rummaging in the chest he had found the night before, filled with baby supplies.

There’s soft towels stored near the bottom and he digs them out, aware of her cradled precariously in the crook of his left arm, heart hammering as he does, afraid he’ll drop her. But he can’t possibly get anything done if she’s occupying both his arms and he wants to leave this wretched place as soon as he can.

Towels in hand, he sets to drying her off gently, worrying that he’s rubbing too hard, or she’ll get cold or start crying or…or…any number of things, really. Because, honestly, if the Maker had a plan for everyone, why did he decide to let this poor little creature be entrusted to a fool like him? What had she done to deserve what her short life had given her so far?

Satisfied that she’s reasonably dry, he turns back to the chest once more, frowning at the collection of various cloths and blankets inside. He has no idea what’s what, confused between the assortment of shapes and sizes and materials. Some of them have to be for nappies, he concludes, and some for wrappings and some for cleaning and drying and all other manner of things. He picks out a few as best he can, turning back to the infant.

‘Right so, this…this needs to go on your bum bum…I think,’ he speaks aloud, addressing the child but attempting to bolster his own nerve as he approaches her, a small square of material in his hand, ‘…but…how it goes on, I’ve no idea. Maker help me, why is this happening to me?’

It takes several attempts before the cloth even vaguely resembles what it should, his efforts hindered by the constant wiggle and writhe of legs. He calls it quits when it’s close enough, tied haphazardly around the babe’s lower body, and he sets to wrapping her in blankets once more, pausing every now and then to retrieve an arm that’s somehow gotten free of the swaddling. His work is far from neat when he finally gets her wrapped up safely, little sections of blanket untucked, and at odd angles. But she’s wrapped and safe and quiet, so he sets her back down in her cot with a promise to be back soon and puts an extra blanket over her.

He takes care of his own needs as quickly as he can, sloshing cold water from the well over himself in a quick bath that makes his bones ache with the cold, setting his teeth to chattering. Chunks of bread and cheese are shoved into his mouth, chewed with an urgency that strains his jaw as he pulls on the last remaining clean clothes in his pack. They’re damp, but at least they smell less of mud and sweat than his last set and he discards the old ones for ruined, needing the space in his pack for supplies for the little girl.

She’s asleep when he returns to the bedroom and he’s comforted somewhat by that before he sets to packing his bag, ensuring that the cloths she’ll need are in the cleanest areas, tucking a soft animal inside. Returning to the small chest, he digs through it once more, hoping to find something he’s missed when he catches it – a glint of silver in the bottom of the trunk. Pulling blankets aside, he digs down to the bottom again, finding it buried beneath the rest of the items and plucking it out.

It’s a small bangle, thin and delicate silver, probably worth more than the rest of the house’s contents combined. Carefully etched patterns and letters decorate the strip of metal and he squints to read them, clearly made by someone who was less than familiar at working with such thin metal.

‘E…l…o…d….i...e? Elodie?’ he asks aloud again, standing and moving over to the sleeping child, glancing back between the thin band and the child.

’Is this you then? Are you Elodie?’

No response of course, and he smiles at that before turning to tuck the band into his pack, wrapping it amongst soft clothes to keep it safe.

‘Right,’ he murmurs, hoisting the bag onto his back before leaning over the cot again and lifting the babe into his arms as smoothly as he can. ‘Let’s get you out of here.’

With a last glance around the room, he turns and leaves the house behind, thanking the Maker that not only has it stopped raining, but last night’s storm seems to have cleared the air. Above them, the sun shines as though nothing could be wrong in the world, warming the air.

It’s a challenge to make his way back to his steed, sense of direction confused by last night’s mad dash for shelter and he has to skirt around the remnants of the barn with its sticky walls and floors, not willing to take the little girl too close to such carnage.

Cadfael greets him with a nicker from where he grazes, no worse for wear after last night’s storm, and Alistair pats the horse on his nose as he wanders over, a large brown eye turning on the bundle in his arms.

‘Another passenger, I’m afraid, Cad. But don’t worry. I don’t think you’ll even notice her.’

The horse snorts, turning away, and Alistair flinches, hoping that the noise won’t wake the babe. It doesn’t, for now and his shoulders sag in relief, until he finds himself eying Cadfael’s bare back. The saddle lies in a corner of the barn, and just a cursory glance tells him that it’s not salvageable. So, saddleless riding it was then. Wonderful. Which led to the question of how in Thedas he was supposed to mount the stallion.

He taps the horse on a wither, catching his attention before pointing to the floor.

‘Down, Cad.’

The horse glances at him, before continuing to graze, heedless.

He sighs and tries again, firmer this time.

No response.

‘Maker’s breath, Cadfael, I know you’re a horse but come on, I just need you to understand. On your knees.’

A swish of his tail, a flick of an ear and Alistair growls, stepping forward to grip the horse’s mane, tugging until he gets his attention again, pressing on his withers firmly until the steed seems to finally understand. He goes down on his forelegs slowly, one, then the other and it’s not ideal but it’s better. Enough, at least to grip reins and mane in hand and fling a leg over his back.

With a lurch from Cadfael and a grunt from Alistair, the horse rises and moves of his own accord, heading back to the road they had departed from the night before. He’s grateful the horse knows the way, so that he need only cling to his back and spur him into a faster pace. Skyhold is a day’s ride up the mountain passes, and with luck and weather on his side, they might reach the castle before nightfall.

Chapter Text

Cullen doesn’t notice how late it is until the candle that illuminates his desk sputters, flickers and finally dies, plunging him into near darkness. In the corner of his office a larger sconce burns still, emitting just enough light for him to grab a fresh candle from his desk drawer and light it on the larger brazier, returning it to the desk to light his working space once more. He lights a few more candles for good measure, frowning at the oil like smoke they give off whenever they’re first lit, and decides with a heavy sigh that it may be time for a break.

Out on Skyhold’s sweeping battlements, under a sliver of pale moon, the wind blows hard and cold, a patter of icy rain carried on its gusts, leftover from yesterday’s storm. He hopes that wherever Alistair is, he hadn’t been caught out in it.

His partner had left Skyhold a fortnight ago with a small band of his Wardens, seeking out a group of Darkspawn that they’d caught word of from Leliana’s intelligence missions. Cullen hadn’t heard from him since, and neither had any of the other Warden’s returned. Surely a handful of Darkspawn had not caused them too much trouble?

Feeling the rain beginning to fall heavier, he retreats back into his office, wondering if he should call it a day, given the lateness of the hour. Though he was the first to admit it was a poor habit, he would normally work at his desk until he simply fell asleep there. Or at least, he did on the nights when Alistair was away. Sleeping in an empty bed held little appeal for him, and even more so once he’d become used to Alistair’s heavy warmth at his side.

Heaving a sigh, and realising that Alistair would overreact if he returned to find Cullen had not been caring for himself properly, he shuffles the reports on his desk into some sort of order, blows out the freshly lit candles and locks the side doors to the office. Leaving the front one open, in case Alistair came back late from a journey had become a habit and he eyes it once, making sure that brazier in the corner has enough fuel to burn through the night, before climbing to bed.

Sure enough, the sheets are cold and rough, unpleasant against his skin, and he reminds himself that he must get around to asking the stonemason to see if something could be done about the hole in his roof. He lies awake for some time, long enough to notice the rain turn to a downpour, and he’s oddly soothed by its relentless patter against walls and windows and he feels himself lulled, drifting.

A knock at the door wakes him.

Groaning, he throws off the covers, grabbing his trousers from where they lay on the nearby chest and sliding down the ladder. When he pulls the front door open he finds a thoroughly soaked guard waiting for him.

‘Yes?’

The soldier, shivering at the cold and wet that’s soaked through the underlayers of his armour, straightens at the hard tone of his voice.

‘Apologies for disturbing your rest, Commander, only Warden Alistair has returned. He’s in the kitchens. Thought you might like to know.’

‘I see. Thank you. It’s George, isn’t it?’

‘Yes ser.’

‘See that you get changed and get a hot drink before you return to your post. It won’t do to have a man ill at these times.’

The soldier offers a short bow before disappearing off to do as he’s bid, and Cullen pauses to find a light jacket for the short walk across to the hall. As soon as he’s stepped out onto the bridge his hair is plastered to his head and he finds himself sprinting, taking the stone steps on the far side down when he finds the door to Solas’s solar locked.

He wonders, as he dashes across the empty courtyard, why the guard had thought to let him know of Alistair’s arrival now. It was no longer a rare occurrence for him to return after Skyhold had quietened for the evening, and more often than not he’d be woken by Alistair slipping into bed bedside him. Usually accompanied by cold feet against his legs.

Reaching the sturdy wooden door that leads to the store room adjacent to the kitchen, he pauses to catch his breath, and close it behind him, taking in the scent of grains that seems to permeate the room. It’s always warm and dry in here, and he feels almost guilty to stand there, water dripping from his hair and bare chest to the floor. There are damp spots on the ground already though, a sure sign that Alistair came through this way too.

Just the thought of seeing his lover safely home sends warmth blooming through his chest, and he crosses the small room, eager to see him, when a sound through the thick door ahead stops him. A high wail, warbling, that’s muffled by the door. Gripping the handle, he steps through.

The wail intensifies, seeming to come from every direction, and he flinches at the noise, grimacing as he looks to Alistair. The Warden is standing with his back to him, water still pooling on the floor from his sodden clothes, poised just in front of the roaring fire, his attention focused on the bundle in his arms.

Distracted by the child, he doesn’t even notice Cullen approaching, not until he lays a hand gently on his arm. He spins, alarm written across tired features, before his shoulders sag with relief at the sight of him.

‘The babe?’ Cullen asks, quietly at first, though he has to raise his voice and repeat the question when he realises Alistair is struggling to hear him over the infant’s raw crying.

‘Found her on a farm!’

‘Her parents?!’

‘Darkspawn!’

‘The crying?!’

‘I think she’s hungry! And cold!’

Ah. Well, that answered everything rather well, and Cullen peers at the babe, her face mottled red and purple under the force of her cries. There’s a patch of dark hair on her head, wet with rain water, and the blankets wrapped tightly around her are soaked through, no matter how much he knows Alistair will have tried to keep her dry.

‘Who are you waiting for?!’

‘One of the kitchen maids. Apparently one of them had a baby a few weeks ago. She might be able to feed her!’

That made sense. He vaguely recalled hearing news that one of the kitchen staff had given birth some weeks prior, though it hadn’t registered highly in terms of importance. Not with an army to organise.

He opens his mouth, intending to ask...something, anything to distract him from the child’s noise that’s stirring a headache in his temples, when the door at the far end of the room opens and two women bustle in. One, he recognises as ‘Cook’, a middle aged woman whose hands were rough and broad from a life spent working on iron ranges and with sharp knives. The other he barely knows, having rarely visited the kitchens himself, a somewhat younger woman who bears the same thick brown hair as Cook, though admittedly without the greys. The same hooked nose too, and he realises that the twenty something hurrying towards Alistair is Cook’s daughter.

‘Alright Warden, give the bairn here, we’ll get her sorted.’

For a moment, there’s hesitation on Alistair’s part, his arms tightening about the bundle for a split second before logic prevails and he hands the sodden, swaddled bundle to Cook.

‘Andraste’s toasty knickers, poor thing’s soaked through! No wonder she’s hollering.’

All but thrusting the tiny thing into her daughter’s arms, Cook rounds on Alistair.

‘How long has she been wet through like that?! And how long has it been since she’s last fed?!’

‘I...’ Alistair sputters under the woman’s ire, face turning hot with shame, ‘...we were caught out in the rain. I tried to get her here as quickly as I could, but the storm came so fast there was nothing I could do to stay out of it.’

‘Take shelter, perhaps? What were you thinking?!’

‘I was thinking “gee, this little baby whose mother and father have been slaughtered next to the room she was sleeping in needs to be fed quickly, and I’m lacking the capacity so I should get her to someone who can”.’

It strikes Cullen, in the midst of Cook and Alistair’s conversation, that all else has fallen quiet around them.

‘When did she last feed?’

‘I found her yesterday evening. She didn’t wake through the night, so I guess she must have eaten pretty recently.’

‘A day!’ Cook’s daughter exclaims, and Cullen’s attention flicks to her, darting away again when he realises that the young woman is nursing the infant. Not that he could see anything...personal with the babe in place, but it seemed indecent to stare. Alistair’s eyes are riveted to Cook’s face, his cheeks a healthy shade of pink.

‘You just worry about feeding that one, Megan.’

Megan mutters something, but Cullen’s attention is focused on the two in front of him again.

‘I did the best I could! I know it’s not much but there was no one else around and I wasn’t going to leave her there.’

The aggression in Cook’s stance drops at his words and she purses her lips and nods.

‘Aye. I’ve no doubt about that, Warden. Did you get any swaddling cloths or anything from the house?’

He hands his bag to her, eyes cautious and she rummages through, pulling out the items she deems to be necessary.

‘You’ve not done a bad job, lad. Just worried for the poor thing, you understand?’

She doesn’t pause to look at him before taking the blankets that have somehow stayed dry, and Cullen watches Alistair carefully as she makes her way to her daugher.

With the room now blessedly quiet, his ears still ringing, he reaches to his partner, curling his palm against the nape of his neck. It earns him Alistair’s attention and a quiet smile, though the weariness in his eyes is apparent, worry and his own exhaustion dulling the usually bright amber.

‘Now then Warden,’ Cook interrupts and Cullen drops his hand from Alistair’s neck as the woman returns her attention back to him, ‘I suppose you’ll be hungry too.’

The loud rumble from Alistair’s stomach is all the answer she needs, and she laughs as Alistair’s now near-permanent blush brightens again. Before he comes up with some witticism, she’s picked up a small platter, filling it with whatever leftovers they had from the evening meal; a heel of bread, a small wedge of cheese, an apple and a few slices of cold meat. Of course, he devours them with barely time to breath between bites, and she follows it up with a decent slab of cherry pie that had been warming over the fire.

Cullen watches the whole scene in quiet amusement, lulled by the odd domesticity of it. By the time Alistair has finished eating, so too has the babe he’s rescued and Megan brings her back over, warm and dry and now sleeping contentedly.

‘She’s going to need a lot of looking after,’ Cook murmurs, ‘but once she’s stronger, we’ll see about finding her a new family. And a name, too.’

‘Elodie.’ Alistair answers, a little too quickly. ‘Her name is Elodie. It was on a bangle I found with her stuff.’

‘Ah, Elodie it is then. Well, you’re welcome to visit her of course, whenever you’re staying at Skyhold, Warden. Do you want to hold her again before we put her to bed?’

There’s something in that question, that gesture, that sets Cullen ill at ease, but he bites his tongue as Alistair agrees. This would likely be goodbye for them, after all. Best let Alistair do it properly, lest he get upset.

She’s tiny in his arms, more than he’d noticed before, though perhaps that’s just the fresh swaddling. Alistair falls silent as he holds her, staring down into her now calm face, and his eyes grow soft as he looks at the infant. It’s as alarming as it is endearing to see him so enraptured by the girl and Cullen knows without any word from his lover that the man is trying to figure out if they could raise her themselves.

It’s not an option. They both know it, but Alistair is sweet and kind, far too gentle for his own good, and it always gets him hurt. As much as it pains Cullen to put an end to his plans, he has to. They can’t raise a child. Neither of them has any experience or knowledge, or the time to do so. With Alistair away at least half of the time, and with no idea of what the Wardens would do in future, it could likely fall to him to raise her.

He can’t afford the distraction. They can’t afford the distraction. And even if they could, what life would that be for the child, to be raised by two men. It would be unfair to her.

Stepping forwards he lays a hand on Alistair’s shoulder.

‘Best let her get settled, Alistair. She needs to rest. As do you.’

Alistair’s eyes snap to his, widening, and it doesn’t take a moment to recognise the hesitation in them, even if he does eventually nod, handing the bundle back to Cook.

‘Can I check on her in the morning?’

‘Of course. I’m sure she’ll be happy to see you.’

‘Will one so young even recognise him?’ Cullen asks, doubtful that just a day’s interaction would be sufficient for her to make a memory of Alistair. Which would probably be for the best.

‘She may. She may not. All depends on the lady herself,’ Cook answers, handing the babe off to Megan who carries her out of the room. ‘You come down for breakfast, Warden and we’ll see what we can do. Now, the babe’s not the only one who needs some sleep, so if you’ll kindly leave my kitchen, sers…’

They take the...well, it’s not really a hint, and Cullen’s never been one to get on the bad side of a woman armed with a soup ladle, and so he makes his way to the door, Alistair following close behind. It takes the other man a few moments more to step through the doorway and out into the night, distracted by looking back into the room.

It’s still raining, not as heavily, but thunder flashes in the distance and he’s not eager to get any wetter than he already is. Taking Alistair’s hand he pulls him through the keep until he can get them into the tower, closing the door and its bar firmly behind them. Alistair pauses there in his office, a slight shiver running through him and he meets his lover’s eyes for a second, before his attention wanders back to the door.

‘Do you think she’ll be alright?’ The Warden asks, brow furrowed as he looks back at Cullen.

‘I am certain she will be. She seems to have a strong enough pair of lungs on her.’

‘She does, doesn’t she?’ Alistair grins. Cullen can see where this is going as he slips off the damp jacket.

‘She will prove quite the handful for whomever adopts her, no doubt. Once Cook and Megan have ensured she’s well, of course. They should be able to find someone who can give the girl a normal life.’

‘Normal?’ Alistair asks, his voice quiet.

Cullen tries not to notice the disappointment that’s already beginning to appear in Alistair’s eyes.

‘Yes. You say her family were killed by Darkspawn?’

He nods.

‘Then the girl deserves to be taken in by a family who can give her the best life possible, as far away from that sort of thing as one can be.’

He crosses to his partner, pulling him against his body, feeling sodden armour pressing against his own bare chest.

‘You did well, Alistair. You’ve saved the babe’s life,’ arms wrap about his waist, Alistair’s gloves cold against his skin, ‘now, stop worrying about her and come to bed. You’re going to catch something if you stand around like this much longer.’

‘I guess…’ Alistair mutters, before Cullen drops a soft kiss to his lips, hushing him.

‘Guess in the morning, you need to get dry and sleep, for now.’

Stepping back, Cullen makes his way to the ladder, a glance over his shoulder to confirm Alistair is following before he climbs up. At the top, he slips off the damp, soft trousers, using a rough towel to dry the worst of the water that clings to him. Task accomplished, he turns to his partner, trying to not laugh at the near pitiful state he’s in, soaked through and pouting childishly as he tries to pull a glove off, without much success.

‘Come here,’ he murmurs, gripping the worn leather and tugging it until Alistair’s hand slips free. His fingers are pale, numb with cold, and he pulls the glove off his other hand before winding Alistair’s fingers between his own, pressing palm to palm in an attempt to warm his skin.

The familiar soft smile breaks over Alistair’s face at that.

‘You’re warm…’

‘I would hope so,’ Cullen answers, smiling back at his partner. ‘Now, let’s get you out of that wet armour.’

Dark red eyebrows wiggle in response, a jest on Alistair’s lips that Cullen quickly hushes, unhooking the sword belt from about slim hips, lifting the breastplate over his head. His partner tries to help, of course, but numb fingers prove more hindrance than help and after a few attempts, Alistair simply stands, letting Cullen slowly undress him.

When all that’s left is a soaked shirt and breeches, he sets to peeling the material off, towelling skin as it’s revealed until Alistair stands nude, but mostly dry. He pulls him close once more, feeling chilled skin warming against his own, and he drops another kiss to the tip of Alistair’s nose.

‘Bed, now.’

‘Yes, ser,’ ,comes the reply, but for all the smiles and eyebrow wiggling he can muster, Alistair looks exhausted and he all but collapses into the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin like a child.

Cullen turns his attention to the sodden armour, carefully drying the metalwork before it has a chance to rust, and hefts the studded tunic, hanging it on the armour stand in the corner that he’s come to think of as Alistair’s. In truth, the room isn’t big enough for two people, despite the fact that neither of them have much in the way of material possessions. He wonders if, when all this is done, it might be time for them to look for something bigger together. Provided the Wardens would give them the chance.

With the armour left to dry, Cullen turns his attention back to the bed again, climbing in next to his lover. Alistair’s already asleep, snuffling into the pillow and with a roll of his eyes, Cullen snuffs out the candle beside the bed and curls up against Alistair’s warming back, content to have him at his side again.

Chapter Text

As dense as he himself admits he can be, even Alistair isn’t blind to Cullen’s attitude towards Elodie.

He’s not a fan. Or, at least, he’s not a fan of the idea of taking care of her. The sympathy in his eyes was evident when he’d realised the girl’s plight, but any more than that, and he wasn’t interested. Alistair had known that he wouldn’t be, of course, but it didn’t help the sting of disappointment to know that his lover had shut the idea down in his mind already.

And of course, the worst part was that he wasn’t even wrong. Alistair’s not so dull to think that he would know how to take care of a babe, his experience had taught him that all too well, but there was something about the thought of it that was enticing; to make their own little family. He’d not given it much thought when he had discovered that Grey Wardens weren’t capable of having children, too young and too caught up in the excitement of having been included in the ranks. Ten years on, and he starts to wonder if it was a sacrifice he’d have made if he had realised the implications.

Still, it doesn’t matter now. He is what he is. And what he is, is hungry.

Cullen is asleep beside him still and Alistair blinks against the thin morning light creeping through the damp leaves of the tree above them. His stomach grumbles, and he frowns, torn between nestling into the warmth of the lover he’s not seen for a fortnight, and easing the ache in his stomach. Inching closer to the sleeping man, he nuzzles at the nape of his neck, where short blonde hairs begin to curl, pressing a kiss to soft skin before sliding out of bed.

He could always get a snack and then come back before Cullen’s even woken. Maybe bring him some breakfast in bed.

His clothes are still damp from the rain the night before and he raids the dresser for a clean shirt and breeches, throwing them on and heading out into the early morning. The rain has finally stopped, the air clear and sharp now that the storm clouds have passed and it looks like a pleasant summer’s day lays ahead, just as it should this time of year.

The kitchens are just beginning to stir when he reaches them, maids and assistants stoking fires and kneading dough. Cook stands at the heavy iron range, churning an enormous vat of porridge an eyebrow lifting when she notices him creeping into the overly warm room.

‘Back so soon, Warden?’

He blushes.

‘Well, you know me.’

She hums to herself, pulling a large bowl from nearby, filling it almost to the brim with sticky oatmeal and handing it to him.

‘Honey on the table. Just don’t overdo it. The rest of us need to eat too.’

He nods, resigning himself to the small table in the corner, spooning as much honey as he thinks he can get away with into his breakfast, adding a cheeky handful of strawberries when offered them by a serving girl.

‘I saw that,’ Cook states, not even looking up from her cooking until she sends a pointed glare to the girl who scurries away with a blush. ‘The Inquisitor won’t be pleased if she knows you’re stealing her strawberries.’

‘I’m sure Lady Trevelyan can spare a few,’ he answers, shovelling as many into his mouth as he can.

‘Well...no doubt she won’t want them now.’

She turns back to her task, handing it off to an assistant to move onto something else and Alistair turns his attention back to his food, wondering how best to approach the subject of Elodie when Megan appears, bundle in arms, making her way to him. He swallows down the hot porridge as quickly as she can.

‘Ma thought you might want to see her again.’ She smiles, gesturing at the infant in her arms and he nods, mouth turning dry as she holds the child out for him to take. Fumbling, he cradles Elodie against his chest, uncertain as to why he’s forgotten how to hold her after just a few hours away and it only serves to reinforce his earlier thoughts; he’s not fit to look after her, even if he could get Cullen to agree.

It feels right though, warmth welling in his chest as he looks down to the girl, and she seems to feel it too, snuggling into him as his heart beats a little faster. A moment later and she shuffles, blue eyes fluttering open, her gaze landing on him and his breath catches, tensing as he waits for the familiar cry. Instead, she smiles, a soft cooing accompanies her grin and, if possible, the warmth in his chest increases.

‘Oh how sweet, she recognises you,’ Megan comments and he glances up to her before the girl in his arms demands his attention back.

‘You think so?’

‘Of course. She wouldn’t be smiling otherwise. Babies don’t just smile for anyone, you know. She must like you.’

‘Oh. Well...that makes a change. Usually when people see me coming it’s ‘oh no, not him again’ or ‘Quick! Hide the cheese.’’

Megan looks at him, brow furrowing, before she quickly changes the topic;

‘She slept well too. Won’t be long until we have her in a routine, I reckon her parents must have got her sorted with a sleeping pattern pretty quickly.’

‘Sleeping pattern?’

‘Oh you know, babes this age, they very much like their routines.’

‘I see.’ He didn’t know of course, because he would be the first to admit that he knew very little about caring for children other than it looked like hard work. A lot of fun sometimes, but also a lot of hard work. ‘You said ‘babes this age’...how old is she?’

‘Well we don’t rightly know but...Ma and I reckon about two months.’

‘Is that all?’ He peers down at Elodie, wriggling now, and she stops when he catches her eye, another soft coo escaping her. ‘She won’t remember her parents then?’

‘Difficult to say with children this age. She won’t remember them when she’s all grown up. Maybe that’s better though. It’d be pretty awful to remember losing your Ma and Pa so young. She’ll find a new family, and she’ll love them the same, no doubt.’

‘No doubt,’he echoes. Now would be the time to leave, he realises, but he finds himself enraptured by the girl as he sits and watches her. It’s not until she begins to wriggle in earnest, face creasing in discomfort, that his attention breaks, moments before she lets out a full bodied wail.

‘She’ll want changing,’ Megan informs him, stepping forwards to scoop the infant out of his arms to deal with the task. She leaves him standing in the kitchen, and he stares after her until reason grips him. He’d like to stay, to wait and spend more time with little Elodie, but there’s work to do.

Grabbing an apple from a nearby fruit pile he heads out to the stables. He owes Cadfael a debt.

--
When Cullen’s awake, he finds himself alone. That, in itself, is not an unusual occurrence, but he is certain he remembered Alistair returning in the small hours of the morning, with a babe no less. Of course, it was entirely possible that it had just been a
dream, but his dreams were usually far more violent, courtesy of his lyrium withdrawal. A quick glance to Alistair’s armour stand confirms that it had not, in fact, been a dream.

He groans as he sits up in bed, pushing off sheets that already smell like the warden. Which isn’t necessarily a good thing, he thinks, nose wrinkling at the scent of stale sweat. The issue of having a Warden as a partner, aside from their absence, was the fact that Wardens had a tendency to spend large portions of their time in the wilderness, hunting down Darkspawn. In the excitement of having Alistair back, he had forgotten how potent the stench he often carried back with him was.

With a groan, he stretches, standing, making a note to have a chambermaid change the sheets before eveningfall. For now, he needs to find breakfast, and Alistair, before he begins the day’s considerable list of duties. He suspects that he may find both in one place.

Dressing in a dry, clean set of clothes, he makes his way down to the kitchens as he had the night before. To his surprise, Alistair isn’t there, and he frowns, wondering where his lover might have disappeared to. One of the kitchen girls informs him that the Warden had left only minutes before, in the direction of the stables, and he thanks her, making to leave, though not before another hands him a small, warmed roll of bread that’s been hollowed out and filled with bacon and cheese. It makes for a convenient meal and he eats it quickly as he walks.

True to the girl’s guidance, he finds Alistair in the considerably sized stables, tending to his near-black mount. How the man had ever gotten such a fine horse was still something of a mystery to him. More so was the fact that he managed to control the beast. Cullen’s knowledge of horses was somewhat limited, but he knew that stallions had a reputation for being wildly temperamental, and yet ‘Cadfael’ was always calm and quiet, at least in Alistair’s presence. He’d heard that the horse often caused a fuss when his master wasn’t around though, much to Dennet’s displeasure.

‘I thought I might find you here,’ he speaks quietly as he approaches Alistair, aware that most of the animals are still dozing in their stalls. From the snoring he can make out from the hay loft, so too is Blackwall.

Alistair turns at his voice, smiling in greeting until Cadfael nips at his fingers. Accidentally, of course - the horse was only after the sliver of apple in his hand. Hissing, the warden pulls his hand away, flapping it as if that would somehow make the pain fade quicker.

‘I owe Cad for yesterday. I pushed him pretty hard, he’s a bit upset with me,’ Alistair explains, pulling a hard bristled brush from the box at his feet, filled with an assortment of grooming kit. He sets to brushing now-dry mud and dust from the horse’s coat, sending small plumes of grey-brown particles into the air around his hand. It’s satisfying to watch, the horse’s mottled coat reverting back to its solid black.

‘I’m certain you can make it up to him,’ Cullen comments, pausing by the stall’s half-door, wondering whether to chance sliding in. He lifts a palm to the stallion’s nose, letting the animal sniff at him for a moment, lips testing at his hand as Cadfael looks for food. Finding none, the beast snorts, as though disappointed, before turning back to the bale of sweet hay in front of him. Cullen eases in beside him, down the length of the narrow stall to where Alistair brushes briskly at his steed’s flank.

‘Maker, he’s dirty. I hadn’t realised it was this bad.’

‘I would suggest leaving it to the grooms, but I suspect they’re getting a little tired of the bruises.’

Alistair grins, pausing in his motions to lean in to press a kiss to Cullen’s cheek.

‘They dried him off last night, but only because he was so miserable he couldn’t be bothered to bite them.’

Cullen chuckles, patting the horse as Alistair moves to the other side.

‘Have you heard anything from your men?’ he asks, and he can almost feel Alistair’s tension rise.

‘Not yet. I’m hoping they managed to track the last few Darkspawn down and kill them. If they’re not back soon, I’ll have to go looking for them.’

‘That’s not wise, Alistair. It’s been days since you left them, they could be anywhere. It would be too large an area to search and the storm will have destroyed any tracks we could follow.’

The scratch of dry bristles against Cadfael’s coat stops.

‘What I am supposed to do, Cullen?’ There’s a bite to his voice, anger mixed with worry. ‘I can’t just assume they’re dead.’

‘Give it a few more days. I’ll have the patrols in the area keep an eye out for any sign of them. And I’m sure Leliana could lend a few of her scouts.’

‘I shouldn’t worry, right? They’re all capable.’

‘It’s not in your nature not to worry, but I would be surprised if they didn’t return soon. As you say, they’re all capable.’

Silence falls, save for the sound of Alistair grooming Cadfael recommencing, until he reappears at the horse’s head, absentmindedly stroking at the white snip between the beast’s nostrils.

‘I shouldn’t have broken off from them. But if I hadn’t, then I wouldn’t have found Elodie.’

He knows the feeling, the constant worry if the decisions he makes as Commander are the right ones. But he, at least, has been in the position for a lot longer. Alistair’s role as Warden-Commander was only a few months gone.

‘I believe you did the right thing, Alistair. Come,’ he reaches out, taking the brush from his lover’s hand and dropping it back into the box, ‘you need to bathe, and then I suspect you should attend the War Council. The Inquisitor will want to know what you found, no doubt.’

‘I will, in a moment. I need to check Cad’s hooves first.’

‘I’ll meet you in the bathing room then.’

With a brisk nod, Cullen leaves, taking a short detour to his chambers to gather a clean set of clothes for himself and Alistair, before heading to the washroom. The chamber was technically a public commodity, but this early in the morning it tended to be quiet. And of course, being the Commander of the Inquisition often meant he got a tub to himself, regardless of how busy the baths were.

He strips, stepping into a tub that’s regularly topped up with fresh, warm water by a servant, sinking down as far as he can. The water laps just beneath his clavicle, warming his chest before he ducks his head under the surface, soaking curls and slicking them back from his face as he comes up for air.

As he does, he finds Alistair slipping in next to him.

‘You’re adorable with your hair wet, you know?’

Cullen feels heat rise to his cheeks, still not used to the praise that Alistair heaps on him.

‘Well...you’re…’ he stammers for a moment, until a small splash hits him in the face, courtesy of his beaming partner.

‘You’re a child,’ Cullen finishes, wiping droplets from his cheeks before he reaches for the bar of hair soap he had brought from his chambers. Working it into lather he rubs suds through his hair as Alistair snickers. The topic of Cullen’s hair care regime had become something of a source of amusement to Alistair over the time they had known each other. Why, he wasn’t sure, given that Alistair wasn’t particularly nonchalant about his own locks.

Hair clean, he moves onto washing his body, mind wandering to the day ahead, running through drills, his schedule, when Alistair’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

‘I saw Elodie this morning.’

Ah. He wondered if this would come up.

‘Is the girl well?’ he asks, though he doesn’t pause to meet Alistair’s gaze, instead reaching for a washcloth.

‘She seems to be. Megan thinks she’ll settle down pretty quickly.’

‘That’s good to hear. It will make it easier for her to adjust.’ He does pause now, looking to Alistair who looks back at him, his expression quietly hopeful. ‘Have they given any thought to when they’ll try and find her a family?’

‘I...didn’t ask.’

‘Hmm. I suppose it may prove difficult - they will have to find someone outside Skyhold. Perhaps relatives of someone who works here.’

‘Megan could probably just take her,’ Alistair suggests. ‘Or someone else here.’

‘It wouldn’t be fair to raise a child in Skyhold. There are no other children here, and it’s far too busy. An active castle like this wouldn’t be appropriate.’

‘I grew up in a castle.’ There’s a hint of reproach in his voice and Cullen has to remind himself that pointing out that Alistair’s childhood was largely miserable would not be the way to win this.

‘Under very different circumstances.’

Alistair is not going to let this go, Cullen knows, and he takes a breath, preparing himself to face the subject head on. He’d hoped his suggestions would dissuade Alistair from thinking about it too much, but apparently he was either too subtle or Alistair too stubborn. He had a feeling it was the latter, given his lack of diplomacy.

‘Alistair.’ He sighs, crossing the gap between them to take his lover’s hand, leaning his forehead to Alistair’s. He cuddles in close, arms sliding around his waist, before he rests his head on his shoulder and Cullen breathes slow and deep, relishing the moment of peace before he breaks it.

Sliding a hand into Alistair’s damp hair, he ease the other man’s head from his shoulder, meeting soft amber eyes.

‘We can’t…’

‘Commander!’

The greeting, announced gaily to the otherwise empty room, jolts his attention away from his lover and he glares over to the source of the noise. Alistair wiggles free of his arms, face burning red.

‘Good morning, Bull.’

‘Boss wants you and Al up in the war room as soon as possible,’ the Qunari states, hitching a thumb towards the door. ‘Nookie nookie’s gonna have to wait.’

‘Understood. Inform the Inquisitor we’ll be there shortly.’

The Iron Bull nods, shooting a smirk to Alistair who’s trying to preserve his modesty behind a towel, and closes the door with a soft click on his way out.

Cullen climbs from the tub, grabbing a towel and drying himself roughly, Alistair following suit beside him. With the conversation cut short he feels the words press down on him, anxious to have the topic discussed and done with. Alistair fidgets as he dresses, looking anywhere but at him and Cullen knows it’s too late to go back now. They need to discuss this, once the meeting is done.

He takes Alistair’s hand, feeling fingers clutching at his and leads them from the room.

Chapter Text

There’s a fight brewing between them. Or, well, maybe not a fight as such, but certainly a ‘discussion’. Alistair knows that once he and Cullen are back in their quarters, the subject they’ve been avoiding will have to be discussed.

It’s obvious from the looks Leliana is shooting between him and the commander that she knows something’s up, but he has no interest in involving her. Best just the two of them talk about this calmly. Rationally. Like adults.
Adulthood is not his strong suit, unfortunately.

It’s after supper that they get the opportunity and Alistair realises that this is the first time he’s ever dreaded meeting his lover. Following the debriefing with the Inquisitor this morning, they had both been eager to find work to do and Alistair had no trouble finding various tasks that required his attention. Cullen had his set schedule of course, which always took him late into the evening.

And now he walks like a man to the gallows as he returns to his and Cullen’s chambers. Horse fed, search party for his men organised, belly full and Elodie tucked in for the eve, there’s nothing left for him to do but face it. Part of him wonders if he should knock on the door, before he scoffs at the absurdity of it and pushes into the room.

Cullen sits at his desk, quill in hand, parchment before him, a single candle that’s near spent casting a moody pall across the scene. It’s not helping.

‘I mean sure, you could light a few more candles and not give yourself eye strain, but why worry about that when you can be the dark brooding hunk of Skyhold?’ He means it as a joke, but his tone, a touch high, sounds forced.

The commander looks up at the sound of his voice, blinking in the dim light. He nods, pushing himself up from the desk.

‘I had wondered where you’d gotten to,’ he comments, ruffling a hand through messy curls, ignoring Alistair’s comment.

The blonde stands slowly, trudging over to him and taking his hands in his own, squeezing gently.

‘You know we need to discuss this,’ Cullen murmurs. There’s no anger in his tone, just gentle authority.

Alistair nods, trying not to look as glum as he feels. The answer is already decided in Cullen’s mind and he can’t argue against the man’s logic. He’s going to try though.

‘Shall we go upstairs?’ Cullen suggest, and Alistair nods again, letting the man lead him to the ladder and following him up. His lover is lighting candles already, when he reaches the top, enough that the room is enveloped in a warm glow, unlike the moody dinge downstairs.

Alistair perches on their bed, biting his lip.

‘I expect you already know my thoughts on the matter,’ Cullen states, rounding the bed to stand near him. He doesn’t sit, instead folding his arms in the small of his back, straightening himself. It’s what he does to bolster his own confidence, to help him believe in his own authority.

‘You think it’s a wonderful idea? That we should adopt her immediately?’ he asks, fake hope colouring his voice.

Cullen looks down to him, his eyes soft, the set of his lips telling of a distinct lack of amusement.

‘We cannot, Alistair.’

‘Why not?’

‘You know why.’

‘Because we’re busy?’ he asks. There’s more to it than that, of course, but he wants to see Cullen’s full reasoning, to find a way to refute him.

‘Yes, because we’re busy. Because we simply do not have the time that a child requires. Because we don’t know how to care for a child. Because we don’t own a home and have nowhere to raise a child. Because we don’t know if she has family beyond those on the farm. Because either one of us could die in the coming weeks. Because we’re not married, because we’re both men and the Chantry considers our relationship a sin as it is. The girl deserves a normal life, not to be treated as a pariah because of our selfish actions.’

Cullen stops in his tirade, to catch his breath before sighing heavily.

‘Need I go on?’ he asks, settling on the bed next to Alistair when he doesn’t answer.

‘I...I just…’ Alistair sputters, trying to find the right words. ‘...I know that but…I look at her when I’m holding her and it just feels...right. Like there’s this warmth in my heart and I just want to protect her, look after her. I know I won’t be good at it, Cullen, I’m not that much of a fool but…I just want to.’

He bites at his lip, meeting caramel eyes.

‘Have you never wanted a family, Cullen? When all this is done I mean, and we’ve left wars and fighting and dying behind...when it’s just the two of us. I’ve never had that and...wouldn’t it feel right to have someone to look after?’

‘Another question you know the answer to, Alistair.’

‘No. On this…I don’t, Cullen. We’ve never talked about it.’

Cullen huffs, tired, rubbing at his eyes.

‘I have never let myself entertain the idea, if I am truthful. I have only ever thought of serving, and having a family was never going to fit into that, so there has simply been no point in dwelling on it.’

‘The Chantry allows Templars to marry…’

‘Rarely. Only if they deem your lover to be suitable and only if it would not serve as a distraction. I became a superior officer so quickly, they would never have allowed it. And what life would that be for your family, anyway? You either die in battle or have the lyrium claim you. That is not something that loved ones should bear witness to.’

Alistair nods, miserable.

‘I suspect it is not so different among the Wardens,’ Cullen adds.

‘Wardens can’t have their own children, it’s different.’

‘And if you could...would you? I confess that I have not met many of your order, but I did not see any of them rushing to marry and adopt.’

‘No. They don’t. You’re right. It wouldn’t be fair, there would be no point.’

Cullen’s arm, warm, slides about his shoulders tugging him into his body, and he doesn’t resist the comfort his lover offers. There’s no maliciousness in Cullen’s truth, just his unwavering dedication to do the right thing. Still, Alistair’s battle is lost before he’d even begun, and the disappointment sits heavy and hollow in his chest.

‘I shouldn’t see her again, should I?’

‘I won’t dictate what you do, Alistair. But I suspect it would cause you more pain than provide closure. She at least will have the luxury of not remembering this time in her life.’

Sniffling, he straightens in Cullen’s arms to rest against his shoulder, a more comfortable position for them both.

‘Alright. But...do...do you think we could…?’

‘Yes?’

‘We could get a Mabari instead, right?’

Cullen chuckles lowly, turning to press a kiss to his forehead.

‘That seems more appropriate. Though if we do, you’re dealing with the...mess.’

‘Oh come on, you want one as much as I do!’

Taking Alistair’s hands in his, Cullen rubs a thumb over his knuckles.

‘That much I will admit. Perhaps if we are very fortunate, we may end up with a place of our own one day. But for now...I suspect we shall have to settle for simply sharing a bed.’

With a sigh, Alistair buries his face in the crook of Cullen’s neck. Arms curl around his once again, warm, strong as they slide down into the bed. In the peace he finds in Cullen’s arms, Alistair manages to drift off into a blissfully deep sleep.

Chapter Text

In the few days that pass after their conversation, Cullen finds Alistair quieter than his usual self, distracted. He understands why, but the change is unsettling and he hopes it will pass, that Alistair will come to terms with the decision. It’s only when the rest of Alistair’s wardens return that he gets a genuine smile from him.

The relief that the men in his charge are safe is enough to coax his warden back into a happier mindset, and slowly but surely, Alistair’s familiar humour creeps back to him. But not completely and Cullen knows that despite how much Alistair smiles at him, how his jokes return, there’s still a part of him that’s focused on Elodie, that longs to go back to her.

He marvels at how quickly the man became attached to her.

He scrubs at his chin as he rises one morning, feeling stubble beneath his fingers, the thought that they could have, perhaps, formed a family playing on his mind. But no. The points he’d made were all valid, no matter his and Alistair’s feelings on the subject, and he slides out of bed, presses a kiss to his still sleeping lover’s cheek and dresses. His stomach is grumbling and he decides that he has time to grab breakfast before he heads out to inspect the troops for the morning.

As usual at this time, the courtyard is still quiet, and he crosses quickly to the kitchen, finding it as busy and bustling as usual.

One of the girls greets him with a shy smile, putting a plate of bacon, eggs and buttered bread together for him. There’s a mug of tea steeping in front of him a moment later, and he settles onto one of the long benches to eat his breakfast.

It’s as he lifts a carefully constructed forkful of bacon and egg tower to his mouth that he picks up on loud voices in the corridor that leads to the kitchen. A short second later and Cook appears through the door, and announces herself with a heavy sigh. He looks at her, intrigued by the usually energetic woman’s somewhat flattened mood, only to wish he’d not been caught looking when she meets his gaze coolly.

‘That bairn your warden brought back is a little troublemaker.’

He swallows his food and pauses to take a drink of tea before he replies as casually as he can;

‘Is that so?’

Cook secures the strings of her apron behind her waist, one eye watching him.

‘Ever since he stopped visiting she’s wailed and wailed. Won’t settle for the night, won’t accept a cuddle. Only stops her complaining for something t’eat and then she’s right back at it until she wears herself out. Any thoughts as to why that might be?’

The passive aggressiveness of the question prompts him to cock an eyebrow, but he replies mildly;

‘I’m afraid the intricacies of infant behaviour isn’t something I’m familiar with. Certainly you’re more experienced with such things than I.’

‘I mean, Commander, why Warden Alistair has hightailed it?’

‘His duties keep him busy.’

‘Didn’t know wardening involved moping around the stables.’

He pauses now, looking up at the stubborn woman as his breakfast cools, noting the triumphant look in her eyes.

‘You think the girl misses him?’

Cook sniffs.

‘Can’t be certain. Could just be she misses her ma and pa.’

He nods, not unsympathetic to the child’s situation.

‘It’s a shame for one so young to lose her family.’ He pauses to take another sip of tea and finish the last few bites of his meal, letting his eyes meet Cook’s when he’s done. She’s clearly not finished, and he pre-empts her;

‘I’m concerned that if Alistair spends too much time with her, it will become difficult for him to see her move on to a new family. I don’t wish for him to gain false hope, I don’t wish to see him hurt.’

His words stall whatever it was that Cook was going to say and she nods.

‘I understand Commander. I won’t bother you again.’

She takes the now empty plate from in front of him, and leaves him with his thoughts.

He rises after a moment; no point in dwelling on it now. There are troops to inspect, and a hundred other things that require his attention. An orphaned girl is not one of them.

The rest of his day rushes by in the usual blur of meetings and inspections, drills and reports. He’s so busy today that he forgets to eat until the sun is beginning to set. He only remembers that he’s missed his meals when Alistair appears in his office with a large bowl of broth and a heel of bread for him.

‘I know you, couldn’t let you starve now, could I?’ Alistair announces at the enquiring look Cullen sends him.

He brushes aside a handful of reports, setting the bowl and bread onto the desk, and Cullen agrees to retire for the evening, slumping down into his chair to eat as Alistair perches on the edge of the desk. It’s only when he sits that the realises how tired he is.

It’s the same everyday of course, but it always surprises him just how hard the wall of exhaustion hits him.

Blinking, he sips at a spoonful of broth. In the walk from the kitchen to his office it’s cooled to a tolerable level. Beside him, Alistair sits, humming a quiet tune to himself, feet kicking at the air as he waits as patiently as he can. It’s not one of his strong points, and within a few minutes Alistair begins fidgeting, fingers finding pieces of parchment and plucking at their edges, eyes running mindlessly over reports.

Cullen pauses in his eating, most of his hunger sated.

‘Did your men find those stray Darkspawn?’

Alistair’s movements still before he nods.

‘They’d gone back to ground after they destroyed the farm, or so they tell me.’

‘How can they be sure they are the same ones?’

‘Rufus,’ Alistair replies, as if that answers everything. Cullen prompts him to explain with a raised brow.

‘Oh...Rufus is Stoick’s hound. One of those tan ones with the black saddles and the beardy face. I forget what the breed is called…’

‘Ayrdails.’

‘That’s them. He’s got a good nose. Not as good as a Mabari, mind, but he gets the job done. And he’s cute. Anyway, he followed the scent, led them back and boom, no more Darkspawn raiding party. For a while, anyway, the tunnels looked pretty clear, or so Beritte tells me.’

‘That’s good to know.’

Alistair nods, before he bites at his lip.

‘I just wish we had caught them sooner. If we had…’

‘You did your best, Alistair,’ Cullen soothes, dropping his meal to reach for Alistair’s hand. ‘It is an unfortunate truth that we live in a land where such things occur. But you saved the girl, and that’s something. Had you not followed their trail, she would have perished soon after.’

‘I know but…well, you know.’

‘I know,’ Cullen agrees, letting an understanding smile curl his lips, ‘but we cannot save everyone. We simply do what we can to try and make things better where we can.’

Alistair nods again.

‘I hope she’s doing well.’

Cullen pauses, recalling Cook’s words from this morning as he soaks up the last of the broth with a chunk of bread. He pops it into his mouth, chewing slowly. He doesn’t want to worry Alistair by telling him the truth, but nor does he wish to lie to him. Until a thought strikes him, that is;

‘Did you not visit the kitchens to pick this up for me?’ Cullen gestures to his now empty plate and bowl.

‘I did but Cook wasn’t there, nor Megan. I thought I heard someone talking about her but they went quiet when they realised I was there.’ Alistair frowns, lines etching into his forehead. ‘Is there something I should know, Cullen?’

He shakes his head.

‘I spoke with Cook this morning. The babe is fine. Cook informs me that she has been crying more as of late, but she seems to think she will settle again in time.’

‘She’s crying more?’

‘So Cook says.’ Cullen stands, stretching out his back as he does before turning his full attention to his partner. ‘She seems to be of the opinion that she misses either her parents or you.’

Alistair’s eyes brighten instantly, and Cullen wishes he hadn’t told him.

‘Really?’ Alistair asks, the corner of his mouth beginning to quirk into a grin.

‘Yes, though that does not change anything.’

The light disappears again, and broad shoulders slump.

‘If it doesn’t change anything, then why tell me?’

He can feel Alistair’s resentment, and it’s enough to cause guilt to stab into his chest. Caught in between defending his decision and comforting Alistair, he stands rigid beside him. He hopes that his honesty will be enough to earn Alistair’s forgiveness.

‘Because I will not lie to you. You deserve better than that.’

‘Sometimes I wish you’d lie just to make it easier.’ Alistair huffs, eyes darting up to meet Cullen’s.

‘I understand. But you’re also stronger than that. You don’t need me to lie to be able to handle the truth of the world around you.’

Alistair stills, uncharacteristically silent and Cullen can all but see him struggling to decide whether to be angry or not. But his lover’s always been one to look for the positive in a situation and amber eyes soften as they hold his before Alistair’s full bottom lip pouts.

‘It’s hard being so wonderful and strong, you know.’

It’s as sure a sign as any that he’s forgiven and Cullen chuckles quietly, stepping forwards to pull Alistair up from the desk and into his arms.

‘I know.’

Alistair heaves a sigh, the corner of his mouth quirking.

‘This seems to be happening a lot recently,’ his partner comments, nestling into his arms, and Cullen smiles into Alistair’s neck.

‘Mmm, I had noticed,’ Cullen agrees.

‘Maybe this is the sign that we’re not supposed to be parents.’

He squeezes his arms tighter around Alistair, noting the sorrow in his voice, and it makes his chest ache. Guilt itches at him for a moment and he resists the urge to squirm, until Alistair pulls back to look him in the eye.

‘It’s fine, I’m a big enough child for the both of us, right?’ He smiles faintly, the curve of his mouth wistful.

Cullen makes to reply, until Alistair shushes him, pursing his lips as he thinks.

‘I need to let this go. It’s not going to happen. Just one of those things to accept. It’s not like it’s been a lifelong dream anyway. Like you said, it’s just that she came along and made me think I wanted it.’

He smiles softly as his lover’s response.

‘I am proud of you. You know that, do you not?’

‘Well it’s still a pretty new feeling but...yes, I suppose I do.’

‘I am glad.’ Cullen hums, running a thumb across the breadth of Alistair’s lip. ‘Now, how does you and I going upstairs sound?’

‘Aww, you mean not on the desk?’

‘We can’t utilise the desk every time, Alistair.’

‘But I wanna.’ The Warden pouts, mock childishly and Cullen grins, shaking his head.

‘Shall we compromise then?’

‘That depends, what did you have in mind, Commander?’

‘Well…’ Cullen glances back to the chair he’s been sat in all day, ‘it is rather comfortable.’

‘Comfort wasn’t quite what I had in mind’ Alistair smirks, ‘but it’ll do. For now.’

Fingers entwine, Alistair’s calloused digits curling around his own as his love tugs on his hand and Cullen follows as the other man plops down into the chair.

‘Oooh,’ he wiggles in the seat, grinning, ‘it is comfy. Why have I never sat in this before?’

‘Probably because you are usually too busy getting on the desk.’

‘True.’ Alistair takes his hand again, pulling him down for a kiss, fingers toying with the short curls at the nape of his neck. Supple lips are warm and soft against his and Cullen loses himself in the sensation, their worries and problems buried til the morn.

Chapter Text

Among the many talents Alistair has never mastered in his life acting like he’s not bored out of his mind is one of them, and probably the one skill he needs to learn most.

He draws in a breath slowly through his nose, trying to mask the yawn that’s currently wracking his body, though he’s certain his attempt is only serving to contort his face into some grotesque expression. If anybody notices, they don’t say anything and when his yawn has passed he glances to the men and women around him, confirming that they’re just as thrilled by the subject of the meeting as he is. Next to him, Sera is all but snoring as she dozes on her feet, Vivienne opposite her pursing her lips as her eyelashes flutter, trying to stay open. It’s probably a good thing that the war table is so large, offering a convenient prop up to them all.

He shifts again, wondering if he can catch the cool breeze coming in through the window in an attempt to rouse himself. Instead he catches sight of Cullen, the only person in the room who actually seems to be listening to the Inquisitor as she discuss some mission. Of course, Cullen would be listening. It was his troops who had undertaken that particular task.

‘The region has a reputation for holding a number of Darkspawn nests. We sent a small number of scouts in to confirm. They barely escaped with their lives,’ Cullen reads off from the report in his hand before looking to the Inquisitor.

She turns her gaze to Alistair.

‘Well, that’s where our newest allies come in, isn’t it?’

He blinks rapidly, waking himself up.

‘...I...uh...sorry, what was the question?’

The Inquisitor smirks, an eyebrow cocking as she does.

‘Late night, was it?’ her gaze darts between Alistair and Cullen.

The commander immediately starts rubbing at his neck as Alistair’s cheeks flush, sending a small titter around the room’s occupants. They had attempted to keep their relationship quiet, but it hadn’t lasted long.

‘...I…um…’ Alistair stammers again until Lady Trevelyan cuts him off.

‘Nevermind, Alistair. Would you be able to send some of your men to clear the Darkspawn from here?’

She points to a heavily forested region on the border between Ferelden and Orlais. He peers at it, brow creasing as he does.

‘I could send people to clear it out, but it would take more men than I have here. There are still enough wardens in Ferelden to take out that many, but they’re all at Amaranthine at the moment. It would take weeks for them to reach those tunnels.’

‘We can’t risk stationing our troops in that area if they’re just going to get swarmed. And we have to control that area.’

‘Well...you could just seal the tunnels for now. Block them up with rubble and magic or cave them in. The Darkspawn will eventually dig out new tunnels, but it would give us time to get a decent sized platoon together and your soldiers should be able to deal
with any stragglers that happen to be around.’

‘Good. We’ll do that then. Any hints on how to collapse the tunnels?’

Alistair shrugs.

‘I would suggest something that goes ‘boom’ and loudly. And do it in the day.’

‘I’ll speak to some of our dwarven allies about the details,’ Trevelyan concludes, and Josephine rattles off a list of people they could approach.

Alistair lets his attention drift again, his contribution over for the rest of the meeting, more than likely, and he’s on the edge of sleep when…something…pulls his attention. A noise that he’s not entirely sure what it is yet, but he knows it’s important to him.
He blinks rapidly lifting his head, tilting his ear towards the door behind him as he listens more closely. Within a few seconds he’s identified the sound, growing louder with every second that passes, as a desperate full bodied wail. His heart freezes in his chest, recognising the sound, and he darts a glance around the room, wondering if anybody else had noticed it yet. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could excuse himself from the room and sort out the oncoming problem before someone caused a scene.

Across the room, Cullen’s gaze slowly turns to him, lips pressed into a thin line. The Inquisitor’s eyebrows lift in surprise;

‘That isn’t…’

Her question is cut off as the heavy oak door to the war room is shoved open, the wail that had been muffled by the wood now nearly deafening as a frazzled looking Cook forces her way into the room.

All of the room’s previously dozing occupants are now wide awake, startled snorts announcing their sudden alertness, and Alistair stands rigid as Cook marches over to him, Elodie screaming and squirming in her arms. He doesn’t even think to resist as the woman forces the babe into his arms, instinctively cradling the girl to his chest.

The infant’s face is red with the force of her cries, wet with tears, and panic rises in his chest because as much as he wants to comfort her he doesn’t know how, and if Cook can’t manage it, how in the name of the Maker is he supposed to be able to?
But Cook is backing away, just out of reach so he can’t return the girl to her care, and she gestures at him, imploring him to do...something.

So he talks, the only thing he’s ever been able to do competently, rocking the girl gently as he babbles at her. The words are meaningless, really, his heart thudding in his chest, thumb brushing the dark wispy hairs that cover the girl’s head, but little by little, the cries begin to slow, to fall quieter until blue eyes open, squinting up at him. He continues to talk to her, encouraging now, praising, soothing until her cries turn to coos.

He breathes a sigh of relief as the quiet soothes his own ears, something he never thought he’d appreciate. It seems that he’s not the only one either. Cook looks all but ready to weep with gratitude, as around him the inner circle begins to murmur and creep closer for a look at the babe, curious at this new development.

‘Thank the Maker,’ Cook announces, all but glaring at the infant now. ‘Warden, you have no idea what kind of demon-child you’ve brought to us.’

He frowns at that, insulted on Elodie’s behalf as he rocks the swaddled babe who blinks up at him, happy in his arms.

‘Demon-child?’

‘Aye. Now that she’s been feeding regularly and sleeping she’s decided to take an interest in the world. She’s been crying for hours, days even. Said it to the Commander, she won’t stop save to eat and sleep.’

He glances at Cullen, who looks thoroughly unimpressed at this development, and bites his lip, steeling himself. It feels right to have her in his arms again, but he knows he can’t afford to get used to it.

‘Right, well, now that she’s all quiet again…’ he trails off.

‘Now that she’s quiet again, Cook, perhaps you could take this little one somewhere more appropriate,’ Lady Trevelyan suggests, her tone gentle, but leaving no room for argument.

Cook flushes to be under the Inquisitor’s gaze and bows slightly.

‘Yes, m’lady, of course. Didn’t mean to interrupt.’

The older woman reaches towards him and he takes the cue, shifting Elodie out of his arms and handing her over to Cook and watching as the woman settles the babe into the crook of her arm. His chest tightens as she turns away and he looks to the war table, hoping to distract himself with the position of the markers across the map.

Around him, he’s aware of murmurs, the inner circle’s interest piqued, and he searches for something to steer the meeting back to more appropriate subjects when Elodie let’s out an ear-splitting squeal. The sound quickly turns back into a wail, as desperate as before, and Cook’s turning on her heel before any of them can react.

Elodie is thrust back into his arms and Cook is halfway out of the door before either he or Trevelyan can call after her. As he works to quieten the babe again the Inquisitor storms to the door, calling after the older woman, to no avail, and she turns to him, eyes narrowed. He swallows thickly under Lady Trevelyan’s piercing gaze, almost as green as the anchor that flickers in her palm.

‘Ummm…’ he starts and she shakes her head.

‘Just keep her quiet, and we’ll sort this out later.’ She eyes the bundle in his arms as she speaks before turning back to the map in front of them, calling for quiet among everyone.

Elodie, to her credit, coos once or twice before she nestles into him and falls asleep once more, heedless of the voices around her as war tactics are discussed. Alistair watches her, rocking the infant in his arms as she slumbers, only taking his eyes off her to answer the occasional question directed at him. He can all but feel Cullen’s gaze on him and as soon as Trevelyan calls an end to the meeting his partner is at his side, peering down at the girl.

‘This is not....’

He’s cut off almost as soon as he’s begun speaking, the rest of the inner circle having decided to crowd around to peek at the infant. Alistair frowns, uncomfortable with the sudden press of bodies around him and the girl, and he’s relieved when Leliana’s voice cuts through them;

‘Enough, you’d think none of you had seen a babe before.’

The Iron Bull lifts his hand.

‘I haven’t. Not up close, anyway. It’s very...small. And pink. Like a nug.’

‘Oh, I like nugs,’ Cole chimes in, standing on tiptoes to look at the swaddled child. ‘She doesn’t squeak like one though.’

‘Well I would hope not.’ Cullen huffs.

'Isn’t there work you should all be doing?’ Trevelyan prompts and the team take the hint, shuffling away to give them room, though not without a few parting coos.

‘I assume you have a plan for sorting this out?’ she asks, once it’s only he and Cullen left in the room, Josephine and Leliana remaining to finish discussing a few details.

Alistair sighs.

‘No. No idea. I thought Cook would be able to sort her out.’

Josephine looks up from her clipboard.

‘By ‘sort her out’, you mean find her a new family, yes?’

‘Something like that.’

‘That will likely be beyond Cook’s abilities, but I could see about arranging for the local chantry to take her. I’m sure Mother Giselle would…’

‘No!’

Josie halts mid sentence at his outburst, looking startled, and he flushes, embarrassed. But he won’t change his mind. He won’t have the Chantry decide her future, not like they did with him.

‘I…’

‘The chantry will turn her into a templar, or a lay sister, or something, and she’ll be miserable. I won’t let you give her to them.’

‘Alistair.’ He can hear the disappointment in Cullen’s voice, can see the gentle reproach in his golden eyes, and he squirms under his lover’s disapproval. But he won’t change his mind.

‘I know you believe in the Chantry still, Cullen. But I can’t. Not after how it was when I was there. Not when I know how they treat their Templars. I can’t risk that happening to her, and what if she’s a mage?! With the rebellion we don’t know what it’s going to be like in a few years and…’

‘Alistair.’ It’s Leliana calling his attention now and he tries to swallow down the anger and fear in his gut. ‘She won’t come to harm. I have friends who’ve...lost their own babe recently. They would perhaps be willing to take her in.’

‘Nobles?’

‘No. Well-off merchants. They’re respected in their community, wealthy enough to give her a good upbringing.’

‘I…’ he heaves a breath, looking to Cullen, who only meets his gaze neutrally and he knows he’s trying not to influence him. It’s a good enough sign that he thinks it’s a good idea.

Hesitantly, he nods.

‘Fine…’ He looks down to Elodie, sleeping still. ‘But I want to meet them first.’

‘I’m sure they’ll be delighted to meet you. It will likely take them a few weeks to get here, but I can let them know immediately and make arrangements.’

Alistair nods again, his assent given, and the hollowness in his chest returns at the knowledge.

The women turn away to talk amongst themselves, making arrangements and he suppresses a sigh. Cullen appears at his elbow, eyes soft.

‘It’s the right thing to do, Alistair.’

‘I know. Doesn’t make it any easier though.’

‘The right choice usually is not,’ Cullen remarks, his hand resting at the small of Alistair’s back. He’s trying to be subtle as he presses against him, but his attempts seem to fail as Leliana giggles, glancing at the them.

‘You two are just adorable.’

Cullen blushes, taking a step away from Alistair. Alistair scowls back at Leliana, which only prompts her to laugh more until she comes in for a closer look at the babe.

‘She’s a cutie. May I?’

He nods awkwardly, handing Elodie over to her as smoothly as he can. When she doesn’t wake he breathes a sigh of relief and scrubs at his face with his palms. The whole thing has him anxious.

‘I don’t think Cook is going to be very willing to take her back,’ she comments, rocking the girl gently.

‘We could take her for the rest of the day,’ Cullen suggests, ‘and then give her back this evening. That should give Cook time to calm down.’

‘By ‘we’ you mean ‘me’, right?’ Alistair asks, trying to ignore the excited thumping of his heart, glossing over the hope that’s forming.

‘Correct.’ Cullen smirks, though the expression disappears into vague irritation as Elodie wakes and begins to cry again.

Leliana hands the girl back to Alistair quickly, and she settles down once more, staring up at him.

‘You’re not going to make this easy are you, little one?’ Alistair asks. She coos in response.

‘So adorable,’ Leliana teases before leaving him to it. Trevelyan and Josephine follow suit, leaving him with Elodie and Cullen.

‘Ah...well. I have reports to read,’ Cullen excuses himself, though not before pressing a kiss to Alistair’s cheek. ‘I’ll see you this evening.’

Alistair sighs to himself, shifting the girl in his arms.

‘Well, just you and me again, sweetie.’

She gurgles in response and he heads out with her in his arms. He needs to meet with his men to discuss the entrance to the deep roads that need closing, as well as contact the wardens at Vigil’s keep.

The tasks prove more than a little difficult to complete with Elodie to juggle, not least because of the interest his men take in her, and the jokes they make at his expense. Still, he doesn’t mind the added difficulty, and his men still follow his orders.
He has to call back to the kitchens a few times to find Megan when Elodie begins to cry, and it startles him to realise just how often she needs to feed, and be changed. By the time he’s found the little office that’s been put aside for his use, and written his letter, it’s getting late and he heads to the hall to eat before dropping the girl back in with Megan.

Cook is nowhere to be seen, and Megan, though visibly tired, takes her from him.

‘I can take her again tomorrow...if...if you need the help,’ he offers, and the young woman grins at him.

‘By all means. Come by after breakfast, I’ll make sure she’s fed and ready for you.’

He nods again, warmth spreading through his chest at the idea of spending more time with the girl, and he leaves the kitchen, more content than he’s felt in a long time.

Chapter Text

In the days that follow Cook’s interruption of their meeting, Cullen barely sees Alistair; his lover either taking care of the babe most of the day, or, as Cullen suspects, avoiding him.

After a week or so, and only a handful of hours spent with him, Cullen eventually pins him down.

‘We need to talk.’

He’s not willing to beat around the bush, and he watches as Alistair halts in his preparations for bed, bare shoulders tensing. The warden lets out a strained laugh.

‘Really? I thought never seeing each other and not talking when you do was a normal part of a relationship. That’s what everyone who’s married tells me, anyway.’

The scathing tone of Alistair’s voice catches him off guard and Cullen frowns.

‘Alistair…’

‘I know, Cullen. She’s going. You know Josephine and Leliana are finding her a new home, it’s just for a few weeks more, to keep her quiet. I know it’s not ideal but I don’t have a choice now - she’s taking too much of everyone else’s time, and while it’s quiet for me it makes the most sense that I take care of her, and I know how much of a fan of logic and efficiency you are. So if you just give me a couple more…’

Cullen strides over to Alistair, ignoring the words tumbling from his lips now, and slides his arms around Alistair’s waist, pulling the man’s bare back against his own chest, resting his chin on Alistair’s shoulder.

His lover quietens immediately, sighing, relaxing back into his arms.

‘Sorry.’ Alistair’s hands find his own, clasped over his stomach.

‘I meant not to upset you. I only worry for you. And I’ve missed you.’

There’s a soft huff from Alistair, amusement and affection.

‘Me too. Did you know that babies do nothing but eat, sleep, poop and cry?’

‘I had a strong suspicion that may be the case.’

‘Sometimes she looks at me for a little while, and then she sort of smiles and gurgles a bit. But then she goes back to sleep.’

Cullen can’t help the gentle chuckle that bubbles through his chest, smiling against Alistair’s shoulder.

‘You have her in a routine now, correct?’

‘Almost.’

Cullen bites his lip. He has no real desire to invite the girl into his life, but nor does he want Alistair to avoid him any longer.

‘If...if she is quieter then I wouldn’t be too opposed to her presence. As long as I can work…’

Alistair spins to face him, a grin spreading over his lips.

‘Only if she’s quiet, Alistair,’ Cullen warns before the other man gets carried away. Which he knows he’ll do anyway, but he at least has to try and get him to calm down.

‘She’ll be quiet. I promise I’ll keep her quiet. She’ll only cry when it’s feed time anyway and we’ve got the timings down on that.’

‘I have your word?’

‘Yes, I promise, I said I promise.’

With another sigh Cullen leans in, pressing a kiss to Alistair’s forehead as he relents.

‘Fine. But she sleeps with Megan still, understood?’

‘Understood, Commander.’

The redhead gives a cheeky wink before he strips off his breeches and bounds into bed, and Cullen tries not to give voice to the groan in his chest as we worries just what he’s gotten himself into.

--

Elodie appears, courtesy of Alistair, after breakfast the next morning. The warden has knotted a swathe of fabric over his shoulder, fashioning a makeshift sling across his torso that the babe rests in.

Alistair greets him with a grin.

‘We’re all fed, bathed, changed and ready to go.’

Cullen looks up from the report on his desk.

‘So I see. You are intending to join me on the troop inspection this morning, then?’

‘Yep. Thought I’d see how my guys and yours are integrating.’

Cullen feels a brow raise of its own accord.

‘Poorly. As I suspect you know.’

‘Yes, I’d heard. I don’t really understand it.’

‘They were enemies fighting to the death at Adamant not so long ago, Alistair, it is natural for them to be wary of each other.’

‘But they’re all just soldiers. My mages don’t seem to be having too much trouble over in the tower.’ Alistair grimaces.

‘Perhaps the treatment of mages makes them more likely to overlook their differences. But most of my soldiers are just commoners who feel the need to fight for the cause, as it were. They’ve never met a Grey Warden before.’

‘But it’s been weeks. And my men are just people too.’

‘And the Wardens are clandestine. All most people know about your order is that you appear in times of extreme trouble to fight the darkspawn and then disappear again. The idea of you all as individual people is about as foreign and frightening a concept to
them as blood magic.’

‘So they fear us?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do they fear me?’

Alistair’s brow is knitted into a stern frown as he asks, as perturbed as he is concerned.

‘No. But you are not just a Grey Warden soldier. You helped save Ferelden, you turned the wardens away from Erimond’s scheme, and…well you are far more personable and approachable than most of your men. They do have a somewhat intimidating air. I suspect that some of them enjoy it.’

‘I suppose that’s true,’ Alistair muses, idly scratching at the stubble on his chin before his usual grin returns. ‘Perhaps I should have them all tell knock knock jokes to break the ice?’

Cullen sighs, shoving back from the desk before allowing a rueful smile to pass his lips.

‘Perhaps.’

‘And hey, look, I’ve already been here a few minutes and Elodie hasn’t interrupted us yet.’

Alistair gestures down to the bundle and Cullen nods mildly in agreement.

‘Let’s hope that proves to be the case for most of the day.’

Lifting his surcoat from his chair, Cullen pauses as Alistair approaches, letting the other man help him lift the heavy mantle onto his shoulders, pulling his arms through the arm holes. It was a task he could do on his own, but wearing plate armour meant his movements were restricted enough to be difficult at best. Far easier to just let Alistair help him, given that he didn’t have a squire at hand.

Task complete, he leads Alistair out of the door and down into the courtyard. It’s only large enough to hold a fraction of the soldiers that now make up the Inquisition’s army, and he feels a swell of pride at how far they’ve come. Still, it means walking down to the camps beside the lake to inspect everything. It’s a duty he delegates to senior ranking officers most days, but once a week he still likes to check in himself.

His men, and women, are already arranged into neat rows and ranks when they reach them, each of his soldiers standing tall and silent as he casts an eye over them. He’s pleased to note that everything is in order, and he barks a series of commands to test their reactions.

They’re perfect. As he expects.

He moves down the line steadily, Alistair at his side, noting how the small platoon of Grey Wardens that are assembled in the courtyard are barely in order. He casts a questioning glance over to Alistair who smiles sheepishly before stopping in front of the group. They shuffle into more organised rows, though the response seems lacklustre.

‘Guys,’ Alistair addresses the group, and the murmurs of conversation between the wardens stops, ‘I won’t raise my voice. Rank and file. Now, please.’

To Cullen’s surprise, the soldiers snap into place with almost mechanical precision, and Alistair strolls amongst them, inspecting armour until he’s satisfied. He wanders out from amongst them almost casually.

‘At ease.’ It’s his last command and the wardens instantly fall back into chatting amongst themselves. Cullen glances at his own troops, still standing rigidly, and sighs.

‘At ease.’

His own soldiers take the term less literally, as they should, still standing in order, though not as rigid as before. With a last glance at the Wardens he begins the walk down to the lower camps for the rest of his inspection. Alistair falls into place beside him, his voice hesitant as he asks;

‘Do you want me to go back to the office?’

The question stops him in his tracks and he turns to Alistair, who pointedly looks the other way.

‘Why would I want that?’

Alistair looks back to him, an eyebrow lifted before he gestures at the sling across his chest.

‘Well, she’s already attracting attention. I know you’re not overly fond of that.’

True to Alistair’s words, Cullen looks over his shoulder to the troops to find them watching him and his partner. The murmur of conversation, that he hasn’t previously noticed, stops as his eyes pass over his men.

He sighs.

‘I do not. But I care more for your regard than their gossip.’

‘I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.’

‘It’s of no concern Alistair. Come, we have soldiers to meet.’

A small smile, almost shy, creeps onto Alistair’s lips.

‘If you insist, Commander.’

Cullen turns, taking the path leading down to the lower camps, keenly aware that as he does, his officers call for the troops to disband. The murmurs return almost instantly and Alistair hurries to catch up with him.

‘She won’t be here much longer, so they’ll stop talking about it then, I guess,’ Alistair offers, and Cullen knows he’s seeking to soothe him.

‘There will always be gossip. It’s unavoidable, I suppose.’

‘And you’re fine with that?’

‘I wouldn’t use the term ‘fine’ but I won’t expend energy on dissuading it when I have other matters to contend with. As long as it doesn’t cause any questioning of my leadership.’

Alistair nods but doesn’t say anymore, clearly unhappy with the situation. In all honesty, it would be far easier if Alistair kept Elodie out of sight, but the fissure it would cause between them would be too large to repair if he did. The girl’s presence wasn’t particularly unpleasant anyway - it was the situation she created that was problematic.

They reach the end of the bridge that leads down to the lower camp within a few minutes, but it’s as they do that a patter of rain breaks from the overcast sky. It’s surprisingly cold given that it’s summer, and Cullen grimaces as he considers the prospect of having to inspect the rest of the army in the rain.

‘Uh…’

He pauses, turning at Alistair’s quiet exclamation;

‘Problem?’

Alistair frowns.

‘Uh, I don’t think it’s the best idea to keep her out in the rain.’

‘Do you want to take her back inside?’

‘I probably should. Meet you back in your office?’

‘Very well.’

Cullen offers his lover a quick smile before he turns away, hurrying down to carry on with his work, hoping he can get the job done before he gets soaked.

--

It’s approaching lunchtime when Cullen finally returns to his office, thoroughly sodden and miserable as rain lashes the walls of the keep.

He finds Alistair sat in the chair behind the desk, somehow tucked into its confines, cradling Elodie as the two of them snooze. Neither of them stirs as Cullen enters, and he finds himself half annoyed, half gladdened at the scene before him. Moving to the ladder he climbs as quietly as he can, no easy feat with his clothing sodden, and he grimaces as he heaves the bulk of his armour up to the loft and sets to stripping it off as best as he can.

It takes an inordinately long time to strip down to his underwear, the task slowed by both the weight of his clothing and the chill that’s settled into his body. By the time he’s redressed and made his way back downstairs both Elodie and Alistair are still asleep, a thin stream of drool trickling from the corner of Alistair’s open mouth and Cullen holds back a loud snort of laughter, opting instead to gently prod Alistair awake.

Amber eyes blink open after a moment and Alistair squints up at him before yawning, using a free hand to rub at his eyes.

‘Oh, I fell asleep?’

‘Apparently so. And so close to lunchtime too.’

‘Huh. That’s odd.’

‘Quite. Should we go to lunch then?’

‘You’re actually going to go to the hall and eat?’ Incredulity colours Alistair’s voice, a dark eyebrow arched.

‘I appreciate that it’s unusual for me, but I wouldn’t mind a hot meal for a change.’

‘Sounds good. I can drop Elodie off with Megan too. She’ll be due a feeding soon.’

Alistair shifts in his chair, shushing the babe as she whimpers slightly in her sleep, and wriggling in his seat. After a moment he looks up at Cullen sheepishly.

‘Uhh...I may have gotten a little, um, a little stuck. Could you take Elodie for a second?’

Cullen frowns before he shakes his head, edging in closer to ease the girl out of Alistair’s arms into his own. She squirms as he does, disturbed by the movement, blue eyes fluttering open to focus on him. Within a few moments her brow furrows, eyes screwing shut as she realises she’s no longer in Alistair’s arms. Hiccoughing sobs begin to emanate from the babe and he cringes inwardly even as he attempts to rock her gently in his arms to quiet her.

‘Well, someone’s fussy today,’ Alistair mutters, looking over to them.

Cullen glances over to his lover, suppressing his amusement at the sight of Alistair trying to unfold himself from his tangled position in the chair. In his arms, Elodie’s cries begin to grow louder, and he looks down to her again.

‘Easy child, you’ll be back with Alistair in a moment.’

The cries abate a little at that, though of course, Cullen reasons, she doesn’t understand him, and he lifts an eyebrow as he looks down to the squirming bundle in his arms.

‘You couldn’t possibly understand that - you’re too young to grasp the meaning of words.’

‘I think,’ Alistair grunts as he finally manages to free himself from the chair, ‘that she may like the sound of your voice.’

The warden wanders over, looking down at the girl.

‘Clearly she has excellent taste.’ The redhead grins and Cullen smiles back mildly as Alistair relieves him of holding the babe.

‘Shall we?’ Cullen asks, and Alistair grins, heading towards the door, Elodie hushing almost instantly now that she’s in his arms once more.

To Cullen’s surprise as they step out of the tower, the rain has all but stopped, a light drizzle that’s more akin to a heavy mist than rain left in the air, and even that thin haze seems to be evaporating under midday summer sun.

Alistair sucks in a breath, mock sympathetically.

‘Hard luck, Commander.’

Cullen shrugs. Rain was rain. As cold and soaked as it had left him, it was only a temporary state, and the idea of a good hot meal has chased away his previous malcontentment.

The hall is nearly full when they enter, heavy wooden tables laid out in rows, the usual spread of food covering the lengths of them, a seemingly endless stream of people crowded around each section of buffet.

At the far end of the hall, nobles gathered, eating in select company, whilst higher ranking members of the Inquisition filled the rest of the room. Servants weren’t permitted to eat whilst the nobles remained, for risk of offending their precious sensibilities, a fact that had always rankled Cullen. Still, they had free reign of the buffet tables, once the nobles were done, which was more than most commoners could say.

He huffs slightly to himself as he makes his way to a table that seems less busy, and a servant hurries to fetch him a plate, piling it high with a selection of meats and bread, a handful of fresh vegetables dolloped on the side. Alistair receives the same, though there appears to be an extra pork pie hidden under a slice of bread. Cullen pretends not to see, making his way to the seats that are reserved for members of the inner circle and settling down, Alistair taking the chair next to him, Elodie safely back in the sling across his chest.

The other man dives into eating his food before Cullen can say a word to him, and the Commander stifles his smile as he eats his at a more socially acceptable pace, nodding gratefully at a servant who pours them each a tankard of ale. She eyes the babe in Alistair’s care curiously before offering a small curtsey and disappearing to serve others in the hall. The attention sets him on edge without warning and he, too, eyes Elodie before looking over the rest of the room’s occupants.

Their presence hasn’t gone unnoticed, curious eyes turning on them and Cullen tries to push down his unease. He’s not concerned with being the centre of attention, but that’s when he’s giving orders; in control of a situation. This...this is unpleasant, whispers and gossip, like being back at the Winter Palace again, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

‘Cullen?’

Alistair’s voice startles him from his review of the room, his heartbeat racing faster for a moment before calming.

‘Are you...well? You look a little...perturbed. I mean, you look perturbed fairly often, but not like this.’

‘I’m fine, Alistair. Just...wary of the gossipmongers.’

Alistair snorts.

‘If they haven’t heard about this by now they’ve been living under a rock.’

‘I suspect it’s not so much hearing of it, as seeing two men who they are aware are in an intimate relationship caring for a child together.’

‘We all know it’s temporary, Cullen. Their opinions be damned.’

He’s right of course, and Cullen turns his attention to his plate as Alistair begins to witter on about some random event that occurred sometime ago. They both know it’s an attempt to put him at ease, but he’s grateful for it nevertheless, and before he’s really aware of it they’ve both finished their meals.

‘I should get Elodie back to Megan. She’ll be getting hungry soon,’ Alistair comments as he swallows his last bite, washing it down with a gulp of his ale, and Cullen nods.

‘I’ll accompany you.’

Alistair smiles crookedly, cocking his head in puzzlement.

‘Really?’

‘The walk will do me good before I confine myself to the office for the afternoon,’ Cullen muses and Alistair laughs, rich and warm, a sound that never fails to make Cullen’s heart beat faster in his chest.

‘As you wish, Commander.’

Alistair stands and Cullen follows suit, watching as the other man eases an arm under the sleeping babe. Making their way down amongst the tables, Cullen wends through the crowd, Alistair following close behind. As they approach the side door that leads down to the kitchens relief washes over him, eager to be free of the crowd of people, and he steps aside to let Alistair go ahead of him.

It’s then that he hears it. A voice speaking, not loudly, but loud enough for him to make out the words.

‘...always been a bit soft.’

‘It’s not a case of being soft. It’s damn well disgusting is what it is!’

Cullen freezes, straining his ears to pick up the conversation, hoping that the subject isn’t what he thinks it is.

‘M’not saying it’s not. Commander should know better. But then it’s not him, is it? It’s that warden that’s doing it.’

‘Always gave me the creeps that lot. Someone best get that babe away from him.’

Cullen glares now, searching through the crowd for the owners of the voices. He finds them easily enough, two guards, his own men, that should be on duty, gossiping in an alcove.

‘I dunno, from what I hear about the two of them,’ one leans towards the other, and Cullen feels a growl building in his throat as he pushes his way towards them, ‘...the warden’s on the womanly end of things, if you take my meaning.’

The other man grunts.

‘Don’t care. Two men looking after a child ain’t right. Which one likes to play ma or pa makes no difference.’

‘Gentlemen,’ Cullen announces himself, sliding past a group of minor nobles and making himself as visible as possible to his soldiers. They shrink before him.

‘Commander Cullen, ser, we were…’

‘Discussing the ins and outs of my personal life, and the morality of particular aspects of it. Neither of which is relevant or appropriate for your rank, nor an acceptable use of your time.’

‘Sorry, ser, just we’ve heard and seen a lot about the child and…’

‘It’s not your concern,’ Cullen snaps, irritation coiling in his chest, ‘and you will return to your assigned posts, because I’m reasonably certain they’re not in an alcove of the great hall, and you will do so immediately.’

A scowl forms on the first soldiers face and Cullen narrows his eyes, stepping into the other man’s space. After a moment, the guard relents, stepping back.

‘Yes, ser.’

‘And if I hear word that this discussion continues, there will be ramifications. Understand?’

‘Yes, ser.’

Cullen flits his gaze over to the other man, a far meeker man, who stands bolt straight under his gaze.

‘Understood, ser.’

‘Good. Then you’re free to return to your posts.’

The two men offer a short bow before retreating back to where they were supposed to be. Cullen scowls at their backs as they retreat before straightening his spine and following the path Alistair had taken to the kitchens.

Chapter Text

Weeks pass and Alistair marks the slow onward march of the year, not by the peak of summer and its unbearable heat and subsequent dwindling, but by feeds and changes, and how little by little each of Elodie’s cries become distinct. He finds skills he never knew existed; how to tell that a warble meant she was tired, how to tell when a lurch of limbs was intentional or not, how to coax a smile out of her.
He knows, too, that his time with her is nearing an end. Leliana and Josephine between them have whittled down a surprisingly long list of families willing to adopt to just one. A letter, he’s been told, has been sent. The family wants to come and meet her, to ensure they’re a good fit for the girl. He’s certain the answer is already ‘yes’, and that it’s simply a courtesy on their part. Or perhaps it’s Leliana trying to soften the blow of the eventual loss. He wishes she wouldn’t. Far better to just get it over with.

Cullen has, of course, been right all along. Alistair’s completely smitten with the girl, the thought of losing her makes his chest ache and it’s with gritted teeth that he smiles politely at Leliana when she mentions that the family will be arriving in a fortnight.

Knowledge freshly imparted, Alistair leaves Leliana’s rookery, heading for the kitchens to pick Elodie up from her afternoon feed. It’s as he pulls the door open that he halts, the moreish smell of warm bread hitting him, and his heart seems to twist. The idea of facing the girl, of answering her coos and cries, suddenly overwhelming and he shuts the door quietly, turning away.

Without thought, his feet take him back to his and Cullen’s tower and he slides in, for once wishing to avoid attention. He’s in luck, his partner in mid meeting with his officers, and Alistair climbs up to the bedroom, flopping down onto the bed.

How, exactly, was he going to deal with this?

He huffs to himself, agitated, climbing from the bed to pace the small room until, after a few minutes, Cullen’s head appears above the top of ladder, the commander having dismissed his men.

‘I’m assuming this is about Elodie,’ he announces, not unkindly, pulling his gloves off and dropping them to a nearby cabinet before approaching Alistair, pulling him into his arms.

Alistair melts into the embrace, head dropping to Cullen’s shoulder as he tries to calm his breathing. It takes him a moment to get the tremor in his hands under control.

‘They’ve found someone...they’re on their way.’ His voice is tight, on the brink of tears and he feels Cullen nod.

‘I see. How long?’

‘Two weeks, thereabouts.’

Cullen’s arms tighten around him, the hand on his back rubbing soothing circles and Alistair blinks back his tears.

‘I wish I could give you some words of comfort. I know you’ve grown fond of her.’

‘I should’ve been firmer with Cook. I should’ve given her back, shouldn’t I?’

‘...I...I believe you did the right thing, Alistair.’

‘Doesn’t much feel like it right now.’

Cullen’s arms tighten.

‘I know. But you’ve done right by her,’ the Commander pulls back to look at him. ‘Go and fetch her. If time is limited, you should spend it with her.’

Alistair snorts softly.

‘You don’t want that.’

‘I want you happy. I know you need to say goodbye properly.’

‘...if you’re sure….’

‘Certain. Bring her here.’

Alistair shifts, meeting Cullen’s steady gaze, easing out of his arms.

‘Thank you.’

He makes his way from their tower, down to the kitchens where Megan waits for them, Elodie in her arms.

‘What kept you, Warden?’

‘Sorry,’ he offers, taking the girl for Megan’s arms, ‘got caught up with something.’ He pauses, biting his lip.

‘I hear tell that there’s a family been found for her.’

‘Yes,’ Alistair hums, ‘they’ll be here in a couple of weeks. It’s best for her, after all.’

‘I suppose that’s true.’ She smiles. ‘Best you spend that time with her then.’

He takes the hint, offering her a smile before he returns to Cullen. With evening setting in the commander has cut his duties short for the day and Alistair finds him sat in his comfy chair, a book in hand.
Knowing Cullen, it no doubt documents some historical battle or tactic, but it was as close to relaxing as the man ever got.

‘Good read?’ Alistair asks, perching on the desk.

‘It’s a little dry, even by my tastes.’

‘So the kind of book that will make my eyes fall out of my head with boredom?’

Cullen smiles, rolling his eyes.

‘You could learn something from these.’

‘I could,’ Alistair concedes, ‘but I could also ask the mighty commander of the Inquisition.’

‘True enough, I suppose.’ Cullen closes the book, setting it onto the desk with a soft thud. ‘I’ve arranged for dinner to be brought to us this evening. It shouldn’t be long.’

‘Really?’

‘I know there’s a part of your mind that thinks this is an attempt on my part to avoid attention, but I…’

‘I don’t think that,’ Alistair interrupts, watching as confusion settles on Cullen’s refined features, ‘...I know you did this for me. And her. And it…’ he has to fight back emotion as it threatens to overwhelm him, ‘...it means a lot Cullen. I appreciate it. I mean, really appreciate it. Give you everything I own and am, kind of appreciate it.’

Cullen smiles gently again before standing, gesturing to the two armchairs and small table that’s been set up in a corner. Sconces burn on the wall next to the arrangement, lighting it with a warm glow, and Alistair’s never seen a more inviting sight. Or, well, he’s never seen a more inviting sight that didn’t involve food or Cullen naked.

‘When...did those get here?’

‘I had them brought over while you were out. There’s a surprising amount of spare furniture in Skyhold.’

Alistair grins and settles himself into a comfy chair as Cullen drops into the other. A moment later a knock sounds at the door and Cullen calls for them to enter. Two serving girls ease into the room, arranging cutlery, crockery and food before them. Tasks complete, each of the women curtsies and leaves without a word.

‘That was...efficient,’ Cullen remarks, before digging into his food, and Alistair chuckles, following suit, Elodie cradled in his lap as he eats.

The babe coos, eyes wide as she watches him, fixed on the fork in his hand.

‘Not yet, you’re a bit small for solid food, little one.’

‘If she’s learnt anything from you she’s more than willing to try anyway.’

‘What are you trying to say, commander?’ Alistair asks, mock incredulity colouring his voice.

In his lap, Elodie sobs, tears gathering as she takes great hiccoughing breaths.

‘Oh no...no no no, don’t cry, El, I was only joking. I was only being silly.’

He glances to Cullen, expecting to see irritation on his lover’s face. Instead, he wears a look of mild concern, brow pinched, eyes soft.

‘Guess sarcasm is out of the question with you then, huh?’ Alistair asks the girl gently, shushing and rocking her until she calms again, the babe gradually falling asleep.

With Elodie quiet again, Alistair turns his attention back to eating, as Cullen begins to discuss some of the finer details of the book he’d been reading and Alistair can’t help but listen to him. Before long they’re chatting animatedly, if quietly, voices hushed so as not to wake the infant, wearing late into the night and it’s only when a loud yawn interrupts him that Alistair realises how tired he is.

‘Must be late,’ Cullen comments, stifling his own yawn and clambering from his chair and peering out of a narrow window. ‘Moon is high.’

‘Guess we should head to bed then,’ Alistair grunts, manoeuvring his way out of his chair whilst balancing Elodie in his arms, ‘though I should get her back to Megan.’

‘Do you think she will still be awake at this time?’ Cullen asks.

Alistair frowns.

‘Fair point, although I don’t know where we can put her down to sleep if she stays with us.’

‘I’m sure we can fashion something. There are plenty of blankets and pillows upstairs.’

Cullen climbs to his feet, locking the three doors of the office before climbing the ladder to their bedroom. Alistair can hear him rummaging around even as he makes a sling for Elodie and eases her into it before carefully, so so carefully, climbing the ladder.

When he reaches the top he finds that Cullen has pulled a small crate that had been abandoned in the corner of the room to the end of the bed. He’s frowning as he wipes it down with a soft cloth, banishing dust from it.

Alistair watches as, satisfied, Cullen sets the crate beside the bed, lining it with layer upon layer of blankets until it resembles a nest. He turns to Alistair.

‘It…is not ideal. In all honesty, she deserves better but...at short notice I suspect it is the best we will be able to provide.’

‘You mean Skyhold doesn’t have an abundance of spare cots lying around? I’m shocked and appalled.’ Alistair smirks, lowering Elodie into the makeshift bed. Swaddled as she is, she fits neatly into the
crate and continues to sleep soundly, heedless of the movement.

Cullen simply shakes his head, beginning to disrobe before he pauses, glancing over to the girl.

‘Uh…is this...this doesn’t seem...appropriate…’

‘You mean, you don’t want to change your clothes in front of a babe that’s a) asleep and b) has no comprehension of it anyway?’

‘Would you feel comfortable?’

‘Fair point,’ Alistair comments, pulling yet another blanket from a drawer and holding it up, using it as a screen as Cullen quickly changes into his night clothes. They swap places for Alistair to do the same before climbing into bed, blowing out the nearby candles and plunging the room into darkness.

Alistair takes a long, slow breath, relaxing, drifting to sleep amongst the quiet of the night when Cullen’s voice jerks him awake;

‘Will she be warm enough?’

On the edge of sleep, Alistair blinks.

‘Whuh…?’

‘I always forget the hole in the roof, I seem to have a tolerance for the cold, but a babe as young as she won’t. Do you think she’ll be warm enough? There could be a draught.’

‘...Uhm…I….she…’

Cullen stands before Alistair can finish speaking and he can make out the faint sounds of his partner rummaging for a candle, lighting it with the flint that he leaves on the bedside table. It casts a dim orange glow, but it’s enough to temporarily stun Alistair.

Squinting, he makes out the silhouette of Cullen picking up the blanket they had used as a screen.

‘What are you doing, Cullen?’

‘I...I’m not sure. But I want to make sure there’s no draught getting to her.’

‘Then...move her to the other side of the bed?’

‘Right...yes, good point.’

Alistair smirks to himself, curled in the blankets, a mixture of amused and baffled by Cullen’s behaviour as his lover picks up the crate and moves it to the other side of the room, where she’ll be shielded from the worst of any cold air.

Task complete, Cullen crawls back into bed. Alistair presses up against him, arms coiling about the other man’s waist, holding them together.

‘She’ll be fine, Cullen. Stop worrying. She’ll let us know if she’s not happy.’

‘Yes, I suppose she will.’

Grinning, Alistair nestles into Cullen further, his heart beating faster that it should be doing at the idea of Cullen worrying over the girl so. It’s a false hope, he knows, that Cullen might come to love her as
he has, but even so, it cheers him and he falls asleep, warm and happy.

--

He wakes to noise, the shrill wail of Elodie’s cry and the frantic pounding of fists on the door downstairs and Alistair jerks, all but falling out of bed.

Cullen is already up, running to the ladder in order to answer the door, and Alistair rights himself, scooping Elodie into his arms as she cries. He’s not sure if it’s simply the noise and shock of being woken that’s upset her, or hunger, and he eases her into the sling he now wears almost constantly.

‘Hush, Elodie, I know. Let’s get you to Megan, shall we?’

Cradling her to his chest, his descends the ladder, ears catching up to the conversation occurring at the door.

‘...Darkspawn, Commander.’

The word has his hackles rising and he cuddles Elodie closer to his chest as he approaches the door, stuffing his feet into discarded boots as he does.

‘Darkspawn?’ he asks, lifting his voice over Elodie’s crying.

‘Seems one of our scouting parties was attacked at the edge of the forest,’ Cullen frowns, ‘most of them managed to flee the Darkspawn and met a group of your men who chased the Darkspawn back. However…’

Cullen pauses.

‘But, what, Cullen?’

Cullen sighs.

‘Scout Redhart was injured in the attack. She’s been tainted.’

‘My condolences.’ Alistair hums, shushing Elodie more gently now. He didn’t know the scout they spoke of, though Cullen’s tone suggested her contribution to the Inquisition was significant.

‘Alistair...Scout Redhart is one of our best, second only to Harding. The Inquisitor favours her highly, as do I. Her loss, were she to succumb to the taint, would be significant.’

Suspicion crawls up Alistair’s spine at Cullen’s words and he narrows his eyes as he looks to his partner.

‘And…?’

‘I would not normally ask this of you, Alistair, you know I wouldn’t but…’

‘Please, Warden Commander,’ the scout at the door interrupts. ‘Your men said there may be something that the wardens could do to save her. But it’s up to your discretion.’

‘I see.’

Alistair chews at his lip, looking down to Elodie, to Cullen before looking back to the scout.

‘How long ago was she wounded?’

‘A few hours ago, just before dawn.’

That in itself was surprising. It showed a stamina that most people didn’t possess. He knows what they’re asking of him.

‘...you do understand that ‘something the wardens can do to save her’ is to put her through the joining. To try and make her a warden so the taint is less harmful. It is only temporary. Even wardens die. If she even survives the joining.’

‘She would be an asset to your order, Alistair. I would not encourage you to try if I did not think she would be helpful to you.’

He needs time to mull it over. He’s recommended recruits to his superiors before, though never been in a position to decide whether they got to take the joining or not, and since Corypheus’s defeat few had been interested in joining their ranks. Even with their numbers so small, he can’t afford to take on someone who isn’t the right fit for the wardens. And to take on someone simply because they would
rather be a warden then dead was not the best idea.

But she wouldn’t be the first warden to get in that way, if she did decide to.

‘Fine. I’ll gather what’s required for the joining, but I need to speak to her before I decide whether to put her through it or not. I won’t promise anything.’

‘Yes, of course, ser! But please…’

‘Yes, yes, time, I know.’

He looks to Cullen, who nods, understanding his plight.

‘I will take Elodie to Megan and join you later.’

Even as he hands Elodie over to Cullen, he shakes his head, half distracted by leaving the girl, half guilty.

‘You can’t watch, Cullen. Not yet. Maybe someday we can show you all it means to be a warden, but not today.’ He turns his gaze to the scout in the doorway. ‘Same for you.’

Cullen grunts, indignant.

‘As you say. I will see you later.’

With a slight nod of his head, Cullen squeezes past the scout, striding out over the bridge towards the main castle.

Alistair sighs before turning back to the scout.

‘Meet me at the drawbridge. I will be there as soon as I can.’

Chapter Text

When Cullen had left Alistair on the morning that Scout Redhart had been wounded, he had assumed his lover would return to him by the day’s end. As it stood now, the Warden Commander had been gone for just over two days and worry was gnawing at Cullen, demanding that he act.

It didn’t help that Elodie was still in his charge, too. He had attempted to return the girl to Megan and Cook’s care, only to find that, once he’d handed her over, he’d quickly make excuses to retrieve her. In truth, he had initially done so on the assumption that Alistair would soon return and would want to spend as much time with her as possible. But now, a few days later, he can’t wholly say that it’s the sole reason.

There’s something about the girl, as he watches her grow and change almost day by day, that’s intriguing. To see a new life develop, one without the threat of the breach, to watch her grow into some who’ll have hopes and ambitions gives him hope. And he can’t deny that he’s grown fond of her, and the idea of having a family, as odd a family as it would be.
Cullen hums quietly as he holds Elodie, staring out over the battlements. He feels like a walking cliche, staring forlornly, waiting for his lover to return from war, or some such nonsense. The Randy Dowager would have all five scarves fluttering in the breeze at the thought. It does nothing to improve his mood and he grumbles to himself, turning out of the wind’s cold gusts to return to his office. Elodie wakes as he does, gurgling.

It surprises him just how quiet the girl is in his presence. She’d obviously grown close to Alistair in the time that he had been caring for her, and that made sense. He’d not expected her to extend the attachment to himself, however. It makes him realise just how difficult it will be to say goodbye to her, the idea heavy in his chest and he sets her down into her cot. He’d had it brought from Megan’s quarters the evening that Alistair had left. If the woman was surprised, or annoyed by it, she made no complaints.

As he sinks into his chair Elodie whimpers and he sighs, standing up again to retrieve her. She seems happiest whilst being held, and he cradles her against his chest with one arm as he sets to reading his officers’ reports, hoping to distract himself from Alistair’s absence.

‘You are needy today, aren’t you?’ he murmurs as small hands find the fur of his coat and tug.

He receives a gurgle and a smile in response, Elodie blinking up at him.

‘And that’s amusing, is it?’

Another coo.

‘Well, be that as it may, I have reports to read.’

He settles back, pulling the nearest report to him, holding it just out of reach of Elodie’s grasping hands. He’s only been reading for a few minutes when there’s a knock at the door and he sighs to himself before calling for whoever it is to enter.

The door creaks open and Inquisitor Trevelyan appears in the frame, easing in and closing the door behind her. Cullen all but jumps to his feet.

‘Lady Inquisitor,’ he smiles as the woman approaches the desk. ‘Is there something I can aid you with?’

She smiles lightly, looking over the room before her gaze falls on Elodie.

‘No, not really. I just came to see how you’re getting on. I hear Alistair’s been called away.’

‘Yes, a few days ago now, though I hope he’ll return soon.’

‘I’m certain he will.’ She nods at his charge, nestled in the crook of his arm. ‘She’s not giving you any trouble then?’

‘No. She seems...surprisingly content.’

The Inquisitor’s smile widens for a moment.

‘So I see.’ She pauses. ‘You have heard that a family has been found for her?’

‘I have. I...Alistair wanted to keep her close until that time came. A chance to say his goodbyes properly, I think.’

She nods.

‘I can understand that. He seems fond of her, she’s very lucky he found her.’

‘Indeed. I suspect he’ll miss her.’

‘And how do you feel about it?’

The question catches him off guard and Cullen blinks. He’s made his opinion on her presence fairly clear, and even if he had not, most people seemed to accurately guess his opinion.

‘It’s best for her to go to a family that can give her a normal life. As much as Alistair is fond of her it would not be practical for us to raise her, nor fair on her.’

‘You don’t feel the same attachment?’

‘I...don’t mind her company, she is less of a handful than I had feared. I have tried not to get involved.’

The Inquisitor nods, leaning against the desk.

‘A wise position to take. A shame though, she seems to like you.’

Cullen looks down to the babe in his arms to find the girl staring up at him, her pudgy fingers tangled in his mantle again, a wide smile on her face.

He scoffs at the notion, ignoring the way something in his chest tightens.

‘Babes this age seem fond of anyone who pays them attention. Alistair’s theory is that she finds my voice soothing.’

Trevelyan grins, the expression teasing;

‘I would agree with him. Clearly she has good taste.’

He flushes at the compliment. Had Alistair never re-entered his life, he may well have tried to gain Trevelyan’s affections. It was lucky, in all honesty, that she had shown an interest in Josie from the start, saving him the embarrassment of trying to woo a woman who had no interest in men.

She laughs before he can formulate an answer.

‘I’ll leave you to your reports commander. Let me know when Alistair returns, I’d like to know if Redhart survived the Joining.’

‘Of course, my lady.’

Smiling still she bids him a good afternoon and leaves him to his thoughts and Elodie.

Cullen settles back into his chair, shifting Elodie gently in his arms until she’s settled on his chest, her head cushioned by the fur of his collar. Reaching for his papers again, he eases back into an afternoon of reading dry reports, finding that his attention wanes as the day wears on and before he can think to stretch his legs and take a breath of fresh air, he’s lulled to sleep in his chair.

--

It’s the flicker of torchlight and soft cooing that wakes him, hours later. Cullen blinks, yawns, feeling the solid, if slight, weight of Elodie against his chest. He turns his bleary gaze to her as his consciousness fully returns, and he smiles down down at the infant. She’s still asleep, tiny fists clenching the fur of his collar, snuffles escaping her.

He reaches up carefully, cradling her head, thumb ruffling her dark hair.

‘You...you are just too adorable, have I told you that?’

The voice nearly startles him into jumping and he can’t help the slight jerk her gives, turning his irritation to the intruder.

‘Just who…?’

Alistair grins back at him, head cocked. Cullen’s irritation evaporates and he sighs, settling back into the chair again.

‘You shouldn’t startle me like that. It could have woken her.’

‘True. Though I’m sure you could have sent her to sleep again with that wonderful voice of yours.’

He flushes under Alistair’s compliment. After all these years of knowing the man, he still struggles with the idea that anyone could see him in such a positive light. But Alistair has always had positivity abound, along with seemingly endless compassion. It’s what makes them work as a unit.

‘What of Redhart?’ he asks, diverting the conversation.

Alistair nods, rounding the desk to perch on it. He looks tired, Cullen realises, the fine lines around his eyes seeming deeper than usual.

‘It was...close,’ Alistair sighs, rubbing at the stubble on his jaw, ‘but you were right. I think she’ll make a fine warden.’

‘She survived the Joining?’

‘Not without difficulty, and her wounds mean she won’t be able to serve fully for a while, but, yes.’

Cullen nods.

‘I’m pleased she survived. You will ensure your order takes care of her?’

Alistair laughs lightly.

‘I get the impression she doesn’t need anyone to take care of her. But we look after our own. When we’re not being manipulated by Tevinter Magisters, anyway.’

There’s a tone to his voice that tells of his bitterness at Clarel still, how his brothers and sisters turned on him. But Alistair’s always been good at forgiving, perhaps a little too well for his own good.

‘How has she been?’ Alistair nods at the babe, changing the conversation yet again.

‘Remarkably well behaved.’

His partner pouts.

‘And here I thought she would miss me,’ he smiles before the expression turns wistful, ‘guess that’s a good thing though. She’ll need to bond to her new family soon.’

Cullen stands, easing Elodie further into the crook of his left arm, reaching with his right hand to take Alistair by the chin, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

‘You’re weary, Alistair. You should retire.’

‘But it’s not even late.’

‘Don’t argue. I’ll take her to be fed and bring her up later.’

Alistair frowns, glancing at the girl in Cullen’s arms, his expression dejected.

‘Alright. But she’ll stay with us tonight?’

‘Of course.’

The warden nods, shuffling over to the ladder. Every movement tells of his fatigue, shoulders slumped, feet all but dragging on the floor. Cullen waits until he’s successfully ascended the ladder before heading for the kitchens. He collars a runner on the way;

‘You there!’

‘Ser?’

‘Can you take a message to the Inquisitor?’

‘Yes, ser.’

‘Good. Tell her that Warden Alistair has returned and Redhart is well.’

The runner bows, hand over heart, before dashing off. Cullen continues on his way, finding the kitchens as busy as always. Megan is already waiting for him, just as Elodie wakes and begins to sniffle. He hands her over automatically for the woman to feed her, distracting himself by listening to the chatter in the kitchen. It’s as he hovers near the doorway that one of Josephine’s aides makes her appearance.

‘Cook! The Pelletier’s are here, they want their meal in their quarters this evening. Can you sort it?’

The name rings a bell, Orlesian, nobility from the request and he realises with a start that they’re expecting only one Orlesian visit this week. Cullen frowns to himself, absentmindedly watching the aide leave again. A few minutes later and Megan is dropping Elodie back into his arms.

‘Did I hear the family’s arrived?’ she asks, and Cullen nods.

‘It would seem so.’

She smiles sheepishly.

‘I won’t take any more of your time then’

Cullen nods again, leaving the girl quickly as he heads back to his tower. He climbs the ladder with Elodie in the sling across his chest, finding Alistair asleep on their bed. He’s still fully clothed, save for his boots which lie haphazardly on the floor. He pauses, not wanting to wake him when it’s clear he needs to rest, but Cullen knows that if he doesn’t wake the other man, it will only lead to resentment from him.

Toeing off his own boots, Cullen sits down on the mattress beside Alistair, hoping to rouse him. He’s met with a heavy grunt.

‘That was quick,’ Alistair murmurs, voice muffled by pillows.

‘I think you may have just fallen asleep quicker than you realised.’

Another grunt and Alistair flips onto his back, watching his partner through heavy lidded eyes, not bothering to stifle his yawn. Cullen places Elodie down on the bed as she gurgles in her sleep, trying to think how best to broach the subject of the family with Alistair.

‘You look worried,’ Alistair states, effectively doing the job for him, and Cullen sighs as his partner reaches over to Elodie, adjusting swaddling that has come loose.

‘I...have some news. But I suspect you won’t welcome it.’

Alistair head jerks up, eyes darkening as they meet Cullen’s own.

‘Oh?’

‘The Pelletiers, the family who have agreed to adopt Elodie, have arrived.’

Alistair nods, soaking the words in, his fingers absentmindedly tucking blankets around the babe until Cullen grasps his hand, stopping him.

‘They must be the nobles I passed earlier. I rode straight past them, didn’t even think…’

‘You’ve had other things on your mind.’

The warden nods again, pulling his hand back.

‘Do you know any more?’

Cullen shakes his head.

‘I heard of it only because an aide came into the kitchen to speak about their meals. I suspect they will wish to meet her in the morning.’

It’s at that moment that there’s yet another knock at the door, and Cullen grumbles, excusing himself and answering the door. It’s a courier, with a letter, and she hands it over quickly before dashing away again as Cullen scans the letter.

‘Who was it?’ Alistair calls from upstairs.

‘A courier. It’s a note from Josephine.’ He grips the letter between two fingers as he climbs the ladder. ‘We’re to meet the Pelletier’s in Josephine's office after breakfast tomorrow morning.’

‘Oh.’ The warden bites his lower lip and Cullen eases down next to him, gently nudging the other man’s knee with his own. ‘That’s it then. Her shiny new life, waiting for her.’

‘It would seem so.’

It’s a poor offering, but there’s little else Cullen can say, no matter how much he wishes to give comfort to his lover. Instead, he reaches around the other man’s shoulders, pulling him close, and Alistair all but collapses, burying his face in Cullen’s neck. Quiet trembles travel through the large man’s shoulders and Cullen shushes gently, cradling Alistair until the man manages to form words again.

‘I hope they’re as good as Josie thinks they are. They better be. She needs the best. I didn’t rescue her just for her to be ignored by some Orlesian ponces.’

‘If they are making the effort to travel here, it would seem they are likely to make a good family for her.’

‘I suppose.’

‘You should try to sleep. It’s getting dark.’

‘But…I want to stay with her.’

‘She’s asleep too, Alistair.’

‘But she’s so cute, I can just watch her...that’ll be restful anyway.’

‘And likely she’ll wake in the night for a change, which will not be at all restful. So sleep while you can, and wake when she does.’

Alistair pouts but relents, more likely due to his own weariness than any agreement on his part, lying back on the bed as Cullen gathers Elodie up and settles her into her cot. By the time he’s ventured back downstairs to bar the doors, returned and changed into his own nightclothes, the warden is fast asleep. The commander smirks to himself as he clambers into the other side of the bed, reaching for the last report of the day before settling down to sleep beside his lover.

His slumber doesn’t seem to last all that long before he’s woken again by Elodie’s shrill cries. Alistair is already up, and he squints in the darkness, making out the silhouette of his partner by moonlight.

The other man shuffles in the darkness, finding a candle to light which casts a dim glow into the room, just enough light to change the babe’s soiled nappy by.

Still the girl cries, even once changed, and Alistair returns to bed with the girl in his arms, sitting atop the covers as he rocks her gently. The cries do not abate.

‘Do you think she knows?’ Alistair asks, his voice gruff.

Cullen snorts against the pillow.

‘I don’t think a child who is less than a year old can comprehend the life changing event that’s about to occur for her, no. She’s not nervous, Alistair, she’s a babe.’

‘No,’ Alistair drawls, impatient, ‘that’s not what I meant. I mean, maybe she can pick up on little things, like maybe we’re giving off some kind of signal. Maybe she’s sad because I’m sad.’

That gives Cullen pause, and he hums, considering.

‘I suppose that’s possible. You should pretend to be content to see if she’ll settle again.’

‘Oh because I’ve always been great at that.’ Alistair scoffs.

Despite the situation, Cullen grins.

‘A fair point.’

‘You could sing to her.’

‘I could.’

‘So…?’

‘So...what?’

‘So why not sing to her, daddy Cullen?’

He sits up at the use of that name, his eyes sharp upon his partner and Alistair knows he’s misspoken, recoiling slightly.

‘Do not employ...such names, Alistair. It will only cause us both more harm. We cannot be her family, you know this.’

Alistair’s face falls and he nods, holding the girl more tightly to his chest.

‘I know.’

Cullen sighs, inching closer to his partner.

‘But I’m sure I can manage a song.’

He wracks his memories of his family, when his younger brother and sister had been small, hoping to find a lullaby that his mother had once sang, perhaps. He can only recall fragments, snippets of once familiar tunes, and he hums one, feeling the memory strengthen as he does, until he can put words to it. When he does, it comes more naturally, verses falling into place like it hasn’t been two decades
since he’d heard them.

Elodies cries wane as his voice rises, and though she doesn’t fall to slumber again, she watches him, eyes keen and bright. When he stops, she smiles up at him, a toothless grin that makes him gently ruffle her downy hair.

‘That was...nice.’ Alistair smiles, his tone soft as he speaks, offering his thumb to Elodie who grips it tightly. Her fist doesn’t quite manage to close around the digit.

‘A song my mother used to sing to us when we were young. I only remember it because she sang it to Branson and Rosalie.’

‘Shame she’ll be too young to remember it too then.’

Cullen shrugs.

‘Perhaps for the best. But she may recall it one day.’

He shifts back from Alistair, settling down beneath the covers again, aware of the cool night air that’s creeping into the room. Alistair seems not to notice, though he glances over to the candle.

‘Do you need me to put the light out?’

Cullen shakes his head, pressing his cheek into the pillow.

‘It isn’t bright enough to disturb me. I would suggest you sleep, but I know you won’t now.’

Alistair smiles again.

‘I’ll be alright. A few hours less of sleep is worth it for her.’

‘If you’re certain. Goodnight, Alistair.’

‘ ‘Night.’

With a grunt and a sigh, Cullen wriggles, finding the familiar groove that he normally sleeps in. It’s a sure sign that the straw in his mattress will need replacing soon, but for now the dips that are moulded to his shape are comfortable and he lets himself relax into them, pushing thoughts of the morning aside, listening to Alistair, and Elodie’s coos.

Chapter Text

True to Cullen’s words, Alistair doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night. Or at least, not properly. He recalls nodding off once or twice, Elodie still in his arms, only to startle awake a short time later. Now, as dawn approaches, he yawns, placing Elodie on the bed so he can stretch out his arms and back.

With Cullen still blissfully asleep, Alistair eases out from beneath warm blankets, gritting his teeth at the cold floor beneath his feet, and dresses as quickly as he can before scooping the babe back up.

‘Time for breakfast for you,’ he murmurs looking down at the girl. ‘And then time for breakfast for me. And then time for…’

He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence, but as it happens, Cullen’s quiet groan cuts him off anyway. Alistair glances back over his shoulder, finding Cullen blinking himself back to conscious, sleep tousled curls falling over his forehead. The warden grins at his partner, ever adorable when waking, wondering if anyone else in the Inquisition has ever seen the man pre-hair styling.

‘You’re not planning on leaving without me, are you?’ Cullen mumbles, sitting up, and running his hands through his hair, smoothing it into some sort of style.

‘I didn’t want to wake you,’ Alistair explains, turning to face the other man as he clambers out of bed.

‘Well, I am awake now. Give me a moment.’

He sets to dressing and Alistair searches for the sling, winding it around himself and setting Elodie into it, before turning to watch as Cullen smooths pomade through his curls, tugging them into place. Once finished, he turns to Alistair with a nod and they head towards the kitchens together.

Megan is already waiting by the time they arrive and she smiles politely as she takes the girl from Alistair, just as Cook appears, and produces two bowls of porridge for them. There’s bowls of dried fruit popped alongside a moment later to mix in and, oddly, a fresh peach for each of them. Alistair wonders if this is the Inquisitor’s way of attempting to offer some comfort.

They eat slowly, and just as well, for either Megan or Elodie is taking her own time this morning, and when the young woman reappears, her eyes are puffy and red. It shouldn’t be a surprise that she’s taken to the girl as much as he has, but Alistair still has to take a moment, gathering his wits to smile sympathetically at Megan as she places the babe back into his arms.

‘She’s going to go to a good family, Megan,’ he manages to say, swallowing past the thickness in his throat.

Megan only nods, gathering up their now empty dishes and retreating towards the large basin with them.

He knows the feeling, and it’s only Cullen gently pressing his hand to his back that prompts him to move.

‘I suppose we should go and meet them, then?’

‘We should. Best not to draw this out longer than we need to.’

Alistair stands, shifting Elodie into the slings as he does, though his left arm still cradles her. She whimpers quietly, as if aware that something’s amiss and he smiles down broadly at her cooing and pulling faces until she settles and then grins up at him.

With the girl quiet again, Alistair and Cullen head for Josephine’s office, making their way through winding corridors and through the main hall until they reach the well lit room. Despite the fact that it’s early in the morning, the Pelletiers are already waiting, Josephine, Leliana and the Inquisitor with them.

Conversation stalls as Alistair walks towards the group, trying not to give into the instinct to hold the girl tighter to him. His heart beats louder in his chest.

‘Ah, gentlemen, good morning,’ Josephine greets, her smile bright as she steps towards them. She stops just beside Elodie’s new mother and father.

Alistair steps up to where he knows he’s supposed to, a few feet from them, eying them as surreptitiously as he can.

‘Comte and Comtesse Pelletier, may I introduce you to Commander Cullen and Warden Alistair, and of course,’ Josephine steps forward, and he knows the drill, letting the ambassador take the babe from his arms, ‘this is little Elodie, whom I know you’ve been so eager to meet.’

The Comtesse, an undeniably beautiful woman with rich dark hair, all but squeals as she’s presented with the babe, but Alistair can’t register anything she’s saying. Instead, all he can focus on is how cold and tight his chest feels without the babe resting against him, how his forearms seem to tingle. He drops his arms to his sides, fingers twitching, wanting to take the girl back.

‘Oh but she has my hair,’ Comtesse Pelletier announces, her accent heavy Antivan, ‘and your eyes, husband.’

Alistair resists the urge to roll his eyes, or bite out something suitably sarcastic. His gaze flicks to the Comte, who seems utterly unimpressed by Elodie, or his wife’s behaviour. Behind his mask, pale blue eyes linger on anything other than the child.

‘I know that’s impossible,’ the woman continues, ‘but she does, don’t you think? Such a healthy little thing too.’

In the arms of the woman, Elodie squirms, her whimpers growing louder.

‘Oh shush now, no need for that, there’s no reason to be upset. I’m your mother now. Mother will look after you.’

Alistair isn’t sure whether an infant of Elodie’s age can understanding what’s being said to her. What he does know is that she’s about to start wailing, and there’s little he can do to stop it. Besides him, Alistair can feel Cullen shifting, unconsciously anticipating the noise that’s due to erupt any second.

Whimpers turn into hiccoughing sobs, and the Comtesse looks mildly alarmed just as a full wail breaks from Elodie’s impressively developed lungs. The noise wrenches at him, an ache that centres in his chest, instinct begging him to take her back.

He stands as still as he can, rigid as he watches the Comtesse Pelletier attempt to comfort the girl, with little success. She seems confused as to why her cooing is proving ineffective. It’s more than he can take.

‘If it’s all the same to you, Inquisitor,’ he lifts his voice above Elodie’s wailing, trying to keep his tone steady, ignoring the fact that Elodie’s cries soften almost instantly as he speaks, ‘I’ll take my leave. There’s...business I should be attending to.’

Trevelyan’s eyebrows lift slightly, clearly surprised that he’s opting to leave, and he understands her confusion. She nods anyway.

‘As you will, warden.’

He’s thankful for the pardon, though guilt claws at him for running away, some part of him demanding that he stay for Elodie’s sake. Not that it would do much good for very long. She would simply have to learn to cope without him in her new life.

Turning away, Alistair grits his teeth, wishing he could close his ears to Elodie’s increasingly desperate wails, and he’s all but out the door when he’s halted by Cullen’s voice cutting above Elodie’s.

‘If I may, Comtesse,’ he turns in time to see Cullen reaching for the babe, the Comtesse glaring at the commander, pulling the girl back out of his reach. Cullen’s shoulders stiffen. ‘The babe hasn’t been exposed to many other people than those caring for her. It takes her some time to get used to someone new. Perhaps a more gentle introduction would make it easier for all parties.’

‘Nonsense,’ the Comte scoffs, the first word he’d spoken since they’d entered the room, ‘she will learn. It’s character building. No child under my care will receive this...coddling.’
Cullen straightens, shoulders pulling back to their full breadth now, squaring up to Comte Pelletier.

‘This girl lost her parents to Darkspawn and was very nearly killed herself. ‘Coddling’, if that’s what you choose to call compassion, is what she needs. Suffering and distress does not ‘build character’, it only causes harm.’

Warmth blooms in Alistair’s chest as he listens to his lover, a combination of affection and pride causing his breath to hitch. The moment is short lived however, as the Comte speaks again, and Alistair’s fists clench as warmth turns to roiling anger.

‘It is no wonder you Fereldans struggled to reclaim your country with such an attitude. Discipline and strict rules are what a child needs. This one will learn soon enough. It is lucky for her that we’ll take her in. A pity that she is Ferelden, but, that can be trained out of her. She is too young to know such things as it is.’

Alistair moves before he can think, rage bubbling through his veins, demanding that he either rescue Elodie from this nightmare couple or throttle them. Or perhaps both. Cullen seems to be of a same mind, advancing towards the Comtesse, and it’s only Leliana and Trevelyan’s intervention, both women blocking their paths, that stops them.

It would be so easy to push them aside. The shred of rationality that his mind still retains reminds him of how bad an idea that would be, and Alistair halts, glaring down into Leliana’s clear, calm eyes as behind her, Elodie wails still.

‘You said you had business to attend to Alistair. I suggest you attend to it.’

‘But…’

‘I will ensure that Elodie’s needs are met. Don’t fret.’

‘But…’

‘Alistair.’ The tone is final, and he takes a step back, glancing to Cullen, watching as Trevelyan placates him. The anger in his chest disappears in an instant, giving way to grief and he
feels his face and shoulders fall.

‘I need to know she’ll be ok, Leliana. I can’t let her be raised by someone who won’t treat her well. I can’t let her have the childhood I did…’

Something shifts in Leliana’s stance, though he’s not sure what, some minute detail in the way she stands and she lifts a hand, squeezing his shoulder.

‘She won’t. I promise you Alistair, she will only go to someone who will love her like their own.’

He scowls at that, looking at the couple over her shoulder, the Comte’s amusement at the situation only serving to stoke the anger in his chest. He pulls back regardless, glaring down at Leliana.

‘You may want to rethink your choice then.’

Clenching his jaw, Alistair turns away from the scene before him, trying to block out Elodie’s cries as he all but flees from the room. The door shuts behind him with a heavy thud and he takes a sharp turn, heading for the garden. His feet only just manage to carry him there and he clutches at a stone arch that makes up the covered walkway, his heart frantic in his chest, his breaths coming in great, heaving gasps. His knees hit the floor, pressing cold through the thin fabric of his trousers.

He can’t say he’s proud of himself for the display he’s just put on, nor the one he must make now; hands gripping the wall as his back hunches, hot tears rolling down his cheeks, falling to the ground in a soft patter.

Part of him longs to go back and take her from them, but it’s obvious even to him how well that would work. Best to just keep his distance now. The hard part was over, he supposed. It didn’t feel like it though.

The warm hand that falls on his shoulder startles him out of his thoughts and Alistair flushes as he turns to look over his shoulder, finding Cullen standing over him. Some part of him tenses, expecting a reprimand from his partner, only to be stunned into silence, tears forgotten on his cheeks, when Cullen settles on the floor beside him. The commander’s lips are turned sharply downward, not disapproval, Alistair realises, but distress. He wraps his arms around the other man, pulling him hard against him.

With Cullen’s breastplate between them, it’s difficult to hold him. More so to tell what he’s feeling, but his breathing is uneven and he wonders if Cullen was more attached to Elodie than either of them had realised. If he’d realised earlier, he’d have been elated. Now he can only feel guilt scratching at him. He hadn’t wanted him to get hurt, but it was Alistair’s own selfish actions that had caused it.

‘I’m sorry,’ he manages to sputter out after a moment, ‘I should never have dragged you into this. It wasn’t fair, on any of us.’

Cullen says nothing, only winds a hand up to grip the back of Alistair’s neck, thumb rubbing soothingly over his nape.

‘What have I done?’ Alistair whimpers, aware of the tremor in his voice but unable to control it.

‘Nothing to be distressed over, nor guilty. You gave her a chance.’

‘But now those…’ he sputters, trying to think of a word vile enough to describe the couple they had just met. Cullen pulls him closer.

‘I...understand. I share your concerns. If...If I am to be honest, I would like nothing more than to rescue her from them, and raise her as our own.’

Alistair’s breath catches.

‘But,’ Cullen continues and Alistair’s heart thuds painfully against his ribs, ‘I don’t see how we can support her in our lives. We’ve been lucky so far.’

‘So that’s it? I save her from Darkspawn just for her to go to a different type of monster?’

‘I will speak with Leliana and Josephine. Perhaps we can make them understand, request that they choose another family.’

Despite the situation, Alistair chuckles, pulling back to meet Cullen’s eyes.

‘Look at you, trying to be all diplomatic and talk things out. Josephine will be so proud.’

Cullen scowls.

‘Hardly. If it doesn’t work I may have to ask a small contingency of men to retrieve her once they’re on the way back to Orlais.’

Alistair smiles thinly.

‘Yes, I can see that going brilliantly. “Why hello Inquisitor, this child? No, no, this isn’t Elodie that we’ve kidnapped from her adoptive parents, it’s another random babe we’ve found that looks identical, what a happy coincidence”.’

Cullen grunts, apparently not appreciating his sarcasm.

‘Have you a better idea?’

‘Go in there, grab her, run away and live happily ever after?’

‘I thought as much.’ Cullen shakes his head, reaching out to stroke his cheek before pulling away. ‘I wish I could give us a happy ending to this, Alistair. I do, truly. Elodie deserves better. You deserve better.’

Alistair only nods, no words left. He could say something, but it would only be to repeat the same points over and over again, to no avail. He could steal her away, as he wanted to, but there was only ever going to be one outcome to that.

‘Come, Alistair, we should...’ Cullen pauses, clearly uncertain of what, exactly, the should be doing. He swallows. ‘We should… did you not say that Redhart is returning with your wardens today?’

He nods again.

‘Sure.’

Cullen frowns, holding out his hand and Alistair takes it, letting his lover pull him to his feet, wiping away the wetness on his cheeks. With a plan in mind, something to distract them, they head down to the barracks, but Alistair can’t calm himself. The thought of Elodie tugs at him, and he only just manages to smile and not at Redhart when he meets the woman again. She seems to be on the mend, and some distant part of him is pleased, but he excuses himself almost instantly nevertheless.

‘Headache,’ he explains with a thin smile at the questioning look he receives from his men. He doesn’t care about the murmurs behind him as he leaves, be they concerned or disparaging. His feet take him back to the tower this time, and he pauses to look at the correspondence addressed to him that’s sitting on Cullen’s desk.

He can’t face it, and he pushes the letters away, turning and climbing the ladder. The sight of the empty crate that had served as Elodie’s cot hits him in the chest like a hammerblow. His fists clench, his jaw setting as he storms over to the little wooden box, ripping blankets from it, bunching them up and throwing them to the base of the ladder. The little crate follows, splinters catching in his palm as he throws it. There’s a crunch as it hits the stone floor below, breaking into pieces at the impact.

Turning to the bed, Alistair pulls back the blankets, climbing in before tugging the covers over his head. It makes him feel safe and calm, if somewhat childish, hiding away from the world. Wrapped in his cocoon, he shuts his eyes, hoping that he can maybe catch up on the sleep he’s lost over the past couple of days. But his heart won’t calm its agitated rhythm, no matter how much he tries to breathe deeply and still his mind. He tosses in his artificial darkness, mind ever flowing back to Elodie, turning over the idea of the babe living with those...Orlesians.

Hidden from daylight, he isn’t aware of the time, the day passing by. His stomach rumbles once, twice, but he can’t face the idea of going out and seeing all those people. They would know by now, Elodie’s presence was a source of interest for many, and he knows that as soon as he steps out there’ll be curious looks. He doesn’t want to answer their questions, so he lets his stomach complain, listening to his own breathing until the sound of the door opening downstairs distracts him.

There’s a pause after the clunk of the handle and squeak of hinges, footsteps tapping over floorboards and the door creaking shut. A scrape and rattle, wood being gathered and discarded, the sharp snap of a blanket being shaken out and refolded. Boots on the ladder, the soft crunch of the mattress dipping under his weight.

‘Alistair.’ A warm hand on his shoulder again, Cullen’s voice soothing but firm, ‘You cannot do this to yourself. You need to take your mind off it.’

‘Don’t wanna.’

A sigh, and Cullen’s weight shifts off the bed. ‘As you wish.’

Footsteps retreat, leaving Alistair to himself again, lingering on the edge of an unpleasant sleep, a headache behind his temples.

The sounds of Cullen climbing the ladder returns again, the blankets being tugged away from his head,and Alistair grunts his disapproval, rolling over to glare at the other man.

The light in the tower is dim, hazy, and he realises it must be late evening. There’s a plate of food in Cullen’s hand. Cold meats, cheese and bread.

‘Eat,’ Cullen instructs and despite the fact that food holds little appeal, Alistair concedes, sitting up and taking the plate, shoving food into his mouth. He nearly chokes until Cullen offers him a wineskin, and he takes it, swigging, forcing food down his gullet.

The plate is taken from his as soon as he’s done, Cullen placing it aside, and for all the fog in Alistair’s mind and the heaviness in his heart, he’s glad Cullen’s still here to take care of him.

Cullen stands beside the bed, tugging off his gloves and trying to loosen belts and buckles, and with a sigh, Alistair stands, stiff from his uncomfortable drowsing, fingers working familiar leather straps. When the other man is bare, he turns to face Alistair, undressing him and guiding him back into the bed. Arms curl warm around him, pressing them together as

Cullen simply orders;

‘Sleep.’

He does.

It’s not deep and it’s not restful but it carries him through to the next morning and when he wakes he’s warm and safe, Cullen’s arms still around him. It doesn’t quell the ache in his chest, but it’s enough to get him standing and dressing, and Cullen offers him a quiet smile as he too wakes.

It’s as Alistair slips on his boots that his ears pick up the familiar sound of heavy chains rattling, the groan of stone, wood and iron that tells of Skyhold’s portcullis being lifted. It shouldn’t alarm him, but it does, some instinct telling him to investigate and he slides down the ladder, dashing out onto the battlements.

In the courtyard below, there’s a gathering of people around a polished carriage, and though he can’t say he recognises the heraldry, he knows instantly its Orlesian. Leaning on the parapet he squints, just about able to tell that a woman sits inside the carriage, looking down at her lap. His stomach twists and he pulls his gaze away, finding that Leliana and Josephine have approached now with Comte Pelletier. The three stop their walk at the door to the carriage, body language screaming tension and the Comte shakes his head, turning and climbing into the carriage. Within the carriage, the Comtesse shifts.

‘Ah. They’re leaving then,’ Cullen comments as he joins Alistair on the wall. Alistair only nods, chest too tight for him to form words. Cullen takes his hand and Alistair sniffs, jolting in surprise as Leliana’s attention swivels to him. She makes a brief gesture, hard and angry, for him to go down to her as the carriage rattles away.

He swallows, glancing to Cullen who simply raises an eyebrow, as confused as he is, before the couple make their way down towards the redhead. The idea of having to deal with Leliana’s anger at them is not one he relishes, not with his heart aching to run after the carriage, but there’s no denying the spymaster. He’d learnt that long before she’d taken on her current role.

She glares at him something fierce as he and Cullen approach her. Josephine shakes her head, turning back to the castle and Leliana tilts her head towards the keep, a silent direction for them to follow. They’re guided into a side office, one not often used, and Alistair swallows. He’s never been in the room before and the way Leliana shuts the door behind him does nothing to settle his nerves.

Josephine all but cuddles her clipboard, holding it to her chest.

‘Well, you both truly know how to make an impression with our noble guests,’ Leliana chides, arms folded across her chest, the wrinkle on the bridge of her nose telling of her displeasure. ‘It will take considerable effort to repair the damage your behaviour has caused.’

Alistair snorts, his unease turning to anger at her accusation.

‘Oh well I am sorry to hear that. For a moment I was under the impression that the Inquisition, and more importantly, you, actually cared about helping find Elodie a suitable home. But no, she’s just another bargaining chip in your stupid popularity contest.’

‘Giving her to a noble home makes the most sense. She’ll never want for anything.’

‘Except for, you know, parents that actually care about her.’

‘And you think that you and Cullen are a better alternative?’

‘I’m saying at least we care, and that’s worth more than all the money they can throw at her in the hope that she’ll...what? What do they even want her for?’

‘Nobles generally require heirs, Alistair.’

‘And a common Fereldan girl was their only option? They couldn’t have found someone a little closer to home? It just happened to be a child that’s been cared for the Inquisition. I’m not
good at the ‘game’ Leliana, but I’m not quite as stupid as people seem to think I am. You give them an ‘heir’ and get their support, and they get to parade around with a child that’s been ‘touched by the Inquisitor’ or whatever nonsense they want to spout to make sure people come to their parties.’

He cocks a hip as he glares at Leliana, adopting an exaggerated Oresian falsetto;

‘Oh monsieur you cannot possibly find our foie gras unpalatable, little Elodie finds it delightful and she has the Inquisitor’s blessing. You’re not saying the Inquisitor has poor taste are you?’

Leliana shakes her head, turning away.

‘You are quite insufferable when you want to be, Alistair. You think you understand, because of your own childhood, what it means to live with nobles.’ Her eyes flick to Cullen, gaze hard. ‘And I suppose you agree, Commander?’

‘I understand the practicality of ensuring the child is in a wealthy home. But it seems a poor trade if she never experiences true affection from her mother and father. So...yes. I agree with Alistair. I have no illusions that we would make ideal parents but...I cannot imagine that what we would offer would be any worse.’

‘Are you saying that you would take her into your care, Commander? A few weeks ago you wished to have nothing to do with her.’

‘If I were not happy with other arrangements, yes.’

‘And you are not happy with those arrangements?’

‘I really do not need to state that again, do I? No. I am not. If I’m honest...my feelings on the girl have changed somewhat. I don’t believe I would be satisfied with anyone’s care.’

‘A bold claim, but at least you’re honest.’

Leliana sighs, her irritation fading as she paces away, turning to look at the door before looking back to them. Alistair holds his tongue.

‘Josephine, Lady Trevelyan and I made a decision. We believe we’ve made the one that is in the best interests of the child. It seems clear to me now that we made the right choice.’

The redhead walks to the door, lifting the latch, and Alistair frowns, as confused as he is aggrieved as she takes a few steps back, allowing Inquisitor Trevelyan into the room. His heart stops in his chest. Not fear, he realises distantly, but agonising hope at the sight of a bundle of white blankets in the woman’s arms.

A soft coo, snuffles and whimpers, and his heart starts beating again as he stares, trying to remember to breathe.

‘After having a more in depth discussion with the Pelletiers’, we realised that our expectations for Elodie’s future did not match theirs. We couldn’t, in good conscience, allow them to take her,’ Trevelyan explains, stepping towards Alistair.

His attention flicks to Leliana now, finding the woman watching him, amused.

‘You are right, of course, Alistair. She was only ever to be a feather in their cap. And that is a fate no child should be consigned to. I think little Elodie has already decided who she wants her new family to be. I don’t think any of us could find a good reason for it not to be the two of you.’

He knows he’s staring, eyes wide and mouth open as Trevelyan stops before him, offering the girl to him. Cullen steps up alongside him, and he knows the other man’s heart is beating just as fast as his.

‘But...the practical stuff...we’re busy, and two men, people will talk and...and when I go away, and feeding her and...and everything.’

‘It is something we have considered,’ the Inquisitor answers. ‘Providing that they two of you are willing to care for her, to make the sacrifices you need to once the Inquisition’s time is over, then the Inquisition will support you in the meantime. I’m sure Megan will be delighted to watch over her every now and then for you. And you do both look so adorable with that sling you wear.’

He has no words, nothing that could possibly express the gratitude and relief flooding through him, and he moves without thinking, grabbing Trevelyan by the shoulders and pulling her into a hug, careful of Elodie between them.

The gesture is met with gentle laughter before the woman manoeuvres Elodie into his arms, a gentle pat on his shoulder as he releases her. He grins, cradling the girl to his chest, and her coos change as he smiles down at her, happier, excited.

‘Hello, my little one. Did you miss me?’

Elodie squawks happily, hands reaching up for him and he takes one between thumb and forefinger, feeling her tighten her grip on his digit.

‘I’ll take that as a yes.’ He beams as the girl gurgles back at him.

He looks back at Cullen, finding his partner standing a few feet from him, awkwardly trying to shuffle closer. The commander doesn’t seem sure of what to do, eyes glancing between the two of them, and Alistair huffs, closing the gap between them and gently foisting the girl onto the other man. Cullen cradles her clumsily, fumbling for a moment before he settles, cuddling her against him.

Golden eyes dart up to meet Alistair’s.

‘You are certain you want to do this? It will be a lot of work. We’ll have less time for’, Cullen briefly looks at the women who snicker at him, ‘....for each other.’
Alistair smiles back.

‘I’ve been certain from the start. But...are you? You didn’t ask for this.’

‘I would be lying if I were to say I am as certain as you are. However, given the circumstances, I can’t say I would be comfortable with the idea of anyone else raising her either.’

‘Is that your way of saying ‘yes’?’

Cullen shakes his head, exasperated.

‘Yes.’

Alistair can’t help the smile that crosses his face at Cullen’s answer and he leans in, surprised when Cullen kisses him readily. His heart thuds in his chest, warm, full to bursting and he loses himself for a moment, enveloped by the idea of their newly formed family.

The moment only breaks when he remembers that they have an audience, and he steps back, face flushing red, his cheeks and ears hot. Cullen is similarly flushed, though he distracts himself with cooing at Elodie.

Alistair turns his attention back to the women, his eyes settling on Leliana.

‘So...wait. If you were planning to let us keep her...then why the anger thing?’

‘Well. The Pelletier’s are indeed displeased with us. It has cost the Inquisition their support to keep her here. But it was the right thing to do. But I wanted to see just how willing you were to stand up for her, to defend her.’

‘I saved her from Darkspawn and you felt the need to test us?’

‘Saving her from Darkspawn is your obligation, it’s what you do, Alistair. This is a commitment you are choosing to take on. I had every faith in you though.’

Alistair snorts, vaguely rankled by Leliana’s attitude. But it’s not worth pursuing to dampen the joy in his chest.

‘So…’ he turns back to Cullen, ‘where do we go from here?’

Cullen looks up from where he’s pulling faces at Elodie, who giggles along.

‘Ah...I suspect a cot would be a good start. And we’ll perhaps have to find new quarters. It won’t be long until she’s crawling and we can’t risk keeping her in the loft with us. Besides, it’s too cold in there anyway.’

‘You’ve only just noticed this?’ Alistair teases, ‘I’ve been freezing my toes off in that blasted holey attic of yours.’

The commander shrugs.

‘Yes, well, I thought your vehement complaining about it kept you warm enough as it was.’

‘Charming.’

Cullen smiles back warmly, despite the teasing, and Alistair muses that he’s never seen the man look so...content.

‘Whatever you need,’ Trevelyan speaks softly, pulling Alistair’s attention to her, ‘we’ll help wherever we can. As long as we get to be named as aunties.’ She grins.

‘I think that can be arranged,’ Alistair agrees.

‘I thought you might agree,’ Trevelyan smiles, ‘so...we’ve prepared a little something. Cullen is right, your current chambers won’t do for a child. Josephine.’

Josie steps forwards, a heavy key in hand.

‘There are certain chambers within Skyhold that are never used, too large for most of the staff, you see. Too small to keep nobles happy. It makes no sense for them to remain unused.’

She holds out the key and Alistair takes it gratefully.

‘Where?’

‘Overlooking the gardens. The very last door.’

‘Thank you...I…I don’t know what to say.’

‘Thanks is enough.’

‘Then we should get started. No sense in wasting time,’ Cullen announces.

Alistair lifts a brow as Cullen strides for the door, Elodie in his arms, and he chuckles at the other man's eagerness masked as pragmatism.

‘I have my orders it seems. Thank you, again, for this,’ he comments to the women, excusing himself as he trots after Cullen.

He’s not sure how this will work, how they’ll manage to raise the girl between them. But he knows that where there’s a will, there’s a way, and he’ll spend every day of the rest of his life doing his best to provide for their daughter.

Jogging, he catches up to Cullen quickly, finding the man nearing the door to their new chambers.

‘Ready?’ Cullen asks as Alistair falls into place alongside him.

‘I am. Are you?’

‘I believe so.’

Alistair presses a kiss to his cheek before stepping forwards, unlocking the door and swinging it inwards.

The chambers have been recently cleaned and furnished, and he steps in carefully, looking around the room. It’s small, but comfortable, a hearth on the near wall, a table and chairs opposite. A little searching reveals a master bedroom to the left, and a smaller room opposite, equipped with an ornately carved cot.

Alistair grins again as Cullen joins him, making a soft grunt of approval in his throat at the sight of the room. Pressing close to his partner, Alistair strokes at Elodie’s head as she blinks, looking around her curiously.

‘Welcome to your new home, Elodie.’