Work Text:
It was strange, for him, at first - well, anytime, to be perfectly honest.
Family was still a word he was trying to wrap around his tongue and not let the bile rise from the pit of his stomach when he thought of the word.
Family.
His first family left him in the stables to sleep with the warm comfort of mabari, he was friends with a cat that swallowed pigeons and mud was like a second skin. His father… his father never came, his uncle only pitied him and he could barely escape the wrath of his aunt as she tried her best to erase him from existence and nearly succeeded.
His second family left him hungry for love, he slept alone in a cot with no warmth and the silence was deafening. He read words in books about the Maker’s love and Andraste’s devotion but all he wanted to do was scream in the middle of the night to know that he wasn’t in a nightmare and so he did - he screamed and screamed until his ears were boxed by the sisters and his back ached with the swelling marks of his punishment - he craved someone’s touch, any touch would suffice.
He wanted to know love, he wanted someone to love him and the Maker, he knew, would not satisfy his selfish craving - he did not want to be a Templar and he prayed in his empty cot, missing the warmth of the mabari.
His third family came with a beard and a piece of paper that freed him from the cold grasp of the Templar Order. He walked away from the memories, from the loneliness - he screamed again, but this time it wasn’t to fill the silence of the cobble stone halls, it wasn’t to shake his loneliness but to fill his lungs with life and he wept with joy, he wept while clutching his chest - loud sobs filled with grief while Duncan watched him quietly.
Alistair didn’t see the sadness flash in the man’s eyes, he didn’t hear Duncan beg for Maric’s forgiveness under his breath- he had broken his promise to the dead king and now, he was taking the boy to certain death to save him.
His fourth family was… unexpected.
His brethren was dead at his feet, sorrow blinded him and he held on to the thread of hope she weaved between her fingers. He couldn’t breathe, the grief was too much to bear but her smile, her warmth brought him back to life.
He believed, a little more each day. His grief was a little less with each glance he gave her and when he plucked the rose at Lothering, he wondered if she’d accept him as her own someday, he wondered if she would feel he same, sometime. He wondered what it would be like to be loved and touched by her.
The word, it was strange indeed, he thought, but, with her now at his side, he cherished it and her love was better than cheese.