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It started with a letter.
Cullen had that look on his face when Dorian came home for the evening. That look that he thought was blank but signaled intense worry. The kind of look he’d had when Bran called to say he had cancer and when Cavan’s school bus had been in an accident.
“What’s wrong?” Dorian asked as he set his keys in the basket by the door and braced himself for the worst.
Cullen held up his hands in a way that was supposed to be placating but just set Dorian on edge. “Don’t freak out. A letter came today.”
“Is it a subpoena? Did we get served?” He tried to think if he’d done anything that was actually illegal, something that would come back on them, but he’d kept his work and research strictly above board since they got married. There was a statute of limitations on the stuff that happened before. Wasn’t there?
Cullen dropped his hands and frowned. “Why in the Maker’s name would we get served?”
“I don’t know, you told me not to freak out and that’s about the worst thing I could think of.” He crossed the space to Cullen’s side and plucked the letter from his fingers. Too light for legal work, it was just a letter. And then he looked at the address and addressee.
“He sent a letter.” He held himself completely still. To move was to invite disaster. “To our son.”
Cullen sighed. “Yeah. Should we read it?”
“Of course we should read it. Who knows what he’s said in here? I will not have him poisoned—” he tossed the letter on the table and grabbed his cell.
Cullen squeezed his shoulder. “I’m going to grab Cavan from practice. We’ll take the long way home. You’ve got about half an hour.”
Dorian nodded, already listening to the ringing of the number he hadn't saved in his contacts, but still knew by heart.
“Dorian. How wonderful to hear from you.” Warm. So warm.
He closed his eyes against the old ache of longing, of wanting to be enough. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“Don’t. We’ve had no contact for years. My son sends an ill-advised letter and now, what, you want to be pen pals?”
“I have a grandson. I think I deserve to know him a little.”
He tightened his grip on the phone and shook. “You don’t have anything. He’s a child. He doesn’t belong to you.” Even as his own dark thoughts whispered through his mind. He’s mine. He belongs to me. You can’t have him.
“Ah. My mistake. A careless bit of wording. They’re just letters, Dorian. It can’t hurt for me to learn a little of his life through letters. You’d be welcome to read them.”
He hated the reasonable tone, the soft, careful words. He hated that every time they spoke, he felt like he was sixteen again, or twenty, or twenty-five. Too young in Halward’s eyes to make good decisions, too young to understand how his behaviors affected the family. Years of politics, practiced and perfected, meant that Halward could talk almost anyone into anything. Dorian wanted to say no just on principle. He didn’t want Halward in their lives. He didn’t want Halward speaking to his son. He didn’t want to have to explain to his child, his beautiful, bright, loving child that there were people in the world like Halward.
“Dorian?”
He’d been silent too long. “I will read your letter. If I find it appropriate, I will allow Cavan to have it and respond as he wishes.” The words were heavy, pushed through his teeth.
“Thank you. How have you--”
Dorian hung up and did not slam his phone on the kitchen counter, but it was a near thing.
*
And so his son started exchanging letters with his father. Halward sent long letters with perfect penmanship detailing his daily activities, peppered with questions about Cavan’s life and interests. He included sketches of his locations, the manor, the magisterium, the park on the waterfront. Dorian never knew his father could draw.
In return, Cavan crafted careful letters with his messy, child’s scrawl answering Halward’s questions and talking about his life. He made sure to include Cullen in his letters, even though Halward never asked.
“How do you spell arboretum?”
Dorian noted his spot in the book. “Arb--”
“Don’t just tell him,” Cullen called from the kitchen. “You have a dictionary. Look it up.” Cullen had insisted once Cavan was old enough that they invest in a fat, leather-bound dictionary and a set of encyclopedias. Despite the fact that they were both out of date within a year’s time.
Dorian rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue. “Use the internet.”
There was a clang from the kitchen and Cullen popped out, pointing at them both with a spatula. “Do not use the internet. Use the dictionary. The spelling of arboretum hasn’t changed.”
Cavan heaved a sigh, very put upon, and got up from his seat at the table to pull the dictionary off the bookshelf. He lugged it back to the table and continued writing. Dorian gave up reading and instead sat, watching Cavan move his pencil across the paper, careful with his words and mistakes. Finally, he pushed back and gave the letter to Dorian. “All done, papa.”
“Good job. I can see you worked very hard. Now, go wash up for dinner and put the dictionary away.”
But Cavan lingered in front of Dorian’s chair, fidgeting, stalling.
“Yes?”
“Grandpa Halward asked if he could call on the phone.”
It twisted something inside him to hear Cavan say the name. And say it with something approaching fondness. “I am aware.”
Cullen once again appeared from the kitchen. “Your papa and I need to discuss it first. What do you think?”
“I don’t know.” Cavan shifted from foot to foot, his little hands twisted around each other.
Dorian set his book aside to give the conversation his full attention. “That’s not a real answer. You can tell me what you think, I won’t be upset.” It was something they’d been working on. Cavan was so eager to please, so determined to be good that he often didn’t offer opinions when he knew they weren’t popular. How he picked up that trait in a household with Dorian and Cullen was a mystery.
His shoulders slumped and Cavan’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t know. He said those horrible things about you, Papa. And I know you don’t like it when I write to him. But he’s been nice and I don’t even know what he sounds like.”
Dorian looked to Cullen, with dawning realization how poorly he’d handled the situation. Halward made him irrationally angry and defensive and suspicious. And he’d thrust Cavan right into the center of those feelings. Why couldn’t Halward have just stayed the fuck away? He’d been plenty willing to keep his distance when it was just Dorian and Cullen.
“Okay. Okay, let’s all take a minute.” Cullen had his best crowd control voice, the one that helped de-escalate potentially violent situations and made Dorian’s toes curl when he used it on the bedroom. “This is a tough situation, Little Bug, right? But here’s the thing. In your life, you’re going to do things and be friends with people that your papa and I aren’t going to approve of. That’s just facts. It doesn’t mean they’re bad things or people, just that we don’t agree. This is hard for your papa because Grandpa Halward hasn’t been very nice to him. But he’s trying to be nice with you, and we want you to know about your family. Even the hard parts of it. Understand?”
Cavan nodded and then crashed into Dorian’s arms when he held them open for a hug. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to make this so hard for you. Your dad and I still need to talk, but if you want to talk to him, we’ll work it out, okay?” He kissed Cavan’s soft hair and held him tight in his arms and tried very hard not to wish that Halward Pavus would just die already.
*
He had Cavan up on his shoulders, hanging his framed artwork from the school art show when his phone started ringing. Dorian was expecting a call from Helisma and so called for Cullen. “Hey, babe, can you grab my phone?”
Cullen plucked the phone from his back pocket, copping a feel along the way and answered with a laugh. A laugh that died after his initial greeting. “No, you have the right number. This is Dorian’s phone. I’m Cullen. His husband.”
The stilted nature of Cullen’s words had Dorian tensing before he could stop himself. Regardless of his misgivings, he held still and let Cavan fuss with the picture until he was satisfied that it was straight and that it was in the best light. It was a turtle, sunk below the surface of a murky green water. Cavan had paid special attention to the pattern on the shell and the thick strands of what Dorian assumed was seaweed. It was lovely. And not just lovely in the way all parents were supposed to think all their children’s art pieces were special.
“All done.” Cavan tapped the top of his head and Dorian swung him down onto the sofa.
“It’s wonderful, all that time studying pictures of turtles really paid off.” He looked to Cullen who was leaning against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest, the other holding the phone to his head.
He looked pained, pinched. “Yes. Yes.” Dorian waved at him to hand over the phone. “I’ll let Dorian explain it.”
“Halward?” At Cullen’s nod, he drew in a fortifying breath and moved to the bedroom. “Father.”
“A Ferelden? Really, Dorian?”
“My last name is Rutherford. Did you think he was from Tevinter?”
“I had hoped it was an affectation.”
He blew out a breath. “If this is how you’re going to be, then there’s no need for you to call. That is my husband and Cavan’s father.”
“Ah, my apologies. He looks so much like you, I assumed,” he trailed off and Dorian wanted to hit something.
“We are both his father’s. He is adopted, Halward. Not related to either of us by blood.” How had Halward not considered it? His stomach twisted. “If that’s a problem, you need to tell me now. I’m not going to put him on the phone with you if you’re going to spend your time talking about bloodlines and purity and hatefulness.”
He heard Halward swallow. “Of course not. Your great uncle Magnus was adopted into the family. It’s a time honored tradition. Though, of course, for different reasons. I would still very much like to speak with him.”
“All right. Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to put you on speaker and Cavan’s going to talk with you at the kitchen table. The first second I get a hint of you saying anything, anything hurtful, I’m hanging up and we’re never speaking again. Do you understand?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
How considerate. How reasonable. It did nothing to bank Dorian’s anger, only made him feel guilty for it.
Instead of arguing, he passed the phone off to his son and sat with him at the kitchen table. Their conversation was a little strained at first, Cavan uncertain and Halward out of practice with children. By the end of the half hour, though, there had been no major incidents and nothing that even Dorian’s suspicious mind could construe as hurtful. Cavan seemed pleased, Halward didn’t gloat and Dorian reluctantly agreed that it had been a success.
So it became a regular occurrence, hearing the sound of his father’s voice and less frequently, his mother’s filling the air. Halward asked after Cavan’s school work and his hobbies, he shared stories of Dorian’s childhood, stories that Dorian himself had forgotten, if he’d ever known them. He was patient when Cavan rambled, intent when Cavan spoke, and strangely, so strangely, kind.
*
“They want to visit.” Dorian has been holding the information in the back of his throat all evening, waiting for Cavan to go to bed, for Cullen to settle down, and for the two of them to end up in bed, curled around each other, breathing in the darkness. “They want to come here and see him.”
Cullen stroked his back. “I’m sure they want to see you as well.”
“Never wanted that before.”
“What do you think?” he asked, careful, considerate.
He closed his eyes and pressed his face into the curve of Cullen’s neck. “I think I’d rather set the apartment on fire than have them here, touching our things, judging our life.”
Cullen tightened his hold. “So we tell them no.” As if it was that simple. As if, now that the door was cracked, Halward would not spend the rest of his life trying to edge it farther and farther open.
“He’s been so good with Cavan.” And now that Halward had a foothold, that torturous, traitorous part of him that always longed for Halward’s approval was back. “And maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.”
“Then we let them visit and set up some ground rules. Whatever makes it better for you.”
*
Dorian and his family did not meet the Pavus’ at the airport. They were not at the hotel when they checked in. They were waiting at the predetermined restaurant. Halward and Aquinea both looked much older than Dorian remembered and it was a terrible sort of realization that they were both mortal and closer to the end of their lives than the beginning.
He’d warned Cavan that Halward and Aquinea would likely be very formal. Unlike the Rutherford grandparents, he’d be better off not rushing in for hugs. His parents surprised him again, offering their arms to a stiff, but sincere greeting. Dorian kept himself back, beside Cullen, worried and ready to storm off at the first hint of insult.
“Dorian. You look well.” Aquinea drifted into their orbit. “And this must be Cullen. It’s a pleasure to meet you. Cavan has told us so very much about you.”
Cullen was all southern charm and earnestness. Aquinea probably thought she was hiding it well, but Dorian knew her tells and knew that she was not impressed. She held his gaze as long as was formally polite and then moved her attention back to Dorian as if Cullen did not exist.
“The letters and phone calls with Cavan have been such a succor to us in our age, Dorian. How ever would we know anything about you, if not for him?” She slid a hand into the crook of his elbow and drew him toward their table. He tried hard not to imagine it as a claw dug into his flesh.
“I seem to recall very clear language about what would happen should I leave the estate. I thought it best to prevent any further unpleasantness.”
“Always so dramatic,” she sighed, as if she was not the one who wept openly when she found Dorian kissing his first boy. As if she had not thrown priceless heirloom china when Dorian looked too long at a swimsuit model in a magazine. As if she had not threatened to drink herself to death if he did not change his ways. If he was dramatic, he learned it best and well at her knee.
Still, like Halward, whatever coolness existed between them didn’t reach into her relationship with Cavan. She asked after his studies and his hobbies, encouraged his enthusiasm for learning. She was gentle in a way that Dorian could not ever remember seeing directed at him.
It was like sitting through dinner with complete strangers. Who were these people? Where had they been when Dorian needed their encouragement? Why had he not been enough to draw out such kindness?
Dorian was exhausted by the time they finished, and also starving. He hadn’t been able to eat much while seated, too worried that they would say something or imply something that would hurt Cavan. He made Cullen drive them home, and stop at a drive thru for a burger and fries. Cavan and Cullen splurged on milkshakes.
The film from the grease of the burger and fries coated his tongue in a delightfully unpleasant way and he was reminded why they didn’t eat fast food very often. But it filled a need in him at the moment and he tried not to think about how it wasn’t really food.
“Papa?”
“Yes, love?” he swallowed a bite and met Cavan’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
He took a sip of his milkshake, strawberry, and frowned. “They seemed nice.”
He hummed in response, not sure exactly how to answer. “I think they were very pleased to meet you in person.”
“That’s the sound you make when you’re thinking something mean but don’t want to say it. They seemed nice, but they said all those bad things about you. I read what they said.”
Oh, how he would take back those articles from Cavan if he could. “I know, love.”
“I don’t understand.”
Cullen cleared his throat, vanilla milkshake nearly gone. “People are complicated and sometimes there aren’t easy answers.”
“Are we going to see them again?”
He offered the remainder of his fries to Cullen. “They’re here for a week. We have plans with them pretty much every day.”
Cullen tried to change the topic. “Grandma and Granddad are coming this weekend. We’ll have a picnic in the park.” It had been Cullen’s idea to group both sets of grandparents together. Dorian thought it was a terrible idea. Halward and Aquinea didn’t mingle well with those they viewed as outside their class, but Cullen insisted, and frankly, Dorian was looking forward to having more people around who actually liked him.
*
The following days were filled with visits to public spaces. They wandered through museums and science centers, met for long lunches at overpriced venues, sat through a symphony and a play all before the end of the week. Dorian woke every night from nightmares.
“Hey, hey, you’re okay. It’s okay.” Cullen’s voice was rough with sleep, his hand warm on Dorian’s hip, clearing away the memories of the tiny room, the darkness, the echoing voices telling him he was wrong, wrong, wrong. “I’ve got you.”
“What if it’s all just a plot for them to take him away? What if they poison him against us so that he wants to go?” He couldn’t imagine another reason that they were so patient with Cavan where they had none for Dorian and less for Cullen. He couldn’t reconcile these people with the ones he grew up with.
“That’s never going to happen.” Fierce, the words pressed right into the skin at the nape of his neck. “They will never be alone with him, they will never get to talk with him unsupervised. Just because they’re being kind to Cavan doesn’t erase the fucking awful shit they did to you. They leave tomorrow and I think it’s a good idea if they don’t visit again.”
He matched his breathing to Cullen’s and was profoundly grateful that they’d never allowed Halward and Aquinea to come into their home. He didn’t think he could stand the thought that they had been in his space, invaded his family’s home. “I just want them to go away.”
“I know. I want them gone, too.”
*
Though the picnic was planned for noon, Dorian had them arrive early to stake out a good spot and allow them a little time to relax and enjoy the warm summer day before his parents arrived and made it all awkward and terrible. Cavan ran himself out on the play equipment while Dorian dozed, his head in Cullen’s lap, eating up the sunshine.
“This isn’t quite what I expected when you said picnic, Dorian.”
It took every ounce of his willpower not to scramble to his feet at his mother’s voice. She sounded cool and disapproving which meant she was about as close to furious as she would get in public. “This is what Ferelden’s mean by picnic.” The large, soft blanket spread across the soft grass, a bit of shade at the corner of their space for his fair husband, so prone to burning. A basket of cheeses and meats, good wine, fruit and pastries. Lavish, almost, by similar standards, but in Tevinter, well. It would have been offensive. Dorian hadn’t considered how it would appear to his parents. It was how he and Cullen had spent their time and how they'd gathered as a family once Cavan was born.
He was saved from Aquinea’s response by Cavan’s excited shout from the slide as he caught sight of Cullen’s parents. He dashed over to meet them, where Easton swung him up into his arms and spun them around like he wasn’t pushing seventy. Thalia peppered his face with kisses and then slipped some spare change into Cavan’s pockets.
“My boys!” Thalia moved toward them her hands outstretched and both Cullen and Dorian stood. She and Easton surrounded them in hugs and kisses and if he lingered just an extra second in Thalia’s arms, no one was to know.
Dorian made introductions and then invited everyone to sit. He let Cullen pass out the food while he helped Cavan wipe his hands and pick a place to sit. With so many people gathered and happy to see him, it was hard for him to choose. Eventually he ended up between Easton and Halward, though he leaned easily against Easton’s side as he got tired.
Conversation was easier than Dorian expected. Halward and Aquinea looked profoundly uncomfortably seated on the grass in their fine clothes, but they didn’t comment or try to make the sitting awkward. And Easton and Thalia, unlike Dorian’s parents were well involved in their lives. Instead of the informational rote questions that his parents asked, trying to gain a foothold, Cullen’s parents checked in on the progress of stories they already knew, shared anecdotes from Cullen’s siblings, and stories from their farm.
“When you come to stay next month, the colt should be big enough for you to start learning to care for him,” Easton told Cavan, who’d been listening raptly to stories of the new colt.
Dorian tensed. “Isn't he a bit young?”
“I was taking care of horses at his age. Hell, I was riding them at his age.”
“Cullen won his first competition when he was nine, Dorian.” Thalia patted her purse, like she might pull out a picture of a young Cullen, dressed up for a rodeo and wearing a ribbon. “And we’ll be out there with Cavan the whole time. No need to worry.”
Dorian had made the mistake of looking up horse accidents on the internet when Cavan first started to express an interest in the animals. The injuries were horrifying and he couldn’t help but imagine every single one whenever Cavan brought up horses.
“Wouldn’t Cavan’s summer break be better spent in more academic pursuits?” Halward leaned forward and tried not to look out of place in the conversation.
Cullen, bless him, answered smoothly. “He gets plenty of academic work during the year and he can learn things on the farm that they don’t teach in schools. A month of hard work is good for him.”
“A month!” Aquinea reared back.
“Two weeks with my parents, two weeks down at my sister’s farm. I grew up on a farm and I don’t want Cavan thinking that the only thing to life is sidewalks and coffeehouses.”
Dorian sniffed. “Nothing wrong with either of those.”
“Not if you don’t know better, I guess.” He grinned at Dorian, the old fight well-worn and comfortable now. Dorian had mostly accepted that they’d be spending their old age on some sprawling bit of land with loud chicken and filthy animals. As long as he had Cullen, he didn’t much care, anymore.
“Well, for that amount of time, he could be at a summer camp for young leaders. You went to those, Dorian. It’s never too early to start thinking of his future.”
“He’s not going to a leadership camp.” Dorian had hated every second of them, but kept going and did well, hoping to make his parents proud. “He’s not interested in politics. He’s interested in spending time on the farm with his grandparents and his cousins.”
Aquinea sniffed. “No child is interested in politics, dear. You have to create that interest in them. You would have spent your summers visiting mausoleums if we’d let you. Better to give children a sense of purpose.”
The half full glass of wine provided the perfect opportunity not to respond. He drained his glass, he gave Cavan some grapes. He did not start a fight. When Thalia asked him about his symposium, he shook off the lingering anger and gave her the updates on his project. He did not point out that his childhood love of death rites had led to a rewarding career that helped to support his family. Or how their disdain of his interest still twinged in the back of his thoughts whenever he went before a committee for funding or special projects. He’d nearly turned down an award the previous year because he felt like he hadn’t worked hard enough to earn it.
The day stretched out before them and Dorian distracted himself by watching Cavan play with his captive and doting audience. As the sun sank toward the horizon, Halward stood, offering his hand to Aquinea to rise. He brushed himself down with a frown and Dorian suspected that they would both discard their outfits from the day, unable to wear them again after having come so close to touching grass.
“We’ll be off. The jet is due to leave at six and your mother still needs to direct the servants to take care of the luggage.” He opened his arms for a hug from Cavan. There was a visible, clear pause before he turned to Dorian and offered his hand. They shook, just a moment and then Aquinea dragged him into a stiff embrace. Her perfume would probably linger in his clothes for hours.
“Perhaps we could speak with you, and not just Cavan.” Halward edged, his tone hesitant.
Dorian drew a breath. “I don’t think that’s necessary.” At the edge of his vision, he saw Easton lead Cavan away to look at some flowers near the playground. “I’ll allow you to continue to speak with Cavan, but we’ve said all we need to say.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so unreasonable. Are we so terrible for wanting to know what’s happening in our son’s life?” She was so good at making him feel like a child again when her words had been able to push him in directions he didn’t want to go. She was so persuasive and made everything sound so sensible. Of course you want to go away for the summer. And. You wouldn’t want to embarrass us by acting this way. And. Livia is a delightful girl and you’ll be so happy together. And. What you’re feeling isn’t real, you’re just very young.
“Well. I had hoped to leave on a more pleasant note.” Halward’s tentative expression shifted to something harder. “I should have known better. When will you be able to let go of the past? When will you forgive us for every little thing you think we did wrong?”
Instead of anger, Dorian felt nothing but weariness. “Thank you for visiting.” He turned away, turned his back on them, and walked over to his family, to Cavan up on Cullen’s shoulders, pointing out a bird’s nest. He was really too big to be carried that way, even though Dorian did the same thing. He was growing so fast it took Dorian’s breath away.
“Ready to go?” Cullen asked as he neared.
“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s go.”
*
“It’s easier, I think, being a grandparent.” Easton was next to Dorian on the couch. Cullen, Cavan and Thalia were out on the balcony, looking at constellations while the two of them shared a quiet moment. “I’ve got good kids, look at how they turned out. But it’s hard work, being a parent and there are so many things I think I’d do differently, or that I regret. Money was tight and there was always so much work. We just didn’t get as much time with them as we would have liked. Being a grandparent is like doing it again but without the pressure. I get to swan in, drop hugs and spare change and then go home.”
“Yeah, but you’re not a fundamentally different person with Cavan than you are with Cullen. I don’t know those people when they’re with Cavan.” They certainly weren’t the ones that raised him.
“Part of it is them trying to honor your wishes, and get back into your life. They know if they treat him well, you’ll be more likely to want them around.” Easton ran his hand along his jaw. “And then there’s the other thing.”
“What other thing?” He’d never heard Easton sound so hesitant. Plainspoken, he said what he meant, though with enough tact to keep the peace.
He pointed through the balcony door to Cavan. “He’s young still and hasn’t said anything about preference, but he doesn’t seem to be leaning toward other boys.”
Anger washed through him bright and painful. “That’s bullshit, Easton. That’s bullshit and you know it. Just because he hasn’t said anything, because he likes sports and not fucking fashion or some other stereotypical bullshit doesn’t mean, and you should know better. You should know better that all of those things are superficial and it doesn’t mean shit--”
Easton held up his hands. “I know that. You know that. But your parents are more traditional. They look at Cavan and see an athletic boy who likes to be outside and doesn’t care if he wears the same shirt three days in a row and they are comforted by it.”
The anger fell away. “Maker.”
“I’m sorry.” Easton gripped his shoulder and squeezed. “I wished I was wrong, but I don’t think I am.”
The whole time he thought they’d matured or mellowed or something. “They’re not better people. It’s just that they look at Cavan and he doesn’t seem gay so they can be kind to him. He doesn’t embarrass them.”
“That’s on them, though. You know that, right? You’re a good man and a good father. And even if you weren’t it would still be okay to love who you love. You don’t earn that right by being good. It just is.”
His eyes burned, but he didn’t cry. Not with his kid out on the balcony, who could come in at any moment. Sometimes he hated how good Cullen’s family was. How open and accepting, how kind. Because it meant that some day, someday probably not too far away, he was going to have to sit Cavan down and explain just how total shit his own family was.
Dorian didn’t talk about most of his teen years, not to anyone. He’d told Cullen the absolute bare bones of it and then told him he never wanted to talk about it again. He still got panicky and couldn’t sit in the forts and tents Cavan built out of blankets and furniture. It had been almost twenty years and he still got nervous if the cupboards and refrigerator weren’t stocked. And the scent of peppermint could send him into a blind panic if he was caught off guard. And he was going to have to tell his kid that the same people who encouraged him and took an interest in his studies were the same fucking people who sent him away to people who were supposed to fix him.
Cavan’s laughter cut through the glass door and Dorian jerked in his direction. He was going to have to tell him, but he didn’t have to do it that night. He stood and motioned to Easton. “Come on. Sounds like we’re missing all the fun.”
*
And so. Cullen took over the phone call duty and reading through the letters. Dorian did his best to pretend that his parents had no connection to his life, but it was hard when Cavan brought them up in casual conversation and when Halward’s number lingered on Dorian’s phone. When their handwriting filled the nooks and corners of their home.
He was on his sixth day of fourteen hour work days as the symposium neared. He’d managed to sneak out for dinner with his family before he had to head back and the pressure to squeeze quality into their limited time was too much. Dorian’s head ached from no sleep, he hadn’t eaten in almost eighteen hours and it left him both light headed and anxious. Cavan was cranky from a bad day at school and Cullen was exhausted from having to deal with it all on his own.
“Cavan, please. Eat your dinner. We can talk about this later.”
“That’s what you said last night.” He shoved his plate back, slopping curry over onto the table. For a half second, Cavan looked repentant, but then he crossed his arms over his chest and thrust out his chin. “Why can’t I stay over at Harrin’s house this weekend?”
Partly, it was because he thought Harrin was a little shit, but also they were too busy. He had a dozen errands to run and Cullen had a work thing and there wasn’t time to get him to a sleepover. “I told you it’s not a good weekend.”
“So I have to stay here and be bored but you and dad get to go do your stuff. Grandpa Halward was right: you’re just selfish.”
Dorian’s stomach rolled as he stared at his son, who had managed to mimic the perfect pitch and intonation of his father. He had no reply, he couldn’t make his mouth work to form words, even if he knew what to say.
“All right. You’re done.” Cullen stood and plucked Cavan’s fork from his hand. “Go to your room. I don’t want to hear or see you until I come to get you. Understood?”
“But--”
“Room. Now.” Cullen waited for Cavan’s door to close before he came around the table to kneel at Dorian’s side. “It’s just shit kids say. I said worse to my parents. He doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t know.”
Dorian pushed his food away before he was sick. “He’s right. I’m spending too much time on this--”
“He’s not right. He’s not getting his way and he’s angry. That doesn’t mean he’s right. One week of long days does not make you selfish. In a normal week, you get up before everyone else in this house to make sure we have breakfast. You leave work early so you can walk him home from school. You help him with his homework and you listen to him and you encourage him. One week does not make you selfish.” Cullen gripped his hands tight, just shy of painful. “What I want to know is when Cavan heard Halward say that. It wasn’t in any of his letters and it hasn’t been in any of the phone calls.”
Dorian’s eyes fell on the clock in the kitchen. He was due back at his office in half an hour. There was a conference call and then paperwork and he owed about thirty emails before he’d be able to leave. He didn’t want to do any of it. In fact, about all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until everything felt a little less horrible. “I don’t know what to do.”
With a sigh, Cullen stood and pressed a kiss to Dorian’s temple. “Go to work. You’re so close to being done. I’ll take care of Cavan—it’s probably best if the two of you have some space right now anyway.”
It felt wrong to push himself to his feet, grab his jacket and keys and leave. It felt wrong to not see Cavan, who was silent and furious in his room, and only tell him that he loved him through the closed door. Everything felt wrong. He sat in the car for ten minutes, staring at the steering wheel before he remembered he was supposed to be on his way.
The work on the symposium were consuming enough that Dorian was able to push the fight from his mind until the ache was a mild background. Constant, persistent, but dull. It was well past midnight when he was done, the office silent around him. He’d sent his assistant home hours ago when her mild concern about his appearance set him on edge.
He should have gone home half an hour before, but he couldn’t make himself get up. Instead, he sat at his desk, his head in his hands with his son’s voice playing over and over in his thoughts. How was he supposed to go home to that? He’d left an entire country to get away from those kinds of words, but he couldn’t leave his home, his son. Cullen said it was born of anger, that Cavan didn’t mean it, that Cullen himself had said worse when he was young.
But Dorian has said worse as well. And he had meant it. He’d meant every word, every single time.
His phone rang. Cullen. He considered letting it go to voicemail, but he wanted Cullen’s voice in his ear, since he wasn’t there to offer his touch. “Hey, I’m just finishing up, I should be home soon.” He almost sounded normal.
“Papa?” Quiet, tremulous. Cavan. “I had a bad dream.”
“Oh, love. Where’s your dad?”
“Sleeping on the couch.”
Dorian stood and grabbed his jacket, his keys, and locked up his office. “Where are you?”
“In your bed.”
“Okay. Go wake up your dad. I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. You sit with him until I get there, okay?” There was a rustle and Cavan’s hiccuping sobs that were like a gut punch and spurred Dorian to move faster. “I’m going to hang up so I can focus on driving, but I’ll be there really soon, okay? I love you.”
Cavan’s response was lost in a fresh wave of sobs, but he thought he heard the sentiment returned. He broke every speed limit getting home and would have run the red lights had he not been afraid of crashing into oncoming traffic. He parked the car, ran up the stairs and burst into the apartment.
Cavan and Cullen were curled on the couch. Cullen looked terrible, dark eyed, lined, disheveled. Cavan was dozing against his shoulder, but he jerked awake when the door opened. He sprang from his seat and ran at Dorian. Even braced for impact, Dorian still took a step back under the weight of his son. He was saying something into Dorian’s shirt, but he couldn’t understand through the fabric and the tears.
He held Cavan against him for a moment then led him back to the couch where he could tuck safely between his fathers. Cullen’s hand found the back of Dorian’s neck and gave a gentle squeeze. He was so tired, he could have closed his eyes and fallen asleep sitting up in the soft folds of the couch, but Cavan was still up and needed him.
“You had a bad dream?” Dorian soothed back the hair from Cavan’s forehead, still warm from sleep.
“Please don’t hate me forever.”
Dorian looked to Cullen who shook his head. “What do you mean, love? I don’t hate you.”
“But you were mad,” he stuttered and coughed through the edges of his upset. “And I don’t want you to hate me forever the way you hate Grandpa Halward forever.”
“Okay, first of all, I don’t hate you. I could never, ever hate you. I love you so much I didn’t think it was possible to feel this way. I think about you all the time and I’m always so proud of how hard you work and how kind you are and how brave you are when you try new things. But even if you didn’t do any of those things, I would still love you and be proud of you.” He cupped Cavan’s little face in his hand, wiped away the tears with his thumbs. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes, papa.”
Dorian released Cavan’s face but wrapped his arm around his shoulders and dragged him close. “Here’s the other part, okay? And this might be hard for you to understand, but I’ll try and you can ask as many questions as you want and I’ll try to answer as best as I can.” He drew a breath and tried to think of a way to distill his relationship with his parents.
“The way Halward and Aquinea are with you isn’t the way they were with me. It’s a parent’s job to love their kids and protect them. It’s my job to make sure you have food and a bed and help with your homework and chase off the older kids at the playground when they get too rough. My parents thought it was their job to mold me into the kind of person that would be the next Archon. You remember what the Archon is in Tevinter?” He waited for Cavan’s nod.
“I studied and worked and practiced all the time and I did it because I wanted them to be proud of me. I wanted to be good enough for them. But there was something in me,” he drew a breath. “There is a part of me that doesn’t fit into that plan. So, instead of protecting me, they hurt me to try and get rid of that part. But you can’t just get rid of parts of people,” he had a visceral, sudden memory of sitting in a therapist’s office, six months out of Tevinter staring at his therapist in shock. ‘It was abuse,’ he’d said. ‘Yes,’ had been her simple answer. They hurt him and then they gave him to people who did worse.
“But I hurt you. Dad said I hurt you.”
Dorian sighed. “That’s different.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know love, it just is.”
Cullen cleared his throat. “I think it’s that you did it once, because you were upset and Halward and Aquinea did it his whole life because they didn’t care if he was hurting. They didn’t care about your papa, they only cared about themselves.”
And then Cavan was crying again and Dorian was out of words. He held him, let Cullen hold them both until Cavan cried himself to sleep.
“That was not how I expected the night to go.” Cullen’s voice was soft in deference to the hour. There was no danger of waking Cavan, who was a deep sleeper. “How are you doing?”
Dorian shook his head.
“Turns out he overheard your parents talking during their visit. Something about you being selfish and holding a pointless grudge against them forever.”
He felt the edges of a grim smile spread across his face. “Neither one of them has said an unguarded word in their entire lives. They meant for him to hear.”
Cullen squeezed his neck. “I kinda figured. What do you need?”
“Help me not to think.”
*
In the morning, nothing was better. Dorian woke to his alarm, his whole body aching with not enough sleep. His ears hurt, his throat hurt, his eyes were too sensitive.
Cullen reached across him and took his phone. “I told you not to set the alarm.”
“You tell me a great many things I choose to ignore, amatus.” His lofty words might have had a better impact had his voice not been shredded, and had he not descended into a coughing fit as soon as he finished. “I have to get up. Our family drama doesn’t stop the rest of the world.”
“How about this?” Cullen’s hand rested on his forehead and he made a small, displeased sound. “I’ll take care of breakfast and come wake you when it’s ready. Take the extra sleep.”
He dropped back against the blankets. “It’s too late, I’m awake now.”
“Just try.”
He did feel poorly. Even if he didn’t sleep, it was nice to stay in bed and let everything move around him for once.
He woke, disoriented and dehydrated, when the bed dipped and Cullen stroked his cheek. “Drink this.”
It was water and was the best thing he’d ever been given. Cullen was dressed for the day and the light from the windows, the light meant that he’d been down far longer than breakfast-making. “You were supposed to wake me.”
“I checked in with Helisma and she said she could spare you until the afternoon. Though with the way you look, I’m thinking you should see a doctor instead.”
Dorian shook his head. “It’s just lack of sleep. You know how I get.” Annoying, cold-like symptoms when he ran short of sleep. Nothing to be done for it except rest. And he could rest when the symposium was done. “How’s Cavan?”
“A little clingy, but he seems okay. He’s been dying to come in, but I wanted you to rest and I was worried you might be contagious.”
Dorian pushed himself up. “I’m not contagious. Come in, I know you’re waiting out there.” And sure enough Cavan ran in as soon as Dorian finished his invitation, jumping onto the bed and burrowing into the blankets. He looked tired, and his eyes were puffy, he’d probably need a nap in the afternoon.
“Morning Papa.” He was a little hesitant, a little shy, and Dorian dragged him in for a hug. “Do you want breakfast? Me and Dad made pancakes.”
His stomach gave a slow roll. Maybe he was getting sick. “Not just yet, love. Maybe in a bit.” He settled back with Cavan tucked back against his side and tried to come up with the energy to want to get out of bed and into the shower. After fifteen minutes, he realized he wasn’t going to want to go any more than he already did and made himself get up and get ready.
Cullen had a travel mug of coffee and a banana waiting for him by the door. “I’m going to talk with Cavan a bit about Tevinter, today. He was too overwhelmed last night to have questions, but he’s had time to process and he’s got them now. I thought it might be better if I handled it.”
He kissed Cullen, soft and sweet. “Thank you.” He didn’t think he could talk about it again. The bare edges of it from the night before still felt raw.
Though he felt better from the sleep, Helisma had lied, he really shouldn’t have missed the morning. He came in to dozens of messages, a full inbox and more paperwork than had any right to fit on his desk. He kept his phone on his desk, though, right in plain sight during all of his work, his meetings, just in case. Cullen texted a few times with little updates, nothing serious, and it kept him focused enough that by the time it hit eight, he could leave without feeling like he was too far behind.
In his absence, Cullen and Cavan had managed to turn most of the living room into an elaborate fort. It looked like they’d used every cushion, every blanket, and he was pretty sure that Cavan’s mattress was a part of the finished project. It was so large, in fact, that Dorian didn’t mind lying on his stomach at the edge of the structure and fitting his head and shoulders through. “You’ve been busy.”
They were curled together watching a movie on Cullen’s laptop. A pizza box was in the far corner, napkins strewn across the whole floor and empty paper cups of what looked like the remains of milkshakes.
“We had a fort day.” Cullen nudged Cavan with his shoulder. “Should we take the roof off so your papa can sit with us?” And in a few minutes, the blanket roof was disassembled and they were ensconced together.
The cushion walls made him a little uneasy, but Dorian withstood it for the comfort it brought to Cavan. Some of the tension eased out of him as Cavan leaned into him. Cullen closed the laptop and reached over to place a hand at the back of Dorian’s neck.
“I know you and your dad had a talk today. Do you have any questions?” He hoped, Maker how he hoped that Cavan didn’t have any, but he was willing. He had to because this was his family, Cavan and Cullen in their little fort. He had to.
“It’s complicated.”
Dorian laughed. “Yeah. People are complicated. Families are complicated.”
“But we’re not that hard.”
He sighed and pulled Cavan in closer. “Yeah, but we work really hard to keep it simple. And some people don’t care enough to put the work in. But you don’t have to worry about that, okay? We’ll always want to put the work in.”
“I don’t know if I want to talk to them anymore.”
Cullen’s hand kept him focused, as twin rushes of relief and guilt washed through him. “Okay. That’s not a decision you have to make right now, but if that’s what you want, we can make that happen. You’re allowed to change your mind.” It was so hard to be even keeled about it, to offer Cavan the opportunity to know the parents that Dorian never had. They felt like poison to his family. He hated thinking about them, hearing their voices. He didn’t want them in any part of his life, but he couldn’t let his anger make decisions for their son. He wished he’d burned the letter when it arrived.
“I think it’s a good idea to take a little break. You’ll be away at the farm soon anyway and maybe we can come back to it at the end of the summer and see how we all feel.” Cullen, so steady, so calm.
“Good enough?” It wasn’t a solution, but it was a break and one that Dorian desperately needed.
A small smile, more like Cavan’s usual self, peaked out across his face. “Good enough.”
“Good. Now,” Dorian reached across them and retrieved the laptop. “What are we watching?” He settled back and let Cavan describe the plot of a movie they’d all seen a dozen times before, gaining in enthusiasm. It wasn’t settled, and he didn’t know what to do or how to fix it, but right then, for that time, it was enough.