Fergus Cousland mopped his brow. He put his weight on his cane and took a few quick breaths. The exertion of climbing stairs, coupled with his nervous tension, damn near made him leave. It had been a year. More. A long time spent waiting, wondering, mourning, and marvelling. Now, moments away, he wouldn't let his resolve slip away.
The Grey Warden, Alistair, had wanted it to be a surprise. His arrival at Denerim had been kept a secret. Alistair had wanted him to meet Aedan before they all went down to the throne room. And so he waited in the parlour, waiting for his little brother to be shown in. In a way, this made him more anxious. At least there would be other people downstairs. Here, while he was grateful for the privacy, he had no idea how he reunion would go.
He'd heard the rumours. He'd heard of the things the Hero of Ferelden had done. Things he couldn't imagine his little brother doing. But a year was a long time. Neither of them were the same. He wondered whether they had anything left in common.
Other than the blood and the family name.
Hobbling over to the ornate oval mirror, Fergus looked himself over again. His facial hair had been shaved off. It felt strange, but a year's worth of growth hadn't left him presentable. His hair had also received a similar treatment. Though enough still remained on his head, gone were the stylish curls of old. He grazed his fingers over his greying temples and then down his face.
Am I still recognisable? He'd been thinking about it non-stop. Aedan wouldn't have forgotten, surely. But the strains of soldiering were nothing to scoff at. He'd seen men, strong and stout, getting reduced to nervous wrecks who couldn't tell left from right.
He must've suffered so much, Fergus thought. He didn't know what kind of effect it would have had. Again, all he had were rumours. The Hero of Ferelden appeared to be helpful and just, but also remorseless and pragmatic. A larger than life figure, somehow inspiring both love and fear.
His little brother. The only family he had left. Whom he had assumed dead after learning what had transpired at Highever. Dead, along with his mother and father. Along with his wife and son.
Fergus Cousland sighed out of his nostrils and straightened. He tapped his cane against the floor and looked about, eyeing the armchairs. His knee throbbed, but he feared that if he sat down, he wouldn't be standing up again that day. He would deal with any and all swelling later. His knee would have to endure.
The Blight was over. Ended by his little brother. The Champion of Redcliffe. The Arl of Amaranthine. The same boy who once cried himself to sleep because he'd lost a game of marbles. Who couldn't do without his mother's kisses. Who'd taught the dog how to do the Remigold.
That was the Aedan Cousland he knew. The Hero of Ferelden sounded like a completely different person. Fergus couldn't imagine this Hero stealing sweets from the larder, or setting off firecrackers in the library, or flirting with the elven maid. No, he imagined this man to be one of purpose, of iron will. Wearing a familiar face, maybe. Nothing more.
He turned towards the door upon hearing footsteps. A pair of voices accompanied them. Fergus felt his pulse quicken.
"-don't get why it can't wait."
"Friend Alistair was very adamant. I'm only following instructions."
"I'm sure. I swear, if it's a fucking cheese doll-house, I'll personally kick him from the Wardens."
A laugh. "I'm sure it will be more interesting than that, but this is as far as I go. Come downstairs when you are finished, yes? We are all waiting."
"Yeah. Thanks, Zevran."
Fergus faced the door. What should I say? He cleared his thought and swallowed. Should I offer my hand? He rubbed his suddenly sweaty palms against his tunic. Should I smile? He tried, but the action felt alien to his face.
As the handle turned, he took a deep breath and gripped his cane tighter.
My brother. The one I taught how to climb trees, skip stones, and tie laces. The one I fought with and consoled and protected. My little brother.
The door opened, and Fergus found himself resorting to the words he usually saved for Aedan after the boy hurt himself and started crying. He cried a lot growing up, so Fergus had had practice.
It's all right, he told himself and straightened up. He pocketed his free hand. Felt the corners of his lips curl upwards. It's all right.
The man who entered did indeed look familiar. His physique was leaner now, more toned. His cheeks had sunken, and all traces of fat were gone. His hair was shorter than Fergus remembered, and there were new scars on his face. The most prominent feature, however, was the black-eye he sported. The sight of it made Fergus smile in earnest.
His green eyes, however, hadn't changed. They were squinted as he entered, but widened mere moments after. His mouth hung open, and his face cycled through emotions faster than a chameleon shed colours. Fergus recognised them all.
Confusion. Shock. Disbelief. Denial. Acceptance. Grief. Happiness.
He didn't speak a word. Neither did Aedan.
In an instant, his brother had his arms around him. Fergus almost lost his footing, but held on. Aedan had his arms around his back tightly, his face stuffed into his shoulder. His grip was crushing, but Fergus didn't complain. This was unexpected, but he would never complain.
Then, the Hero of Ferelden, his little brother, started wailing. Loud and uncontrollable. The way it used to be. His grip tightened, and his fingers fisted his tunic.
Whatever remained of his resolve shattered right then and there. But Fergus didn't budge.
Letting go of his cane, he patted the back of his little brother's head gingerly. And then, just like he'd said it a thousand times before, the words came tumbling out of his mouth.
"It's all right," he whispered, voice cracked, while his brother bawled his eyes out. "It's all right. Shh. It's okay." He let his tears fall, but kept his voice as steady as he could. As long as his brother didn't realise. "I'm here. It's all right."
Fergus was, after all, the big brother. At the end of it all, it was the only role he could still play. And for that, he was grateful.