Author's Notes: I HAVE RETURNED

IF IT WASN'T OBVIOUS

Here is the latest chapter, and it is angsty as FUCK just to warn you. In reference to this chapter, check out my Alistair/Morrigan prompt that I wrote a few days ago for a little more outsider information. (on my tumblr of the same name)

And thanks everyone for being so patient with me on this fic.

With reluctantly sad smiles, Cullen and Dorian ended their game as Dorian quietly declared checkmate, knowing the victory was one spared and not really won, but offered, and parted with heavy hearts.

As Cullen made his way across the barracks and back to his office, he hoped, in the bottom of his chest, that he would at least be able to see the Mage and the Chargers off before they left for Rivain. Even knowing that they weren't all so close that it truly warranted him to feel the way he did, war had a way of bringing people together, and he would be lying if he said he wouldn't miss them. Dorian never had that awkwardness around Templars because he never felt threatened by them, and despite what that insinuated – that he was a powerful Tevinter Mage – it actually helped endear him to the Commander somewhat.

Because Dorian made it known that he wanted to spend time with Cullen, regardless of his status as an Ex-Templar, and he could not say the same for every Mage in Skyhold, so much so that there were times when the word Mage was not one he generally associated with Dorian, nor did he really think Ex-Templar or indeed Commander was one he associated with Cullen.

And to lose that unspoken comfort, that closeness that wasn't so close; was upsetting, was empty.

And Cullen started feeling, what he hadn't really felt since he was a boy trying to get used to living in the Abbey, lonely.

Bereft. Empty. Isolated.

Despite the memory of waking up that very morning wrapped around the woman he loved, knowing she was somewhere secret, speaking with someone about something that he was no part of, added to that empty feeling. And he missed his home.

He held a hand up to his chest, as he stepped into his office and leaned back against the door until it clicked shut. That dull, heavy ache settled quite firmly in the end of his chest, and briefly he wondered if the weepyness usually associated with Lyrium withdrawal was what caused him to feel such a pain, but that somehow didn't fit. Her desk was there, and the sight of her effects and research helped somewhat but it didn't take away from the fact that he-

He wanted to go back. Back to Honnleath.

Which was preposterous, and impossible. The land the Rutherfords owned was destroyed by the Blight, the modest house and wide, balmy fields were gone now, and he knew that. His parents had been put to rest in small graves with the rest of the victims of the Darkspawn there, so there was no going back.

Honnleath wasn't gone, but his family home was. His sister had fled the Blight with their siblings, dragging them away to South Reach which thankfully received only the small tail end of the Darkspawn horde, and there they made a new life, one which his sister insisted that he was a part of but Cullen wasn't so sure. Approaching his desk, he sifted through the papers and scrolls there until he found the last letter he received from Mia, demanding that he visit soon and Cullen was struck with very much wanting to make good on her request.

Maker but it had been a very long time since he'd seen any of them. He wondered if they ever thought about their old home, too.

He wondered what Branson and Rosalie looked like – they were adults now but he hadn't seen them since they were children. The Chantry allowed his mother and Mia to visit him, once, one Wintersend and he was in his late teens at the time. He'd barely even recognised Mia, a woman by all accounts and shorter than him for the first time in his life. He thought, almost a foot taller than her and still growing, as he loomed over her, that he'd finally bested her in something.

Intelligent, forthright Mia was always the one that kept them on the straight and narrow, kept Cullen from strangling Branson in his sleep and kept Rosalie from putting worms in their boots whenever they annoyed her, kept them from running off any time they had to make a trip into the town.

Smiling and sitting down, he could still remember the idiocy and bravery of children as he recalled the tree-climbing, the hot summers jumping into the lake without watching out for rocks, his father's exasperation at his four unruly children killing each other one minute and being best friends the next.

Sweet little Rosalie was a woman now, there were only a bare few years in the difference between them all, and Branson was a man, though he could scarcely imagine it. Were any of them married? He somehow doubted Mia was; for one she never suggested she was, and she wasn't the sort of person – even as a child – to let anyone tie her down. That didn't suggest otherwise, but...

How very little he knew of them, and even though they never outright told him through their letters, he never sought to ask. Yet the letters continued...

Because they were his family. Because, Mia insisted, they loved him. They wanted to see him, even though he'd neglected them for years.

Cullen wanted very much to see them then, as he looked down at the letter, perhaps not so much sick for his home but for the family he left there in pursuit of something he didn't even have anymore. They were happy he'd left the Templars to work for something greater, but wasn't there a small part of them that was annoyed at the very thing he left them for was his history, not his present? Surely they must be disappointed-

Even though all they have ever said is the latter.

How much of what he was feeling was his withdrawal and how much was his truth? It was so difficult sometimes, he thought as he put the letter down and sat back, smoothing his hand down his face, so difficult to separate the mood swings from the things he really, truly felt, especially as he'd just been contemplating how incredible he felt for the first time in what felt like years. He was sure some of it was true, was sure some part of him really wanted to see his family again especially now that everything had calmed down and the war was over, but the fear of them not accepting him, or being angry...

How much was his own paranoia and sense of self, and how much of it was real?

The front door creaked open slightly, and he looked over the edge of the desk as two pointed ears appeared through the doorway; he could hear the soft tapping of paws and nails against the stone floor. Dogmeat shuffled his way over to him and plunked his backside down beside the chair, taking a moment to huff before resting his head against Cullen's thigh.

"Did she tell you to come up here, boy?" He asked, cupping the dog's ear and giving it a good scratch. The dog huffed again in acknowledgement.

He would visit them. He would. And soon. With the end of the war they deserved at least that much, and he'd spent entirely too long away from them. Even though he was unsure of where he was heading as far as the Inquisition was concerned, of that he was sure of.

While he spent the rest of the day working, with Dogmeat happily taking whatever affection he offered by his side, Cullen waited for Constance to come back from her talk with a bracing feeling. Cole suggested she would be upset and he was expecting as much, and he wanted to be ready for her if she needed him.

He vaguely remembered her reply when he first wrote to her on Morrigan's behalf, and shuffled through the drawer on his desk until he found it. Perhaps it would help him better understand - Morrigan saved my life, saved the lives of all of us during the Fifth Blight, sacrificed a great deal so that I could live and it both saddens me and eases me a great deal to know that she is safe and well. I cannot believe that she has a child, I am so torn between feeling so terribly sad and happy for her that I am unsure how to feel.

But all of that, honestly, was not enough information. There were too many hows and whys and whats, and Cullen hated not having all the pieces on the board.

So he waited. And waited. And waited. And it seemed, as the candles burned into their holders and he could already hear the midnight rotation of the guard outside of his office, that she would not be back.

Not until she entered wearily through the front door just as he was pushing aside his missives for the day, and he sucked in a breath.

Constance leaned back against the door until it clicked shut much in the way that he did when he entered the office, her head down, most of her hair obscuring her face-

"Con," he started quietly, coming out from around his desk, "are you alright?"

… she tries not to cry but sometimes the effort is too much. She will want to speak with you later, she hopes you won't notice the redness in her eyes, but then she hopes you will...

Obviously trying to hide back the sniffle by pushing her hair back from her face with a hand, Con straightened up off the door and nodded, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm... sorry. It has just been such a long time, and I wasn't expecting... Don't worry about me,"

Her face was red, eyes puffy and bloodshot; he couldn't really imagine her crying in front of the sneering, overly-serious Mage and actually receiving any sort of comfort, so he did worry despite her supplication. Cullen approached and gently held her chin in his left hand – she held on to his arm.

"Are you sure?" He asked, concerned, "You can talk to me, if you want,"

Cole said that she would want him to ask, but he also didn't want to press her. If she wanted to speak of it, she would, and if she wanted to change the subject then he would drop it.

"I'm fine, really," she insisted, swallowing and looking up with clearing eyes, "I do not wish to speak of it now, if you don't mind-"

"Of course I don't. But I'm here, if you wish me to be,"

"Thank you, Cullen," she sighed as he dropped his hand from her face, and she reached back to grasp the handle of the door, "I wished to say goodnight to you, but it is terribly late, and I fear I must return to my quarters,"

"Oh? You're not staying?"

Her cheeks turned pink as she looked away, "Ah... do you wish for me to stay?"

"I simply assumed, since-"

"Of course I will stay, if you want me to,"

"We don't have to-"

"But I-I want to..." she bit her lip, the redness in her face deepening further, "I want to. To stay. And... um,"

He waited for her to finish, but she trailed off, grimacing. He had though she was too upset, too distraught to... but if she wanted to, and Maker he'd been thinking of her all day...

"Is it alright for me to stay," she asked, "with you?"

Cullen found himself chuckling, "Of course it is. I would prefer if you used this as your quarters, if you would forgive me saying so. Maker knows I would rather share my bed with you than sleep alone,"

"I would rather not be alone tonight either," she said, and he found himself wrapping his arms around her waist and dragging her into a soft embrace.

It wasn't long before he was locking the doors and pulling himself up into the bedroom beyond the ladder, not long before they were undressing each other and falling into bed together again, although it was soft, just as it was the day after the first time. Long, slow rolling of hips; though the orgasm was pursued it wasn't needed as much as he needed the feeling of her skin pressed to his or the sound of her breathless sighs in his ear were needed.

And when it was over, they lay side by side, on their stomachs and spoke of whatever came to mind. Since his family had been at the forefront of his thoughts for most of the day, they mostly spoke of his siblings, the memories of his parents, and his recent letters to Mia.

He admitted to her, rather sadly, that he wished he knew more of them, that he wished he'd asked more questions and hoped that they didn't think him uninterested, or callous. He was simply busy, though a poor excuse that was.

And as he watched her listen to him recount the time he'd jumped into the lake just to escape Branson and Rosalie's taunting, he wondered what they would think of her. There was no doubt in his mind that they would see the beauty in her that he saw; the softness of her hair, her smoothly perfect skin, her pink little mouth and elegant brow, and those eyes that you could get completely lost in forever...

But she was a Mage, and despite the Inquisition ending the rebellion, the civilians of Ferelden weren't just going to throw away years of misinformation and superstition in a few short years. And he had been a Templar; even though there was nothing holding them apart any more he wondered how his siblings would really feel about it.

… Cullen hoped they would like her, if they ever met her. He wanted them to meet her.

"I don't know much about my family," she answered when he asked about hers, wincing when he realised he'd been talking about himself for the better part of an hour, "sometimes I think I can remember how my mother looked, but I'm not so sure..."

"I know I'm related to the Hawkes," she continued, "and I know that Bethany, the last surviving sibling of Leandra's children, left Kirkwall some time ago. I had wished to get into contact with her after the death of her brother, but I haven't had any luck yet."

Cullen leaned up onto his elbows, brushing his hair back, "We can help you with that, if you like. Varric tells me that Aveline Vallen took her out of the city, and she's not a difficult woman to track,"

"Hmm, perhaps. I would like to at least offer my condolences..."

Con turned a little, resting on her side, and he watched her in the silence as she got a glassy, far-away look to her eyes, as though she were picturing what it would be like to have a family, no matter how removed. It only really struck him then that she had no mother, no mention of her father or siblings, and he was probably the closest thing she had to... well, anything that went beyond the term friend.

Her expression darkened a little as she looked down at the threading in the blankets beneath her, and took some time to eventually open her mouth to say something, something he wasn't sure, even after all of his curiosity, that he really wanted to hear.

"... Alistair is... is Kieran's father,"

It took some time for him to swallow the information given, time for him to connect the loose threads in his thoughts and tie them all together. At first, he could scarcely remember who Kieran was, until he remembered being introduced to him as Morrgian's son, and that meant that if he was also Alistair's son... that-

"They had Kieran to save me," she said quietly, and he watched her face start to crumple, her eyes grow wet and slick with tears, and it wasn't long before she'd curled into herself, sobbing, and he could do was reach out to try and untangle her from her own arms and legs until eventually he just pulled her awkwardly into him.

He didn't understand, people didn't have children to "save" each other; "To... save you? Con, that's not possible-"

"It is," she insisted, muffled against his chest, "it was magic... a-a ritual. All to save me. They wanted to help and I... I couldn't stop them, I didn't want to die,"

Blood Magic, his mind instantly spat, but it was tempered somewhat by the woman he loved weeping against his chest. It would come as no surprise to him if she turned around and said that the "ritual", whatever it was, that he was presuming Morrigan performed was indeed Blood Magic. He knew the woman practised forbidden magic even though he had no proof.

But... but, the "ritual" had produced Kieran, Alistair and Morrigan's son, and it had saved Constance. From what, he didn't know, he wasn't sure if he wanted to know, but either way Constance was alive because of whatever they had done.

And they had just been speaking of family.

That was why Alistair had asked him so many questions about the Witch; that was why Constance seemed so close to both of them, because she felt guilty that such a thing had to happen in exchange for her life, perhaps that was even why Leliana spoke of Morrigan with such distaste and distrust.

Constance wrote that she'd never met a more intelligent, loving person in her life before she met Morrigan; was Kieran perhaps the reason for that?

And they had just been speaking of family like it was some sweet, normal thing, like she hadn't just been crying with Morrigan over what he was supposing was her guilt, and the woman's reassurance. And what of Alistair? Maker if he didn't put his foot in it.

He soothed his hand through her hair and wondered; how many people in Thedas ever saw the Hero of Ferelden sobbing? The woman was their bulwark against the Darkspawn, their knight in shining armour, and yet she was curled up against him and crying because her friends had chosen to save her life; did the people even know that their heroes were just people who had hang-ups of their own? Did she ever let herself break in front of them, or did she keep on that facade of command that he saw on her every day?

"If it makes any difference," he started, as her crying had died down to some pathetic sounding sniffling, "I'm glad they did, and I'm sure there are a lot of people who could say the same,"

"Wha...?" She looked up from where her head had been between his arm and chest, "But... but you must know that what they've done... the ritual-"

"I know," and it hit him then that she'd been afraid of what he thought, "and I don't care. You're alive; that is what matters to me,"

It was his honest truth. Even though the idea of Morrigan's ritual chilled him to the core, Constance was alive because of her and Alistair. Seeing the witch with her son, seeing how perfectly gentle and normal the boy was, and how quietly proud his mother was in turn – it couldn't have been so bad and terrible even if circumstances dictated it to be so.

Another wave of tears started filling up in her eyes, her nose had turned red; "Maker, but the bloody Well, and-and her mother in the Fade... and Alistair is so kind; to have done this to him, I-"

"Was it not his choice?"

"Well, yes, but it is all such a mess. I wish I could take it all back, I wish it were different,"

He was reminded of the way children refused their parents wishes in the way she spoke and the weeping began anew, and as he pulled her back against him and soothed down her back, he whispered that he didn't wish that; that he was glad her friends made that choice because without it, she wouldn't be with him, and how he would never change a thing.

The curiosity and even some of the isolation that he'd felt surrounding the circumstances with Morrigan, Alistair and Leliana drained out of him in the wake of caring for her, and though he felt awful on her behalf he was glad he was able to be there for her, in his own way, glad she was opening up to him the way she was.

Had she simply returned to her quarters earlier, would she be curled up in her bed crying miserably and would he be sitting on his own, ignorant to her turmoil? She spoke little of herself; she was vague and preferred to speak of others, but now she was pouring her fears out to him like so much wretchedness draining out of her, and he thought about how he preferred it to the idea of being ignorant about it entirely.

It made him hold her that much tighter, because she trusted him.

Never mind nakedness, or sex, this was the sort of openness between lovers that was truly intimate, and it left him reeling because it was scary how much he knew then that he needed to feel needed by her. Scary because who has truly seen such a powerful woman break?

Other than him?

Cullen wanted to be there for her, wanted to soothe the ache, somehow take it away, but he didn't know how. All he could do was reassure her until her sobs died down, thinking on how a short time ago they were making love, and now she was cracking apart at the seams of herself, and how the two were so far removed from each other that it was a wonder they existed in the same time-frame.

"I'm sorry," she choked out after some time, furiously wiping tears away, "you must think me quite the fool,"

He angled her head up to look him in the eye and said solemnly, honestly, "Never," and kissed her swollen mouth, his thumb running through a tear-track on her cheek.

Author's Notes: Thanks for reading!