Chapter Text
His wife shuffled uncomfortably in her saddle, assuming another break from riding he halted his horse. Her steed took another couples steps before she had noticed they had stopped, her lips pulled thin in her attempt to smile.
"I'm fine."
"I'm hardly convinced," his mount closed the gap, "if it was too soon to see Mia -the family- I fully understand."
It was past time for this conversation, sitting on the hill above the arling of South Reach. The sleepy town below them prepared for dusk, the last few stragglers hurrying back into their respective homes. Torches and hearths lighting with near synchronicity about the city. Cullen's breast beat with excitement, it had been little more than a month since he was parted from his family, but he was still excited to be with them again. Especially with Guinevere at his side. He wanted to show off his bride, even if they had met before... and even though his new bride had been a little less than herself as of late.
The loss of her limb had taken some of her heart with it. The trek back to his family was much more silent than he had anticipated. They had much to discuss, a place to settle down, plans for the child, and their direction for the next phase of their life together. Nothing had been uttered, and he wasn't entirely sure she agreed to come to South Reach but nevertheless, she followed without complaint. For now, he assumed because they were married they would move around together. With Guinevere, blessedly, with child he had hoped her days of court visits and fighting escapades would cease for a time. Without the Inquisition, both of them had that luxury.
Guinevere's attention turned in the direction of Mia's house, her thin frown returning, "can we walk?"
Dutifully, he dismounted, allowing her to stall them a bit longer. A glance sent at the pack horses and mabari behind them, giving the woman ample time to decide if she wanted help climbing down. His shoulder ready, but the invitation did not come as she clambered down. In partially feigned exhaustion, she leaned against his side, lingering. Her jaw twitched to her temples, hinting at the thoughts hidden beneath the surface. All Cullen could do was kiss the mound of hair at his shoulder. Regretfully this was the extent of their passions this far into their married life.
He couldn't complain, without armour to bar the mage she had found an excuse to be closer.
"Will they be mad?"
Ah, the entire Jane incident, "Mia knew, eventually- the rest, it will likely change little."
"I shouldn't have gone to South Reach," she murmured.
"Bran lived because of you," Cullen entwined their fingers, "I may have worried, and fretted about the trouble you would cause. But I- we were lucky."
"I don't wish to be cuffed," her smile pierced through the grimace.
"I can only try to protect you from that," Cullen would not make such a promise, taking the tentative step forward, "they will love you."
Her silence returned as they resumed the road forward. The two passed with ease, drawing little more than a nod from the guards. The streets nearly empty, and only a few glances spared in their direction. The return to normalcy was a gift. Without the banners and heraldry of the Inquisition he could move with little interference. Most of the glances went to the woman at his side, questioning if they recognized the figure and to stare at her missing arm.
With his wife's tightened grip, they rounded the last corner before Mia's house. A handful of figures awaited them in the street, with Mia heading the crew.
"Cullen Stanton Rutherford!"
Cullen bravely shuffled Guinevere behind him, grinning even as Mia unfairly cuffed him on both sides, "Sister."
Mia ignored him, peering over his shoulder at the mage, "Guinevere, Guinevere what is your full name?"
"Guineverephilomenaelizabethlyethepetuniatrevelyanrutherford."
His sister blinked, grumbling, "much more slowly this time."
"Guinevere Philomena Elizabeth Lyethe Petunia Trevelyan Rutherford."
"Guinevere Philomena Lyethe Petunia Trevelyan Rutherford!"
Cullen grinned wider, an idiot in love. An idiot realizing his wife had taken his last name — one of the other many things they had not discussed.
"You forgot the Elizbeth between the Philomena and Lyethe," she dared to correct.
"Again, slower."
"Guinevere."
"Guinevere."
"Philomena."
"Philomena."
"Elizabeth."
"Elizabeth."
"Lyethe."
"Lyethe."
"Petunia."
"Petunia."
"Trevelyan," Guinevere enunciating the 'e.'
"Trevelyan Rutherford," Mia finished crossly.
The mage was goading her on, but within the space allotted to her. She knew Mia was the sort to perfect her threatening call that involved invoking the middle name, even if one had four-five of them.
"Guinevere Jane Philomena Elizabeth Lyethe Petunia Trevelyan Rutherford!" Mia's edge melted, forcing her way between them as she engulfed the mage in a hug, "welcome to the family!"
Guinevere burst into tears, trying to hide her face as the rest of the family approached.
"Mia, look at what you did!" Rosalie tutted over the newest member of the family.
"Sorry, it wasn't-" she tried to swipe at her eyes, retreating a few steps. Her panicked eyes seeking Cullen in the sea of mostly blonde before her. But another two threaded passed his legs, Jon attempting to catch either of the darting children before all members of the family swallowed Guinevere.
"What happened to your arm?" Bran's child asked, dark brown eyes inquisitive.
"A wolf took off with it," Guinevere forced a cheeky smile, "and who are you?"
"Oh, Ethan, that wasn't kind! He's Bran's kid- same age as my Jack," Mia motioned to her sister, "that is Rosalie. She happened to take Ethan with her to visit Aunt Nan in Honnleath while you were here."
Ethan huffed, "Sorry, Guinevere."
"Guin is fine."
Jack focused on other things, "is that your dog?"
"Recruit?" Guinevere called the animal from his place beside the horses. The Mabari more than happy to insert himself into the swarm of people. The children took particular interest in the huge hound.
Mia cleared her throat, "Jon, if you would help Guinevere with getting the horses settled. The rest of us will get dinner set up in the meantime."
— — — — — — — — —
She followed after the tall figured moped with black hair, having to make two quick strides to keep up with one of his steps. He was silent as usual, taking up both sets of reigns without bothering to ask. She pretended to watch after the horses hitched to the first two, bothering herself with the hem of her leather vest while he also took it upon himself to unload the items from the pack animals.
"I'm pregnant, not disabled," Guinevere stammered as the man blocked her efforts to help once again.
"You sure?" his hazel eyes moved to her left arm.
"You know what I mean," she knew how defeated she sounded.
A small smile crawled across his face, "Mia would wring me up if she knew you lifted a finger."
So the mage waited, managing to swipe the lead of her own mount as she waited for Jon to finish. Half turned to the racket emanating from inside the house. Glad to have a few moments to escape the chaos, even if she did not want to be separated from her husband. Though, it was likely time he got a break from her near-constant neediness. Here there would be no shortages of babysitters to keep her from trouble.
With a couple words, Jon lead them to the stables near the outskirts of the city. The short journey silent, her horse tenderly demanding pats as they walked.
The old stablemaster eyed the precession with interest, his gaze honing in on the rare horseflesh before him, "if I'm not wrong, that is a Trevelyan Fressian- a rare coat at that. I'm sure that mare is worth more than a pretty penny."
Guinevere pulled the mare tightly to her, entangling her fingers in the creature's grey mane. The animal rested her head atop her shoulder, content with the proper amount of attention the horse knew she required.
"A Trevelyan is never far behind their mount, I'd also wager you are the famous one everyone is talking about," the man hobbled from his bench, "do you need lodge for your beasts? Or are you here to show off to old Harlow?"
Guinevere forced a thin smile, "they need lodging. It might be a long term arrangement until some personal matters are sorted."
"You know how to make an old man happy!" he hobbled to her, holding out his hand expectantly, a younger boy rushed from the stables to take the horse Jon lead.
Guinevere and the man hashed out details and coin, and eventually, she gave up the lead to her mount. Letting the man walk away with an unusual amount of pep in his step. He was solely focused on the mare, already promising a cleaning and thorough brushing to the creature. Without a reason to remain, Guinevere started on the path back. Jon fell in at her side.
"It's nice to have you around again," he mused.
She let the statement float away, her response held somewhere in her throat. This was the most the man had ever tried to speak with her, while she should encourage the effort she found herself wanting to remain in silence. It was easier to be quiet lately, balancing the new fears and limitations that screamed in her head. She should be happy, but in reality, she felt far from it despair creeping in at the edges of her thoughts.
"As the only other non-Rutherford to walk into the warzone of Rutherfords, I should warn you of what we are about to encounter," bless the man for trying again, "it will be loud and messy. They were on good behavior with 'Jane' but now that you are part of the family, everything will change. Keep your head down, and don't look at the food if you aren't prepared to eat more."
He patiently waited for acknowledgment, passed the simple nod she had offered him, it hadn't come, "since you aren't in the mood to talk, and likely understandably so. I'll stop for the both of us. But if you need out, let me know."
"Thank you," Guinevere whispered.
As promised, the all too short walk back home was kept in comfortable silence. Jon entered the abode first, absorbing the wave of noise. Guinevere crept in behind him, watching the mad dash around the table. Ethan chased Jack as they screamed for the chair next to Cullen. Jack won this round as Branson caught his son around the waist the hoisted him into the spot next to him. Leaving the right corner, and end of the table for the stragglers.
Jon took the end, directly across from Mia at the head of the table. Cullen sat at her left, Jack, then Rosalie finished out the left side. Branson, Ethan, and Guinevere's spot on the right finished out the table. Cullen sent a questioning look in her direction. She answered with a tentative smile. Before the relative peace at the table exploded.
Branson and Cullen deadlocked over the bowl of mashed potatoes, both men gripped the wooden rim. Eerily matching amber eyes attempting to convince the other to give up.
"Don't you two hog all the potatoes! I am not above taking them from your plate!" Rosalie warned, loudly.
"If you're fast enough to get them, Rosie," Cullen called in challenge, yanking the bowl from Branson's grip. Scooping a helping large enough to make Rosalie sigh in frustration.
Without warning, the bowl landed in Guinevere's plate. The eyes of all present fell on her, not leaving as she awkwardly maneuvered the scoop and bowl with one hand. Slowly taking her mouse-sized portion before the dish was whisked away by an impatient and somehow clumsier Ethan.
"That's not enough!" Mia called out, leaning over most of the table to take her plate.
No one dared to confront Mia, as she took the best samples of the various dishes from the table without any trouble. Doubling her helping of mashed potatoes in the process. Once the mage's plate returned to the table, the battle renewed again.
Dishes whirled by Guinevere with surprising speed, most seemed to never stop at Jon's plate, but he deftly wrangled food without the dish needing to stop. Rosalie made up for her lack of physical force by volume alone. Jack and Ethan relied on leftovers after Mia had managed to grab a serving. Cullen and Branson often fought for the prime pickings, and any scraps left behind. Her former Commander wolfing down much more food than she had ever seen the man consume.
The mage picked off a third of her potatoes, slyly dumping the leftovers on the grateful kid at her side. While that dish had appeared to be the commodity at the table, she preferred the flakey pastries that tasted of butter — managing to catch an extra as the plate diminishing plate passed her — earning a grin from Jon. She tried earnestly to clear the remainder of her plate, finding her stomach churning at the thought. Instead, she focused on listening to the battle of banter over the table.
Cullen teased Rosalie as she tried to swipe one of those buttery rolls from his plate, she accused him of hiding them. Branson moved in on Cullen's plate, spearing a cut of pork as Cullen fended off his sister. Guinevere felt Ethan and Jack attempt to kick each other under the table, finding her shin become an accidental target. Mia suddenly pushed herself between Cullen and Branson as their forks sparred over the table. Finally, as she admonished them for behaving like barbarians, they gave up the duel.
Cullen glowered at his brother from across the table, palming a far less valuable bread roll.
Branson stuck out his tongue.
Cullen huffed.
Branson grinned widely.
"Bran, roll?" Cullen declared, before pelting it across the table smacking him in the cheek.
The first available thing to Branson was his fork, chucking it back at Cullen with no forethought. He dodged the projectile but bumped the table as he stood. Sending the loose dishes, bowls, and silverware clattering to the ground.
"Cass! Dodge!"
Bull hurled the rock hard excuse for bread at the Seeker. Hitting the woman in the dead center of her forehead. Enraged the Seeker dove across the table, plates, food, and a pitcher of wine found itself clanging against the stone flooring. The pitcher emptying itself down Guinevere's front before it too rolled across the floor.
The brawl that followed a fight not spoken of in front of polite company.
Solas chuckled from somewhere down the hall.
She had laughed until she cried.
The tears returning for the second time that day came for a very different reason. It was hardly more than two weeks from the last time they would all be together, without the Inquisition, deaths, and revealed secrets they would never be in the same place again. While she was undoubtedly lucky to have another family ready to fill the void, it felt all too soon. The loss of her first family too fresh.
Jon pressed his napkin filled with warm crescents into her palm as she excused herself from the table.