Chapter Text
The music was too loud, the lights too bright, the scent of perfume too heavy in the air. Everything annoyed Cullen. He was not one for large celebrations, and usually tolerated them only because Alistair was by his side, making jokes and raising toasts. But this time his best friend was nowhere to be found.
Being alone was definitely souring Cullen’s mood further. He gripped his cup of mead tightly, feeling the grooves digging into his palm. The mead was not strong enough, but it was the best he was going to get. He took a long drink, and quickly another. The cup was soon empty, so he exchanged it for a full one when a servant with a tray passed by him.
Just as he was taking the first sip, he heard it - the distinctive laugh, loud and honest. Alistair’s laugh. Cullen quickly turned towards the sound, relieved to know that the prince was going to join him soon. His smile died on his face when his eyes fell on Alistair.
The prince was dancing with Lady Cecilia, looking at her intently, like she was the only person in the room. Lady Cecilia was… attractive, Cullen supposed, if one liked short slender brunettes. And apparently Alistair did like those, if the undivided attention he was giving her was anything to go by.
Alistair laughed again and spun lady Cecilia, and Cullen felt his teeth grinding together.
Lady Cecilia was not often at court, since she lived all the way in the Arling of Edgehall, but whenever she did visit, Alistair would spend quite a bit of time with her. They were good friends, Cullen used to think. There was even a time, when they were younger, that he resented that, fearing being replaced by her as Alistair’s best friend. Back then his fears were rather easily assuaged, but now he was starting to suspect that earlier he was blind to what was truly developing between the two of them.
How could he have been so oblivious? Now that he saw them together in a ballroom, dancing close, dressed in their best formal wear, and not playing with mabari puppies in the yard, getting dirt all over themselves, it was becoming obvious.
But then again why wouldn’t Alistair tell him anything about this? They shared everything. Or most everything, Cullen’s guilty conscience reminded him.
Maybe Alistair didn’t know his feelings for Lady Cecilia yet? Maybe the change was so gradual that he simply hadn't realised what they were? If that was the case, it was only a matter of time before he did.
Cullen should’ve been happy. Alistair was of a marriageable age - he should find a girl he liked, or else one was going to be found for him, and Lady Cecilia was the perfect candidate for a wife. The few times Cullen did speak to her, despite his prejudice, he found her intelligent, kind and witty. She also came from a wealthy and well respected family, which never hurt in such situations.
So why was the sight of Alistair enjoying this young woman’s company causing Cullen’s throat to tighten and his stomach to feel oddly heavy?
There was a simple answer to that question. If Alistair were to marry, Cullen would lose his best friend.
Well, not lose exactly, but he’d stop being the person Alistair cared for the most. Cullen’s heart twisted at the thought. Ever since they met, they were inseparable, and he could not imagine how his life would look when that came to an end.
What a strange twist of fate caused them to end up in this position, caused Cullen to get everything he always wanted, and then find himself losing something he never expected to want.
It’s been over ten years since that summer that changed the course of Cullen’s life. Over ten years since King Maric took his two sons on an excursion which was supposed to show them the land they were both bound to serve.
It was as they were passing through the deeply insignificant village of Honnleath, that Prince Cailan fell ill, and the whole party had to stop. All of a sudden a small tent city appeared on a clearing near the forest. Cullen remembered how excited everyone in the village was. The king and his court, right there, in their tiny Honnleath. No one wanted the prince to be sick, but since it happened, they were glad he was sick in Honnleath.
At that time Cullen was rather timid and didn’t dare walk up to the encampment and talk with the knights, like he wished he could. He remained at the edge of the trees, staring at the men and women in armour with rapt attention, admiring their shiny battle gear and powerful weapons. How he wished he could be like one of them when he grew up - a strong and brave protector of those in need. But he knew those were just foolish dreams. He’d be a farmer like his father and his father before him. That was what happened to boys who grew up in Honnleath.
Still, that didn’t stop him from finding a long and solid stick, and pretending it was a sword, as he hid in the forest and ran drills he spied the knights doing. It was during one of those times that a boy approached him, asking if he wanted to play with him. Cullen didn’t know the boy, and just stared at him uncertainly. The boy was not deterred by Cullen’s awkward silence. Instead he ran back to camp, and came back with two perfectly made wooden swords and shields. When the beautiful toys were presented to him, Cullen didn’t hesitate to take them. When the boy lunged at him, Cullen worried that he was going to destroy them, but the boy didn’t seem to care about that.
They played at fighting for what had to be hours, with the boy, who Cullen thought had to be a son of one of the knights, giving Cullen some pointers, constantly talking and making jokes.
When the sun began to set, Cullen knew he had to return home. He promised the boy that he would be back to play with him the next day at the same time.
As he was getting back home, Cullen realized that he didn’t actually know the boy’s name. He’d have to ask him the next day.
When Cullen’s chores were done the following day, he ran to the forest to wait for the boy. It was not just the incredible sword that he wanted back in his hand. He enjoyed the boy’s company. Cullen didn’t make friends easily, but the boy took to him instantly, and Cullen found himself relaxing in his presence, talking more than he usually did.
As time passed, Cullen began to worry that the boy wasn’t going to come back, but at last he saw him, running toward him, his mop of red-blond hair the first thing visible from between the trees. The boy apologized for being late and offered Cullen some sweets. Cullen had never had anything like the treats the boy gave him, and he scarfed the whole bag. His greed embarrassed him, but the boy just laughed, and promised to bring by more the next day.
Before they could get to their swordplay, Cullen remembered that he needed to know the boy’s name. The boy was reluctant in giving it, but at last relented. When Cullen heard it, he instantly dropped to his knees. The prince. He was playing with Prince Alistair the whole time! He couldn’t believe it.
The prince rolled his eyes, and helped Cullen up. He didn’t want to be treated like a prince, he said. He just wanted to have some fun. Cullen resisted the urge to bow in acquiescence.
Despite the prince’s protestations that he didn’t want any special treatment, Cullen was holding back as their swords clashed. The prince caught on to this soon enough, and demanded a fair fight. In the end Cullen gave in, and slowly he started behaving like the prince was just another boy.
That was strange. To think that a prince was almost like him - that he liked sweets and playing with swords and hated having to go to bed when he was told. The idea that a prince was told what to do shocked Cullen.
When they were parting, the prince told Cullen that he’d hope to see him the next day, but that it was not an order, that Cullen was not obligated to play with him. It made Cullen sad. The prince never knew who liked him and who just spent time with him because he was the son of the king, he realized. He’d never imagine feeling sorry for a prince, but he pitied him in a way.
Cullen assured the prince that he liked spending time with him, but he wasn’t sure if the other boy believed him.
The next day, Cullen decided to treat the prince as un-princely as he could. He gave all he had in their play-fights, and gloated when he won. It seemed to both annoy and delight Alistair.
The days rolled by like this, with them playing and talking. Cullen was fascinated by Alistair’s stories of life at court and actual swordplay lessons. He wished he could have a life like that, and didn’t quite understand it when Alistair complained. What he did understand was the feeling of loneliness Alistair talked about. Cullen felt like that at times. He had his siblings of course, but they didn’t understand his impossible dreams for the future.
Alistair listened to Cullen when he talked about his life as well, not looking bored with hearing about the mundane life of farmer’s son. Cullen at last had someone to talk to honestly, and he was quickly getting used to that.
Prince Cailan was not very seriously ill, but Alistair described, in probably unnecessary details, the variety of digestive afflictions which made travelling impossible. Cullen shouldn’t wish his prince ill, but he hoped that Cailan would remain indisposed for longer. If he recovered, they’d have to leave, and Cullen didn’t want to see Alistair go.
Rationally, he knew it was bound to happen, but he the thought out of his mind. Instead he threw himself wholeheartedly into their duels and took Alistair around to all his favorite spots - to a small cave by a stream, to the clearing where wild fruit grew, to a hill where rams battled each other. He didn’t want to look to the future - he just wanted to make the present last.
When the dreaded day came, Cullen was devastated. He knew the inevitable had happened when he saw Alistair walking towards him, his eyes red like he had been crying. They would depart soon, Alistair told him, and Cullen felt like crying himself. They didn’t take out their swords that day, just sat close together and talked about how they were going to run away to join the Grey Wardens, so that they could stay together.
That night Cullen cried into his pillow, trying to keep himself quiet so as not to wake his siblings, yet unable to fully contain himself. Over the weeks of Cailan’s sickness, he grew closer to Alistair than he thought possible in such a short time. Why would the Maker bring him such an incredible friend, only to take him away? It was so very unfair.
He knew they weren’t going to join the Grey Wardens. Such things simply didn’t happen. He wanted to believe there was a sliver of hope, but he knew all was lost.
That was why he was deeply shocked when the next morning he saw Alistair walking to him with a grin on his face. Was he happy now to be rid of Cullen?
It was not the case, as he found out. Alistair had a plan. He wanted Cullen to go with him to Denerim.
At first Cullen felt a wave of happiness wash over him, but then reality set in. That was impossible. Yet Alistair insisted that it wasn’t. Cullen could train to be a knight there and live in the castle with Alistair, if only he wanted to. Cullen was surprised that Alistair could ever doubt that. Remaining with him and learning to be an actual knight sounded like a dream. He didn’t want to let himself believe it was possible, lest he get disappointed.
When they were heading their separate ways at the end of the day, Alistair swore that he was going to make it happen.
And make it happen he did. The next day King Maric was waiting with Alistair in the forest. Cullen dropped to his knees again, and was again raised up. The king sent his son away and talked with Cullen a while. It was hard to speak normally while in the presence of his king, but Cullen did his best, knowing that his future depended on it. King Maric was mostly trying to make sure Cullen truly wanted to be parted from his family and become a knight, that it was not just Alistair’s wish. Cullen must’ve convinced him, because soon they were walking to his parent’s house.
His mother and father were shocked to see the king at their door, and even more shocked at what he told them. King Maric and Alistair left them for the night, the king telling the Rutherfords that he was not commanding them, that they were free to refuse him.
That night Cullen’s parents cried. His siblings cried as well. And he cried too, but he knew what he wanted. He always dreamed of being a knight, and now he was given a chance. Not only that, but he was getting an incredible friend in the bargain.
In the end his parents agreed to let him go. They told him they couldn’t stand in the way of his dreams. At the time he couldn’t truly appreciate what a sacrifice they were making, how scared for him they were, but he was eternally grateful to them.
And so when the time came, he left with the royal party. He came with just a few clean sets of clothes and a book of fairy tales in a sack, and immediately he got his own horse, a pair of riding boots and a cloak. As they were riding away, he felt half a prince himself.
He couldn’t say that life in the palace was always an easy one. As the son of farmers, he was treated with disdain by many of the sons of the noble houses. In the presence of the king and prince they behaved as if he were one of their own, but when the royals were not there, they let him know what they thought of him.
It stung. It more than stung. It hurt deeply, but Cullen practiced ignoring them. Alistair’s and King Maric’s opinion of him were all that mattered. The king treated him almost like a third son, which made Cullen happy and proud, but at the same time served to anger the noble boys even more.
All Cullen could do was keep his head down and try to be the very best at all he did. He put a lot of time not only into his swordplay, but also into his studies of history, strategy and arithmetics. When he could, he would help the other boys, and some of them came around, forgetting their old prejudices and truly seeing him as an equal. There were of course a few who still treated him poorly, and Cullen took pleasure in defeating them during training. He knew it was not charitable to enjoy someone’s humiliation, but he hoped the Maker understood why he felt that way.
Through all of that, in every dark moment when he felt unworthy, or missed his family, Alistair was by his side. He always had a kind word or a joke for him. Cullen knew he’d never be alone. No matter how bad things would get, he never thought about leaving. He’d never be able to part from Alistair.
When talking to Alistair, Cullen tried to downplay what was happening to him. He didn’t want Alistair to worry or try to intervene on his behalf. Cullen knew Alistair didn’t exactly have it easy either. He personally beat up a boy who called Alistair a bastard behind his back. And that boy was not the only one who didn’t find Alistair’s presence at court appropriate. Maric legitimised Alistair, but not everyone wished to respect that. They had to be very careful, knowing Maric’s love for his son, but they always found ways to make Alistair’s life even a bit more difficult and unpleasant.
Not knowing his mother was another thing that weighed heavily on Alistair. The king told him that she loved him a great deal, but couldn’t be with him, which was far less than he wished to know. From time to time he received letters or small gifts from her, but it was never enough. When he missed the woman he never knew, Cullen was there for him.
Despite how close they were, sometimes Cullen wondered what Alistair saw in him. He was awkward, serious, and deeply focused on his studies, while Alistair was quick-witted, carefree, and had a more lax attitude when it came to the lessons they both attended. Cullen worried that Alistair would grow bored of him. They met as young boys, and at that age friendships were much more simple, built on the flimsiest of foundations. As they grew, would their differences not tear them apart?
Once he told Alistair of that fear, the expression of outrage on the prince's face was something to behold. Alistair assured him that he couldn’t imagine getting tired of Cullen. They just fit, he said. One gave the other what he lacked. They understood each other, sometimes without words.
That made Cullen feel better. He stopped questioning their friendship, and treating any new boy their age, or Lady Cecilia as it were, as a potential threat or replacement. Things were going very well.
That is until Cullen found that stupid book. He was roaming the library in search of something to read, when he found a mysterious, dog eared book without a title. Curious, he took it to his room, and started reading. He was pleased with his choice at first. It appeared to be a standard story of adventure shared by two knights bound by a deep friendship. About a third of the way in, Cullen felt a bit strange. The interactions between the knights were portrayed in an odd way, almost… romantic. He dismissed the absurd notion out of hand. Two men in love with each other? What nonsense.
That was what he thought until the two knights shared a passionate kiss. Cullen was utterly shocked. He’s heard the whispers, the tales that two men could be… intimate. But it was wrong, he knew. And there was no place for love in such illicit things. Yet the characters in the book professed their undying affection for each other.
He should’ve stopped then, threw the book into the hearth and be done with the whole thing. But he kept reading, scandalized, curious and oddly touched. When Ser Garion went to face the witch alone, to save Ser Laurence, Cullen couldn’t doubt his love. And when Ser Laurence arrived in the nick of time to aid him, and wept over the unconscious body of his beloved, Cullen shed a tear or two.
And then came the scenes . Cullen knew what happened between a man and a woman, but he couldn’t imagine what exactly two men did together. He could blame his curiosity for continuing reading the book, instead of getting rid of it, like any good Chantry attending young man would. But he felt more than curiosity as he read. His traitorous cock hardened as he read about Ser Laurence kissing Ser Garion’s neck and wrapping his hand around his manhood. And then Ser Garion was sinking to his knees and taking Ser Laurence’s cock into his mouth, and Cullen’s instantaneous reaction to the image shamed him deeply.
As he was washing up, he promised himself that he was going to destroy the infernal book that led him astray. And yet the next evening he was reading it still. He hid it under his mattress, frightened that someone would find it, but unable to let it go.
He hardly slept after that, plagued with fear as to what his reaction to the book meant. Was he one of those disgraceful men he heard about, those that others ridiculed for their sinful desires? What would happen when someone found out, or even just suspected? Would he lose Alistair’s friendship and his position at court? That could never happen. He wouldn’t allow it to happen. He would ignore any feelings he might have and act like a normal man.
Despite that assurance he made to himself, he felt anything but normal. And what was worse, when he looked at Alistair, he started to wonder what it would feel like to kiss him, to hold his hand, to have him close. He hated himself for those thoughts. Alistair was his friend, his prince, practically his brother.
He hated the book with a passion then, for giving him those feelings. He wouldn’t have them if he hadn’t read it, he was sure.
But as time passed and he had more time to think about it, he started to realize that even before that horrid book, he always did seek Alistair’s touch, feeling a strange warmth when Alistair embraced him or sat very close to him, shoulder to shoulder, their legs pressed together. Now Cullen saw those gestures in a different light. Alistair was of course entirely blameless in this. He was just warm and affectionate, and it was Cullen who was depraved, twisting what they shared into something dirty.
He tried to distance himself from Alistair, at least physically, but Alistair didn’t seem to notice, always too close, too warm, too attractive. Cullen always knew that his friend was good looking, but he considered it just a fact of life, like the certainty that the sky was blue or that Sister Clarice was going to berate Alistair for being late to morning prayers. It was impossible not to notice his vivid brown eyes, his charming smile, his strong jaw, his toned muscles. Now Cullen started to realize that maybe the fact that he paid such close attention to those things was not so normal after all.
Alistair was never shy, and in the warm months he would often train without a shirt, and Cullen could never understand why he was so distracted then, why he was losing to his friend. Now he knew.
He wasn’t sure what was the worst part of the whole ordeal, but perhaps it was the fact that he couldn’t talk to Alistair about it. He confided in him constantly, about everything, but this was the one thing he couldn’t tell him.
Alistair knew something was wrong, tried to pry it out of Cullen, but instead of confessing, Cullen just got better at pretending he was alright. He hated how he felt, hated that he was lying to the one person he promised to always be truthful with, but the truth was not an option. He couldn’t lose Alistair. He’d sooner die. And he couldn’t let Alistair lose his best friend, replacing him with a disgusting, ungrateful deviant.
So he locked his feelings away, deeper and deeper, till he could almost swear they were not there. Unfortunately, they’d inevitably resurface when Alistair smiled at him, telling him he missed him after they didn’t see each other for a day or when Alistair would bring him his favorite sweets. In such moments Cullen felt the tender affection welling inside of him, and denying it was a painful challenge.
The worst moment he could remember was one hot day the summer past, when they decided to ride out to a tiny lake on the outskirts of Denerim. They swam in nothing but their underwear, and that would’ve been bad enough, but then after dressing, they decided to rest in the shade of a tree, and Cullen found himself with Alistair laying his head on his lap, saying that he needed to take a small nap.
Cullen sat there, paralyzed, as Alistair dozed peacefully. His red gold hair was drying quickly, and in a moment of madness, Cullen ran his fingers through it, tempted by the apparent softness. Alistair didn’t stir, and Cullen traced the contours of his face with a careful finger. Maker, but he was beautiful. He shouldn’t be touching him, shouldn’t think of him as beautiful, but he couldn’t help himself. His fingers returned to Alistair’s hair, smoothing it gently from his forehead, and running through it again.
He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw Alistair cracking his eyes open and looking up at him. He stilled, afraid of Alistair’s reaction, but all his friend did was smile brightly and tell Cullen that he shouldn’t stop, that it felt nice. Without meaning to, Cullen smiled back, and returned to stroking Alistair’s hair. They looked at each other in a way that Cullen could not describe exactly, and for a split second Cullen wanted to forget his fear and shame and just bend down and kiss Alistair’s smiling lips. As soon as the thought appeared, he squashed it. Worried that it might return, he suggested they got back to the city.
That was some months ago, and now Cullen was standing in the ballroom, watching Alistair dance with Lady Cecilia, and felt fierce jealousy. Jealousy he had no right to. He was a bad friend, a bad man, a sick man. He hated himself, and he hated the girl for having every right to be with Alistair, and he hated… No, he didn’t hate Alistair for inspiring those feelings in him. That was all Cullen’s fault.
He wasn’t sure he could handle it. It felt like he was trapped inside his mind, wanting to scratch the unwanted thoughts out of it, to run so far away they wouldn’t catch up to him. He wanted to rage, to scream, to destroy something. And he also wanted to just lay down in a quiet room, to feel nothing at all, because not feeling anything would be better than this.
‘Get a grip,’ he told himself sternly. Acting like this was not proper. He had his duties - he couldn’t indulge his feelings of anger or sadness. He had to accept the situation with dignity, with the grace any knight should possess.
Still he couldn’t remain in the ballroom, even if he should. He should get used to the sight of Alistair with a girl, Alistair happy, happy without him . But maybe he could allow himself one night of reprieve. If he was bound to suffer for the rest of his life, then he could maybe suffer a bit less on that particular night.
His mind made up, Cullen left his cup, and walked outside. He wasn’t sure if he was going to go to his room or just rest for a while before going back into the ballroom, but he needed to take in a bit of the clear night air, so he made his way to a small courtyard.
There was calm in the darkness. The sounds from the ball were faint. Cullen focused instead on the sound the wind made, rustling through the almost bare branches. He stared up at the autumn sky, the stars sharp in the blackness. He breathed in slowly, clearing his mind, feeling it go blessedly quiet.
He wasn’t sure how long he’s been standing there, feeling that peace, when it was shattered.
“Cullen? Are you alright?”
He knew that voice instantly. Steadying himself, he turned to look at Alistair, a false smile at the ready.
“Perfectly,” he told him.