Alistair sat at his desk, hunched forward slightly, shoulders tense, as if he'd braced himself for something painful. The parcel lay in front of him, simple, unremarkable to anyone else. But he hadn't moved in minutes, not since the courier delivered it with the quiet note that it had come through secure channels, passed hand-to-hand across more than one kingdom. No signature. Not seal, just wax. And just… a feeling. The weight of it. The possibility.
He opened it slowly, fingers trembling more than he liked to admit.
Three letters inside.
"To Felsi and Oghren." Obviously from Hirik.
"To Zevran and Shae." Tai.
He set them aside carefully. His hand hovered over the third, thicker one.
"To Alistair."
His heart beat so loud in his ears he could hardly hear anything else. When he unfolded the parchment and saw the writing, it hit him like a blow. Two hands. Two voices he knew better than his own. Evie's writing, loose and lyrical, full of emotion, with little flourishes tucked in the letters like she was doodling even while she wrote. Kieran's was neater, more contained, like he thought each word through before committing it to the page. Just like the two of them—one heart forward, the other always watching from a step back.
We're sorry. More than we can possibly express. Not for leaving, but for the manner of it. For the worry we've caused you. If you cannot forgive us, we would understand, though it would break our hearts.
Alistair's hands tightened around the page. His breath came shallow. The chair beneath him creaked as he sat back hard, stunned.
He read the line again, blinking past the sudden burn behind his eyes.
They feared he couldn't forgive them? They'd never needed it in the first place.
He traced a finger over the line where Kieran had written about Evie's cooking disasters, the ink slightly smudged from what might have been a playful scuffle as she tried to stop him from committing the words to paper.
A laugh escaped him, sharp and sudden in the quiet room, followed immediately by a feeling like vertigo. How strange to laugh after so long, to feel anything beyond the dull ache of worry.
They wrote of markets with fruits he had never heard of, of street musicians whose melodies had inspired Evie to learn new compositions, of languages they were struggling to master. They wrote of nights beneath stars that seemed brighter than those at home, of strangers who had shown unexpected kindness, and of the fierce bond that had grown even stronger between the four of them. What they did not write was anything that might identify where they had gone.
Alistair found himself frustrated by that. Part of him, the father who had always tried to make time for Kieran despite the distance, who had defied tradition to keep Evie close despite her status, wanted nothing more than to go to them now.
Their thoughts turned to Ben near the end, and Alistair's heart clenched at the mention of his youngest son's name.
"Please tell Ben we miss him," Evie had written. "That we think of him often. That we hope one day he can forgive us too. Tell him I remember all our secret passageways and hiding places, and I hope that one day we might race through them again like we did when we were small."
And then they spoke of their mothers. More apologies for leaving him to deal with them. Morrigan had turned up, much like Kieran did. Swooping over the balcony and dropping into human form. She had stormed in and demanded to know where her son was. There was no satisfaction in being unable to give her what she wanted this time.
And when he had managed to find Mareven, she had turned right around and come back too, along with Shae and Zevran, where they demanded to know what happened. Zevran was much more easygoing about it. Surprised, but unpanicked. Still, they were all shaking down contacts and trying to pick up a trail. Even if they weren't going to force them home, they at least wanted to know where they were and that they were safe.
Alistair rose to his feet, making his way to his sons' rooms. Ben would want to know right away. Though he didn't speak of his siblings much anymore, Alistair saw how it weighed on his mind. And he thought Ben might have been a little hurt they hadn't included him. Of course he knew why; running away with the crown prince certainly would have put the four of them in a lot more trouble. Anora would want their heads, especially if anything had happened to him.
He found Ben sitting at his desk, staring into space, brow faintly furrowed, one foot bouncing restlessly.
Thirteen. Maker's breath. When had he gotten so tall?
Alistair stepped in quietly, and Ben looked up. His eyes sharpened at once, alert. Expectant. Always expecting news. And for once, Alistair had something to give him.
"I've got a letter," he said, voice gentler than usual. "From your brother and sister."
Ben froze. For a moment he didn't move at all. Then he surged upright so quickly the book that had been on his lap tumbled to the floor.
"Is it real?" he asked. "Are they—are they all right?"
Alistair handed him the letter. Ben snatched it like it might vanish, his eyes scanning the first few lines so fast Alistair knew he was barely reading. But then the weight of it seemed to catch up to him, and he dropped back into the chair, the paper trembling in his grip.
He didn't speak for a while. Just read.
Alistair leaned against his desk beside him, watching. The way the boy's eyes darted as he pieced the story together. A half-laugh here. A widening of the eyes there.
Ben choked on a laugh. "She really can't cook?"
Alistair smiled. "No. She really, truly cannot. Kieran says they've declared it a household emergency if she even reaches for the kettle."
Ben read more, snorting again. "Kieran tried to impress merchants by pretending he knew everything about their country. Then insulted their most sacred export."
"Yes," Alistair said, rubbing his temple. "I thought that bit sounded familiar. I once told a Nevarran dignitary his accent sounded like a man gargling gravel. We weren't properly socialised."
Ben looked up, his face serious now. "They're alright, though?"
"They are, Ben." Alistair's voice softened. "They're safe. And they sound… happy. As happy as they can be. They miss us. They miss you."
Ben's gaze dropped to the letter again. "I miss them too."
There was silence for a moment.
Then Ben said, quietly, "Do you think they'll come back?"
Alistair didn't answer right away. He let the question sit between them, the hardest part of it all.
"I hope so," he said at last. "But even if they don't come home yet… they wrote. They reached out. That means something. And whatever happens, this is still their home."
Ben nodded slowly, pressing the letter against his chest. "Good," he said. "Because it is."
Alistair smiled and gave him a nod.
He reached out and ruffled the boy's hair gently. They sat together a while longer, the fire warming the chill that had settled in both of them for the past year. And for the first time in what felt like forever, Alistair could see it again, the whole shape of his family, stretched out across the world but still tethered by love.