The cold seems to migrate forward until it stings his eyes. Alistair nods -- hopefully not as helplessly as he feels -- and does his best to follow Cullen's order.

It...sort of works. It works a lot better once Cullen gets the breastplate off. One less weight to fight against.

By his fourth or fifth breath, the choking sensation's died down to nervous flutter under his ribs. Alistair keeps focusing on the long, slow inhale through his nose, working to keep each exhale comparatively slow.

(He's fine. He's safe.)