[sandbox] out of the abyss

[bringspeopletogether]

It starts as a shimmer out by the lake. Look at the water from the right angle, and the light glinting off it looks a bit...green. Sickly.

(Familiar, if you're from a certain time and place in Thedas.)

Look up some minutes later, and you can pinpoint the source: a thin, glowing ribbon uncoiling in the sky. It emerges slowly, but the more light it casts, the more momentum it gains, until it explodes outward with an enormous crack like lightning splintering the ground.

A much quieter thump follows as something hits the dirt.

Someone.

The glow vanishes; the person doesn't move for a long beat. (Get up, he's telling himself, get up -- ) He manages to drag his hands level with his shoulders, press down to bear himself upward an inch, look up at where he's landed.

Get. Up.

Another shove, and Alistair lurches to his feet, sword hauled from its scabbard and shield at the ready. His breath rattles, harsh against his throat, as he stares wild-eyed around the grounds.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

"Bad enough," says Cullen, no louder, and runs the risk of touching Alistair's hand.

Cullen's own hands are roughened, with nicks and scars silvery and pink both, and with a crooked finger or two from breaks -- what you'd expect to see on someone who's spent his life inflicting force trauma on others with both blunt and sharp objects.

Cullen knows: demons don't often get quite that clever, especially when Alistair hasn't spent that much time on the details in question.

[bringspeopletogether]

The creatures of the Fade can only shape what they see in the minds of dreamers. Maybe it's pulling the details from what it's seen in Cullen's dreams, or from someone else who knows Cullen much better than Alistair, but...it's unlikely. Not when it already has Alistair here, alone, at its mercy.

Alistair makes a choked noise -- a wild laugh cut off in its infancy, a sob throttled back to a whimper -- and clutches at Cullen's hand.

"I'm alive."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Extremely alive," Cullen agrees, clasping Alistair's hand in both of his. "Decidedly alive."

Does he get to be happy now? Will Alistair flip out if he shows anything -- ?

[bringspeopletogether]

It doesn't seem like he will. The last crumbling bits of his vigilance have completely given way.

Another sound, badly stifled, escapes him, and Alistair presses the side of his free hand to his eyes. "Maker -- "

He doesn't know what to say. Or do. He doesn't realize he's whispering the words like a litany: I'm out. I'm out. I'm alive.

[howtoactfereldan]

Careful (and maybe a little creaky), Cullen shifts himself up just enough to sit beside Alistair on the bed.

"You did it."

His near arm goes around Alistair's shoulders, tight in a fierce hug. He squeezes Alistair's hand. "You got out. You got them out. You're safe, Alistair."

[bringspeopletogether]

Between Cullen's ferocity, and the numerous aches making themselves more known by the second, the embrace hurts a little. Alistair doesn't care. It's another bit of proof: I'm alive.

"I -- "

The noises he's making seem to have decided they'll be laughter for now -- albeit soft, more than a little hysterical, the mania that forms when battle exhaustion finally meets victory. He scrubs at his eyes again before letting his palm fall atop his and Cullen's clasped hands.

[howtoactfereldan]

"You see now why I suggested resting?" There's laughter in Cullen's voice. "A bath? Cheese?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods; his shoulders keep trembling with that desperate laughter.

"I should know better by now," he says. "Always ought to listen to you."

It's kind of a sorry I tried to stab you, right?

[howtoactfereldan]

"Always." Another squeeze -- less tight, though. "And you did, remember? Your hair doesn't look like you ran face-first into a wall any more."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Considering -- "

Shit. The laughter's veering dangerously close to sobs again. One or two make a successful transition before Alistair gulps back the rest. He readjusts his hold on Cullen's hand, as if steadying himself there could steady himself elsewhere.

"Considering what I have run face-first into lately," he says, "that's a damned miracle, isn't it?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"One among many."

There are... lots of them, lately. Usually surrounding the Inquisitor.

"So... let's try to have you not run into anything for a while."

[bringspeopletogether]

One last huff of breath before his shoulders finally still. "I'll try."

He's pretty sure if Cullen lets go of him, he'll fall straight backward onto the bed. Alistair tries to push back against the swimmy feeling of imminent sleep for a bit longer.

(He doesn't want to go back. Not so soon. Maker, not after he just got out -- )

"I'll have to go to Weisshaupt eventually." Slower; more reluctant. "To let them know I'm all right. To...help."

[howtoactfereldan]

"We'll send a raven first." He's sobered up. "Maybe try to get word to Hawke on her way. And in the meantime... you can rest at Skyhold. Or -- wherever you'd like. But you have a place with us, until... whenever. Don't -- worry about that now, all right?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Perhaps." A bit distant. Briefly, he considers asking if Morrigan's still at Skyhold, and dismisses the idea in one swift mental shove.

(She made fairly regular appearances in the Fade. So did Kieran.)

"...You said something about a cheese platter?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Whatever you want."

Crooked smile.

"I just thought that would have the most chance of... breaking through."

[bringspeopletogether]

A tiny, amused snort. "Predictable."

He could mean himself; he might mean Cullen. Probably both.

"Broth might be a better idea. For now. It's...been a while. I can't remember how long."

[howtoactfereldan]

"I had that thought."

If Cullen had a free hand, he'd rub the back of his neck.

"Will you -- be all right, if I go downstairs for a moment? I can try to have someone bring it up, but I don't know who might be around that I could message from up here."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. "I'll be fine."

Maybe it'll even give him some time to finish regrouping.

"Just -- " His fingers tighten on Cullen's for an instant. "If I've fallen asleep when you get back, wake me up. Please."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Of course," Cullen says immediately.

He's not going to question that. How could he, when he's felt the same more times than he can count?

"And I'll leave that here, too." He nods at his sword. "So you know -- I have to come back for it." That last -- a little awkward. "I'll be back."

[bringspeopletogether]

"All right." Softly.

A breath, and Alistair forces himself to slacken his hold on Cullen's hand. Pulls away a little so Cullen can get up.

He's already thinking through his options: maybe if he doesn't take off his plate, that'll help him stay awake. He could always start walking the length of the room, fatigue be damned. Why not, if it's just him in here for a few minutes, he could sing at the top of his lungs to force his mind to keep working.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen squeezes Alistair's shoulder once he rises. "I'll be as quick as I can," he says.

Food. Water. A change of clothes. An actual cheese plate. Shouldn't take too long.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. He keeps his eyes on Cullen until the door clicks shut behind him, leaving Alistair alone in the room.

Then he sags forward to put his face in both hands, breath ragged. If he's going to sing anything, first he'll have to peel his thoughts away from their abrupt, frantic cycle of Maker, Maker help me, Andraste guide me, anybody who's listening, help me --

He's not in the Fade anymore. Everyone's all right. He's safe.

He doesn't know what to do.

A deep breath in. Another. Alistair laces his fingers behind his neck, letting his head hang. "You know Andraste's old mabari," he mutters, "he don't show up in the Chant, and if you ask those holy sisters well they'll say Andraste can't -- "

If he can barely remember a damn word of the Chant, at least he can sing a tavern song about Andraste while his mind's scrabbling to reach for whatever higher power it can find.

[howtoactfereldan]

Five minutes, maybe a little less. That's all. Cullen treats it like a sortie -- move fast, stop for nothing and no one, accomplish your objective, return to your defensive position.

He keeps the list in his head, repeats it to himself. Food. (Bread and broth. A roast chicken, for him and for Alistair.) Water. (Clear and cool, stowed away in a glass jar.) A change of clothes. (Plain, soft linen for sleeping; something comfortable and practical for when Alistair wakes.) A cheese plate. (A fancy one.)

Laden with bags, Cullen doesn't quite sprint up the stairs, but neither does he move at a normal pace.

"Alistair, I'm back," he says, before he enters. Just in case there were any ideas about demons that reappeared while he was gone.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair jerks his head up. He's scrambled halfway to his feet before he remembers; it leaves him swaying, forces him to brace one hand on the wall.

It's Cullen. It's just Cullen. He's all right.

His plate feels too tight. "Still here," he croaks, trying to keep the words light.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen looks at the hand on the wall. Looks at Alistair.

The bags go in a nearby chair; the cheese plate goes on the table next to it. "Good." Calm. "If you still don't want to sleep... can you choose? Food or a bath? There's clean clothes in here."