[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]

Cullen pulls the folded clothes out of their bag and arranges them on the bed -- it's frequently awkward, being watched while you eat, and Alistair's day is bad enough.

"I admit I wanted the roast chicken," he says, cheerful. "My motives thus aren't entirely altruistic."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair snorts, amused. "Then come join me and have some of it."

Even if Alistair isn't eating solid food for the moment, that doesn't mean Cullen can't partake.

The warmth of the broth shocks him, when he gets around to taking a sip. He'd forgotten this, too: that it's possible to feel warm with something other than the clammy sickness of too much adrenaline. He's pretty sure this is the best thing he's ever eaten (well, drank) in his whole life.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen pauses.

"I forgot a knife," he says.

Something glimmers from the formerly empty bag.

"...never mind."

He joins Alistair at the table. "Aren't we civilized."

[bringspeopletogether]

A lopsided twist of a smile. "My standards for what counts as 'civilized' have fallen a bit since we last met."

He swallows another mouthful of broth. So far, his stomach seems rather confused by the situation: it keeps making brief overtures toward queasy, only to settle down to regular old hunger seconds later.

[howtoactfereldan]

"...what, since we were on a battlefield in a Blighted desert inhaling bits of old Tevinter brick?"

Cullen says this as he slices into the chicken just enough to rip off a piece with his fingers. He's very classy.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair blinks, visibly thrown -- and, in short order, visibly trying to recall what event Cullen just referenced. After a beat, he gives up in favor of more broth.

"Something like that."

...Oh. Yes. Adamant. That's what he meant.

[howtoactfereldan]

He eyes Alistair, a little worried.

Not like scintillating conversation is the point of this, though; the point's to get something in Alistair that will help him function.

Still, he's loathe to let silence linger too long. "I got a letter from my sister," he says instead. "She found me again. Even wrote back this time."

[bringspeopletogether]

Up go Alistair's eyebrows. "Really."

For an instant, he nearly looks like his old self again.

"How stern was that written talking-to?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen considers.

"Given that it came after the attack on Haven... much milder than it could have been." He works off another piece of chicken. "Lots of 'you could have taken a moment to mention it, but I suppose being alive gets you a pass, here's a template for you to follow to keep us apprised of your current state of being since you can't manage to come up with your own.' Her general tone seemed consistent with rolling one's eyes, really."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair huffs a quiet laugh. "A template. No wonder you managed to write back this time."

More broth. His stomach has tentatively decided to stick with "hungry" for now; the bowl's emptying at a far more rapid pace.

"And how closely did you adhere to said template?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Alistair laughed.

This is ordinarily the kind of thing that would make Cullen say something acerbic and scowl for effect (and at least a little bit sincerely), but -- Alistair laughed.

"I did put in something original," he says, thoughtful. "I said that the Frostbacks were very cold, and that we'd experienced some difficulty getting enough feed for the horses and livestock, resulting in wagons overloaded dangerously for the terrain, but that they looked funny so long as no one gets hurt and perhaps her children might try to draw them.

"Other than that -- I found the template quite useful."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's crooked smile fades.

He'd been expecting that scowl, or something like it: Cullen parrying the gentle jab like he's done every time Alistair teases him. To get such a straightforward response...it doesn't feel right.

Cold prickles his neck anew. This isn't right, his thoughts whisper, open your eyes, look --

It feels like his armor's squeezing his throat. "I should," he mutters, and starts to fumble for the clasps. Maybe it'll leave him even more defenseless, but at least he'll be able to breathe.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's already halfway out of his seat. "Can I help?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"I, um -- "

He can't get his fingers to work properly, from exhaustion, frayed nerves, malnutrition, who in Andraste's name knows anymore. All of the above, probably. And he doesn't know if he wants Cullen (or maybe not Cullen) that close to his neck, but what choice does he have? It's either that or strangle.

"Please. Yes."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen takes a knee, starts working on unbuckling Alistair's breastplate, his movements careful, methodical.




"This passes," he says, softly. "Breathe through your nose, slowly as you can. I know it's hard, but it'll help it pass more quickly."

[bringspeopletogether]

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.)

[howtoactfereldan]

"Good."

He's loosened the collar of Alistair's gambeson; he moves to the pauldrons, the vambraces, moving as quickly as he can.

"Good. Keep that up. I'm going to remove your mail, all right? Can you help me with your arms?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Another nod. With the immediate panic on a slow retreat, his extremities have started working a little better; getting off the mail becomes more of a collaborative effort than Cullen stripping off his plate.

He tries for wry, and doesn't quite make it, when he says, "Say something stupid about my hair so I know it's you."

Yes, that strategy would never fly in the field, but Alistair will happily trade reassurance for good strategy right now.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen lays out the mail on the floor, and glances up at Alistair.

Wry, as requested: "You mean something wholly accurate and entirely correct about your hair? Such as how I expect you to march right in after your bath and make yourself look like a pinhead again?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair snorts. "Exactly like that, yes, thank you."

He means for it to be deadpan; to his slight embarrassment, it comes out sincerely relieved. When he draws his next breath, the iron weight on his chest is nearly gone. "All right. That...thank you. That's better."

He rubs the back of his neck, as if trying to drive away the last of the chill.

[howtoactfereldan]

Well.

Cullen's been there, hasn't he.

Still a little wry -- it's weird, but if it helps, Cullen's there -- he says, retaking his seat, "Hence the change of clothes on the bed. Entirely more comfortable than armor."

Entirely better for the waves of sheer panic, he means.

[bringspeopletogether]

"I'll save them for after the bath." He's still kneading the back of his neck, not quite meeting Cullen's eye. "Or the...dumping a barrel of rainwater on myself. Quicker that way. I won't fall asleep."

The broth doesn't look as appetizing as it did a moment ago. Alistair forces himself to take another swallow of it anyway. The warmth helps ease more of the constriction in his throat.

[howtoactfereldan]

The whole not-sleeping thing isn't sustainable.

Cullen is accustomed to picking his battles.

"There's some kind of tap high up in the tub," he says. "Makes it easy to rinse off quickly. You might find that preferable."

[bringspeopletogether]

Well, not with that attitude it isn't, Cullen.

Alistair glances up, interest caught. "That might work," he agrees. "Easier than..."

He trails off, seeming to have forgotten where he was going with that sentence. Alistair resumes his meal after a beat; within another minute, the bowl's empty.

"So -- " What had they been talking about before? "Is everything all right? At Skyhold? Or as all right as it can be," he thinks to amend.

[howtoactfereldan]

"It's going well," he says, firm. "The bulk of our forces returned to Skyhold from Adamant a week ago, and we've resumed our regular schedule, with a much better idea of where we need to put our attention, in our training. And we've found more sources for stone, so we're able to make more critical repairs to the towers. It's now much easier to house our people."

Alistair included, Cullen doesn't say.

(He also doesn't mention that -- curiously -- somehow his own quarters still have a good portion of the ceiling missing, as well as a few trees growing out of the walls.)