[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

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair emits a muted noise of surprise, like you'd let out if someone snuck up behind you; an instant later, his other arm finds Cullen's shoulders, and he's hugging him back just as tightly.

"I did." More small details a demon would never think to add: the texture of Cullen's clothes, a single curl of hair over his ear that doesn't want to behave as well as the rest, the sheer ferocity of the hug. (The first thing Alistair thinks when he thinks of Cullen has never been demonstrative. Or fierce hugs.) "I'm back. I'm alive."

His voice thickens, and takes on that wondering tone of before.

"I made it out."

[howtoactfereldan]

When your best plan for you and all the people you're responsible for is if we can't win, we die trying, and we die as spitefully as possible --

When there's a decent chance the world will end, the fabric of reality unraveled and burnt to ashes --

It changes you. That's all.

One hand fists tight in Alistair's shirt. "You're safe. You're safe. Do you hear me?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes." Yeah, there's no way to disguise how waterlogged his voice has gotten. Alistair's not really trying, anyway. "I'm here. I'm safe."

If he goes back to the Fade, it will only be in dreams. Dreams can -- they'll be awful. He already knows. But they're only dreams in the end.

Escaping a dream is as easy as waking.

"I'm not going anywhere."

[howtoactfereldan]

"You better not," he mutters, truculent. "You only just got here."

A choked laugh. "And you're much less of a brat now than you were in training. Fit for decent conversation."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair huffs out a laugh of his own. "When I'm not slamming doors for no reason. Or forgetting what I said five minutes ago."

It is, if nothing else, a bit more Alistair-ish than the halting apologies he made earlier.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Mitigating circumstances," says Cullen, and pulls back just enough to get a good look at Alistair.

Somewhere between the neighborhoods of helpless and gleeful: "You look awful, Theirin."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair groans. "Must you call me that?"

He's smiling.

"I only look this awful so you look good by comparison, Rutherford."

[howtoactfereldan]

"So that explains your face." Grinning, now. "For the last however many years."

[bringspeopletogether]

"It's a lesser-known part of the Warden oath." Solemn. "In looking terrible, make the rest of Thedas look decent. Especially that man Cullen over there."

Truly, Alistair's sacrifice should be sung to the mountaintops.

[howtoactfereldan]

One thing Cullen isn't going to joke about for a long time -- and maybe never again -- is sacrifice.

He pulls away, looking at Alistair's armor strewn all over the floor. "Ought to change the colors, then. -- Maker's breath, I spend too much time with Leliana and Josephine." Pinching the bridge of his nose. The next words are filled with self-loathing: "Change them to something that clashes."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair's mouth twitches. He presses his knuckles to his mouth.

So far, it has taken very little to push him into a blind panic, into nearly as blind a rage, and into tears. Naturally, it only follows that those three words be what tips him into...well. Yes. Let's be honest.

It's giggling.

Hysterical, not quite controlled giggling that, after a few moments, sends Alistair stumbling to the bed so he can sit down rather than fight gravity and the laughter.

[howtoactfereldan]

Yes, well.

Cullen snorts, and bends to pick up the mail from the floor, very carefully draping it over the chair. Deadpan: "See how much you're laughing when you're wearing spring colors in the depths of winter. Horrors."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Terrible," he wheezes around the giggles. "Can't imagine."

Turns out gravity isn't done with him yet, not when the laughter's weakened him this much. Alistair lets himself fall backward onto the mattress.

"However would you survive?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen drops down to sit on the bed beside him. "Everything I wear is very tasteful. You lot are the ones who'll have to suffer the scandalized whispers of anyone who gives a damn about that sort of thing."

[bringspeopletogether]

"No, no -- " A break to allow for more snickering. "You're in this too now. All the forces need to model the new uniforms. Promotes unit cohesion."

The laughter finally starts to peter out as Alistair gets himself under control.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Unfortunately, I'm the commander, and I do what I want," he says cheerfully. "And in the interests of not giving my colleagues more reason to focus their attention on my habits, I'll continue with my current option, thank you very much."

[bringspeopletogether]

"You're still no fun."

If he yawns, it'll probably make Cullen pick up his earlier insistence that Alistair needs to sleep. He's trying very hard not to succumb. Maybe if just...closes his eyes for a moment, though, that'll be all right? He can close his eyes and still stay awake.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Someone has to be the responsible one."

He glances down at Alistair; is he falling asleep? Maker's breath, Cullen hopes so.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Just glad it's not me," he murmurs.

Their back-and-forth's like the rhythm of an old, comforting song. It's quite soothing. And the bed really is remarkably soft.





"I'm still awake, by the way."

[howtoactfereldan]

The corner of Cullen's mouth turns up; he stretches, and leans back on his hands.

"I never presumed otherwise," he assures Alistair.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Good."

Quiet, for a beat, before Alistair lifts his hand and points toward Cullen.

"If I do fall asleep, though. Purely hypothetically. Wake me up if it gets bad."

No need to elaborate on what he means by gets bad.

[howtoactfereldan]

Another small, fleeting smile.

"If it gets bad."

He shifts, grabs Alistair's hand, squeezes.

"You have my word."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Thank you."

He is absolutely not falling asleep, dammit. That last little reassurance from Cullen is -- is -- reassuring, that's all. Enough to get a little more tension out of his shoulders. Make it easier to sink into the bed.

Alistair opens his eyes, just to check that Cullen's still there, and closes them again.




It only takes a few minutes after that for his grip on Cullen's hand to slacken.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen gives it a few minutes before he carefully puts down Alistair's hand and eases off the bed. The spare blanket's in the closet; it's a moment's work to drape it over Alistair.

A soft sigh; he retrieves his book, opens it, glances at the chumproll --

No. He won't tell anyone. Not yet.



Cullen leans back against the wall for balance to remove his boots. His jacket goes over the chair not holding Alistair's mail. Then it's back to the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard. Until he knows he can focus enough to read, he can play chess.

[bringspeopletogether]

At certain levels of profound exhaustion, it's like the creatures of the Fade take one look at you and go yeah, let's leave that one alone tonight. No dreams -- nothing that leaves an imprint on the mind, anyway. Just blank, black rest.

Alistair would be grateful, if he were...well. Not in the middle of that utterly insensate level of sleep.

Occasionally, he shifts: a roll onto his side, or a moment to pull the blanket tighter. Once or twice, he snores. Otherwise, for a couple of hours, it's downright peaceful.




Then his breath begins to shift, too, from the slow rhythm of sleep to harsh, hissing gasps.