bringspeopletogether | [sandbox] out of the abyss

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sandbox

[sandbox] out of the abyss

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.

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Mild:

"I'm only sorry you didn't get a really clear shot. I assume you must have wanted to do that more than once, over the years."

Smiling, very small.

That gets a tiny snort out of him. "If you're volunteering for another round, well."

Alistair ventures a sip of water. Concentrates on the smooth, solid feel of the jar as he cradles it in both palms. "No, honestly, I think I only ever wanted to trip you. Or get a good smack across the back of the head."

He saves the punches for moments of true anger. (Or moments when he's unarmed and being swarmed by demons.) Mere annoyance doesn't require something that...definitive.

Cullen grunts. "Should've tried harder to be insufferable, then."

He nudges Alistair's shoulder, gently.

Alistair looks up, at last, and shapes a halfhearted smile before returning his attention to the jar. He drinks, waits until the churning in his stomach backs down, drinks a little more.

"So," he says, wry, "as you continue building up Skyhold, would there happen to be some more isolated quarters available? I'd hate to wake up the whole Inquisition with my screaming six times a night. Terrible for morale."

"...actually, yes," Cullen says, after a moment. "You'll have to make it past Madame de Fer, which I suspect is the reason no one else has claimed them. But they look over the garden, so there's that."

Cullen realizes that the likelihood is that Alistair was trying for a poor jest. Unfortunately for Alistair, Cullen is very serious.

(On the off chance it was a serious question, then, there's a serious answer!)

"Hn." More water. "...I can tolerate Madame de Fer for the view. I think."

Still moving like he'll accidentally smash something if he moves the wrong way, Alistair rolls the jar between his palms. It may have mostly been a joke when he said it, but...honestly, where else can he go? Staying at Milliways for weeks -- months -- doesn't appeal. Everything is just a bit too off-kilter here. You go along, thinking all's normal, and then you bump into someone who looks at you funny if you mention Thedas.

The next important question (and he sounds a bit resigned when he says it): "Is Morrigan still around?"

True, she may not be as prickly as when he last knew her, but she's still Morrigan. Alistair has no idea if he'll be able to tolerate her jibes when he's...like this.

Cullen also looks... resigned.

He doesn't like that mirror.

"Yes. Keeps to herself, mostly. Fights with Dorian and Solas, every now and then. On the bright side, on that score Vivienne's the best bodyguard you have."

This time, the smile he scrounges up actually manages to stick around for a moment.

"I almost want to see that squabble," he says. "From a very great distance."

"I've got a spyglass. We can share it."

The smile grows. Solemn, as Alistair lifts the jar in a toast: "You have a deal."

Light: "Ah, but I haven't outlined my terms. -- not that they're actual terms," he says hastily. "You've a place with us as long as you want it, you know that. Just, you know, if you get bored... plenty of recruits that need training, or -- advice, or whatever."

Cullen rubs the back of his neck. "Sometimes it helps to know that... you can be of use. Later. So don't worry about that, is what I wanted to say. Whenever you're ready. If it becomes important to you."

Alistair's expression, on its gradual post-nightmare shift toward amiable, stutters at the mention of terms. But Cullen's offering clarification an instant later, and -- it's all right. It's fine. He's safe.

He rubs his thumb along the ridges circling the top of the jar, thinking. "You said something about the remaining Wardens still being around," he ventures, uncertain. "Is that right?"

He can't remember what Cullen said they were doing -- rebuilding off on their own, working with the Inquisition, or something else.

"The Orlesian Wardens, yes." Cullen stretches out his shoulder, bringing his arm across his chest. "They're pursuing a darkspawn outbreak in Val Gamord. I'd imagine you'd be well within your rights to stay put until we hear from Hawke."

That, and Cullen isn't sure the Wardens will make it out in one piece. Long way to go only to find nothing, or worse than nothing.

Alistair nods. Dry, "Definitely not suggesting I go into the field like -- " He taps his temple, illustratively. "I just...wondered. About their own training. I was the senior Warden. Technically still am, I guess. I'm just not sure..."

Get exiled by the Warden-Commander of Orlais because you object to blood magic, find out half your compatriots are in thrall to all sorts of terrible things, discover others of your compatriots killed the Divine, and it leaves a bit of a sour taste in your mouth.

(And yet. He's devoted ten years of his life in service to the Wardens. And the ones that are left, the ones that broke free -- he can still hear Hawke's words. A Warden must help them rebuild.)

"It's better I stay at Skyhold for now."

"Yes." Quietly, as he switches arms. "For several reasons, chief among them being that we know Corypheus has power over the Wardens, and he's shared that knowledge with the Venatori."

Cullen's looking ahead, steadily, determinedly. And not at Alistair.

"It doesn't get much safer than Skyhold until we defeat him."

Ah. Of course.

Alistair's mouth twists. He keeps tracing the screw threads around the rim of the jar.

There's no accusation in his tone -- just tired resignation -- when he says, quietly, "No better people to keep an eye on me."

Cullen's mouth twists.

"I'm not worried about you, I'm worried for you."

"No, I know." He sighs, and kneads his forehead. "If it's any reassurance, I can't hear the Calling anymore. I don't know if that's because Nightmare's dead, Corypheus can't reach this place, or if I've less chance of -- something happening now."

"In theory," Cullen says, frowning -- and then stops himself. "Never mind. I'll tell you later. It's not important."

It's extremely important: Corypheus could walk in here at any time, and given what's happened so far Cullen has a sneaking feeling that Corypheus won't care too much about the rules of the place.

Cullen is also pretty sure Alistair would probably prefer not to think about that at the moment.

"But I think -- Corypheus can't reach this place, and I've not heard any reports of the Wardens continuing to experience the effects of the Calling. I suspect -- I hope -- that he's... stopped whatever it was he did."

A small crease forms between Alistair's eyebrows, a precursor to a frown. It lingers even after Cullen's dismissal.

"All right." No louder than before. "Good. That -- it's a start."

A beat, and another tiny twitch of a smile. "Least it makes it easier to hear myself think."

"Yes," he agrees, straight-faced. "It must be very pleasant to hear that fly buzzing around in all that empty space."

Alistair rolls his eyes; the smile stays put. "I'll have you know whatever's buzzing around is at least as big as a good-sized beetle."

"Oh? And how big is a good-sized beetle, exactly?"

"Aboooout..."

Alistair squints, considering, then makes a circle with thumb and forefinger and holds it up.

"Give or take a bit."

Cullen wrinkles his nose.

"I'm sure it was a very pleasant experience squeezing it in your ear."

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