[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

Herald's Rest gets as crowded as any respectable small-town tavern come nightfall. Considering Skyhold's a village unto itself nowadays, that's no surprise.

Maryden's holding her usual court over near the fire, her song weaving in and out of the noise: voices, laughter, shouts, clattering. Bull's there, towering over half the crowd even while seated, deep in enthusiastic conversation with Krem, but the rest of the Chargers don't seem to be anywhere near. When Alistair stands still, he's pretty sure he can hear about five different languages in a ten-foot radius.

He's nothing strange or remarkable in here. It's...nice.

And there's alcohol. Even nicer.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

Off comes the breastplate.

"And how well would that work, given your favorite hobby is laughing at me?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"No," says Alistair; he's trying for mock-patience, which would work much better if the laughter wasn't starting to creep back. "My favorite hobby is flower arranging. My second favorite is laughing at you."

[howtoactfereldan]

Pauldrons. Vambraces. Gloves. Cullen runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end, and drains what's left in his glass.

"You're a very cruel man, Theirin," Cullen says with great dignity. "But given I don't smell like beer any more, I suppose I can forgive you."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair beams. "I'm honored," he says, laying a hand on his chest. "And relieved. I'll come by all future beer honestly, I promise."

He polishes off more of his drink, then draws up his knees and carefully rests the nearly-empty glass atop one of them.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen undoes the top frogs of his leather armor, pale linen shirt below a surprising contrast to the darkness.

He looks around at his scattered armor.

Shrugs, and rests his head against the stone wall. Everything's warm. And safe. He'll worry about the mess... later.

[bringspeopletogether]

Two floors below, Maryden's started up another song. Alistair closes his eyes, doing his best to focus on the melody; absently, after a moment or two, he starts to hum along. He even makes it through a verse and a half before losing the thread and trailing back into silence.




"I haven't been this properly drunk in a very long time." He sighs, contented. "Why didn't I do it sooner?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Because it's difficult to be drunk and paranoid. Cullen has the presence of mind (for now) not to say that aloud.

"You wanted an audience?" he suggests instead.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Maybe." A soft laugh. "Or just company. Better to do it here than alone."

He finishes off his drink; with care, he sets the glass between his boots.

[howtoactfereldan]

"If this is a play to make me throw more games and lose more bets, you'll have to do better than that."

[bringspeopletogether]

Both eyebrows go up. Alistair opens his eyes and points to Cullen.

"I know I beat you fair and square at those games."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen raises his eyebrows. Smirks.

"Keep telling yourself that."

[bringspeopletogether]

That gets a snort and an eyeroll. Alistair leans his head back, closing his eyes again.

(He's not smiling anymore.)

"I know you're terrible at Diamondback."

[howtoactfereldan]

"My one flaw, I suppose." With a sigh.

[bringspeopletogether]

"Of course."

Absent. He taps his thumb against his knee: slow, even, like a heartbeat.





"You're real." Alistair keeps his voice quiet and steady. It's half to himself, half to Cullen. "I know that."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen looks up at Alistair, blinking slowly, wary.

[bringspeopletogether]

If he keeps his eyes shut too long, the gentle sloshing feeling of inebriation turns into the spins. Alistair opens his eyes, regards the ceiling, waits for the worst to pass.

"You're like...the opposite of the Black City. I see you around and I know I'm not in the Fade. Or that I can -- " He reaches out, just a little, forearm balanced on his knee. "That I'm close to getting out, at least. I'm somewhere the Veil's thin enough to look through. And if I just push a little more I'll make it out."

He doesn't sound particularly troubled about any of this. Just...thoughtful.

[howtoactfereldan]

"There were some benefits to being a templar," Cullen says after a moment, and shifts (a little unsteadily) to sit shoulder to shoulder with him. "Keeping the Fade out."

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes." Soft.

It's second nature by now: Alistair scoots a few inches lower, makes himself comfortable, and leans his head on Cullen's shoulder.

"I would've been terrible at all of it. But that part would've been nice. If I'd stayed." A crooked smile. "Of course if I'd stayed I wouldn't've gotten stuck in the Fade in the first place."

[howtoactfereldan]

A low, not entirely amused laugh as he works his arm around Alistair. "There are plenty of other calamities to choose from."

[bringspeopletogether]

He huffs out a similar not-quite-laugh, and risks closing his eyes again for a moment.




"The thing is," slower, "I don't think I can push through that last little piece of the Veil. It's like the Calling, you fight until you can't anymore. And I can't. I'm too damned tired."

He exhales.

"I just wonder what's taking them so long. Surely they've got to be tired of this, too, right? How much fun can it really be to fill a desire this mundane? Money, love, power -- no, no, I just want a nice soft bed and a cup of tea every now and then."

[howtoactfereldan]

He sinks his fingers into Alistair's hair, thumb stroking slowly.

"That's another way to know you're somewhere real." Quiet. Meditative. "Because you're right. Demons don't offer things like that. Spirits don't understand them, if Cole's anything to go by. So if that's what you've got... then that means it's real."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. (Not too much. He doesn't want to shake off Cullen's hand.)

"And if I got passed off to a despair demon," he mumbles, "they'd think up something worse than this. Not just...put me somewhere where I don't know if anything's real. Too subtle. Right?"

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen, who once had that very thing happen to him --

-- his hand has stilled, for just a moment --

-- says quietly, simply, and utterly assured:

"Right."

[bringspeopletogether]

He breathes out -- it trembles, a little -- and leans more of his weight against Cullen.

(This could be another trick. But -- no. Cullen's real. Cullen promised he wouldn't lie to him.)

[howtoactfereldan]

It's an old catechism he relies on now -- one whose truth has been borne out by experience at Kinloch, in Kirkwall, in those horrible days right after the explosion at the Conclave.

"Demons are clever." He rests his cheek against Alistair's head; his voice is a soft murmur. "But demons aren't subtle. They can't be. It's not in their nature. They respond to strong feeling. They feed on it. They embody it themselves. Their tactics are blunt, and obvious, because they can't do anything else."

The liquor sits warm in his belly; his armor, scattered, catches the light from the torches, gleams faintly gold.

"I might tell you that it's all right. But only a fool or a demon would say everything's fine like he believed it." Warm. A little amused, a little dry. "It's most certainly not fine."