bringspeopletogether

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[sandbox]

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.

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Alistair slings an arm around Cullen's shoulders once they're upright, wobbling a little on his feet. His brow knits. "I think so. We'll find out."

It'll be a fun adventure for everyone!

And it starts with heading out the upstairs exit of Herald's Rest. He's only been this way a few times, but it can't be that difficult. Once they're somewhere around the great hall, he'll know where to go.

That would be great, if only the battlements led directly there. But they don't. It's strategically inadvisable.

Cullen firms up his grip on Alistair once they're out in the wind. And on the stairs. There are a lot of stairs.

Lots and lots and lots of stairs. Most of which don't have any handrails to boot. At least there's the occasional helpful wall for Alistair to brace on.

"New rule," he declares, with great gravitas, somewhere around the third or fourth flight they have to traverse. "Next time you have to pack up and move to some ancient elven fortress, you pick one with no stairs. Stairs are evil. Definitely Corypheus's work."

(He manages Corypheus's name this time, but only because he has to slow down the verbal pace dramatically.)

"It's very nice," Cullen says mildly, "if not quite endearing, that you think we had our pick of ancient elven fortresses."

"Not my fault," prim, "that you didn't have the foresight to go back in time and make sure lots of elven fortresses with no stairs get built."

He's starting to snicker by the time he reaches the end of that sentence.

Cullen rolls his eyes toward the sky.

"I had not anticipated any divine punishment including babysitting a drunken Grey Warden who thinks he's funny," he announces, "but who am I to question the ways of the numinous?"

"See, this -- " Clumsily, Alistair pats Cullen's shoulder with his free hand. "This is why you need to get better at Diamondback. I'll help. No more bets, I promise."

He looks up, trying to orient himself.

"...We have to go through the great hall. I think."

They're close to the chapel, overlooking the garden; no sign of either Kieran or Morrigan, to Cullen's great relief.

"Our intelligence says it's safe to go through the garden." Quiet. "Down more stairs, now."

Alistair nods; more careful navigation ensues. At least the stairs are in reasonably predictable places whenever he puts his foot down.

"Kieran's got to be asleep by now," he muses, and lets out another small laugh. "That'd be another lovely impression to make on him, wouldn't it? Mad, violent, and a drunkard to boot. Morrigan'd never let me hear the end of this either, I don't think she's ever seen me this bad off."

Oh well. He's got more important things to worry about. Like making it down these stairs.

He keeps his arm tight around Alistair as they descend. Quiet: "They'd be worried about you, Alistair. Both of them."

There's only so much arguing with the inebriated that Cullen's willing to do. But that much -- that much, he feels compelled to do.

"All the more reason I'm glad they won't see. I hope."

They reach the foot of the stairs. Alistair tips his head back, regarding the stars.

"I don't want people to worry. I want to help. I want people to be happy."

"I know."

There are some things he could say to that. Things like how he's learned that some people just want to fuss over you, and the kindest thing to do is to let them (within reason). Things like how Alistair sounds like Cole (and how there are worse things).

"We're nearly to the great hall. Let's keep going."

Right. He stopped walking for a moment there. Time to keep moving.

There's a door leading from the garden to the great hall; he remembers that now. So if they go through there, around to the other stairs that...take them past Vivienne...

With mild alarm, as they enter the hall: "Is Vivienne up there too?"

Cullen looks left, looks right; sees that the present gaggle of Orlesian nobility has retired to their rooms.

"Doubtful," he says. "No one worth monitoring at this hour."

"Good."

Alistair relaxes -- which has the unfortunate side effect of making him stumble a bit on his next step, but he quickly regains his balance and keeps moving.

More blasted stairs. So many stairs. But it's the last flight they need to conquer before crossing to the more private bank of rooms, one of which Alistair adopted upon his arrival.

Why did he suggest to Alistair that he take up residence in these rooms? Why not something more accessible? Maybe they could repair the walls and Alistair could take up residence in the broken tower where Cullen hides his cards.

There's still a nice, gentle glow, courtesy of the alcohol, but it's cold outside, and windy, and Cullen's ready to hunker down for the night.

Oh, look, there's his bed. Beds are excellent. Whoever invented beds should be crowned the next Herald of Andraste. Genius, that.

Alistair gets his arm unhooked from around Cullen's shoulders and drops onto the mattress with a groan of relief. Aside from the bed, the room's quite sparse -- a stack of books, a stand bearing Alistair's Warden armor (gathering a fine scrim of dust), an unlit candle that will likely stay unlit for now due to fire plus drunkenness being a terrible combination.

"Thanks," he sighs, and lists sideways until his head hits the pillows. "...Can you stay a bit? Just 'til I'm asleep. Won't take long, I promise."

"Of course." Quiet, as he kneels; Alistair's boots need to come off.

(Alistair wanted to drink in the tavern; Cullen thought it prudent to clear as much of his schedule and obligations as possible through midday tomorrow. Though he'd rather expected something more... volatile... than what this evening's turned out to be.)

"Thank you," he says again.

Oh, right. Boots. That's a thing that needs to happen too. Alistair stays still, and quiet, as Cullen works at his laces.

"You swear you weren't too miserable tonight?"

Off comes one boot.

"I wasn't miserable at all." Mild. "I'm not some hermit in a cave."

And the other. "I prefer quiet places. And we found one."

Cullen sits on the edge of the bed and starts toeing off his own boots. "Once we got upstairs, it was quite pleasant."

He'll have to get his armor tomorrow. Maybe Cole will take custody of it. THAT WOULD REALLY HELP, he thinks, loudly, just in case.

"All right." A small sigh of relief. "Good."

He tucks one arm under his pillow, curls up a bit to get more comfortable.

"Make sure you sleep. And eat something. And don't do any reports until tomorrow morning, they'll keep. Double Commander's orders."

Cullen's stretched out by the time the string of orders is finished, head on the pillow, fingers linked behind his head.

"Yes, Double Commander." Amused.

It finally occurs to Alistair that Cullen's making himself comfortable in a way that indicates he'll be sticking around after Alistair falls asleep. He probably ought to protest, but...it's not like he wants Cullen to leave.

Far from it.

He attempts a firm nod -- though it's not really stable enough to qualify as such -- and lets his eyes fall closed. Still awake, for now; just resting.

It's a long, cold walk back to his office, and Alistair did ask Cullen to stay, and if he doesn't move he can pretend that Cole will make sure nobody makes off with his armor, and if somebody does make off with his armor it's not like there's not a fortress full of armor right here.

He should probably make sure there's water, for when Alistair wakes. But that would require getting up. And that would disturb Alistair, who's trying to fall asleep.

Surely it's all right just to stay here where it's warm, blinking at the ceiling.

"D'you think Bull's ever got stuck somewhere because he can't get through the door?"

Drowsy; half-mumbled.

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