Alistair (
bringspeopletogether) wrote2017-02-28 03:29 pm
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[sandbox]
Alistair surprises himself: he adapts to the Basin a lot quicker than he expected.
The camps feel -- snug, he decides. In a good way. Trees overhead, a limited number of egress points, a vantage point so high it puts every night by the ladder to shame: they're not the stone walls of Skyhold, but maybe they're the next best thing. After an initial restless night or two, he sleeps soundly.
(Knowing he's surrounded by lots of people with sharp, pointy weapons? Also helpful.)
Joining the patrol rotations seems like a decent next step. No point in being in the field, especially after all that training with Bull, if he's just going to twiddle his thumbs all day.
The camps feel -- snug, he decides. In a good way. Trees overhead, a limited number of egress points, a vantage point so high it puts every night by the ladder to shame: they're not the stone walls of Skyhold, but maybe they're the next best thing. After an initial restless night or two, he sleeps soundly.
(Knowing he's surrounded by lots of people with sharp, pointy weapons? Also helpful.)
Joining the patrol rotations seems like a decent next step. No point in being in the field, especially after all that training with Bull, if he's just going to twiddle his thumbs all day.
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"I suppose if I can grow out of stepping into traps at every opportunity, I can re-develop those bits the Fade took," he mumbles.
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He leans his head against Alistair's.
"Trust your instincts. And trust your experience. I do."
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"I'm glad one of us does," he says, not much louder.
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Cullen settles down again. "The day's going to come where you realize you can. And it'll happen sooner than you think." He traces idle patterns on Alistair's chest. "Think some time about how many times you should have died, and didn't. It can't all be luck, Alistair. At least some of it's skill. And that includes the Fade."
Softer: "And that's what I trust."
(Alistair came back.)
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Alistair's arm tightens around Cullen, drawing him an inch closer; he kisses the top of his head, and blinks a few times to try and get his eyes to stop stinging.
"I'm so lucky I have you," he whispers.
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"...give your skill some credit there, too."
Cullen nestles closer.
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"Competent enough to stay alive and competent enough to make you fall in love with me? I suppose I do have some talent after all."
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His laughter gains a solid footing.
"Gentle slopes everywhere you look. Or it's all one level and just a very broad sort of castle."
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He smooths his palm down Cullen's hair, resting it on the back of Cullen's neck.
"My properly-sized ego thanks you."
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(And, after a beat, tightens his hold on Alistair.)
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He presses Cullen's neck, fingers gently seeking out the familiar places where his muscles tend to cramp.
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"Skill," he murmurs.
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Quieter than he means. Still smiling, though.
"Can you blame me?"
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His fingers curl inward, resting on Alistair's chest.
"But you have to rest too."
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(It may not happen right away -- it probably won't, if Alistair's being honest -- but it'll happen. Eventually.)
With his free hand, he covers Cullen's.
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And then he falls into his own silence; and, in time, joins Cullen in sleep.