[sandbox]

[bringspeopletogether]

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.

Comments

[howtoactfereldan]

If he's really heading into the field in the next few days, he should make sure he's got all his kit together and in good shape right now. Oiling leather, polishing armor, memorizing maps. He meets with Kenric, too, to listen to entirely too much history (and, at least for a moment, to talk Starkhaven).

Something still unsettles him, about last night. He looks down at the pages of intelligence he's gone through, today, and reports from the field.

Then, with nothing else pressing, he sits down and begins to write.

[bringspeopletogether]

Soon enough, everyone's had their turn at camp-building save Alistair. They move along.

A mile or two from camp, a weird humming noise begins right at the edge of Alistair's hearing. He stops dead, the elven woman almost walking straight into him. The captain glances over. Warden Alistair?

His mouth's dry. Nothing. I don't think -- A deep breath. The rations he ate earlier churn unpleasantly; he tries to focus on the feel of the coin tucked beneath his breastplate. I don't know.

He doesn't know if the Veil's about to tear, if it's his mind playing tricks again, if it's nothing at all or a very big problem about to split open beneath their feet, and for an instant, under the rising panic, he's blindingly furious at everything all over again. Alistair touches his fingertips to the spot over the coin. Keeps breathing.

We need to move. Quickly. Mark this spot in case it's -- it's something.

A few of the recruits exchange glances, and the captain's still looking at him a little too closely, but they do as Alistair asks: they move faster.





He sits just inside the edge of camp for a good thirty minutes until he's sure he won't run. Or punch anything, for that matter.

Then he heads for his and Cullen's tent.

[howtoactfereldan]

His armor's still laid out, piece by piece; Cullen himself is at his desk, again, continuing to write.

(The letter's done. He can arrange to send it out with tonight's correspondence, if Alistair agrees. He should be all right with it.

Right?)

[bringspeopletogether]

"Cullen?"

Alistair's still holding open the tent flap, like he's waiting for permission to come in; he musters up a smile that looks more uncertain than he intends.

[howtoactfereldan]

He lifts his head and turns with a ready smile. It falters, a little: why is Alistair hesitating?

"Yes?" He gets to his feet.

[bringspeopletogether]

That's enough to get him to move.

Alistair steps inside, letting the flap fall behind him. "Sorry." Quiet. "I didn't want to interrupt, if -- "

He stops there, starts to pick fitfully at the straps of his vambraces. Breathe, he reminds himself.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen takes this in -- and takes two steps forward. "You're not interrupting." Gentle. "Are you finished for the day?"

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods, focused just a tad too intently on his armor, unable to look up.

He's breathing, but -- he's putting a little too much focus in that, too, and the rhythm's just quick enough to register as unnatural.

[howtoactfereldan]

He hasn't been writing with his armor on: it's hard to write in gloves and vambraces.

"Alistair."

Soft. He doesn't reach out to touch him. Not yet.

"What happened?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Can you -- "

One vambrace thumps unceremoniously to the floor of the tent. Then the other. Alistair strips off his gloves.

He takes a moment to make sure his voice won't do anything embarrassing before he says, even quieter, "If you could just -- come here a moment?" and reaches for Cullen.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen folds Alistair into his arms without delay.

"Right here," he murmurs.

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair wraps his arms around him in kind, a bit too tightly. He should have taken off his breast plate, he thinks; it's not as easy to breathe when he's got that on.

"I'm all right." Muffled: he's pressed his face to Cullen's neck. "I swear it, I just -- need a moment. I'm fine."

[howtoactfereldan]

"All right."

If he was watchful before, now Cullen is worried. If this is too much for Alistair --

Well. He was already wondering how Alistair would treat the prospect of being separated for a few nights.

"Take your time."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods, a little. Shuts his eyes.

He's fine. He knows where he is. (The Veil isn't about to tear; not here.) He didn't endanger anyone or make a fool of himself. If they don't find anything on the spot he marked, that's good. That means everyone will stay safe. And if they do find something --

There's a reason Alistair's been assigned to the beginner patrols, frustrating as it sometimes may be.

Gradually, his hold on Cullen eases; his breathing settles. With a sigh, Alistair pulls back.

(Not too far.)

[howtoactfereldan]

"There, now," he murmurs. "Better?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Yes."

He quirks a smile.

With forced, ironic cheer: "So, how's your day been?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Better, now you've returned." No irony here -- just warmth. "Let's get the rest of that off you?"

[bringspeopletogether]

His smile evens out, finding its own warmth in the light of Cullen's. "Solid plan. I like it."

He gets to work on the breast plate's straps.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen moves to assist -- not in the manner that Alistair did yesterday. More... hovering.

(Fussing.)

"I'm all right with plans," he says modestly. "At least that's what they say."

[bringspeopletogether]

A quiet chuckle. "I heard you were so good at plans they even gave you a fancy title."

Breast plate: done. Pauldrons soon follow, then greaves -- and for good measure, Alistair's boots. Not like he has any intention of leaving the tent for several hours, minimum.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Not quite so fancy," Cullen says. He goes to straighten the paper on his desk, leaving one piece in the center. "Nothing like a Double Commander."

[bringspeopletogether]

"That is a difficult title to come by." Solemn.

He trails after Cullen, casting an idle glance to the paper before taking a seat next to his desk.

[howtoactfereldan]

It's a letter, in Cullen's hand. It might take a closer look to read the salutation: Dear Mia.

He stretches, pulling one arm across his chest. "Yes. I've only known one man to have it. Very rare."

[bringspeopletogether]

...Huh. That's -- promising.

Alistair doesn't make mention of it, though; he just draws up his knees, folding his arms loosely atop them. Still solemn, "Whoever earned it must be a very lucky man, then."

[howtoactfereldan]

"He does all right." Cullen gives him a crooked smile. "Has a tendency to steal the covers at night. But that's his only flaw."