[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]

"I love you," Cullen says softly. "We'll be headed home before you know it. It's all right."

Is there anything he could say to help? Anything short of let's leave for Skyhold right now, anyhow.

[bringspeopletogether]

"I love you, too," he whispers; the fingers at Cullen's back curl inward, seeking to hold on tighter. "We'll be fine. A few days isn't -- it's not too terrible, is it."

It's not six weeks. It's not -- to ponder the morbid thoughts that pop up by necessity in wartime -- Cullen dying, or anything of the sort.

[howtoactfereldan]

"Not at all." He runs his thumb slowly over Alistair's cheek. "And we're not making any final decisions until tomorrow night."

Pause.

"I don't have to visit every camp, either. So it might really just be a few days."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. He cracks a tiny smile as he leans into Cullen's touch.

"Not even enough time for the ravens carrying my sad letters to reach you," he says.

[howtoactfereldan]

Murmured: "You underestimate our ravens, Theirin."

A light, brief kiss.

"Write your letters."

[bringspeopletogether]

His smile grows.

Leaning his head on Cullen's shoulder, Alistair wraps both arms around him, snugly, and just holds on for a moment.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen does the same with a soft sigh.








"If it's going to be very bad," he says, "they can get on fine without me. Stone-Bear Hold tomorrow, and then once we're done there..."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair shakes his head.

"I don't want you to go." Soft. "And I don't know how bad it'll be. But...I want to know if I can make it through this. If I can survive a few days apart -- "

Another brief quirk of a smile, more humorless.

"Well. Then I'll know I can survive it."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen nods a little, after a long moment.

"If you're sure."

Quiet.

"If it won't do you lingering harm."

[bringspeopletogether]

No louder: "If I don't feel I can make it, I'll send an emergency raven. How about that?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Good."

He squeezes Alistair.

"I confess that makes me feel better."

[bringspeopletogether]

He chuckles; lets his eyes close. "Good," he echoes. "No more worrying than strictly necessary."

[howtoactfereldan]

The scouts have moved on if they know what's good for them. Cullen doesn't much feel like taking his attention away from Alistair in order to check.

He leans his head against Alistair's, and sighs, quiet, content.

[bringspeopletogether]

Eventually, Alistair pulls away: just enough to frame Cullen's face in both hands and kiss him, slow and sweet.

When it ends, he takes Cullen's hand, and they continue the walk back to camp.




What remains of the day passes peacefully enough. They share a meal; Cullen wraps up a report that landed on his desk while they were out at the lake; Alistair begins his letter to Mia. Cullen already warned you about me, so I'll get right to it, he writes cheerily. Alistair here: Grey Warden, Fereldan, thrilled participant in Yes It's Exactly What You Think It Is, and yes there's probably some nonsense about a Blight and an archdemon in there somewhere, but I'd rather share a ranked list of my favorite cheeses if it's all the same to you.

(He does, in fact, share a ranked list. And that threatened sketch of Cullen with bedhead, though it's more like a stick figure with curls of hair springing wildly in all directions.

And, of course, he includes plenty of reassurances that Cullen really is fine.)




Patrol the next day only lasts until noon. Instead of going straight to their tent once it's over, Alistair lingers by the palisade, trying to pare down the leather scrap into something that doesn't look too terrible. If he had more time -- but he doesn't, and it's doubly important now that he give it to Cullen as soon as possible.

It won't be perfect, but he tries to tell himself that that doesn't matter.

Once he's got it into shape, he sighs, pockets it, and returns to their tent.

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen, meanwhile, walks with Farrow on the other side of the camp, overlooking the river. It's easier to focus on what's coming -- and not leaving Alistair -- when he's got to listen to Farrow.

Dark is falling when Cullen reenters the camp; he goes straight to their tent, removing vambraces and gloves as he does.

[bringspeopletogether]

The finished letter to Mia, sanded and sealed, waits on the desk. Alistair waits just next to the desk; he stands, smiling, and moves to Cullen's side as soon as he appears.

(If the smile isn't as bright as Alistair's usual cheery grin, well. That's probably to be expected.)

"How did it go?"

[howtoactfereldan]

"Well enough."

Cullen's isn't that bright, either.

"We're departing as soon as we can see ten feet in front of us."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods. He rubs the back of his head, mouth twisting away from its halfhearted smile.

"Pretend I said something funny," he says. "I'm having trouble thinking of anything. Can't imagine why."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Hm," Cullen agrees, somewhat absently, as he continues shedding armor. "How was patrol?"

[bringspeopletogether]

"Short. Patrol-like." He smiles crookedly. "Not as dire as yesterday."

He moves to help Cullen with his armor.

"Bodes well, maybe."

[howtoactfereldan]

"Probably, even." A crooked smile as he puts his breastplate on his desk, and bends to get his greaves. "Good. I'm glad."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair nods again.




"I have something for you," he says once Cullen straightens. His tiny smile's only a little nervous. "Close your eyes and hold out your hand a moment."

[howtoactfereldan]

Cullen's brow furrows -- but he's smiling.

He obeys. "As long as it's not a sock full of worms."

[bringspeopletogether]

Alistair laughs, low. "Nothing of the sort, I promise."

A soft pressure starts at the back of Cullen's wrist; moves upward, circling around it. Alistair's fingers brush against his pulse as he ties whatever it is into place.

"All right."

When Cullen opens his eyes, he'll see a small leather bracelet, perhaps an inch wide. Alistair's no craftsman: the paring could generously be called rough-hewn. The first and last third of it have been split into strands and braided to form the band.

The middle third...

That lays flat, and there's a small design carved into it with the same faintly clumsy earnestness as the rest of the bracelet. A series of half-arcs nest around each other like petals; two leaves frame either side.

It is, rather unmistakably, a rose.

[howtoactfereldan]

It is, without question, absolutely perfect.

Cullen looks at it, eyes very wide.

"You... made this?" he asks, low, wondering.