Alistair's eyes slip closed; he exhales a long, slow breath. Cullen's weight steadies him against the thoughts eddying around his mind. The scent of elfroot calls up memories of open fields, tall trees, fresh water.

Much better than the feel of that rough-hewn figurine in his hand, all those months back.

He concentrates on his breathing as best he can. Starts to relax, in time, as Cullen's hands do their work.