Alistair pushes himself to sitting, leaning heavily against the headboard. He drags a hand over his hair, then down his face as he lets out a long sigh.

It's always going to be like this, isn't it. he thinks. It feels like all the exhaustion of that poor night's sleep has landed on him in a single thud. He aches everywhere. There's no 'getting better after the war.' It's just this.

No telling when Cullen will be back. Maybe he should make some breakfast. Tea, at least.

Or he could just stay in bed a little while longer; that works, too.