On his worst days after Adamant, Alistair would fantasize about leaving Skyhold and simply...walking, for as far as his legs would carry him, like a wounded dog leaving its pack so as not to slow them down.

The impulse is more selfish now: I don't want to be near any of this. Including Cullen, until he's sure he's exhausted enough of the anger to think properly.

(If he really were going to walk straight out of Val Royeaux, he'd probably make it all the way back to Skyhold before that happened.)

He's learned to compromise with that urge: those endless laps around Skyhold were good for more than one thing. Alistair strides through the city, singleminded and purposeful enough to clear a path with no trouble. Just keep walking until you reach a border, he tells himself, then turn inward and walk until you hit another. Just like the Skyhold battlements. You'll be fine.

...Unless he crosses paths with the prison. Maker knows how fine he'll be then.





Eventually, he ends up at the docks. Rather than turning inward for the thousandth time, Alistair takes a seat, watching the shimmering reflections on the water split and reform with each ripple.

The sun's lower than he realized, but he's not ready to go home. Not yet.