Cullen doesn't want to talk -- not about heavier matters, not about lighter ones like tiny trebuchets. Quiet seems to be the order of the evening.

Alistair counts the beats of Cullen's heart beneath his palm. Lets them match up to a melody in his head -- some tavern song or another he heard in Redcliffe years ago. Absurdly, despite the Fade being long past, he finds it easier to fall asleep with Gru standing guard...or, well, probably snoring in his bedroll already, if he's being honest. Still: dogs can hear far better than a man, and their teeth are as sharp as any blade.

He doesn't do much but drowse, though. If Cullen needs him for anything -- anything -- he wants to be ready.