Carefully, Alistair eases himself down onto the edge of the bed. There's not really anywhere else to sit. Maybe the chest off to the side there, but the bed's a little more comfortable.

(It's four steps from the bed to his weapon. Three, maybe, if they're big steps. Call it a second and a half before he has the knife on hand, if need be; sitting on the chest would push it to two seconds.)

"It'll get easier." Very quiet. Add that to the other refrains he only believes half the time: it's okay; it's safe.