This isn't working. His breath's coming faster; he's not moving to stretch his legs, but to keep moving, propelled by the anxious fluttering under his ribs. Alistair rubs his hair, fitfully, and throws a glance up at the loft.
He's not going to go running to Cullen like a child after a nightmare. He's not. He's been getting better. He can work through this on his own.
Maybe if he goes up the ladder, though, and just...sits near it like he used to do when he first came to Skyhold, that'll be all right. He'll be able to keep an eye on everything there. If he starts to fall asleep, he can always go back downstairs.
Five minutes later, he's taken up his perch.
Even when the sky starts to lighten, he sits there: the fluttering doesn't let him sleep anymore.
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He's not going to go running to Cullen like a child after a nightmare. He's not. He's been getting better. He can work through this on his own.
Maybe if he goes up the ladder, though, and just...sits near it like he used to do when he first came to Skyhold, that'll be all right. He'll be able to keep an eye on everything there. If he starts to fall asleep, he can always go back downstairs.
Five minutes later, he's taken up his perch.
Even when the sky starts to lighten, he sits there: the fluttering doesn't let him sleep anymore.