It's like clay warmed in a potter's hands, slow and steady, becoming more pliable with each touch. Alistair's whole body is still taut -- but, after a time, he puts his head on Cullen's shoulder with a quiet sigh.

Maybe it was darkspawn, remarks a nasty voice in the back of his head. Maybe that's why Cullen didn't hear anything. And now they're coming straight for the Warden they've found, ready to tear both of you apart.

Alistair's come back to himself enough to give that thought a calm kick in the shins. If it were darkspawn, he would've sensed them ages ago -- and he'd still be sensing them now.