Cousland wakes up cold, but not alone.

There's something moving beneath him before there's anything in front of or around him, and there's a slight sense of awareness before anything else. He can feel the familiarity of earth's bumpy road underneath his body, but they aren't reaching him directly, as if he's only floating atop them. Items, boxes, miscellaneous things made entirely of wood enter his consciousness next. When he manages to grasp that concept, he then recognizes the group of wooden crates stacked against the wall opposite him. Finally, then, he remembers the cold. It's icy, when it hits him, but not quite as shiver-inducing as it should be, and he doesn't quite know why yet.

Before he can even register what he's saying, he manages out something about time.

Alistair replies, quietly, that they're about an hour's time away from Orzammar, and then mutters something about patience.

Cousland makes a quick retort, but judging from the vibrating snort Alistair responds with, he doesn't think it was all that witty.

Warmth. That's the next thing he registers, and there's something pleasant and almost kind about the thought of it. It's close, but he can't quite pinpoint where it's supposed to be. Next to him, he would think. As if attached to him irreversibly. Something about where he is now urges him to stay as completely still as he possibly can, though, so he can't find the strength in him to shift and move around to confirm his theory. He feels himself melting into this unknown warmth, mind becoming fuzzy and unable to concentrate amidst all the pleasantness and peace that he has awoken to.

His eyelids are heavy and his face feels cold as he begins to drift back to sleep, breathing already becoming deep. The last thing he sees is a white shadowy breath materializing in the icy air. He can only focus on his breathing after that, but then focusing on his breathing gets interrupted by focusing on Alistair's breathing, which is more normal than his and out of sync and much less soothing than listening to his own breath. Cousland contemplates nudging him, telling him to stop breathing so bleeding loudly and start breathing in time with him so he can get some peace and quiet and finally sleep, but reckons that's too odd a request for a man to ask his fellow Warden. Then again, they have asked stranger things of each other.

The out-of-sync-breathing offender makes an inquisitive noise, which can only mean that Cousland actually managed to mutter some of that request aloud. He stirs, tries to communicate something coherent, stills again.

Alistair tells him he doesn't understand Grumble, could he try another language?

Not bothering to open his eyes, Cousland tells Alistair to go fuck himself in Orlesian, to which Alistair replies that he can't wait to hear what Leliana thinks when he asks her to translate that for him.

Cousland just grins before falling asleep to the sound of Alistair's breathing, annoying as it is.

"Goodnight, Jack."

A/N: ...My Dragon Age moods come really randomly, I swear.

This is about as close to a drabble as I'll ever get. I think I was inspired by the sudden drop in temperature around these parts. Stupid October.

Not making any promises about future misAdventure updates, but keep your fingers crossed; I might have some temperature-related inspiration in the near future.