Sleep is for the weak. Alistair is weak. (Or he has nearly a year of tossing and turning and nightmares to make up for. Or both.) But down here he manages to sleep less like a rock than he has been on the surface, periodically opening his eyes to scan the bedrolls and make sure everyone is present and accounted for, the watch is still being kept, the fire isn't at risk of burning out. And when he wakes up feeling vaguely alert, he heaves himself up and stumbles to sit next to Adelaide, bag in hand.

However mild and respectful his dislike, it is dislike. He isn't here for a friendly chat. But he does start with, "Are you all right?"