Alistair was asleep and dreaming of whatever it was that ex-Templar kings dreamt of, when an odd sensation woke him up. He opened bleary eyes and looked up into the determined face and bleak eyes of his beloved. She had a straight razor at his throat.

He swallowed, audibly.

"Um. Elissa? What are you doing?"

"Shaving you."

"You what now?"

"I'm SHAVING you."

"Maker's breath Elissa. WHY?"

"I need you to live."

Gingerly, he put a hand up and gripped her wrist, pulling the sharpened razor away so he could sit up. "What on earth are you talking about?" He regarded her suspiciously, maybe the whole archdemon/queendom/saving the country thing had taken its toll on her senses.

Elissa looked at him, quite seriously, the effect spoiled by a stray fleck of shaving foam on her chin.

"I've worked it out. It's really quite logical. Think of all the Grey Wardens who died. Duncan, Riordan. What did they have in common?"

"Um. They were faced with overwhelming odds and had to battle hordes of darkspawn or take out the archdemon on their own?"

She frowned. "No. Don't be silly. They had BEARDS."

He blinked. Beards? What the…

"Don't look at me like that. You know it's true."

He blinked again, jaw working as he attempted to articulate his complete and utter bewilderment. "Ah, love, I'm not entirely sure that's the case."

She pursed her lips. "It IS the case, and I AM shaving you. I will not allow you to die because of facial hair."

He sighed, and rolled his eyes – discretely. "But I LIKE my facial hair. It's… manly. And dashing." He peered up at her. She still looked unswayed. "Ladies love it?"

She snorted. "It's going. And that's final." And holding his chin in a vice like grip (he winced), she wielded her razor with a surgeon's precision at the offending bit of fluff on his chin. She smiled in triumph as clumpy bits of hair and foam fell onto his chest, and wiped them off with a damp cloth.

"There!" she said. "Now you'll be safe!"

"Yes, my love," Alistair said resignedly. "Now if I could just… wait. What are you looking at? Elissa?"

She was looking at his abdomen thoughtfully. At the trail of hair that emerged cheekily from the waist of his sleeping pants, and wound its way upwards over his belly button. She tapped her finger against the razor and her expression changed as she reached for the shaving foam again.

"Got to be sure," she muttered.

His eyes widened in horror and he gibbered as he backed as far away from his demented wife as he possibly could…