Well, whaddya know. I don't own these two either.

Somewhere, on a private beach in Rivain, where the moonlight played on the water's surface and the gently rolling waves inched their way up the slope of the beach…

"Dear Greagoir, what is wrong with you tonight?"

Greagoir looked up from his intense scrutiny of the sand beneath his feet, and back to the footprints disappearing behind them. "Oh… Nothing, Irving. Just… thinking."

Irving raised an eyebrow. "The sand can't be that fascinating. You hate it with a passion that borders on unnerving most of the time. Unless you're trying to make sure it doesn't do anything sneaky. What's bothering you?"

Greagoir shook his head. "I'll tell you when I have it figured out. This is something I'd rather not rush."

Irving smirked. "Is this something we should return to the house for? I'd rather you not get sand in uncomfortable places again."

Greagoir actually blushed. "No! Well… I don't know. Maybe. It… depends on some things."

"Such as?"

Greagoir sighed and shuffled to a halt, digging his toes into the sand. "We've been together a long time, Irving."

Irving smiled fondly. "Yes, we have."

"And we've truly deserved this vacation."

Irving chuckled. "Vacation? This is a retirement, Greagoir. We've been here for years and we're both too old to be looking after the Tower now." Then he frowned. "Aren't you happy here?"

"With you, yes," Greagoir said honestly. "But there's something missing. Some… final step that would make this all the better."

"No more sand?"

Greagoir huffed, skirting a crab that seemed determined to menace his bare foot. "No, Irving. Though I'd like to keep it off of my backside. I mean… a step for you and I to take."

A slow smile grew across Irving's face and his eyes twinkled. Perhaps he knew what was coming, but he seemed determined to actually hear it from the former Templar. "Go on, Greagoir. What is it you have to say?"

"I've been thinking about this for a while. Since we moved to Rivain and got away from the Andrastian Chantry." He shuffled around an incoming wave. "What I'm trying to say is…" He sighed and pulled at his beard in frustration. "Maker's Breath, Irving. What I'm trying to say is," he dropped to his knees, "if it's permitted here, would you marry me?" He looked up into Irving's face...right before a wave bowled him over.

Irving bit his cheek to keep from laughing as he hauled Greagoir to his feet. "Yes. Even if they don't Greagoir, you know you aren't getting rid of me so easily." He grinned and pulled the ex-templar into a kiss, listening to the surf and the sounds of the beach all around them.