Mmm, Sand. One of my problems any time I write a long story is that the characters want to be together far earlier than I allow them, and sometimes I have to give into little vignettes like this to keep everyone happy. This isn't how it will go in Sand and Sun, of course, but it's a fun little alternate 'what if'. Yes it's cheesy, yes it's purple and lemony, yes it's fluffy, but I still hope you enjoy it!

"As Ambassador to Luskan, I demand the satisfaction of trial-by-combat, as is my right. This… person… has slaughtered innocents in our lands, and we will see justice done!" Torio Claven's cold, angry words played over and over again in Sand's head as he paced his lab, trying to wrack his mind to find a way to help Gwyn, or… just… Argh. I don't know. I don't even know why I'm so worked up; I'm not the one who is going to fight in the morning.

Unless… he had a split-second thought, then his logic surfaced. Are you mad? Not a chance. There's no way you're going to offer yourself up as her champion! You're a mage!

She's a mage, too. And I'm far, far more skilled than she is.

No. No, no, no… not a good idea!

Yes, because I'm going to care about anything else if she gets herself killed.

Throwing himself into a chair, he put his head in his hands. I won't care about anything if she's killed. As ridiculous as it is, as unadvisable – I love her, and I don't care. I can't let this go, I have to do something.

Looking up at the grandfather clock, he saw that it was still mid afternoon, and knew that she would not be allowed visitors until nearer to – or after – sunset. And he knew that several of her other friends would likely rush to her side first; he didn't know what he was going to do to settle this, but he certainly didn't want anyone walking in on the conversation. Especially when she rejects me.

Egads, Sand. Are you really going to walk in and declare yourself?

Do I have another choice?

His logic stayed silent, and he got up with a sigh. Moving to his workbench, he did the only thing he ever could do in such a situation – he turned up the small adjustable flame beneath his beakers and began to measure out ingredients.

Several hours later, he had at least two of every potion he could even think she might need, from healing potions to potions of mental fortitude, and even curatives – because I know how Luskan works, and I will bet you any amount of gold that there will be poison involved. I don't care if she knew that lout Lorne once, his eyes are those of a fanatic. He's Luskan's, now. He forced himself to take the time to clean up, eat dinner, then clean himself up, and by the time he found himself in the streets before the Temple of Tyr, the moon had already risen.

Quietly opening the door, he looked around, his eyes adjusting easily to the dimly lit interior. He'd only been in once or twice, and never for such a situation; he supposed he'd just have to find one of the brothers and ask to see Gwyn. Before he could get halfway to the altar, however, he saw Casavir come out of a door in the far wall, close it behind him, then straighten his shoulders and walk towards the exit – and the elf. The paladin was halfway through the room before he noticed Sand, as he was obviously preoccupied with his own thoughts; he started a moment, and if anything his frown deepened slightly, but he then nodded. "She is in the back, farthest door to the left." Pausing, he looked almost as if he wished to say more, but then shook his head. With a quiet, "Good luck," he left the temple, and Sand blinked.

I never even thought that the others could or would offer as her champion, but it makes sense. Khelgar was probably the first in, and of course Casavir would. He'd have done it no matter what, even if it had been Shandra, or Grobnar, or likely even me – but we all know he's in love with Gwyn. The thought made him feel uncomfortable as he walked slowly towards the door. Obviously, I'll be relieved if anyone fights in her place – although Grobnar would just get himself killed – but… I don't want Casavir to be her champion. It's foolish, but I don't.

His logic snickered. Jealous?

Yes, yes, I am.

He took a deep breath and carefully opened the door Casavir had so recently closed. It slid open silently, and he could see a long, low room, with an altar to Tyr against one wall; there were a few chairs, and a few cushions, but no other furniture. The far end opened out onto a balcony and Gwyn stood on it, staring up at the moon, her back to the door; she gave no signs of having heard his entrance.

Seeing her form against the moonlight, all rational thoughts left his head, and all he could think about was the fact that if she faced that giant of a barbarian from Luskan in the morning, he might never see her silhouette again. Putting one hand on the altar, he shook his head. "…just go. Leave the city, flee. Don't fight tomorrow!"

Gwyn spun around. "Bishop, I already told you-"

His heart sank further. Of course Bishop was here too. He wants her as much as Casavir does, though I'd rather see her with the paladin than trust her in the same room with that wolf. He shook his head as he saw her eyes widen when she realized that it was Sand standing there, not Bishop. He gave a wry, weak smile. "So I've stooped as low as Bishop, then, in telling you to flee?"

She nodded, slowly walking towards him. "Although with you, I know you must have some reason, unlike… that man."

He winced. "You'd… be surprised." He refused to answer her questioning look, then, and instead held out the small sack of vials. "Potions. If you're going to fight, use them. Never hesitate to use such as within your hands in such a combat. As much as we may wish that the gods would award victory to the just, you and I both know that Luskan will stoop to anything. You're within your rights to use any spell or weapon in your arsenal."

She nodded, flushing as she took the bag from him. "Yes, I… Casavir was here, and he explained the rules of knightly combat to me."

Sand also flushed at this. "Yes, I met him outside." He turned, running a finger along the altar. "You do still plan to fight, then? I'd have expected him to offer to stand as your champion."

Her flush deepened and she half-turned away. "He- did. He offered himself both as my champion, and…" she paused, taking a breath, and Sand found that he couldn't breathe.

"Yes?"

"He says he loves me."

And in dallying so long with my feelings, I have lost her. Sand's fingertips were icy as he tried to keep his voice steady. "And have you accepted him as your champion?"

Gwyn shook her head. "No. As I told him, this is my battle, and I will fight it, and I will win." She trailed off and he silently begged her to continue, to answer his unspoken question, but she remained quiet and he realized that he would have to ask.

"What about-" his voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "What about the rest?"

She was still for a long time, then shook her head, turning her whole body away from him. "No. I don't return his feelings, and I can't. Even if he loved me truly – and I think, in the end, I'm not the one for him – I couldn't love him as he deserves."

The relief from this almost staggered him, although the nagging voice of his logic was quick to point out that it could very well indicate that she felt the same way about him. For once and for all – or at least for a while, he shoved his logic into the back of his mind and locked it away. In a voice almost breathless, he quietly said, "Let me fight - let me fight for you. I don't want that maniac to touch you, and you know I can win."

She tensed up, shaking her head. "I can't, Sand. I already told you, I have to do it myself. I'm sorry, but I can't accept you as my champion." Her voice sounded strangled, and oddly enough, he felt vaguely reassured.

"Can you accept my love?"

If Gwyn was tense at his first question, she froze completely at his second. She was still for so long that his heart dropped again, and he was steeling himself to turn around and walk away – you idiot, you knew she was going to reject you – when she turned very slowly. The look on her face was one of sheer incredulity.

"I never thought you would mock me in such a way, although I don't know how you knew."

Sand's voice was unsteady as he gave a short laugh. "It is no mockery, I assure you – I never lie." He paused. "But- know what? What do you think I know?"

She looked up at him, her silver eyes – Mystra, they take my breath away – troubled. "That I love you, and have for so long. I had hoped you'd never know, for I couldn't stand the idea that you might scorn me for it."

For a moment, Sand's brain refused to process what she was saying, but once it did he had to drop his forehead to her shoulder to hide his face. His voice was muffled, but there was a wry, amused tone of relief to it. "Nonsense, how could I scorn you for having the good sense to fall in love with someone as intelligent and dashing as I?"

He could feel her relax and she pushed him away a little, so he straightened up, looking down at her. Her eyes searched his face. "No jokes. You're telling the truth? You love me?" He merely nodded, and that was finally enough for her. Her shoulders slumped and she put her hands to her face, beginning to cry.

This gesture was Sand's undoing. She never cries – not when she speaks of the loss of her friends, or tells of her father's coldness, or even when she's accused of the murder of an entire town. She's always so strong, I can see her iron will keeping back the tears. Oh, you foolish little sorcerer... He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. "Don't cry. We've little enough time before this heinous event, there are better things for us to do."

His intention had been to test her spells – at least her defensive and evasive ones – to be sure that her barriers would hold; as a mage, it was all he could do, without interfering in the battle itself. But when she looked at him, her eyes asking for what he'd long since forced himself to stop thinking about, he couldn't help himself. Dropping into a sitting position on the floor, he pulled her into his lap and kissed her.

Her lips were dry and tasted of tears, but he didn't care. He'd woken from so many vague dreams over the past few months of her, and he realized now that this was why – he'd wanted her, wanted to hold her, wanted to kiss her, to taste her – to possess her.

She was just relaxing into his arms as a thought struck him, and for a moment, he pulled back. "Do you expect anyone else tonight?"

Gwyn looked confused, then thoughtful. She shook her head. "No. Everyone who's going to come has already done so, and I really don't expect Qara."

"Meh, no one expects Qara, but I see your point." They laughed and his lips sought hers again, and this time they were already waiting for him.

Concentration, breath control, and patience are all elements of successful spellcasting. They also, as a side effect, contribute to an amazing kiss, and both Gwyn and Sand were excellent spellcasters. Some time later – she had shifted in his lap so as to be practically lying across it, and his robes were more than a little dishevelled – Gwyn pulled back, giving a glance up at the altar that they were slowly slipping beneath. "If we're hoping for some measure of godly intervention in this duel tomorrow, do you really think this is wise?"

Sand chuckled breathlessly, kissing the skin on her neck that was revealed when she turned her head. She whimpered, and he smiled. "I personally don't think they care, but if it bothers you, there's always the balcony."

Looking towards it with a dubious expression, she blinked. "Think it's safe?"

"My dear, neither of us together weigh as much as a paladin of Tyr in full plate."

She glared up at him as he smiled down at her. "You know what I mean."

In answer he stood, picking her up – no mean feat for a mage, even if she was smaller than he – but then, it was a perfectly acceptable use of a strength spell, in his opinion. She raised an eyebrow at him, in another half-glare, and he chuckled again, then snagged a cushion before walking towards the balcony. "Let's see."

It was warm spring outside, and the only thing that could be seen from the terrace was the garden behind the temple – which was blessedly empty, although full of glorious scents and the rustling of the wind through the roses – and off in the distance, the Tomb of the Betrayers. The moon shone down, and Sand set Gwyn to stand in front of him. "An empty garden, and a large balcony. What do you think, milady?"

Her response was to turn back to the balcony doors, closing them quietly. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her deeply, and together they sank back down to the ground. He slowly started to unbutton her robes, sliding a hand in to stroke her ribs. She shuddered against him, and he began to kiss down her jaw, continuing to peel away her robes until nothing remained except the moonlight against her pale skin. Taking a moment to look at her – smiling as he saw that her blush was not limited to her cheeks – he began to kiss down her body, from her neck, to her chest, and down her stomach.

She shuddered again, whimpering softly – or not so softly, as he hit some of her ticklish spots. Finally, she took a strand of his hair and tugged. "Stop."

Sand looked up, unsure. "Is there a problem?"

She smiled slowly, releasing his hair to tug on his robes. "Equality in all things, don't you think?"

He chuckled again, though he found himself blushing as well. He unfastened his robes – with some aid from her – and she smiled as he turned to lay them to the side, so as not to dirty them any more than they already were. Turning back, he looked down at her, his expression a mix of insecurity and amusement. "Well?"

Gwyn's lips twitched. "Not too bad, after all, I think. Especially for a wizard."

He pressed himself against her, lips moving to her ear. Licking it, he murmured, "Oh, my poor ego, you wound it terribly, you dreadful sorceress."

Groaning, she wrapped her arms around him. "Funny, you don't seem to be wounded."

He smirked. "That's not my ego, love."

Sitting up, he cradled her in his lap, using the cushion to prop the both of them up. Her legs straddled his hips, and as he found her entrance – oh Mystra, so wet – he began to push into her, her hands on his shoulders, her forehead resting against his. It was far tighter than he'd imagined, and soon he knew why. His eyes widened as he realized that this was her first time, and he was about to pull back when she gripped his shoulders tightly, kissed him fiercely, and pushed. With a rush he found himself hilted inside her, and although she was gasping, tears on her cheeks, she did not pull away.

It took all of his willpower to hold back long enough to tilt her chin so that their eyes met. "Gwyn..."

She shook her head. "Don't make me say that this may be our last chance," she choked out.

The memory of tomorrow flooded back into his head and his arms tightened around her. Biting her jaw, he began to thrust up into her, her feet flat on the stones at his back, her hands clawing at his back, although she was careful not to tear at his skin. He kissed her again, returning her fierceness, and slowly, rolled her down against the cushion until he was kneeling between her thighs, her calves gripping his hips. Wrapping his hands around her waist he began to thrust again, no longer waiting, or hesitating, but instead meeting her own thrusts, frantic whimpers and soft gasps with groans of his own.

Feeling the tension growing in his thighs, he reached down between their bodies. Finding her small pearl with his thumb, he began to stroke it, and a very little later she tensed beneath him, gripping him with her knees, her arms, and every part of her body as she climaxed, shuddering. At her quiet cry he gave a final, deep thrust, spilling inside her.

It seemed to last forever, but finally he slumped over her, falling onto one elbow, and then dropping to his side. His thoughts were so fractured that he was barely able to piece together enough to be glad that her robes were there to keep the chill of the stones away.

Slowly, she straightened up and moved over to rest against his chest, looking up at him. He smiled down at her, stroking her hair. "Win tomorrow, because this cannot be the last time."

The characters belong to Bioware, except for Gwyn, who belongs to me.