Her fellow Warden is sleeping fitfully when she makes the rendezvous at last, and Elissa Cousland does her best not to disturb him, maneuvering through the cave in the half light on rogue feet. He stirs briefly as she passes the sleeping furs on her way to the makeshift desk he'd set up against the rocky wall, and she takes a moment to take in the sight of him. Her eyes trace the set of his jaw, the stubble gracing his face, the bags under his eyes, the furrow of his brow, the grit of his teeth. He's sleeping in most of his armor; they both do these days.

She has to bite back a chuckle when she sees that her lover is, quite literally, hugging a wheel of cheese to him. He must have been trying to wait up for her, and her stomach does a little flip in concern that he hadn't eaten before he passed out.

Tearing her gaze away - it's too tempting to lean down and try to kiss his worry lines away - she pads over to the supplies stacked by the desk. He's done well for the two of them, she notes appreciatively. They'll be alright for a few more weeks without having to scrounge more coin, and she starts to relax in increments as she sifts through the papers he's left out for her. Various notes in his tidy hand; a handful of letters from friends and family, most of which she knows by heart; pages ripped from books; all will have to wait to be read when she can light a torch, or day breaks.

For now, Elissa is content to join her love in an attempt at restless sleep, but she lets out a quiet curse as her knife belt jangles a little too loud as it hits the floor.

Alistair is up in an instant, hand already on his sword before he sees her. "Maker, you're a sight," he breathes, tossing the cheese and blade out of his way as he scrambled over to claim her in his arms. "What time is it?" His voice is low, husky from lack of sleep, and the kiss he presses to her forehead is perfection.

"Late. Go back to sleep," she whispers back, catching his mouth with hers for an all too brief moment. She knows he won't, for the same reason she can't. They've been apart too long, and his hands are already working on her buckles.

He pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck, breathing her in. Today she smells like the road, horse sweat, wet dog, and the bitter tang of spilt blood. It's glorious. "I missed you. And Barkspawn. Where is he?"

Elissa shrugged, fingers tugging at the laces of his breeches, well practiced despite the absence. "Out hunting his dinner. Did you eat?"

"Enough. You? I missed you," Alistair repeats, pausing her efforts long enough to kiss her hands. She's still wearing her gauntlets and he gets more of the cool metal of knuckle guards than warm leather for his effort, but she grins regardless.

"Enough," she echoes. It's a lie, and he knows it. His is also a lie. The song buzzing in the back of their heads makes it hard to enjoy food but thankfully it gets drowned out by the song in their hearts when they're together.

They aren't together nearly enough, and it stings.

Alistair turns her around and gives her a little shove toward the furs and she chuckles, falling to her knees without instruction. They've done this numerous times by now, in any number of indistinguishable caves across Thedas, that it's a little routine. But Elissa craves the habit they've slipped into; craves him constantly if she lets herself. This is easier.

She's slipping her trousers and smalls down as he frees his already hard cock with a wry chuckle, taking the chance to enjoy the curve of her arse. At least, what little of it he can make out in the strained moonlight. The routine bothers him a little, but time between them is always far too short, the need for their individual safety too high. "I missed you," he repeats again, always repeats it far too much, knows one of these days she's going to punch him for saying it too much. He says it again anyway.

"Alistair," she growled out, half a warning and half a demand, wiggling her hips as she waited on all fours for him. "I missed you too."

He breaks out in a grin at that, kneeling behind her. "I think I'm starting to forget what you look like naked." Alistair moved the fabric and chainmail of her tunic up enough to kiss the small of her back then nipped at her arse, enjoying the small moan she let slip. She's already wet; waiting. Her body always responds to his.

"That is a shame, love." She doesn't let him continue teasing, reaching back to grab his hips. "We'll have to find a more defensible position then, let you get reacquainted."

"Promise?" He breathed out, hilting himself in a smooth motion, making her drop her hands back to the floor. Distance and time will never change the way they fit together.

She gives another little wiggle, adjusting herself to him, drawing out a low groan of need. It's something they've brought up before, but caves are easier to find. Throw a stone in Thedas; you've found one. And most don't contain Darkspawn tunnels. Buildings tend to spell trouble, ramshackle or otherwise, with the people they can attract. An inn is out of the question with their Warden armor a clear indicator of what, if not who, they are.

It's not just an issue of safety, though. Time is the ever present enemy, more pervasive than the Calling they work so hard to ignore. There simply isn't enough of it to enjoy each other properly.

He starts to rock against her, gentle, but gentle never rids them of the song and it's not long before he's bruising and fierce, her hands gripping the furs, knees scraping the rock, thankful for the padding sewn into their boots, biting back their moans. He tries, bless him, to help her along, the rough leather of his gloves working small miracles, but it's not enough. It's never enough.

He has to use one of his gloves to quiet himself as he spills into her, and it tastes like her disappointment. It never fails to upset him as they scrabble to redress, the fear of discovery ever present, that there isn't enough time. She deserves more, and he tells her that every time with hurried kisses and nervous laughter.

"Maybe we should have kicked Anora out of the castle. You'd be a pretty good queen."

"Neither of us wants that life," Elissa sighed, pulling him down into the furs with her, one hand checking that her knives are still in reach. Alistair is already putting his sword back, gazing regretfully at where the cheese wheel rolled off to.

"No, but, imagine us getting to do it in the throne room! You-" he cleared his throat as they settled in to attempt sleep "-deserve a throne."

"Or at least a bed," she giggled, fingers stroking the stubble peppering his jawline. "I think I'm pretty happy with your lap as my throne, though."

"Oh," he breaths, nuzzling into her neck, breathing her in again. She smells like sweat and him as she lies there, and there's a beat before he says "oh" again, chuckling into her skin. "You're filthy."

There's a small whine from the cave entrance indicating that Barkspawn is back and settling down to keep watch and they cling together, elated and despondent. Sleep comes in snippets, and by dawn Alistair is alone.

It's three weeks and one missed check-in by her before they're together again, and he's awake when she gets to the pre-arranged nook. Alistair doesn't even bother with hello, leaps right in with I missed you and a breathless kiss until Barkspawn tangles between their legs. Grey streaks in his brown fur glisten in the candlelight as Elissa laughed, and the Wardens pet the faithful hound for a moment, eyes never leaving each other.

He's managed to shave since she saw him last, and his almost clean face looks younger for it. She's nursing a bruise below her left eye that he kisses tentatively, adoringly, before letting her examine the letters.

"There's one from Leliana, it was waiting when I got here. I bet her birds could find me in a trunk in a locked room in the basement of a thaig in the deepest part of the Deep Roads, it's unnerving," he shivered, grinning at the laugh it pulled from his love. The grin faded as she read the note to him, though.

"Loghain sacrificed himself in the Fade for the Inquisitor. They're deciding what to do with the remaining Grey Wardens; exile or conscripting them to aid the Inquisition."

They're silent for a while before she pulls off her gloves, needing to feel him, pulling his head down to hers, foreheads touching. Neither talks about how that makes them two of the last senior Wardens. Neither talks of returning to Weisshaupt. Neither talks of responding to the letter.

She's reaching for his belt, desperate for him, when he does talk. "What an asshole."

Elissa sighed, fingers moving back up to stroke the worry from his face. "He was a good Warden, in the end."

Alistair relaxes against the warmth of her fingers, grabs her hand to press a kiss to each of the digits in turn. "Like I said, asshole."

She rolls her eyes, fingers ghosting down his arms as she pulls away to return to the stack of papers, and Barkspawn curls up at her feet. Alistair watches her until he can't stand the silence any longer and throws his own gloves behind him as he wraps his arms around her. Burying his head in the crook of her neck, taking long breaths, I missed you and I love you and I need you and Don't leave me jumbled up together. She smells like honeysuckle and rain and those little dog biscuits they always make sure they pick up for Barkspawn. It's heaven.

He's desperate, hands searching out her skin beneath the mail they wear almost non-stop, needing to feel her. Elissa grinds backwards with a small keen, shutting her eyes tight with a ragged exhale as he manages to make his way past all the layers. She can't remember the last time they touched each other without some layer of clothing in the way, and she tries to shake away the sting of salt in her eyes. "Alistair," reprimanding him for facing away from the cave entrance, for being inattentive to their surroundings, but Barkspawn has them covered.

Thank the Maker for that old hound.

The Mabari padded over the entrance to stand guard as he forced her to lean forward on the desk. It's selfish, but he doesn't want her to grieve. Doesn't want himself to grieve, either. They've lost enough. He pulls her knives free from her belt, removes his sword to lay on the ground beside them.

He remembers almost losing her. Multiple times. His fingers dig into her hips at the thought and she moans impatiently.

None so bad as that frenzied moment atop Fort Drakon. Hoping beyond hope that Morrigan was right, that the ritual with Loghain had worked. And still, Elissa insisting on being the one to strike the last blow against Urthemiel. He'd tried to convince her then, to make the risk of sacrifice for her.

She'd refused him with tears in her eyes, and he knows she's crying now.

Alistair can't stand the thought of her crying for Loghain.

He's rough, too rough, pulling her breeches down, giving her no warning before sliding himself into her, slamming her into the wooden crates masquerading as a desk. Elissa makes a strangled noise as he takes her and this time when he wishes she were naked beneath him, it's so he can sink his teeth into her collarbone, make her hurt like he hurts at the thought of her shedding tears for another man. The thought that one day, she might have to shed tears for him. Or worse, that he'll be shedding them for her.

Her arms are shaking as he takes his pleasure. It's not the first time they've made love like this, the slap of skin and the creak of wood, and she feels guilty for enjoying it. She misses long nights in their tent tracing the lines of his body, tangling her hands in his hair, but she needs the pain of his frustration right now, the tears fading.

"'Lis," he finally pants, the clink of his breastplate against the chainmail of her back as he paused too loud, making them both wince as he stood heavy over her. "Tell me what you're thinking."

She tries to squirm, to look at him behind her, and she's greeted with the sight of his golden locks, his head buried in her armor. It can't be comfortable, and she tries to push him back a little, but he doesn't relent and keeps her pinned. "I'm thinking you need to finish fucking me, love."

He chuckles, but she knows it's not a laugh that would reach his eyes. There's a small groan that escapes him as she shifts again, and he reaches forward to lace their fingers together. "You're terrible."

Barkspawn's yawn echoes back to them and Alistair snorts as she shakes with mirth. "Apparently we're being terribly boring."

"Can't have that." His hands leave hers reluctantly - Maker but he misses her and the little things like holding hands - but travel back to her hips quick enough. It's hard not to move against her, but his unencumbered fingers find where they're joined, and he passes the callused pad of his thumb over her bud. It's even harder not to move against her when she grinds back as a result and he hides his moan in her armor.

Alistair is determined not to disappoint his lover this time and he applies gentle pressure in waves, gritting his teeth against the desire building back up in his gut, willing himself to still and put her first. He loves this woman, he has to remind himself, loves all the little things and the big things about her too, and one day he's actually going to be able to look at her face while he fucks her. It's the agreement they made, though.

Fast and impersonal, his pleasure over hers, rough and quick and nothing else. Just enough to ease the tension. Not enough.

Never enough.

He could hold her for an eternity and still need more.

She anchors herself on her forearm, bringing her other hand to help guide his. Even for all the time they've had together, he's not skilled when he's rushed. She doesn't, would never fault him for that. So she helps him take her to the edge with a stifled mewl, tumbling over as he slides out to hilt himself again, groaning quietly with the effort as she clenched around him.

He has to laugh, soft and husky against her back as he chases her climax with his own, and he risks palming her arse with his bare hands as he withdraws. Maker, but what an arse it is. He blushes a little, remembering Wynne teasing him for his appreciation of her swaying hips. "I love you." I missed you. Don't leave me.

She laughs with him, sweating in the cool cave air as she swats his hands away to redress. "I love you too, Alistair. You know this." Stay with me always.

"It's still nice to hear, 'Lis." He presses a kiss to her forehead, holding her close. "How's the hunt going?" It's not avoiding the earlier topic. It's not.

She sighs, frustration sneaking back in despite the much needed release, and slips away to gather their gloves from the floor. "Dead ends, I'm afraid."

Pausing to make sure Barkspawn is just resettling, not responding to a noise, he grunted. Satisfied the old hound was just stretching, he sought to reclaim her hands before she put her gloves back on. "You'll find something. I know you will."

She bites back a whimper at the contact, covers it by pressing a kiss to his cheek. "We will," she relents, padding back to the makeshift desk to reclaim her knives and his blade before they attempt to retire for the night. "You and me, Alistair."

He's awake long before dawn, the Calling a niggling noise in the back of his head, and she's already gone. She usually leaves first. They hadn't talked about Loghain, in the end.

They don't talk about Loghain the next time, or the time after that.

The third time they meet after receiving Leliana's letter, she's sporting a nasty looking cut above her left eye. With Barkspawn on guard duty again - Maker, bless that dog - Alistair dragged his fellow Warden to a small stream near their chosen cave. His hands shake as he wets a small strip of cloth to clean her wound, and when they kiss it's filled with need and unspoken worries. She smells like fear and rusted iron, and he wants to dunk her in the clear water until they both run clean.

The time after that, he doesn't show, and Barkspawn lies at Elissa's side all night, snoring gently.

The next time, he'd just arrived when he heard a twig snap. Wheeling around with his sword drawn and shield up, he's instantly relieved to see her sheepish grin, light rouge step defeated by a stray piece of wood. She runs into his arms before he has a chance to drop the blade and his shield awkwardly digs into her back, but she doesn't care. He smells like eldermoss and leather; earthy and home.

She has to wait, the time after that, and cleans her blades in the interim. Barkspawn lies at her feet, ever faithful, ever attentive, and his ears catch the footfalls before she does. The old Mabari is up on his feet with his whole body wagging with joy when Alistair finally makes it in, carrying a brace of rabbits. They clean and cook them together, sharing the food with the hound, the three of them curled up together on the sleeping furs. He smells like the forest he was hunting in and the fire they had to extinguish all too soon, and she breaths deep until she falls asleep.

It's an imperfect system, they know. But he had insisted on coming with her despite her desire for him to stay safe in Ferelden, and this was the safest way for them to both travel. They could ditch the armor that clearly identifies them as Wardens, but their faces still identify them as the Hero of Ferelden and Maric's bastard son, and the armor is safe and familiar. Sometimes it helps. Sometimes it saves.

They wear it to bed every night without a second thought.

He gets another letter from Leliana when they meet next; the remaining Wardens from Adamant are aiding the Inquisition. Loghain has been 'buried' as a hero. They are closing in on Corypheus. Is what they are working on really so important that they can't come help.

Elissa sighs as she reads the words, curled up against his side. "Even if we could, they'd probably be done by the time we got there."

"Yeah, but then we could enjoy the after party with none of the horrific bloodshed that goes along with it?"

His words draw a chuckle from her and she reaches up to brush an errant lock of hair back into place for him before tracing the scar on his left cheek. "And it would be nice to give Barkspawn a break from guard duty."

"Oooh, and a bed, my love. A big one, room for all three of us."

"And here I thought you enjoyed waking up to rocks digging into your back."

"Mm, not as much as I miss waking up next to you with the sunlight playing on your face."

She's quiet for a moment, biting back the urge to fall apart. Their chestplates clink against each other as he adjusts his hold on her, and he breaths in the scent of elfroot and embrium - she must have been foraging recently. Elissa waits as long as she can once he's finally asleep before calling Barkspawn to them, whispering to the hound.

When he wakes, the dog is staring back at him, and it's not quite what he wants, but he loves her all the more for the gesture.

He misses the next rendezvous, but he has Barkspawn and she isn't worried. She is delayed enough that making the next one is near impossible for her, and she elects to avoid it, better to push on and make the next one, she thinks. Her hunt for a cure is as yet fruitless, and it's wearing on her.

One misstep, and she almost breaks her ankle. One stumble in a fight and she receives a nasty backhand.

Her head's still ringing from it and the Calling, insidious, but she's never been happier to see Barkspawn as when the hound tackles her to the ground, flying from the cave entrance in a single bound. He slobbers all over Elissa's face until he's chased off by Alistair, who doesn't even bother to wipe off all the drool before kissing her himself. His beard - and it is a beard - is shaggy and tickles.

Too long. It's always too long.

Five minutes would be too long, he thinks, pining her against the cave wall, tongue delving into her mouth. But five minutes would be more bearable than the five weeks it's been; he breaks away with a frustrated snarl, stamping away from her to pace by the crates-come-desk. "I missed you."

He says it too much, he knows.

But she's the only woman he's ever loved, and the only one he ever wants to love, Maker be damned, praised, whatever makes it happen. It's been too long.

"Elissa, there's an inn maybe two miles away."

He doesn't stop pacing, can't. Needs her in his arms and under his skin. Having Barkspawn at his back for five weeks only made him feel guilty that the dog wasn't at her side, that he wasn't at her side.

"I bought normal clothes, we can stash the armor, I just can't spend one more night with you in a filthy cave and undarned socks and rocks and no fire and the moisture, Maker."

She doesn't respond, just watches him stalk back and forth. Elissa knew it would get too hard to bear for one of them; she'd just kind of assumed she'd fracture first. But her lips start to quirk into a smile as he rambles. He's got a plan, so he's not that broken.

"I know it's dangerous for us but I'm going to lose my mind if I don't."

Bringing him to a halt, she kissed him deeply, tousling his hair. Running the leather of her gauntlets across the birdsnest gracing his face. "Let's go."

Alistair had acquired - with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows that made her think that there hadn't been money or permission included - travelling clothes for himself and a dress for her. The fit wasn't perfect, especially not after so long in custom fitted armor, but she didn't let it bother her, strapping her knives to her thighs, tucking a blade up her sleeve, offering him one for his own. He left the shield - the order's emblem was a little large to be considered discrete - but kept his sword, and after packing a light bag to sell the traveler cover, they reluctantly left Barkspawn to watch the rest of their things and set off.

He's a little giddy on the walk, cracking bad jokes, wondering if the inn will have his favourite cheese, stopping periodically to stare at her and her swaying hips - Andraste preserve him, he's missed her - before jogging to catch up and slip his hand into hers. It's been months - longer? - since they were anything but Wardens struggling with the Calling, and it reminded them both of their original travels, the early days of getting to know one another.

So it's not quite two miles but he drags it out, happy to be able to talk to another human being on the road; happy to have her by his side again. And out of her armor, no less, he has to laugh, congratulating himself. He's been holding on to that blue dress for a while, trying to find an excuse. It's the same colour as the Warden blue, a colour he loves on her. She'd stolen the belt from his armor to cinch the waist when he left her to get changed, and her fingers play across the leather when they aren't occupied with him. They walk slowly until grumbling bellies and setting sun mean they can't delay anymore.

Elissa lets him do the talking when they get to the inn, utterly unsurprised to discover he'd already talked to the innkeep about the possibility of stopping by for the night. They take dinner in the candle-lit room provided, simple fare but delicious for the company, and almost enough cheese to keep Alistair happy. Paired with Ferelden ale - out here, so far away from home it's a pleasant discovery - they eat slowly, enjoying the warmth of the hearth burning on the wall opposite the bed. She flinches slightly when the innkeeper's wife brings them steaming water for the bath with a knowing grin and apologies for interrupting the two love birds, but relaxes when she sees Alistair's grip on his sword loosen, returning her own hidden blade to her sleeve.

They laugh quietly about how jumpy they are after the woman leaves, before taking turns insisting the other bathe first. She wins and pushes him to the bathing room but he's back in an instant with a wolfish smirk on his face. The bath, he proudly states, is big enough for the both of them. Elissa hesitates so Alistair checks then double checks that the door and windows are sealed and locked, pressing kisses to her cheeks every time he passes her to do so, and once he's satisfied he grabs the ale jug and tips the last of it into their glasses, taking them into the bathroom.

When she follows, he's already shed his boots and his shirt hangs open, dagger and sword within easy reach of the large metal tub. And it is big enough for the both of them, steam coiling above the water, inviting, another hearth blazing in the room. She smiles shyly at him and accepts her drink, draining the last few gulps quickly under his gaze, annoyed at herself for being afraid and nervous. Afraid of being found, being caught. Nervous because it's been so long since they've seen each other naked.

If Alistair shares her concerns, he doesn't show it. Raising his glass to her he follows her lead, draining his in a few pulls, setting it aside carefully once he's done to unlace his breeches. Elissa digs around for the soap and by the time she finds it, Alistair is already reclining in the tub, a lazy and content smile on his face. "Are you just going to stand there admiring the view?"

She chuckled, stride steady as she walked back to him, slipping his belt off and earning herself a low whistle from him as she unsheathed her daggers and knife. Toeing off her boots and thick socks, she kept her gaze on her lover as she pulled the dress over her head. Alistair reached out over the side of the bath to pull her to him when she hesitated, pressing a kiss to her exposed side.

"I missed you," and he winced, prepared to be hit, for it finally to have been one time too many.

But she just sighs, cheeks flushing, mumbling his words back to him, his lips searing her skin. She distracted him by tossing the soap into the water and while he's searching for it slipped out of her undergarments and into the bath with him, a shy smile gracing her face as his eyes flit over her body.

He grins back before insisting she turn around, then sets to work washing her hair. He's done it a few times in the past and he's slow and methodical, careful not to pull any knots, brushing it out with his fingers, massaging her scalp. Elissa lets him, leaning forward, listening to him hum as he worked. It's not a song she recognizes, and she wonders briefly where he learned it.

Then he's finished all too soon, pressing a bearded kiss to the back of her neck, hands wrapping around her torso to lay against her belly, pulling her back to lay against him. She's thinner than he remembers, but he knows he's thinner too, a consequence of their life on the road and hunger quelled by the Calling. They lie for a moment in the warm water, relishing the skin to skin contact, Elissa drumming her fingers over his hands until she can't take it anymore.

"You need to shave." It's past ticklish to scratchy and it makes him look old and a little homeless. He just laughs.

"But it keeps my face warm!"

She groaned in irritation, flicking water off her fingers in Alistair's face until he releases her and relents. Her deft fingers grab one of the blades from beside the tub, and he passes her the soap. She works quicker than he would have, practiced, removing the offending facial hair with quick flicks of her wrist, tilting his face this way and that to make the job easier. Alistair watches her like a hawk, re-memorizing the soft lines of her face, her brow drawn in concentration, the tip of her tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she laboured. When she's finished, he tangles a hand in her damp hair and pulls her in, bruising her lips with his hunger. The blade clatters to the floor and water sloshes over the side from his haste, but all he hears is the needy whimper that escapes her.

Then all he hears is his own needy growl, those deft hands trailing down his torso, under the water, stroking his arousal. Like he needed the help. She's grinning against his lips and releases him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

He knows this game. It's been a while - a very long while - but he knows. They displace more water as he slips his hands under her and stands, pulling her legs around his waist to clamber out of the tub. It's not... Graceful, and she chuckles then moans as he stumbles her into the wall, apologizing. She kisses the words out of his mouth, shaking her head, no apologies necessary. The wall is much smoother than the caves, and his chest much nicer to be pressed against without two heavy metal plates in the way.

He hums in response, much nicer indeed. He carries her to the bed slowly, carefully, hands not wanting to leave her arse to feel the way. Throwing her down is contemplated, but he doesn't want to break her hold just yet, so he turns around so he can sit on the edge, keeping her on his lap. "Your throne, my lady," he chuckles, trailing a line of kisses down her jawline, down her neck. She's still damp and so is he, and the sheets stick to him a little uncomfortably, but the hearth is doing a wonderful job of keeping the room warm.

She giggles in response, his length hard against her stomach, and she strokes the now smooth skin of his cheek with one hand, the other snaking down to grab one of his. He's always enjoyed her bottom - it's part of what makes their usual arrangement work so well - but he's worked so hard to give them this opportunity that she doesn't want him to miss a millimeter of her skin. With a gentle tug, she trails his hand up to cup her breast, enjoying the groan it wrests from him. She nipped his ear lobe before whispering teasingly, "problem, my king?"

He hates it when she calls him that.

But he also really enjoys it.

They should really visit Denerim sometime, so he can take her on the throne, Anora be damned.

Alistair flips their positions with ease, warrior-trained muscles barely flexing with the effort of getting her on her back. He shook his head in response to her question, adjusting himself momentarily before kissing her, deep and longing, his arousal twitching slightly as his hand drifted down between her thighs, seeking out her heat. He relearns what he's never forgotten, every curve, every faded scar, every place that makes her twitch and moan. He rediscovers what makes her buck her hips against him, what makes her moan and cry and beg, using his fingers and his mouth, praying to the Maker and Andraste for bringing this wonderful woman into his life.

He finishes her with his hand and a satisfied chuckle as she bit her lip to hold back her moan; old habits. He waited just long enough for her to still beneath him again before withdrawing, pressing another kiss to her thighs, then working his way back up to her mouth before pulling away to lay next to her. Her hair's still damp and she's got a sheen of sweat, but the bathwater has evaporated. "Maker's breath, love, I promise to forget the sight of you more often," he laughed, a deep and happy sound.

She hummed in approval as she climbed on top of him in a straddle, pressing a kiss to his lips before claiming the hand he'd been torturing her with. Making sure she had his attention, she sucked each finger clean of herself with a wicked grin, feeling him stir and buck beneath her, pink dusting his cheeks in the candlelight. "I think you forgot yourself, Alistair."

He's about to respond when she grasped his cock, pushing back just enough to take the tip, and all he can manage is a low rumbling growl in his throat. His hands flew to her hips, trying to pull her down, trying to pull himself up, but she resists him, eyes bright in the candlelight. Then, slowly, tracing patterns on his chest, she lowered herself back, watching his eyes flutter closed for a moment. They snap back open when she wiggles and deliberately contracts around him, and he lets out a breathless laugh.

She stays on top, teasing and slow for a few minutes, counting the scars on his torso to make sure there aren't any new ones. He runs his hands over her arse, up to palm her breasts, back to her arse, gives her hips a squeeze, pulls her down by the nape of her neck for a long, languid kiss, but always back to her arse, making her laugh.

It's music to his ears, far better than the bitter buzz that plagues them when they're apart, and he can't help the frown that slides over his face at the thought of her slipping away in the night to continue her research.

"No sad thoughts, my love, not tonight." Like she can read his mind, she runs her fingers over the furrow of his brow then kisses it away. He hums appreciatively for the up close view of her breasts, planting a few kisses of his own before she pulls away. "Do you need it rougher?"

He glanced away, ashamed for a moment of his need and for it's obviousness to her, but he knows she wouldn't offer if she didn't want it herself. And rough is always better when the bitter buzz lingers. A nod is all the warning she gets before he sits up, grabbing her thighs and flipping her to her back again. Sending a quick thanks to the Maker, to Andraste, to whoever for there being a bed, he takes the control she lets him have and slams into her.

Elissa can't help the sharp cry as he makes her take all of him, hard, punishing. But she needs it as much as he does, wrests a groan from him as she makes him cup her breasts. Alistair ground his hips down into her, before catching her hands, pining her wrists to the mattress. He knows, if she wants, she can break his hold and be free in a heartbeat, but she trusts him not to use his strength unduly and he never does. Even at his angriest, neediest, he always makes sure she has enough control over him.

She loves him for it, and a thousand other things.

He laughs when he's spent, releasing her wrists and pressing hurried, thankful kisses to her mouth, her throat, her collarbone, mixed with I missed you and I love you. They drag themselves under the covers, shivering despite the warm air, and cling to each other. Elissa strokes his hair until he falls asleep with a content smile on his face. They smell like each other, and she has to blink back tears as her lips ghost over his forehead.

When she's sure she won't disturb him, she tiptoed on light feet to get dressed, grabbing his socks from the heaped pile in the bathroom. Examining them - it was amazing they could still be called socks, they had so many holes - she had to chuckle. She slipped from the room to see if the innkeepers wife kept a needle and thread anywhere that she could borrow.

The fire was burning low when she got back and Elissa shrugged off her clothing before rejoining Alistair, nuzzling into his side. He tensed until his hand ran across her bare skin, then relaxed, rolling on his side with a sleepy smile. "Where were you?"

"Nearby. Just thinking." She bit her lower lip, mad with herself that he'd noticed her absence. But he had been getting a lot better at tracking her, even when she used her rogue skills. It made him a better warrior in the field, at least.

He grunted, pulling her close, entwining their legs to trap her. "No thinking. Just sleep."

"Yes, love." She kissed his nose lightly before ducking her head under his chin, breathing in the scent of him as his hands traced patterns and words on her back.

It didn't take long for his scrawled I love you's to become a little more insistent despite her drowsiness, and she chuckled into his chest.

"I'm sleeping, Alistair," she mumbled.

"Good," he grumbled back, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. Sleep tainted his voice and he punctuated his show of affection with a yawn, but still his fingers continued.

"Mm, love, did you need something?"

"Marry me," was his response, one hand trailing down her side. She moaned slightly as callused fingers slid between her thighs, and she could fell him stirring in reaction.

"And what will the Order think of a Warden-Commander marrying her subordinate?" Elissa nuzzled into his chest again, planting a kiss against his bare skin.

"Probably the same thing they think about her bedding him," and his voice was husky, more than just sleep. He sighed as she traced a path down his side, matching the one he'd drawn with a shiver.

"What do I get out of marrying you, love?"

Alistair chuckled, deep and gravelly, pulling his hand away. "A grand party. A cake. And cheese. Cheese cake?" When she glanced up at him he raised an eyebrow and graced her with a sleepy smirk. She gripped his arse in response, eliciting a gruff Maker's breath from him.

He played coy for a few minutes more before she pretended to roll away to sleep and then, for the first time since they'd come west, they made love; slow and sleepy. They fell asleep shortly after he had finished, tired and spent and content, still entwined, mumbling I love you's back and forth.

She awoke to bright mid-morning light and no Alistair. For a moment, she panicked, but he'd placed her blades close at hand and when she rolled over to sit up, she found a scrap of parchment crinkling under her arm.

Elissa,

I love you. Don't be mad. The innkeeper will bring you breakfast and a fresh bath. It's all paid for.

I got to see the sunlight on your sleeping face again. I could die a happy man, having you by my side. Don't worry though, you'll be stuck with me for a while yet. I love you.

I miss you.

I'll leave Barkspawn, he's happier travelling with you, no one to challenge his snore champion status. (Be careful, love, I worry is scratched out)

I love you. You just kicked me in your sleep.

I love you. Remember Shale telling me I pawed my nose when I sleep? You've been doing it too, it's adorable.

I love you. Did you fix my socks? Maker's breath, woman, I do not deserve you. I didn't even know you knew how to do that. Wynne did it for me a couple of times. Did she teach you? I really don't deserve you.

I'll see you soon, 'Lis. I'm going to buy you a hundred dresses. A thousand. A hundred thousand and one. You looked really (beautiful pretty are scratched out) beautiful.

I do miss you, terribly. We should get married, I was serious. Cheese cake and all. I want to be with you forever, you know that, right?

I love you.

-Alistair

Her tears threaten to smudge his careful handwriting and her shaking fingers threaten to rip and crumple the parchment so she set it aside, bringing a pillow to her chest in its place. I miss you too.

The bath isn't nearly as enjoyable as the night before, but it does feel good to be clean from tip to toes. The food sits heavy going down and she saves most of it for the road ahead, but she loves Alistair all the more for thinking to take care of her.

When she reclaims her armor from the cave, Barkspawn watches as she slips the letter into her breast pocket under the plate, nestled with other scraps of parchment he's left her and dried rose petals.

There's ten days until they're due to see each other again. Ten days to find another lead for the cure.