The slow but consistent sound of water dripping from the walls and the stalactites onto the already dampened stone beneath it was soothing enough to put the Warden to sleep. Her vision grew dark as her thoughts and her heart grew heavy thinking about everyone she left behind.

A Few Months Earlier

The Warden's hands cupped the face of her fearsome Mabari, coat freshly groomed from his last set of paint and bandit blood covering it, "Who's the cutest war hound around?" The Warden cooed in her best little kid voice.

RRrruffff. Barkspawn responded and then rolled on to his belly in ready anticipation for some (what he thought at least) well-deserved belly rubs. The Warden was more than happy to oblige.

"He's in. My spot." Alistair feigned annoyance and lunged for a free spot on the edge of the bed before Barkspawn could leap up and defend his companion. With Alistair on his hands and knees face to face with the Mabari in an intense stare down to decide who commands the space on the bed, Alistair began to feel uneasy, as if his victory may have come too easily.

Barkspawn began raise his hindquarters and lower his head to his front paws that were now covering Alistair's hands on the bedspread.

"This will be good," remarked the Warden with a smirk as she sat back against her pillow.

"What do yo-" before Alistair could finish his suspicion, the Mabari had him flipping over in the air and landing deftly upon the Warden in a heap, head to her chest.

Panting the dog leaps from the bed to find a space of his own, as if to say My work here is done, you may have her for now.

Alistair moves his legs to the inside of the Warden's and proceeds to bury his face in her chest. Dff prff mrfgh. He spoke in muffled tones, the exhaustion showing clear through his shoulders. The Warden began to rub along his bare shoulders in attempts to release the tension.

"Tell me all about it," she mused playfully with a wry smile as she ran her fingers over his scarred and worn skin. She began to think about all the battles they have seen together, through the hordes of darkspawn, the dragons, and worst of all, the Orelsian nobles and their parties.

Drrf Grgh Mrrff Brref. Alistair rolled in a quick motion so he had the back of his head propped against her breasts and was set between her legs, hands on her bare knees. "You know what I mean?" He said with a light chuckle, rubbing his thumbs over the scars on his wife's knees.

My Warden-Commander, my wife, my Queen, my love. Mine. After all this time, through the Blight, the battle of Mage's and Templar's, masquerade parties and the Game, and now demons and the Rift in the sky. What else can Andraste throw at us? Alistair thought absently as he nestled closer to his wife.

The Warden gave her husband a chaste kiss on the cheek and broke him from his reverie, "I don't know what else to do with Caileigh," she sighed, rubbing his stiff shoulders.

"You mean aside from give her up for adoption or drop her off at the Kirkwall Chantry?" Alistair asked in his jovial tone, earning a pectoral slap from his beloved.

"Hey now!" He exclaimed, flinching, "I was only kidding… About the Chantry party, that place is obviously out of the question!"

Alistair made his last remark and quickly caught the hand of his wife as she made another move to berate him for his morbid humor, and whirled around so he was straddling the Warden with both of her hands gripped in one of his own.

"Now if Barky could just stay out of our room, I may actually win," Alistair said under his breath with a smile, and stole a kiss from his lady who struggled beneath him. "Stand down Warden-Commander," he bellowed in a deepened voice, "for I have captured your beloved Queen!"

The Warden opened her mouth to speak but was abruptly cut off by Alistair's free hand flying to her lips to hush her, as he clearly had planned all this dialogue out long before this moment and needed to be sure it all goes accordingly.

In a high-pitched, yet scruffy voice, Alistair says, "Oh please, do save me, for I am without, My Love." Alistair removes his hand from his wife's mouth to drape it dramatically over his forehead, "The wondrous and heavenly King Alistair," he says in a breathy voice as he places his free hand upon his broad and clearly puffed out chest.

The Warden lied under her husband, amused and laughed at his ridiculous monologue comparing his own eyes to Holy Water of Andraste. By the time he had finished his scene, the Warden and Alistair were laughing and kissing in each other's embrace.

When the laughter died down and they lay touching noses, side-by-side in bed, Alistair asked in a quiet and defeated tone, as if he already knew the answer, "Do you have to leave?" The Warden's gaze rose from the hair sprouting along her love's jawline, to his deep protruding eyes, and back down to their hands clasped between them.

Quietly, and breathlessly, as someone who is tired of fighting, "You know I do," she closed her weary eyes and toke in a sharp breath, "No one else will, and you and Caileigh are worth staying around for." She looked back into his eyes, searching for something, at the least, acceptance.

Alistair toke a hand and brushed back his wife's blonde hair, letting it drop from her shoulders to lay behind her, and caressed her scarred cheek. "We will miss you my love." Alistair choked back tears, "Maker's breath, even with sadness in your eyes, you are beautiful." He pulled her in for a kiss, this time it was a long passionate kiss, of loss, pain, and hope. He smoothed his thumb across her cheek to catch her tears and pressed the Warden closer to him in his embrace.