Okay, this came to mind when I was playing through one of my fem Cousland characters (that romanced Alistair, naturally) and this was what I felt was going on with my dear Anyalla, based on her personality throughout the game. And her closest friends (save for Morrigan) were there to comfort her.

"He's WHAT?"

In retrospect, Anyalla really shouldn't have been surprised that Oghren was so vocal in his protest to the…ahem..."ritual" that her beloved Alistair was partaking in with Morrigan. Though it was clear that his view on the matter was shared throughout the room…despite the fact that she really hadn't explained it yet; she had only said to not disturb Alistair while he was busy with Morrigan. Zevran, who had been gingerly sipping some good vintage wine, had carefully set his glass down and began to slide his dagger from its sheath. Leliana, for her part, was already reaching for her throwing knives. Wynne chose to remain stoic (one would have thought that she was a Tranquil, to simply look at her,) though the crackling blue energy dancing about her fingertips spoke volumes to her anger. Sten quietly reached for his Asala, still holstered at his back. Shale, while having no weapon to draw, clenched her massive stone fists, her face holding the expression normally saved for encounters with birds. She heard Beowulf snarl off to the side where he had curled up beside the fire. Anyalla held her hands up in a calming manner, but Oghren was not having any of that.

"By the tits of my Ancestors, I'll chop his nads off with my bluntest, rustiest axe and make him choke on 'em!" It was clear that this needed explaining before the Dwarven Berserker let his pent up rage out on the poor Templar.

"He is doing this because I asked him to."

Silence.

It seemed as though everyone stopped moving at the same instant; even Wynne's magic seemed to still with incredulity at her words. The young Cousland (soon to be Theirin, now that she thought about it) cleared her throat. "This requires explaining on my part, I know. Allow me to start from the beginning," and so they did. They returned to their seats, intrigued at the turn of events. "The Grey Warden meeting Alistair and I attended revealed…something rather disturbing. The Grey Wardens are needed to slay the Archdemon because…when it is slain, its essence, its soul, enters the nearest body. Were it to inhabit another Darkspawn, it would make no difference; the Archdemon would be born anew. But if a Grey Warden slays it…its soul enters the Warden…and they both die." She heard the soft gasps of Wynne, Leliana, and even Zevran. Sten and Shale chose not to comment, Oghren merely stared in shame into his mug of ale. Beowulf whimpered and lied on the floor, saddened at the prospect. "But Morrigan spoke to me of a ritual that would save all three of the Wardens from having to make the sacrifice- one that required Alistair to lie with her tonight. That is why they cannot be disturbed," with a final nod to indicate that she was clearly done with her explanation, she excused herself to her bedchambers.

The bed was infinitely soft and inviting, and she gratefully sank into the soft mattress as she sat cross-legged reading quietly. Her thoughts drifted from the letters on the page to when she and Alistair had left the meeting with Riordan. The moment the door had shut and they had stepped into the hall, she faintly heard him exhale a shuttering breath beside her. At first, she paid it no mind, but the accompanying rattle of his armor drew her attention. Her eyes widened in surprise as she watched him tremble, his fists and teeth clenched, eyes screwed shut. Never before had she seem him look so…bereft. "I can't lose you," he had breathed as he crushed her to his chest. Before she had the opportunity to respond, his lips had come careening into hers, his hands desperately clutching her as close as he possibly could, tangling in her hair, grabbing her shoulder, roaming to her waist. She, for her part, was reciprocating the act, feeling a sense of urgency, knowing that this might very well be their last night together. "I just…can't, my love…" he had sobbed against her scalp, holding her as if his life depended on it…though it did, in a sense.

"Shh, darling…" she murmured into his neck, tracing soothing patterns on the back of it, underneath a tuft of soft auburn hair. She had opened her mouth to speak, to reassure him, but how could she? Not knowing what to say to each other, they contented themselves with standing there, in the hallway for all to see, kissing, caressing, and staring deeply into the other's eyes. Finally, she managed to find her voice "We should get to sleep…" he had held her face in his hands and pressed their foreheads together, his eyes closed.

"Stay with me…stay…" he pleaded. She nodded, taking his hands and lowering them tenderly.

"I just have to get my things from my room. I shall see you shortly, my love." Of course, little did she know that Morrigan, one of her adopted sisters, offered a way out for all three of the Wardens. A knock on her door pulled her from her thoughts. She shut the book she had intended to read and set it on her bedside table, hopping up to get the door.

She was not prepared for the sight that welcomed her eyes.

Beowulf happily bounded into the room, though the other guests remained uncertainly outside. Wynne and Leliana stood at the front, their faces full of nothing but sympathy and friendliness. Zevran, Sten, Shale, and Oghren were close behind them, all looking as if they felt it their mission to cheer her up. Anyalla fought tears as she saw her dearest friends, her family, come to help her. Wynne spoke up for the whole lot of them, "After what you told us, we grew worried. Are you well, my dear…?"

Anyalla's smile couldn't have been wider.

"Of course I am! Come in, all of you," she stepped aside to grant them entrance. She shut the door behind her, turning and gesturing for them to take seats on the guest couches in the room. Leliana, who had been biting her lip to keep her outbursts quiet, finally spoke quietly,

"We debated on coming to you or not," she whispered, her eyes showing an infinite sadness. "We weren't sure if you wanted to be left alone or not…" Anyalla giggled merrily and gave the bard's shoulders a comforting squeeze.

"All of you are welcome to see me anytime. I don't want you to forget that, ever. Even when this is all over with," though she added as an afterthought, "…except when Alistair and I are…working to produce an heir…"

"Ah, that is such a shame. There is much I could teach the two of you…" Zevran feigned disappointment as a jest: she was his truest friend, and for once, he did not think of her as another potential conquest, and likely never would. He suddenly grew serious after that, an unusual occurrence. "Though, we truly are worried: Alistair isn't betraying you, but that doesn't mean you don't feel hurt about what is happening…" she smiled warmly in response.

"Truly, I do not," her response stunned everyone, their eyes wide in shock. Wynne spoke up after a few moments of silence,

"My dear, you do not have to say such things just to disquiet our concerns," the smile on Anyalla's face never waned.

"I assure you, I am not."

"But he's caboodling with Morrigan!" Oghren blurted, and Anyalla could not help but chuckle softly.

"Yes, but only because I asked him to," she began, her eyes downcast and smoky in thought, though her smile still remained. "I would be lying if I said that my reasons for asking him were completely selfless: I love him. You all know this to be true. But I also have to think of this not only as one of the leaders stopping the Blight, but as one of the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. I want to do anything I can to decrease the amount of blood our allies spill in any way that I can," she lifted her gaze to the rest of them and concluded, "and if that means that I must ask Alistair to lie with Morrigan for one night, then so be it." She looked each of her friends in the eye, one at a time. Wynne gazed at her with admiration for her nobility and honesty, while Leliana merely gaped, clearly stunned that this did not affect her as much as it probably should have. Oghren smirked, letting out a small belch as his voice of approval. Sten and Zevran seemed oddly contemplative, and were silent, until the latter of the two spoke up.

"There are so very few people that think so rationally…" the elf lifted his gaze in sincerity. "And that is truly a tragedy."

"Thank you for saying that, Zevran," she replied earnestly before stifling a yawn. "Though I think it best that we all get some rest- dawn shall come, and we must be ready to greet it." Slowly, the group filed out of her room, but not before each of them stole a glance at her to reassure themselves that she wasn't about to break down and sob uncontrollably. When the last of them shut the door, she returned to her position on her bed, and resumed reading. Beowulf had curled onto a rug he had deemed cozy, and was soon sound asleep.

By the time she had finished reading her current chapter, there came another knock on her door.

Curious, she set her book down on the bed once more and rose to answer once again. 'They must not have believed what-' Before she had a chance to finish her thought, she found herself pressed against a familiar, albeit damp and clothed chest. "Anyalla…" he murmured, the hand not gripping her hip weaving its fingers through her tresses. He pressed her forehead against his, his eyes screwed shut in agony. "I'm so sorry…"

"Why?" That response…was most certainly not the one he had been expecting. Surely she was upset with him…? Angsty moment forgotten, he stared blankly at her, his eyebrow slowly lifting in confusion.

"Err…dear…? Have you already forgotten what you asked me to do…?"

"That neither changes nor answers my question, love."

"Shouldn't you be…I dunno…angry? Upset? Angst-ridden…?" His sincere questions earned him a genuine laugh from the woman in his arms as she returned his embrace.

"Most women would be, I would imagine, but it's a little hard to be any of those things about it when it increase our chance of survival, solves things for the Grey Wardens, and lets me keep the love of my life alive to rule the country, dear."

"Well…yeah, but…"

"Alistair," she lifted his head up so their eyes could meet. "I asked you to do it. And while I'm sorry that you were uncomfortable throughout the experience, in the long run we'll both be grateful we did this. After all, the Archdemon isn't going to slay itself, now will it? And I would much rather have you around afterward to bask in the glory." He blinked at her, unsure of what to say. He had anticipated her being angry, crying…something…but not…so…

"Dear, not that I'm not glad that you're not mad at me or anything, but, most women would have their husbands begging for forgiveness for something like this…" she gave him a flat look in response.

"Most women don't have to worry about ending a Blight, producing an heir, and keeping her newfound family alive throughout the most trying times in all of Thedas."

"…Point taken."

"Believe me when I say that all of this," she gestured with her hand, "is purely a matter of practicality." He chuckled under his breath at her outlook on this, nuzzling her neck with his nose and peppering kisses along her neck, to her collar bone.

"See that, right there? That's why I need you by my side," he began to tug at her armor straps and after some difficulty, they finally fell free, giving him access to more of her bare skin. "After all, who else could possibly be this level headed during times like this…?"

"Well, you could have married Anora," she bit back the peal of laughter bubbling at the completely flat look Alistair gave her in response when he pulled his head back from his ministrations.

"Love, I said 'level-headed.' Not 'power hungry, manipulatively bitchy and sociopathic in mentality.' There's a difference," he reveled in the laughter that finally burst forth from her mouth at hearing Anora be referred to as such. She giggled as he returned to her neck, hands gently tugging at the loose top she was wearing. He smiled into the crook of her neck when he realized that this shirt was one of his. "You know," he drawled, planting to softest of kisses upon her silken skin. "The night's still young…" his lover grinned wolfishly.

"Was your experience so fantastic that you're aroused for the night?"

"Try my experience was so traumatizing I would like your company to wash that…event…away." He noticed that the neck of the shirt she was wearing was so wide, it hung past her shoulder, exposing more of her skin to his eager lips. She sighed happily, reveling in the feeling before forcing her head to work long enough for a reply.

"Well, in that case…" she murmured as she pushed him onto her bed, clambering after him with an eager giggle. "What are we waiting for?"