Slowly, unwillingly, she felt the warmth of sleep slip away from her, replaced by another kind of warmth. The warmth of the wolf pelt and wool blankets surrounding her, and of the large, familiar body pressed up next to her. She stretched, slightly so as not to disturb him, and opened her eyes.

He was lying with her, but he wasn't asleep. She could see his eyes in the darkness, his head propped up on one hand. She should have known from the absence of snoring.

"What's wrong?" Her voice was rough, her words slurring slightly. He chuckled softly and leaned down to press a kiss against her forehead.

"Nothing. I was just, sort of, watching you." She heard his slight embarrassment, and imagined his blush. "Is that sweet or creepy?"

"A little of both?" She squirmed, encouraging the hand that was rubbing her back to move a little lower. They'd done their watch shift already, and the night was still very dark around the edges of their tent. She still felt…warm. "Mostly sweet. I think."

"Good to know." Alistair needed very little prompting, once he got started. She moaned, deep and low, when his fingers slid over her rear and down to the back of her thigh. That was all he needed, and soon she was sweating and panting, and sweet Ancestors' favour, she'd never be able to look Morrigan in the eye again when the witch complained of Alistair's foolish tongue. What a smart, dexterous, lovely tongue—

When everything stopped pulsing and the walls of the tent came back into focus, she became very aware of a strange, muffled sound outside.

Alistair, still pressing soft, wet kisses against her belly, was grinning like a madman. She could see that much. The sound though…

"What is that?" Alistair licked just below her navel, and she couldn't help jerking her hips.

"I believe," he said, almost purring. "That might be applause. I could be wrong. All I know for sure is that I'm definitely not as self-conscious about the possibility as I should be."

"What—" His fingers brushed her knee, then a little higher, and she gasped.

"You, my dearest love, are not nearly so reserved when clinging to the last vestiges of sleep. Or I'm getting incredibly good at that. Either, really, makes me very happy. In a bad, bad way."

She could hear it more clearly now, and yes, it was applause. Not just one pair of hands, either, although it was petering off. Then there was a ruffling at the tent flap, and Alistair had the presence of mind to toss the blankets into a more decent state just as Zevran slipped his head and shoulders inside. Just far enough to make his smooth, bare chest known to all and sundry.

"Mercy, my wardens, I beg of you." His pleading words hardly matched the lecherous expression just visible in the dimness. "If I am not permitted to take part in such fervid lovemaking, at least permit me to watch. I am in such agony."

She sat up, carefully, and felt Zevran's eyes follow the edge of the blankets where they shifted over her body. Alistair was sitting up beside her in an instant, draping his arms over her like a shield and growling low in his chest.

"Alas, dear Zevran, in this I cannot assuage your pain." She would keep it light, so as not to drive the very large, very naked man next to her into a physical confrontation with their companion. Levity also helped her get past the burning embarrassment of having the sounds of her pleasure carry to the rest of camp. "Alistair is very wary of sharing the secrets of his skills."

"But sharing is so good for the soul—" Alistair moved as if readying attack, but she managed to hold him back. Her blankets slipped, revealing far more than any of them had been expecting, and Zevran gasped something in Antivan that was probably very complimentary.

"Out," Alistair snapped. "Before I beat you to death with your own arm. Out!"

Not one to be so easily ruffled, Zevran bowed deeply. "As you wish. I shall continue to suffer under the weight of such cruel refusal until I expire. Good evening, my gorgeous tormentors."

The tent flap dropped closed, but it took a few moments for Alistair to calm enough to lie back down. Finally she coaxed him back into a comfortable cuddle, encouraging his natural inclination to hold her as closely as possible.

She pressed a kiss against the side of his throat, then stretched up a bit and nipped his earlobe. "You're still more than a little proud of yourself, aren't you?"

He nodded, relaxing a bit more. "I really, really am, yes."

She laughed, not even trying to keep quiet. If Zevran was determined to hear a show, it wouldn't matter how low-key they tried to be. They lay like that for a few moments, and then she remembered that she'd actually had a coherent thought between the sleeping and the sex.

"You were watching me sleep." This, she did whisper. With any luck Zevran had retreated, and if not, then hopefully he was considerate enough to realise what really wasn't his business.

Alistair made a humming sound, as if confused. "See, you made that sound like there was a question in there, but you never really asked one." She frowned and pinched his nipple. "Ow! All right, all right—peace, dear lady." He snatched up her hand in defence, then pressed a kiss against her knuckles. "I was, well, I was wondering. What it's like for you to sleep. I mean, when you dream."

"Without entering the Fade, you mean."

"Yeah." Alistair cleared his throat, glancing away into the shadows of the tent. "I just realised that I sleep next to you every night, and every night I enter the Fade, and you don't. I know you dream, normal dreams I mean, not just the nightmares. Sometimes you twitch and murmur like someone dreaming— but I've never asked what it's like."

She was silent for long enough that Alistair began to fidget. Then she laid her cheek against his chest and started to explain. "I can tell you that it's not like what I've seen of the Fade. It's not so…open. I don't dream of so many things; it's not like the waking world with form and people and creatures." She began tracing patterns across his skin with one calloused finger. "It's always warm. Warm like Orzammar, like the molten rock. Usually, it's too dark to see anything, but there are voices. Soft voices that sound distant and near at once. It feels so safe, most of the time." She glanced up at him, enjoying the rapt expression on his face. "Your people go to the Fade when they sleep and when they die. My people, perhaps, are similar. We go to the Stone."

"You entered the Fade before though." There was something in Alistair's voice that made her very alert. This was a much more serious conversation than she'd realised. "So you can go there. It's not impossible."

"I suppose not," she said, gently. She had an idea of where her beloved's thoughts had taken him. "I don't see why there wouldn't be some way for me to return. I could ask Wynne tomorrow."

"You could, I suppose," and Alistair sounded as hopeful and unsure as a young boy; it made her heart ache. "It's just—" His fingers found her jaw, stroking softly. "We're going to die, tomorrow or in thirty years, or sometime in between. And I, I just don't want to lose you. We've seen the world of spirits, where I'll go, and then I'll move beyond it maybe, if that's how that works, and I don't want to be without you." She smiled, a little sadly, and nuzzled his hand.

"Perhaps the Stone will receive you, my brave Grey Warden, as the beloved of Its daughter. Or perhaps I will travel through the Fade with you. But I promise I will not lose you. I will seek and I will fight Ancestors and spirits or the Maker Himself to find you."

"You would too, wouldn't you." Leaning down, Alistair caught her mouth in a deep, almost painful kiss and she returned it just as fiercely. Whatever was eternal in her, her spirit, knew him. She had no doubt that she would find him, in the end.