*Whew* Totally intended the flashback to be one chapter, but things got a little out of hand. Sooooo, enjoy the TWO chapter flashback. Both are considerably longer than usual, so brace yourselves :)

Thank you so much for all the reviews, story/author alerts, and favorites. You guys rock my world!

Definitely rated M for sexy time. If you don't want to read anything like that, skip these next two chapters. You're not missing any plot, I promise.

For those of you who DO want to read some sexy time, read on! Just in time of Valentine's Day, lol. Me, I'm off to take a *cough* cold shower :P

Sierra leaned against the cave wall near the entrance and looked outside. The heat from the fire washed from her heels to the nape of her neck. The cave concentrated the fire's power, filling the space with welcome warmth. The chill of the mountain weather could not reach them. Not tonight.

"You are missing the party, no?" came a smooth voice.

Sierra turned to look over her shoulder, and smiled warmly at Zevran. She looked beyond him briefly to see the scene around the fire.

Leliana's voice complimented the voice of her lute perfectly as she played a quick-paced Ferelden tune. Alistair twirled Wynne around in time to the music, and the mage laughed indulgently as they spun. Oghren attempted to clap along, and failed miserably. He burst out laughing randomly and fell over onto his back. Morrigan was keeping her distance, as per usual, but she kept shooting glances at the festivities. Sten steadfastly ignored the whole thing. The mabari hound bounced excitedly around Alistair and Wynne.

The warrior turned her attention back to her fellow elf. "I just keep getting distracted. It's so beautiful." She gestured with her head to the still falling snow.

"Ah, yes. Well, if it keeps up much longer, we will be digging our way out of here come tomorrow." The elf made a disgusted face. "Then, I think, you will not like it so much."

"Perhaps not," she acknowledged, "but for now…"

"For now, it is beautiful. I will grant you that." The assassin's eyes glinted. "It is not the only thing that is beautiful."

Smiling ruefully, Sierra wagged a finger at him. "Keep your hands to yourself, Antivan. I'm spoken for."

Zevran smirked, his silvery hair dyed gold by the fire's light. "Indeed? I had no idea. One could easily be mistaken."

"And how could such a mistake be made?" she asked, laughing. "We are not exactly discreet."

"I disagree. You must be very discreet, indeed. Are you quiet then, my dear Dalish? Such an interesting revelation. You struck me as more…demonstrative."

"Oh, Zevran!" Sierra reached out and twisted a few tendrils of his hair around her fingers. Giving a little tug, she winked. "You'll never know, will you?"

"Well played, Grey Warden!" the assassin laughed, then held out a flagon for her. "This dwarven ale is barely drinkable, but it will do its task adequately."

She took the flagon. "What task is that?"

Zevran blinked in innocence. "Why, the task of bringing about revelry, of course!"

"Well, in that case…" Tossing her head back, she took a good, hearty gulp. "Oh, you're right. That's awful."

He narrowed his eyes. "You did not hesitate. Did you not consider that, coming from me, it might be," he leaned closer, lowering his voice, "poisoned?"

Blinking at him, the warrior shrugged. "No. Not even for a minute. You are a better man than you pretend to be, assassin." She took another swig and smirked at him. "Besides, I beat you once. I don't doubt that I could do it again."

"Such confidence," he purred, but his eyes were troubled. "I must take my leave. This Ferelden 'music', it pains me. Perhaps our lovely Leliana knows some Antivan songs."

"Take this swill back to Oghren, he seems to enjoy the taste of it." Sierra held the flagon out to him. "I'll find revelry on my own." Her dark eyes looked past him, to the fireside.

He glanced over his shoulder to follow her gaze. "Ah, yes. Perhaps tonight, I'll have my answer about your capacity for volume."

"Perhaps you will, lethallin."

The elf stiffened. "What did you say?"

Sierra felt her cheeks pulse with sudden heat. "Forgive me, I meant no offense. It's just, well, you're the only other elf around and-"

"What does it mean?" he demanded.

"Friend."

If possible, the troubled look in Zevran's eyes grew stormier. Bowing low, he took the flagon from her. "Let me assist you in your quest for revelry, Warden." Bounding away with lithe speed, Zevran interrupted Alistair and Wynne. From where she stood, Sierra could not hear the conversation, but from the elf's dramatic bow and pleading hands, she assumed he was stealing the older mage from the almost-templar.

Alistair handed Wynne over to the assassin with good grace. His gaze scanned the room briefly until he found her by the cave opening. A smile lit his face, and he beckoned her with an outstretched hand.

That face, so open and trusting. That body, covered with dancing firelight. She so rarely got to see him without his armor on that she waited, admiring him from a distance. His linens just barely hid the curves of his muscles, the lines of his thighs.

At her hesitation, his look of simple joy turned to a look more mature. His smile slid into a slyer grin, and he wiggled his fingers.

Ah, she could resist no longer.

When she reached him, he took her hand and pulled her close. "Want to dance?"

"I don't know any of your silly shemlen dances," she told him.

"Oh, I'm a shem tonight, am I?"

Pressing herself closer, Sierra looked up into his eyes and whispered, "Shemlen or no, my heart is yours."

Several emotions passed over Alistair's face, all backlit by a blush. "I- You- I-" He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "By Andraste, you sure know how to make me look like a fool, don't you?"

The elf laughed low in her throat. Standing on her toes, she reached a hand around his neck to pull him just a bit lower. Shems were oh so very tall, especially this one. "Come with me," she whispered in his ear. Sliding her hand down his arm, she interlocked her fingers with his.

"R-right," he gulped.

Sierra led him towards the back of the cave, winking at Leliana on the way. The bard winked back without missing a single note. As the pair passed Morrigan, the witch immediately glanced away, her shoulders rigid. Back a bit further, just around a small curve, there appeared a small pocket in the cave wall. Inside, it amounted to a small, secluded room. The fire's influence barely reached inside, letting only a bit of light in. But there was light enough from the few candles perched on stony shelves.

She watched him take in the candles, and the thick fur she'd spread on the ground. He swallowed hard, then said, "Been planning something, have you?"

Shrugging eloquently, she responded, "More like…hoping for something." Raising their intertwined fingers, Sierra kissed his hand. Moving slowly, her lips traveled over his wrist, down his forearm.

Sucking in a sharp breath, Alistair's head craned back to look at the ceiling. "What did Zevran want?"

"To try to get me drunk," Sierra answered, lips at the inside of his elbow. "Didn't think you noticed."

"I always know where you are, especially if Zevran's in the vicinity."

"Jealous, are we?"

He scoffed. "Not a chance."

Smiling, she continued past his elbow to the inner side of his upper arm. A sudden urge to playfully sink her teeth into his biceps seized her, but she restrained herself. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him off. "Are you deliberately trying to chance the subject?"

"Perish the thought, madam," he said, eyes still on the ceiling.

As her lips reached his shoulder, the elf slid her hand under the edge of his linen shirt. Oh so lightly, she dragged her nails across his abdominal muscles.

"Maker's breath, woman!" he gasped. At his sides, his hands snapped into fists and his head wrenched down to look at her with wild eyes. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Kill you, dear one?" she echoed, blinking innocently. "Whatever can you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" he blurted out.

Sierra slid her other hand underneath his shirt. Following the top of his pants all the way around with both hands, she pressed her fingertips into the muscles on either side of his spine. "Well, if I know what you mean, and you know what you mean, then there's no confusion, is there?"

"Will you stop that?" he begged. Reaching behind him, he grabbed her hands and pulled them out. "I can't…think while you're doing that!"

"Kind of the idea," she laughed, low and quiet.

He groaned in desperation. "Stop, please, with all of it!"

"If you insist." She wiggled her hands within his grip. "I'll behave myself. You can let go."

He dropped her hands like they were on fire, and backed up a few paces. Shoulders hunched like he expected a blow, the almost-templar's chest heaved with deep breaths.

Feeling her heart hitch in her chest, Sierra suddenly realized she may have made a huge error in judgment. Her stomach fell down to her feet. Oh Gods, let this be salvageable! "I'm sorry if I upset you," she said, falling back a pace and crossing her arms to hold in the hurt in her chest.

"Oh, Maker, please…don't look at me like that," he pleaded, eyes wide. His body remained tense, but he held his hands out in supplication.

The elf did not come any closer. Not yet. She would be sure before she proceeded any further. "If you don't want to…"

"That's not it, at all!" he half-shouted, candlelight highlighting the desperation on his face. "I must sound like a fool," he sighed, resigned. Alistair widened the circle his arms made. He didn't need to say anything. His body made the invitation clear.

Putting one foot in front of the other slowly, Sierra closed the distance between them. She kept her arms crossed, though. It was only when she stood almost toe to toe with him that she saw the fine tremors humming across his body.

"You know I've never done anything like this…with anyone. I was quite sheltered, after all. I care for you so much. Whenever I think of this, I feel like a bumbling idiot, all hands," he said in a rush. "I wish I could be better at this…I want it to be right." Reaching up, he tried to pry her arms off her chest, seeking her hands. "Sierra, please."

At her name on his lips, she was powerless. She dropped her arms and took his hands. "I think this is as right as it gets," the elf managed with a small smile.

"With the darkspawn on our heels, death awaiting us at every turn? Sure, why not? Hot," he laughed, and a great deal of tension leaked out of his body. "I don't know. I'm willing to give it a shot, if you are."

Gesturing around the room with her head, she was unable to stop the laugh that bubbled up. "Yes, I'm willing."

"Right," he snorted, rolling his eyes at himself. "I'm going to…stop talking now."

"Well, don't stop talking all together. There are certain words I'd like to hear from you."

"Like what?"

"Oh, anything invoking the Maker or Andraste is a good start." Sierra slipped her hand under the edge of his pants a bit, and dug her nails into his hip. Hard.

His knees buckled slightly. "Your desire is my command," he breathed.

"Mmm, good boy." In one smooth motion, she pulled his shirt off and tossed it on the floor. Absently, she traced some of the scars across his chest with her fingertips. "Let me know if I push you too far, do something you don't like."

"Don't think that's possible," answered Alistair, voice tightly controlled.

She bit her lip as she kept tracing the lines of his body. The fine tremors she'd noticed before rippled stronger as her fingers passed by, like the wake of a great ship. His breaths were coming faster, but he left his arms at his sides. Every once in a while, a finger would twitch. His eyes were getting a bit frantic, darting around the room, unable to settle.

"Such discipline, warrior," she murmured. "Would you let me play all night, maintaining your stoic exterior?"

"Don't think that's possible," he repeated, laughing weakly this time. He finally looked at her. Fear, passion, uncertainty, lust. All these and more flowed out of him, pouring onto her. "I want to this be right. Just tell me what to do to…please you. I- I haven't the faintest clue where to begin."

"How about we worry about my pleasure later, and worry about yours now?" she suggested, reaching around him to start running her nails along the muscles of his back.

Eyes widening, he groaned in a half-hearted protest, "I don't think that's very fair. Besides…'later''? Am I going to be in any shape to handle a 'later'?"

Sierra laughed indulgently. "Oh, I've seen your stamina on the battlefield, dear one. I've no doubt you'll be up for a 'later'."

He laughed, too. "Too many innuendos in those couple sentences. Can't decide which to make a joke about. At any rate, I still have no clue what I'm doing."

"What do you want to do?" the elf asked, pressing the full length of her body against his. Oh, yes. He was up for something now…definitely.

"Oh, Maker. I…I don't know!" he said frantically. "Just tell me what-"

"No," she refused, firmly but gently. "Figure it out, darling. Just…let go. Give in to it, what's pounding through your heart."

"Oh, it's pounding all right," he assured her. "But I don't know what to do with it. I can't think around it. Please, just order me around!"

Sierra closed her eyes briefly. It took all of her considerable willpower not to pounce on that suggestion like a blighted wolf. But no, his first time should not be dictated by her. "Maybe this will help you…let go." Stepping back from him, she pulled off her shirt and threw it at him. It landed perfectly, draping over his face.

He stood there for a few moments, not moving, face hidden by her shirt. She bit her tongue to keep from giggling. Definitely not the time for it. Finally, slowly, he reached up and pulled it off.

"Andraste's flaming sword…" he whispered as he looked at her naked upper body, her shirt falling from his hand to pool at his feet. "You're not wearing-"

"Took it off earlier," she interrupted, giving him little smirk. "Now, feeling any more motivation?"

Alistair's mouth hung slightly open as his amber eyes blinked a bit too often. "You're kidding me, right?" he finally squeaked. "All I'm feeling is terror, and…" He clamped his lips shut.

Apparently there was a lot to be said for templar discipline. But there was more to be said for Dalish patience. "I'm sure we can find something to help that 'and' along," Sierra said serenely, even though her own blood was wailing plaintively for his hands all over her body. The elf slid her hands under the waist of her pants, preparing to stand before him completely naked if that was what it took…but then she had a better idea.

Reaching up, she idly played with her ponytail. She was certain he'd never seen her hair down. Gods, she couldn't remember the last time. A firm tug, and the tie released. With a little shake, her deep red hair tumbled down around her shoulders. Biting her lip, she tilted her head down and looked up at him through her eyelashes.

That did it.

My take on propositioning Alistair, hope you like it :P