The voyage wasn't long. At least, not when compared to all the months of waiting.

Bourdain was a decent sized island in the Waking Sea, off the coast of Orlais. There was only one ferry that went to and from the island all day, bringing merchants to the mainland markets and taking them back home around midday.

Looking upon the island from the bow of the vessel, Alistair had to force himself to stop grinning. Dawn was still a distant affair, but he could see clearly enough to make out the quay. Less than three hundred yards, he told himself. Not even a mile.

The mist obscured the shore, but the lanterns hung along the pier shone through. Somewhere in that fog, she was waiting for him. He knew it. He could feel it. Her presence. Had she been able to read his thoughts, she might have jokingly remarked whether he considered her darkspawn. Despite himself, he had to grin.

He'd left his uniform behind, along with his responsibilities. Though he carried his father's sword and his mentor's dagger, at that moment, Alistair was only a man in love. Also a man on holiday, but mostly a man in love. He'd put up with a Blight, a darkspawn siege and high dragons, but nothing was as difficult as staying away from her.

I won't have to now, he told himself and took a deep breath, smiling into the mist as the ferry sailed into it. Not for a while.

Aedan had granted him leave as soon as he'd brought the matter up. He'd packed a knapsack with essentials – a waterskin, his journal, his golem figurines, some cheese – and left that day itself. For the first time in a very long time, it was time to not be a Grey Warden.

It was strange. All his life, Alistair had been working towards being one thing or another. First a stable boy, then a templar, and finally a warden. He really hadn't stopped to just be Alistair. Meeting Leliana had been incidental, and if that hadn't happened, there would be nothing outside of his profession for him to look forward to. The thought was terrifying. As much as he loved and respected Aedan, he wanted more out of life than stomping a mud hole in the arses of darkspawn.

The ferry inched closer to the jetty, carried by the gentle, lapping waves. Alistair stayed on the bow. He could see the island's merchants chatting amongst themselves, waiting for the ferry to dock. He scanned the area, but didn't find who he was looking for.

"Where in the Blighted...?" he trailed off, fighting off a frown as the captain rang the bell. The crew dropped anchor and started securing the lashings to the jetty. The ferry lurched to a halt and gangplanks were dropped for the waiting merchants. As they started coming aboard, gingerly carrying their goods overhead, Alistair surveyed every inch of the jetty from his perch. His frown deepened when he couldn't spot her.

"All aboard!" one of the deckhands cried suddenly, making Alistair jump. The others were pulling the anchor up, and he took that as his cue to disembark.

Alistair hefted his knapsack and trotted down the gangplank. He sighed glumly when he set foot on the pier – he had been looking forward to seeing her more than he had thought. Despite the disappointment, he turned and waved at the ferry as it pulled away.

Oh well. Must have been busy.

He stood watching for a few short moments. Filled his lungs with the salty sea air. Leliana had provided the directions to her villa in her last letter but he hadn't memorised them. He set the knapsack down on the jetty beside him and knelt to reach in when he felt it.

A sudden, monstrous wave of cold erupted in his lower back, making goose bumps spring to life up along his spine. Being surprised into the sensation did him no favours, and leapt forward, yelping, all dignity forgotten.

The leap, however, was ill-timed. His reflexive reaction spent him spilling over the edge and he waved his arms around, desperately trying to latch onto the air to stop his fall.

And, by some miracle, it worked. Through his sudden terror, Alistair realised that he had stopped falling. He hung precariously, learning forward towards the sea, bit his feet still on the pier.

"Andraste?" he called out. "Is that you?"

"Afraid not, but I've got you regardless!"

He looked back and saw Leliana, holding him in place by pulling on his belt, and smiling apologetically.

"You bloody tickled me!" he accused. "How many times have I told you not to do that?"

"I did not! I merely shoved my cold hands up your shirt! Now get ready, I'm going to pull you back!"

"Get ready how?!"

Alistair never got an answer. All he got was an almighty yank on his belt that brought him stumbling back. He turned around somehow, doing whatever he could to not look at that water anymore, and landed right into Leliana's open arms.

He felt her arms wrap around his head, heard a squeal next to his ear, and several incomprehensible words. But he didn't mind. He was right where he needed to be, and had waited a long time to get there.

"I love you," he said against her shoulder, putting his arms around her waist and squeezing her tight. "But if you tickle me again, I will never speak grammatically correct Orlesian ever again."