His mind wanted to blank and allow the rest of him to succumb when he felt her lips tentatively graze his own.

Alistair only dreamed of situations like this, whereas other men's fantasies would wander into more lurid matters, he was much simpler. The purse-minded girls that dotted the darkened corners of Denerim could fulfill any man's more primal needs, but he always imagined that even a kiss from them would lack the depth and honesty of what he sought. Tonight was no different. Bethany's lips traced his jawline and down to the exposed portion of his neck unguarded by bodily-warm metal. Empty kisses from a woman he cared for and a friend he treasured.

Before things went any further he took her face in his hands and stared into her clouded eyes, "I'm sorry, I can't - I can't do this. Not like this. I know you hurt and you might not even be hearing me anymore but its better for me to go."

A dispassionate stare was her only response.

The heat of her flesh from the quiet weeping from before he arrived was wicked away by the clamminess of his hands. He didn't want to let her go and for a stretch of time he held her head aloft, like a scholar who unearthed the most sacrosanct of finds and enraptured in the awe and wonder of its existence.

"Hate me... if you must", he couldn't believe he was saying this, "but I should - I'll be somewhere - else. For awhile. Should you need me... later. Yeah."

Despite the weight of Alistair's armor his departure from her quarters was the fastest he had ever moved outside of battle.

"Hate me if you must? Thats - thats just sad", the Elf remarked between swigs from the jug of some rather strong, unpronounceably named alcohol.

"Maker, I know, I know", after the first drink, and recovering from the Joining-reminiscent burning of his throat, Alistair was already feeling the bordering-on-toxin effects of Raleigh's new found stash.

In his hasty retreat, Alistair unconsciously made his way to one of the more remote stables that dotted the barren, battle-scarred grounds of the Grey Warden Fortress. The smells of hay, rusting metal, cracked leather, and stale horse apples was comforting. Childhood reminders of a simpler time when his biggest problem was - an Orlesian woman. He wondered what was with that country and its women?

"Why are you even sharing this with me? I don't know you and you don't know me." The Elven Rogue broke Alistair's train of thought.

It was in the stable Alistair discovered the slight man digging through a pile of horse fodder and dirty hay that was curiously piled in a corner of the relatively clean outbuilding. Raleigh, one prone to scavenging and filching for a living, was hard pressed not to paw through every unwatched nook and cranny of everywhere he was led. Tonight's findings was a single jug of noxious home-brew, that he begrudgingly shared with his immediate superior.

"Well we're Grey Wardens, we have that much in common. At the very least. Besides I have two or three friends in the whole of Thedas and they're all scattered to the four winds."

Or dead, he lamented to himself.

"Hmm, why don't you - you talk to Stroud about this, if you're so embarassed? Get yourself reassigned like to Antiva or Orlais. Ah, Val Royeux where the Women are painted, and so are the Men... Oo-la-la!"

"Quiet you. Orlais isn't - isn't a good topic for me."

"Yeah, wasn't the Hero of Ferelden all caught up with that Orlesian Chantry Sister, right?"

"Shut it, Raleigh."

"Touchy subject, good to know. So I assume you felt alot closer to whats-her-face... Amell, than she for you, eh?"

"Thats Warden-Commander Amell to you, recruit."

"Pssh, don't pull that with me, we're talking here. Man to Man, err... Man to Elf. So, anyway, be honest... did she - was she aware of how you felt?"

"..."

"So its like that all business now, Senior Warden?"

Alistair refused to speak any further on the subject. He simply laid back in the clean hay and put one of his gauntlets over his eyes. The booze in the Elf seemed to have loosened his tongue and so he continued on.

"Look, I don't know Bethany any better than the next guy in this - outfit. What I do know is - they talk alot of shit about her and what brought her into the fold, but I think she's got a set of bollocks on her to go out into the Deep Roads like that. So that says she's tough, maybe not the brightest rune on the wall but she knows how to dig down into herself and get things done."

Raleigh nudged at Alistair's side with his boot, but still received no response.

"I don't know what she told you that upset her so but - give her some time. I don't think she'll hold it against you for... not holding it against her, if you know what I mean."

At that Alistair shot to his feet, his face red from either anger or the drink or both.

"Don't you talk 'bout her that way. She's - she's something else."

The Elf backed away from the drunken fellow, "Alright, just - sleep it off, bucko. We'll see about talking later when you're - less prone to scaring the shit out of me."