That.

Bryn followed the ex-templar up the stairs. Purely to give him a piece of her mind, she assured herself. If he thought that he was going to get away with getting her to admit--again--that she loved him, and then just order her about…

Well. He was about to discover that that was not the sort of marriage she was cut out for.

He reached his room and slipped inside a few seconds before she did. She opened the door, and a startled gasp lurched past her lips as his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Before she realized what was happening, Bryn found herself pressed against the back of the closed door, her fiancé looming over her.

And then his mouth was on hers, and all thought fled.

"I'm sorry," he murmured against her lips. "I was a fool last night. I never should have left."

"Yes," Bryn agreed between raspy breaths. "You were."

"Good to know we're of a mind on that." Alistair chuckled, but his smile quickly died. "I want this, Bryn--I want you--but you know I've never done this before. I--I want it to be right."

She laid a finger on his lips. "We'll figure it out, Alistair. You need to relax."

"I really do, don't I?"

"You really do." She pushed him back until his legs hit the bed and he sat down heavily. Deliberately, she pulled off her drakeskin gloves and dropped them to the floor. She met his eyes, and something she saw there--abject appreciation, maybe?--emboldened her. Her lips curved as she slowly unbuckled one strap on the chest piece of her armor. Then a second.

"Maker's breath." Alistair's voice was uneven, shaky. "Is this supposed to help me relax? If so, it's not working."

Bryn ignored his protest and continued to disengage her armor. Finally, each of the straps were unfastened and hanging loose. She held the armor in place for a moment with one hand, then let it drop.

Alistair's eyes darkened appreciatively. "You are so incredible," he breathed.

She smiled. "Your turn."

"My--" He looked down at his golden armor. "You want me to…?"

Her smile grew as she nodded.

Alistair groaned and rose from the bed. "If you tell anyone…"

"It won't go beyond this room." Bryn giggled as she took Alistair's place. "Warden's honor."

"Wonderful. You do realize that the Wardens occasionally aren't the most honorable of people, right?"

Bryn reclined on the bed, resting on her elbows, as Alistair peeled off his right gauntlet. It clattered to the floor. "Graceful," she said, one brow arched.

"Hush, you." His eyes caught hers and she sucked in a breath at the heat there. Intense. Scorching. Her body responded eagerly to the promises his gaze made her.

The second gauntlet fell, but Bryn hardly noticed. Her throat had gone dry. She swallowed and shifted, pinned in place by his eyes alone. She'd never seen him look like that--so utterly focused on her, like she was the entirety of his world.

She blinked. Caught in the spell he'd woven, she hadn't realized he'd already divested himself of the rest of his armor. His hard chest glistened in the flickering firelight. He strode toward her and her breath disappeared.

"You forgot one thing," he said, his voice low and just as intense as his eyes. He leaned over her, and she forgot how to breathe, thinking he was going to kiss her, that she'd feel his hot skin pressing against her…but instead, he reached back, to the nape of her neck, and unpinned the braids coiled there. With a little encouragement, the plaits unraveled and waves cascaded to pool on the bed.

"I've wanted to see your hair down since that first day in Ostagar," he rumbled, one hand tangling in the dark tresses. "Do you know how distracting it was, wondering how it would look draped over your shoulders?"

"And?" She shook her head, smiling as the locks rippled with the movement. "Do you like it?"

In answer, he covered her mouth with his and they fell back onto the bed. His lips and tongue teased hers, sending tingles running through her body. She was on fire--no, electrified, her senses overwhelmed with awareness. His scent enveloped her--the tang of flesh-warmed metal, the musky oil he used to clean his armor and weapons, and something else, something uniquely Alistair. She inhaled deeply, then moved her lips to his jaw. Her tongue darted out, feeling the delicious harshness of the slight stubble there, and she nipped, unable to stop herself. He groaned, so she did it again. And again.

His lips found the hollow just above her collarbone and seared her there. She gasped as his mouth and teeth traced the line of her shoulder, then moved onto her collarbone, then lower…

She arched her back as he reached her breast. Her bra had disappeared. She didn't remember removing it, so he must have. Then his tongue flicked over her nipple, and she no longer cared about her bra's destiny. Only that he continue. That. He moved to her other breast and gave it the same ministrations, and she whimpered.

He chuckled low in his throat, then positioned himself so he could take her lips again. Her hands skimmed over his arms, and she could feel the tension vibrating through him. He laid his forehead against hers, his eyes closed as he struggled to maintain his control, his breathing ragged. She traced the line of his cheek with one finger.

"No more waiting," she whispered.

His eyes opened a crack and he gave her a quick smile. "Thank the Maker."

In the space of a handful of breaths, the remainder of their clothes were gone, and nothing was left between them. Everywhere his skin touched hers, it burned. His hand tracing the ridges of her ribs. His lips on her ear. The planes of his chest pressed against her. And, more…lower.

"I do love you, you know," he said suddenly, his eyes fastening on hers.

A bemused chuckle tripped past her lips. "I know."

"Good. I just didn't want you to think--well, it would have been awkward to say it later…"

"Alistair." Bryn lifted her hips and smiled as his gaze grew unfocused, even as her own voice failed her. She shifted her hips again, moaning at the sensation of him…right there…so close and yet not nearly close enough. "No more talking," she gasped.

"Maker--" He groaned as they fit together, like it was meant, like they'd been made for each other.

Then neither of them said anything more for quite some time.

###

Alistair lay beside Bryn, propped up on one elbow so he could watch her sleep. The moonlight arcing through the room's one high window kissed her cheek with its cold light, highlighting the fairness and smoothness of her skin. He should sleep, he knew he should, but part of him worried that if he closed his eyes, he'd wake to discover this had only been a dream. The most amazing dream of his life, but only that. He was nearly afraid to blink, lest she dissipate like the morning fog.

This woman--this amazing woman--was going to be his wife. Maker, he could hardly believe it. He'd never known that someone could love him, truly love him, or that he had the capacity to return the depth of that emotion. Even now, after making love twice, the thundering of his heart hadn't diminished; the desire he felt for her hadn't waned.

He loved her. With everything he had, he loved her.

His smile fell as he thought about what the morning would bring. They still had to get to Redcliffe. There were darkspawn to be fought, an archdemon to defeat, the Blight to vanquish. Insurmountable odds for all of it. They'd already fought and won so many impossible battles. More than likely, they would meet their fates on the battlefield, together, but hopefully not before they cut down the corrupted Old God.

That would be the ultimate irony, wouldn't it. All of this effort to put him on the throne and he might not even live to see his coronation.

Alistair lay down and draped an arm over Bryn's midsection, pulling her against him. She murmured in her sleep and rolled over, nuzzling her nose into his chest. He hugged her close and closed his eyes, drawing the scent of her--sweet soap and leather and woman--deep into his lungs.

The future wasn't certain. If nothing else, this past year had taught him that. From templar initiate to Grey Warden to King, in less than eighteen months. From being utterly alone to having a surrogate family to being betrothed….

No one knew what the next month would bring. Or the next hour. All one could do was try to recognize the perfect moments for what they were, and cherish them while they lasted.

Alistair sighed and let sleep take him, for the first time at peace with the world and his place in it.