This is perfect, thinks Alistair drowsily. A soft bed; Cullen in his arms; no priorities, for either of them, but staying right here. It's the sort of memory one would draw on for comfort when they're slogging through a swamp by day and sleeping on a cold bedroll by night.

The sun continues its track across the pillows. Alistair slips into a doze, back out, back in again, the whole room taking on a hazy dreamlike quality as the moments blend together.