It's the beautiful sort of smile that warms Alistair all the way to his toes. The giddy thought, I married this man, breaks through the tangle in his chest, turning his own smile rather goofy for a moment.

Right. Whetstone. Sharpening a very old sword. A little distraction from THIS ONCE BELONGED TO CALENHAD may be necessary, but not so much that he fails to get anything done at all.

Procuring that whetstone comes easily enough; soon they're at the forge, Alistair carefully unsheathing the sword again to get to work.

(It really is an exceptionally well-made weapon.)