FanFic: "Dreams Within Dreams," Complete
There was no need for Neria to open her eyes, for she knew where she was. Her senses, which had always been acute, were greeted with the smells of parchment, ink and tallow; the sound of a logs crackling in the hearth, punctuated by the patter of rain falling gently upon windows. These were the sounds and smells of home. She was in the Circle.
She groaned a little as she at last gave into waking, for her shoulders and neck clenched with dull pain. It was little wonder, she thought in silent dismay. She had fallen asleep again at her desk, her head pillowed by little more than a stack of arcane texts. It wouldn’t be the first time that she drifted off after a late night of studying… but nonetheless, there was something strange afoot. A nagging voice in her mind told her that there was something of grave importance that she had left undone, some matter that demanded her immediate attention, but before she could attend to it, she caught sight of her surroundings.
She paused, rubbed her eyes, stared around. She wasn’t in the library with the other apprentice mages, or any of the study rooms. Instead, she found herself in a wide, spacious room where the walls were lined with bookshelves and the floors covered with rich blue carpeting down the center of the room. Though her eyes flicked about, searching dark corners and doorways, she could not find a trace of a single living soul, not even one of the ever-present templars. There was only one room in Circle Tower where such privacy could be found, where one could be free of the templars’ watchful gaze, and it was the First Enchanter Irving’s study. Before she had time to ponder how she came to be asleep at his desk, a loud pounding knock came at the door.
“Er, come in?” she squeaked out before she could stop herself. Despite her less-than-authoritative command, the large door swung open and a man strode forth, gliding with the eerie silence that only the templars could affect, his massive armor and chainmail skirts causing only the slightest noise as he moved across the floor. When he stepped into the light, Neria’s heart clenched and her stomach dropped. Standing before her, his silverite breastplate gleaming in the candlelight, was Cullen. He seemed taller, somehow, more imposing, but his blue eyes were just as gentle as she remembered, his light brown hair still curly and delightfully tousled, just calling out for her touch.
Awkwardly, she staggered to her feet, wincing at the sound of the heavy chair scraping over the stone floors. “Cullen!” She tried to sound casual, but she was too confused to succeed. “What - what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” he repeated in amusement, the corners of his eyes crinkling pleasantly. “Why, Neria, we were to meet twenty minutes ago. I came to find you.” He paused, casting a second, more quizzical, glance upon her, taking her rumpled robes, mussed hair, and flushed cheeks. Even a gaze as innocuous as this managed to send an aching pang to her loins, and she found herself stifling a tiny moan.
“Did you… did you fall asleep at the desk?” He looked very much like he was fighting back the urge to laugh, pearly teeth biting down on that perfect lower lip she had, once upon a time, dreamed of tasting herself. Shaking his head in dismay, he approached her slowly. Up close, he was even more magnificent, all glittering armor and powerful presence. The massive wood desk separated them, but nothing could dampen his charisma or the intense emotions that she was feeling for him. How could she have missed it before? He tsked gently, reaching across the desk to grasp her hands in his cold, gauntlet-covered ones. “Neria, Neria, whatever am I to do with you?”
She slid her hands free from his touch and took a step back, stumbling over the chair before righting herself. Whenever she gazed into his blue eyes, her mind was fuzzy, her body filled with a lazy lassitude, and yet she was still struck with the feeling that something was incredibly wrong. Averting her gaze, she tried her hardest to reach back into her memories. There was fire, flame, death… Trembling, she landed upon a single fragment that stood out in her mind, and grabbed at it frantically, though she could tell that her grasp was tenuous.
“Darkspawn,” she whispered at last, her delicate brows furrowed in an anxious frown. “There were darkspawn everywhere, but here, in the Circle, there was so much death, so much pain…” She rubbed her temples slowly, willing herself to remember. “Fallen templars and mages, all of them dead, and you… imprisoned by the apostates…” She fixed him with a look of horror. “There was so much hate in your eyes when you saw me, and you told me that you wanted nothing more than to kill all of the mages…” She was startled into silence when she saw the tender, beatific smile upon his handsome face. “Cullen, I don’t understand.”
“Poor thing,” he murmured, his voice a low, comforting rumble in his chest. “It has been so long since you have dreamed of that time.” He sighed. “The Blight was defeated long ago, Neria, and you returned home to the Circle. Believe me, what you speak of is a memory dead and gone, little more.”
He moved around the desk, seeking to shorten the distance between them. “Do not fear,” he added with a warm chuckle. “It would take much more than apostate mages to overcome the Knight-Commander today, especially when I have my valiant First Enchanter to protect me, wouldn’t you say?’
Her tawny eyes opened wide as she pulled back in shock. The study… suddenly it all made sense, and yet the knowledge did little to restore her balance or her memory. “First Enchanter?” she demanded, her voice taking on a shrill, almost hysterical note. “That cannot be true! I must be dreaming still…”
For the briefest moment, Cullen’s eyes narrowed, those perfect lips twisting in a scowl of the faintest displeasure, but within a heartbeat, he was all gentle solicitude once more. “Your nightmare must have been terrible,” he murmured, freeing one hand from his gauntlet. “You cannot tell me, though, that you have forgotten this.”
Cupping her face tenderly, he drew her towards him ever-so-slowly, easing her close until their noses barely brushed. “Let me help you, my darling,” he breathed, tracing one high cheekbone with his forefinger. She shivered in spite of herself, her lips parting of their own accord. The ache in her loins was growing from a flicker to an unbearable flame, and she could not help but lose herself in his eyes. “Let me help you remember.”
When he kissed her, it was like the sight of first light spilling through the vaulted Circle windows - unexpectedly warm and gentle, illuminating and uplifting. He tasted of spice and leather and something that she couldn’t define, some strange, masculine property that made her stomach clench and her nipples pebble painfully. He lifted her effortlessly, sliding her onto the edge of the desk, his mouth never leaving hers.
“Oh, Maker,” Neria groaned when he pulled back to allow her breath, shifting his attention from her lips to her jaw. He scattered fluttering kisses down her neck, pausing to lick playfully at the hollow of her throat. She gasped sharply when he took her tiny earlobe between his lips, suckling and nipping playfully at it before running his tongue over the pointed tip. “Cullen, please…”
“What is it that you’re asking for, Neria?” His voice had dropped to what could only be described as a purr. When he deftly untied her sash and pushed her thin robe over her shoulders, she couldn’t protest, even when the royal blue fabric fell open to reveal one bronzed breast. He gently eased her flat against the desk, and she watched with widened eyes as he purposefully removed the other gauntlet, deftly sliding it free before turning his attention to the clasps on the massive breastplate. There was a metallic click as the armor released, and with a low groan, Cullen slid free of it and set it down on the floor.
There was something captivating about watching him undress, about seeing what was hidden beneath so much armor and so many layers. She propped herself up on her elbows, bare breasts heaving in the candlelight, full lips parted slightly as she took in the glorious sight before her. His chainmail and skirts joined the gauntlets and breastplate upon the floor, and then he was naked save for his smallclothes, his arousal apparent as he faced her imposingly.
Swallowing hard, Neria reached out and touched his chest tentatively, moaning when he grabbed her hand in his and pushed her back down, stationing himself between her legs.
“Tell me what you want,” he repeated, leaning down over her. She shuddered at his touch, the heat of his body more than she could stand - that is, until his mouth began to feast on her breast. She still didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, couldn’t even breathe as he tasted and licked, suckled and nipped. She cried out openly when his fingers tweaked her other nipple. “Tell me, Neria, else I will become quite cross with you.”
She could hardly stand it any longer. “I - I want you in me, Cullen,” she burst out. She writhed beneath him, strangled whimpers leaving her mouth as her fingers tangled in his hair. His hardened length was searing hot against her thigh, even protected by his smallclothes, and she could hold back no longer. Shuttering her mind against any further whispers of doubt, she gave herself over to him body and soul.
A truly wanton groan left her mouth as his free hand brushed against her inner thigh, tickling at the sensitive flesh there. “I want you to fuck me, please!”
He released her nipple with a loud pop as he straightened, a glimmer of triumph in his blue eyes. “Who are you?” he whispered, massaging her breast with one hand as he slowly trailed the other over her bare stomach, his touch raising gooseflesh in its wake.
“F-first Enchanter,” she stammered, swallowing back a whimper.
“And who am I?”
“Knight-Commander,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut as his hand found her sopping wet smallclothes.
“Your Knight-Commander,” he corrected, meeting her lips as he tugged the soaked fabric from her body. He groaned as the velvety smooth head of his turgid length pressed flush against her opening, and grunted louder still when she hooked one slim leg around his waist and pulled him closer.
“Fuck me, Cullen.” She arched upwards sinuously, desire overcoming her natural timidity. “Please.”
Burying his face in the crook of her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her body, he sheathed himself within her in a single thrust, and Neria cried out loudly, shuddering in his grasp. His cock throbbed and pulsed against her tight walls, demanding that she acquiesce and yield to his advances; his kisses, on the other hand, were temptingly delicate, his lips gently caressing hers. Her groans were muffled against his mouth, and as he reached down to teasingly toy with the tiny nub nestled in her downy black curls, she gave herself up to him completely. Everything she had ever wanted or dreamed of was in her grasp, and she had no intention of turning away.
“My sweet mage,” he growled in her ear as he surged within her, the ebb and flow of his thrusts carrying her closer and closer to climax. “Are you close?”
She mewled in response, her breath coming in short gasps, her back arching sharply off the hard tabletop. “Cullen, please,” she panted. “Don’t stop! Please!”
“I don’t intend to.” The snarl surprised her, but there was no way she could think twice about it, not when she hovered on the edge of completion. A single swipe of his finger over her swollen nub sent her over the cliff at last, and she came with a keening cry, nether muscles squeezing around his cock like a vise before relaxing at last.
He was still hard and huge inside of her, but he slowed his pace to allow her time for recovery, his warm hands caressing her bare skin as she whimpered in pleasure. Shyly, she gazed into his eyes and offered him a small smile, wrapping her arms around his neck and drawing him close for a kiss. His tongue mated with hers, darting in and out of her mouth teasingly. When she began to moan, her lust rekindled, he reared back, veins standing out from his neck, possessiveness etched upon his face.
“Mine,” he hissed, sliding his cock free of her snug cunt before slamming it back in with a force that shook Neria’s tiny frame. “You are mine.”
Neria choked back a cry, gasping at the marked shift in his ministrations. It was too much, too hard and too fast, and try as she might to find the pleasure in his actions, he was growing rougher and more frenzied by the moment.
“Cullen.” She gasped, wincing as he bit down on her nipple, his gleaming teeth transgressing the boundary between simply teasing to sharply painful. “Cullen, please, that… that hurts.” His fingers dug into her hips as he clutched her tighter, harder, his blunt nails leaving crescent-shaped bruises in their wake. “Cullen!”
He laughed, and this time it was an ugly sound, filled with contempt. “Foolish little mage,” he spat in a guttural voice, grasping greedily at her breasts as he punished her with his cock. His blue eyes gleamed at the sound of her mangled cries, his handsome face contorted in a mask of aggression and anger. “So trusting, so naïve.” He cackled madly. “Your soul will be mine.”
Caught up in his own triumph, he was ill-prepared for the force of Neria’s mind blast, amplified by the intensity of her fear and desperation. The spell threw him back long enough for Neria to scramble away, snatching up her robes and activating her shimmering shield and combat magic. Around them, the room flickered and destabilized, colors and shapes shifting sickeningly, and Cullen melted away, his robust, masculine form transformed into the lithe, curvy, alluring, shadowy figure that Neria had feared since childhood. Realization broke through at last. Demon. She was in the Fade.
“You shouldn’t have done that.” The desire demon’s voice throbbed seductively. “I was only giving you what you desired.” It moved sinuously towards Neria, taloned hand outstretched, its tail weaving back and forth. “Let me have you.” Its voice was sibilant, hypnotic. “Let me become a part of you. You have need of me, sweet mage, do not deny it.”
Pushing back nausea and despair, fighting against its bewitching call, Neria concentrated, feeling the magic coursing through her veins, her eyes narrowed as she warily watched the demon approach. It hissed at her, magic shimmering in its wake as it sought to strike a blow, but she countered it easily. It was powerful and strong, but it was no match for an arcane warrior. Neria made short work of it, immobilizing it with cone of cold. A single arcane bolt shattered the creature, and as it fell in pieces to the ground, the roaring her ears finally ceased. There was no triumph in this victory; there was only the sense of crushing loss.
“Cullen.” Her whisper was tiny and small in the desolate wasteland of the Fade. A shimmering pedestal beckoned her forward and she staggered over, shivers belatedly racking her petite frame. She still held her robes clutched to her chest, but she couldn't summon the strength to dress. “Maker…”
With a choked sob, she fell to her knees and wept.