midwinterludes: tales from amaranthine (three of three)
Title: A Midwinter's Memory: Tales from Amaranthine (Part 3)
Author: w0rdinista with encouragement from pagerunner_j
Rating: M, very much NSFW
Pairing(s): Elinora/Nathaniel
Summary: After returning from Kal'Hirol, Elinora finds herself having trouble sleeping. There is one more ghost in Vigil's Keep, and this one isn't relegated to the cellars.
Elinora hated the throne room.
In truth, she still hated everything about Vigil's Keep - namely that it was in Amaranthine and not Highever. She still resented the fact that the blood had barely been scrubbed from the stones when she was sent here to rebuild the Order (and in some cases, according to Fergus, many stains remained indelible). She did not want to be here, and only the deepest sense of duty and Fergus' insistence he would be fine, and would continue to be fine without her were what had continued to keep her there.
She should have been tired: the trip to Kal'Hirol had been a grueling one, but they'd been victorious - the broodmother den destroyed, and a new Warden brought into the fold. They'd had a hot meal upon their return to the Keep, and so far as she knew, everyone was sleeping.
Everyone but Elinora, at least.
She certainly had reason enough to feel fatigued; despite Ander's proficiency with healing spells, the childer grubs and hatchlings (those jaws, those teeth would haunt her nightmares for years to come, she knew) had done fair damage through her armor, and beneath the cooling tingle of various healing poultices, she still felt the sting of those tearing bites.
Since sleep seemed destined to elude her, Elinora was sat on the throne room floor, a book of Ferelden fables open and untouched beside her. She'd hoped to slip down here collect a book, and return to her chamber, but the fire was so inviting and she had no desire to return to her room just yet, so she took the blanket she'd wrapped around her shoulders preparatory to her late-night wanderings and pulled it tighter around herself, settling by the fire, letting the heat soak through her, burn away the dampness that seemed to inundate this place and, by extension, her.
Awake at the dead of the night, sat before the fire when I should be sleeping, she mused, staring into the flames. Amazing how so much can change, and yet some things remain entirely the same. If she closed her eyes, she could picture their old campsite. If she kept them closed, she could call up memories of the way splintmail reflected the firelight….
Elinora's eyes snapped open and shoved the image away with violent force, but not before the memory sent something twisting painfully through her. She did not want those memories any longer. And yet, her memories - like some of the bloodstains marring her ancestral home - would not be scrubbed away.
A latch clicked and Elinora's head came up and turned, ears pricking. One of the interior doors swung silently open, and she had to strain her ears to catch the whisper of sound that was a careful footstep. She was looking up expectantly as Nathaniel edged from the room's shadows into the halo of firelight stretching out from the brazier in the center of the room. He recovered from his surprise quickly, his expression morphing into one of curiosity; clearly he'd expected to be alone.
"You're awake?"
"I couldn't sleep," she explained, tapping the book with her fingertips.
A sliver of silence passed. "Dreams?" he asked.
"No," answered Elinora, before shaking her head briefly. "Well, at least... not those types of dreams."
Shadows played across Nathaniel's face as his expression shifted into one of comprehension. "...Ah. The broodmothers, then."
Elinora didn't bother hiding her surprise. She found hid very little from Nathaniel these days, sometimes in opposition to her better judgment. "How did you know?"
After a moment, he sat, letting out a deep sigh. "I saw your face while Sigrun explained it - what the darkspawn would have done with her." He paused, and an unreadable expression flitted over his face and was gone. "There was no surprise in your face - or even disgust - only grim acceptance."
"I ask again: How did you know?"
"I didn't know," answered Nathaniel, shrugging one shoulder. "I merely... guessed." Elinora arched an eyebrow at him, a tacit request for more explanation if ever there was one. Finally, he blew out a sigh. "As Sigrun was explaining it, I... could not help but think of my sister. The very idea of such a fate befalling her..." he trailed off, shaking his head, unable to say any more. "There are worse things than death - I've always known that. But such an fate... is incomprehensible."
Elinora looked down at her hands as she nodded. "Yes, it is, rather."
"I give you my word: you will never meet it."
She looked up suddenly, blinking hard. "...Nathaniel?"
There was no hint of mirth anywhere on his features. On the contrary, he looked grimly determined. "I promise you that you will never meet such an end, Commander. Elinora."
In that moment, her breath left her, and she was left sitting by the fire, staring at Nathaniel, trying to comprehend what he'd said. She understood the words, surely, but she could not help but feel their meaning was somehow evading her. It was too vast a promise to make. Things, Elinora knew, could change quickly - and did, and sometimes not for the better. When she finally did find her voice, she had to force out the words. "You... cannot make such a promise, Nathaniel."
"I can, and I do."
She shook her head, quite certain he was missing her point entirely. "But-"
He leaned forward slightly, and the firelight warmed his pale features while at the same time throwing dancing shadows across the contours of his face. "You have been a Warden some time longer than I have. You will likely reach your end before I reach mine. These are your thoughts, are they not?"
"Yes," Elinora replied, mentally adding: Among other things.
"Then you must leave the particulars to me." Here, he rested his hand on her bandaged arm, and the touch was familiar enough that she didn't startle, while gentle enough that the wound beneath the bandages did not protest at the touch - and still new enough that her blood surged at the contact. His were an archer's hands, deceptively elegant and strong, with heavily calloused fingertips. So different from her own, she couldn't help but think - the skin was similarly abused, but in different places on her hands, different patterns of use.
Taking a breath, she placed her other hand over his. It was warm and steady - how odd she should recognize such things in him, of all people. Maker help me if Fergus ever finds out... "Nathaniel-"
"Enough. Let us speak no more of it."
She made a wry face at him. "I am still your Commander, you know. I can order you not to make such foolish promises."
"You're the commander only as long as you've a weapon strapped to your back, or so you told me a number of times now," he replied with an unrepentant grin as he twisted his hand beneath hers until their palms met, their fingers threading together. They sat like that, letting the silence stretch out until it wrapped around them. "You know, when I was younger," Nathaniel finally said, changing the subject in a way that was less than artful, "I used to sneak down here in the middle of the night."
"To what end?" she asked, shifting slightly and leaning against him. It felt odd. Letting out a breath, she sagged a little, her head dropping to his shoulder. She hated how awkward, how clumsy she felt around him. She had no innate grace, she knew nothing of stealth, and horrible, horrible things still happened when she attempted to use a bow and arrow.
Though, she couldn't help but think, I may be getting less blindingly horrid in that department. Haven't put anyone's eye out, at least.
He shrugged, unaware of her thoughts. "To read. Sometimes simply to see if I could do it without getting caught."
Despite her thoughts, Elinora smiled a little as she pictured this - a much younger Nathaniel, taking such pains to blend in with the very shadows that he melted into with ease, now.
"You know, you don't do that enough," Nathaniel said, looking down at her with a lazy half-grin at his lips.
She looked up, her brow quirking in puzzlement. "Do what?"
It took some time for him to provide an answer. "...Smile," he finally answered, somewhat awkwardly - which was so very unlike him. A beat of silence passed and he grimaced. "Don't tell the mage I actually said anything so inane, if you please."
"My lips are sealed," she said, that same smile warming slightly. "Though I suspect you both agree on the subject," she replied, turning her gaze to the fire. "He finds me a bit... taciturn."
"I'd been under the impression you two were friends."
"Mmh, perhaps," Elinora said noncommittally. "He finds me to be a grouch, I suspect, but that may not be wholly without reason. I... suppose, though, we are friends, when all is said and done."
"You did give him the cat. I suspect that endeared you to him for all time."
Elinora chuckled softly. "He is rather ridiculously fond of it." Lazily she shifted against him, feeling the tension that had kept her awake all night begin to recede somewhat. "And what of you, hmm? What gift have I given you that you're endlessly fond of? I suspect it's a certain longbow, yes?"
Nathaniel didn't answer, and his silence was such that it caught Elinora's attention. His eyes, pale blue and cool, pinned her under the fire's heat, and he brought his hand up to cradle the side of her face, lingering a moment before letting his fingers slide into her unbound hair. Elinora closed her eyes, gasping at the sensation, even as he pulled her forward, sliding his mouth over hers in a deep kiss that seemed to sear through her. A soft moan sounded low in her throat when his tongue parted her lips, and she twisted slightly, all the better to press against him.
But there was a difference in technique between them; she saw that now. As a warrior, Elinora knew nothing about hesitation - to hesitate indicated uncertainty. And she had no desire to appear uncertain, especially where Nathaniel was concerned. But here he controlled the kiss: his tongue slid slowly against hers, withdrawing when she reciprocated too... eagerly, until Elinora was twisting in his arms, whimpering plaintively into his mouth.
With a chuckle, he pulled back, slowly kissing a path to her ear. "It's not a race, Elinora," he whispered before pressing a kiss to her neck, making her gasp .
Nathaniel was completely unlike all she'd become accustomed to by this point, and at times she felt as if her head spun simply trying to keep up with him. Though he'd made clear he hadn't spent those years abroad getting drunk and seducing women, his was a wealth of experience compared to her own.
Was such fraternization appropriate? Certainly not. And yet, such an argument had done little to deter either of them.
His mouth still upon her neck, Nathaniel's hands then slid up beneath the tunic she wore, stroking her back, trailing gently over her bandages. And as Elinora shuddered and shifted further, Nathaniel then turned her carefully, until they were chest to chest, Elinora practically straddling him. Positioned this way, she felt him, and there was no mistaking the evidence of his arousal. Licking her lips, she pressed against him, and his hands went immediately to her hips, warm even through the soft breeches she wore.
"Not a race?" she asked lightly - or as lightly as she could, given how hoarse her voice had become. "You seem to have a head start, ser."
"You really think I'd have started without you?" His hands crept higher beneath her loose shirt until they cradled her unbound breasts. Elinora groaned in answer and arched her back, shuddering hard when his mouth brushed lightly against her throat - and then again, less lightly. Elinora let out a soft groan, mindful of the fact that they were in one of the least private spots in the Keep, and despite the late hour, could potentially find themselves with an audience if they weren't careful.
Thankfully, Nathaniel knew perfectly well how to keep quiet. Elinora, on the other hand, ran the risk of biting clear through her lip with the effort. She clenched her jaw shut as his fingertips traced the curve and swell of her breasts, his thumbs dragging maddeningly over her already firm nipples, until they fairly ached.
"Maker," she breathed, pressing against his hands, "please..."
His teeth played somewhat less-than-gently against her pulsepoint, and Elinora responded with a sharp, ragged inhale, and a firm twist of her hips where she rested against Nathaniel's body. He shuddered, hard, and caught the skin in a bite that sent shockwaves rippling through her, pooling in her belly, sending a knot of warmth radiating between her legs.
The very next thing she knew, Nathaniel was getting to his feet, lifting her as he went, bracing his hands beneath her backside. Elinora startled, arms wrapping around his neck as her legs tightened around his waist.
"You ought to warn me when you do something like that," she muttered, sending him a mock glower, belied by her deep blush.
"Ah, but where's the fun in that?" he asked lightly, giving her rear end an opportunistic grope, and letting out a soft laugh as Elinora bit back a yelp even as she jerked against him. "If I'd warned you, you wouldn't have done that."
"Oh. Well, if that's what you wanted..." Elinora tightened her legs around him and, using his hands as leverage, pressed against Nathaniel, moving against him, grinding, until his eyes closed, and she knew - she knew - he was taking a much needed moment to collect himself. With a smile of complete and utter satisfaction, tinted perhaps with smugness, Elinora pulled herself up, winding her arms ever more tightly around Nathaniel's neck, until they were pressed chest to chest and she could place her lips next to his ear. "Is that what you wanted, Nathaniel?" she asked, letting her breath linger against his skin, catching the dark strands of hair.
With a sound all too like a growl, Nathaniel kept walking, until Elinora felt herself being deposited in a chair.
No, not a chair, she realized, twisting a bit to look at it: a throne. Rendon Howe's throne.
She was now sat in the very thing she'd been avoiding since she'd arrived at Vigil's Keep. It was, in fact, nearly enough to douse her ardor entirely.
"Nathaniel..."
"Don't think it's escaped my notice, Elinora." He nodded at the carved dogs adorning the chair. "You don't even look at the thing, much less sit in it."
"Yes," she said, bracing her hands on the arms of the chair, preparatory to pushing herself up and out of the hated piece of furniture. "And I've excellent reasons for-"
Suddenly Nathaniel was standing over her, his own hands planted on the throne's arms, the bulk of his body keeping her where she was. "You are Commander of the Grey and Arlessa of Amaranthine. This is your rightful seat."
"Nathaniel-"
"And I intend to help you make it yours."
Something in his voice caught her attention and Elinora looked up. The fire behind Nathaniel cast most of his face in shadow, but there was something about the way he'd set his jaw, the way he was looking at her that reawakened the heat that had very nearly been extinguished just now.
"What are you..." Elinora's voice came out in the barest, driest whisper.
Nathaniel took a step back, bowing his head and placing a hand over his heart. "I, Nathaniel Howe, swear fealty to you, Elinora Cousland, Commander of the Grey, Arlessa of Amaranthine." He dropped to one knee, his head still bowed. "My strength is your strength, and my loyalty is yours."
He looked up then, tilting his head and giving her an odd little smile, which lasted for a sliver of a moment before he lowered himself onto his hands and knees, and began crawling closer.
Elinora blinked at the sudden shift in demeanor, despite the flare of heat that surged through her at that smile. "…Nathaniel?"
"Yes, Commander?"
"Don't call me-"
He came slowly closer, watching her so carefully, a predatory gleam lighting in those pale eyes. "My lady, then? Arlessa? Your grace? What do you wish me to call you?"
"Elinora," she protested, watching helplessly as he reached the edge of the throne and, with a much sharper grin now, hooked one of her legs over his shoulder.
"Are you quite sure?" he asked lightly, hands drifting up her thighs and hips to the waistband of her breeches and untying them deftly before sliding pants and smallclothes both downward, backing away with maddening, maddening deliberation.
"Quite sure," she breathed, watching as he peeled the clothes away and tossed the bundle aside and came close once again.
"Ah, this is much better," he murmured, replacing her leg on his shoulder, sliding his hands beneath her and tilting her hips just so.
"Nathani-"
"Elinora."
She swallowed hard. "Yes?"
"This is your throne."
And with that, he swept forward, and without pretense, without warning, she felt his mouth on her, his breath hot as his tongue plunged into her, and all of a sudden Elinora felt herself arching under his attentions, her hips lifting, her arms pushing herself out of the throne, away from it, closer to him. He licked at her folds, humming softly in appreciation before withdrawing long enough to place a soft kiss on the inside of either thigh and then licking a path back to that source of heat and sensation.
Elinora closed her eyes and writhed in the throne, and in some dim corner of her mind, she was nearly certain she'd heard the damned thing creak. His hands crept to her hips, gripping her as he licked and nipped, as he thrust first his tongue, then his fingers into her, crooking them until Elinora's eyes flew open and her lips parted as she gasped his name.
His touch delved deeper and deeper, sending Elinora spiraling further towards that unseen brink, heat and need coiling tightly inside of her until one not-entirely-gentle bite at the juncture of her thigh paired with one well-placed lick made something snap and break inside of her.
She came suddenly, her fingers curling tightly on the throne's arms, pushing herself against Nathaniel, grinding desperately against his mouth as waves upon waves of sensation washed over her, leaving her feeling nearly weightless as heat and light rushed and pulsed through her veins.
Gradually, the sensation ebbed, and Elinora relaxed against the throne, cheeks flushed, chest heaving.
"Maker's breath," she sighed, looking down at Nathaniel. "That was..."
"Unfinished."
He was standing now, pulling impatiently at his laces and soon freeing himself - and Elinora sent Nathaniel a long, slow smile at this development. Moving swiftly, he grabbed her hips again and, now using the throne as leverage, he entered her in one swift motion.
Elinora wrapped her legs firmly around him, head tilting back as Nathaniel withdrew and advanced slowly - so, very slowly at first, and then faster, until the two of them rocked against each other, straining the throne's integrity further as Nathaniel's hips slammed against Elinora's body. And the very sensations she'd thought quenched were alive again, unfurling and then tensing inside of her. Elinora looked up at Nathaniel, feeling his eyes burn through her, and without breaking eye contact, Elinora licked two fingers and brought them down between her legs, touching herself, gasping as her fingertips grazed that ultra-sensitive spot. She came a second time, with a great shudder and sigh, and whether it was their exertions alone, or Elinora's decision to take her second completion into her own hands, as it were, Nathaniel pushed hard into her - once, then twice, and then gave in to sensation with a long shudder of his own.
Their muscles utterly spent, Nathaniel pulled Elinora to him as they both sunk to the floor in a shivering, boneless heap. After Elinora had managed to catch her breath, she propped herself up on her elbows and regarded Nathaniel who, all things considered, was looking inordinately pleased with himself.
"Had you planned to do that the whole while?" she asked, still feeling the flush of exertion upon her cheeks.
Nathaniel sent her a slightly rueful smile. "The truth is, I've been planning to do that for weeks." And then some of the ruefulness faded away as he let out a sigh, then reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Don't think I didn't notice the way you avoided it, Elinora. It's the one damned piece of this place that... felt like it was still his."
"And now?"
Nathaniel glanced again at the throne and let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, I think we've properly desecrated it."
Elinora followed his gaze. "The last ghost gone from the Keep, then?"
"Hmm. Well, if not, I suspect we may have to attempt the exercise again."
Elinora laughed and sagged bonelessly against Nathaniel, smiling up at him in the firelight. "Oh, anything but that."