Fic: War is Never Cheap Here (3/12)
Title: War is Never Cheap Here (3/12)
Authors: cherith & serindrana
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Bann Teagan/Ser Cauthrien
Series Rating: NC-17
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Series Wordcount (to date): 23,428
Chapter Wordcount: 8,314
Warnings: Violence
Summary: "Oh, indeed." Cauthrien and Teagan attempt to navigate their relationship - and Cauthrien isn't sure she can handle it. (Ao3) (FF)
Notes: War is Never Cheap Here will be updating weekly, on Fridays. Projected length looking like twelve chapters.
Chapter(s): 1 2
Chapter Three
Cauthrien stared.
Growing up on her father's farm, out by the east-most bend of the Hafter river, she'd had a few fumbling encounters with boys. But then, still growing, gangly and awkward, she had met Loghain. From there it had been obsessive loyalty and adoration. It had been one man. Those long years of devotion hadn't involved courtship, not even by the end when he had pulled her close. They had involved working together, proving herself, being worthy.
This, however-
She couldn't let this happen. Teagan looked bashful and earnest and it made no sense. It would only hurt the both of them, could only end in ruin, and she shook her head.
"I burned half your bannorn," she said, not looking at him. "And you're enjoying the prospect of teaching me how to spell."
“I haven’t forgotten who you are, Ser Cauthrien.” His jaw clenched. “Nor, did I say I-” He faltered, frowned. “I said I would help you. But, only if you wanted it.” He shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders and jaw tensed. “And I still will, if that’s... all.”
"I do want you to," she said, anger turning inwards, becoming less obvious except in the set of her own jaw, the thin line her lips were pressed into. "... But I didn't come here to encourage you to make a fool of yourself." A fool of herself for reading more into what he'd said? What he'd implied? Yes. But not of him.
This was too much like forgiveness.
She emptied her cup and set it down, in preparation for being kicked out, for getting herself to leave. She didn't move.
Teagan let out a derisive snort. "I am positive I am capable of making a fool of myself without your help.” He gestured to indicate their current exchange.
With a shake of his head, he drained the rest of his glass and set it next to hers, picked up the bottle and poured them both another round. He held out her glass for her first. “However, you did ask me what I thought. And I- well, I thought you should know. Your current, or former employment or activities,” his jaw clenched just on reflex and he struggled to force a smile again before finishing, “aside.”
"That's- I meant-" she got out, stumbling over her words.
But he already knew what she had meant. He simply wasn't blaming her for his kind words, his stumbling compliments, his foolishness.
Maker, she wasn't imagining that he was flirting with her, was she.
She took the glass from him and moved to go sit down once more - which she did, heavily. She took another sip. She shouldn't get drunk here, but it was sorely tempting; otherwise, she had no idea what she was doing.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," she echoed aloud, scowling over at his desk for a moment before sighing and closing her eyes.
“Well, that makes two of us,” he said with a soft voice.
She wondered for just a moment what it would be like, to play out the fantasy her wayward imagination had provided that afternoon. And then she reminded herself that it would only damn Teagan in the eyes of his freeholders - and the other banns. And then where would he be?
Just another casualty at her hands.
"... So," she said, swallowing thickly and trying not to let grief or shame creep onto her face. "Spelling. We should-"
But she couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence except to take another drink. She was turning slowly into Loghain - guilt-wracked and making more and more horrible decisions.
"I should just go," she said, standing up. It was time to retreat. Retreat and-
This was not Ostagar, so why was her brain shouting that this was the exact wrong decision, that it was a betrayal? Of herself, this time, but it was too similar for comfort. She froze in place.
Teagan set his glass down and crossed the room, putting himself between her and the door. “Even if you leave- “ he took a breath and studied her face. “If you leave now... my offer will stand.”
He took a step towards her. She stood her ground.
It was hard, watching him approach and knowing that, whatever he was about to do, it would be a bad idea. Turn her aside, beckon her close- both would end horribly, somehow. But if he was going to force a choice with his movement, she was going to clarify it first.
"Your offer to teach me, or-?"
She didn't know, couldn't put into words, what the other thing they were dancing around was. It was something intimate, something for which he was willing ignore who she was and what she had done.
She held herself steady, keeping his gaze, though her pulse sped up and she felt hazy from more than the wine. The wineglass in her hand shook slightly.
He slowly took another step towards her, leaving little room between them. “I’d like you to stay Cauthrien,” her name was soft on his lips. He smiled and shook his head, “And not for a spelling lesson.”
No title.
No Ser, just her name, and spoken- spoken like he had eventually begun to say it.
Teagan Guerrin wanted her to stay. He wanted her, and part of her responded to that. He was former opposition, but he was also capable, charismatic, handsome.
And he was committing political suicide.
"I-" She looked down at her wine, wanting nothing more than to finish the glass. Not yet, though; not with him so close, not in this precarious moment. "If you... pursue this," she said, carefully, not sure how to frame it so as not to insult. She didn't want to insult him. "If you pursue this, your people will hate you."
“I’m not doing this for my people.” There was no smile, no joking playfulness, not even a hint of distaste at the thought as he said it.
He took the last step that remained between them and reached for her wine glass, gently prying it from her fingers. He set it on the desk behind her, leaving nothing between them but a few inches of air. He waited.
You're a fool, she thought, for a moment miserable despite her confused hopefulness.
But Arl Eamon had gotten away with marrying an Orlesian woman soon after the Occupation ended. And Cauthrien-
Well, it seemed Cauthrien had a thing for men who made career-ruining decisions.
She'd been there for just over a day- and yet it had been eighteen years between Loghain and the boy she'd been with before that. This was only eight months away, and a day of intermittent, awkward company. It made no sense. But she'd wanted Loghain within minutes, heaving for breath after the bandits had all been killed. That was how she worked, then; yes or no, quick decisions.
Her cheeks colored faintly and she glanced away. But it was only a moment; she made her decision. She did not shy away from her chosen course of action.
She leaned in and kissed him, one hand going to touch lightly at his jaw to steady herself.
His hand reached around her, tentatively at first and then caught in the moment, with a little more pressure against her lower back, he pulled her towards him.
Eight months. Eight months since Loghain's pyre had gone cold, and she-
She pushed that aside. She didn't want to dance around this anymore. She wanted, for one moment, not to live in the past, the guilt, the shame of what she had done.
She let him pull her close as she kept her lips against his. She hadn't gained much experience with Loghain; it had been awkward fumbling, him pushing, her allowing him. She followed orders, even then. All she knew to do on instinct was to reach up and slide her fingers into his hair to keep him close.
He pulled her closer and smoothed his hand up her back, tangling his fingers in her hair in return. He tempted with a light touch of his tongue and she made a small sound, a whimper, before parting her lips, responding and matching him move for move. Her hands in his hair tightened, her thumb catching on his braid, running over it. It was similar- but not. The scratch of his whiskers against her skin kept her firmly grounded in the present.
It kept her away, too, from Anora's or Loghain's voice yelling at her for kissing a Guerrin.
She took a step back towards the desk, seeking an anchor. She didn't let go of him, instead dragging him after her, his steps matching hers and then pressing her more firmly back. He hooked his fingers around the hem of her tunic, lifting just enough that he could stroke his thumb over the skin of her stomach, catching the sound she made on his lips. She arched as he trailed his other hand along the bottom of her ear, down the line of her jaw, and then tilted her chin down to him just enough that he could slide his tongue into her mouth with ease.
Her stomach twisted and roiled and she groaned more loudly, reaching back to grip the wood for balance. She was vocal by nature, something that Loghain had discovered much to his embarrassment the first time he had pushed her up against a wall and set his lips to her throat. He had kept a hand over her mouth after that to ensure discretion.
But here she had only his kisses to muffle her voice.
She hooked one leg around his to pull him closer and he answered her by catching her body against his, kiss deepening still further. He only broke away to take the hem of her tunic in both hands, tug it up and over her head.
She exhaled shakily as the fabric passed over her head and he tossed it aside, smile nervous and uncertain as she set to work unfastening the toggles of his doublet. She covered her wariness with another kiss, easily sinking into it this time. When she closed her eyes, she felt his hands go not to her waist or hips but to her hands, helping her with each catch of a clasp. Clothing was faster to remove than armor, and even a little hazy from the wine and the coiling arousal working through her, she was soon pushing the fabric off of his shoulders, fingers gripping at his arms and pulling him in close to feel skin on skin.
His arms encircled her and she felt his first tugs at the lacing of her breastband; she kept it bound tighter than most women to compress herself, and the ties were taut from the strain. The knot refused to give and with a frustrated growl, his hands dropped instead to the waistband of her leggings.
Her own fingers trailed up along his back, pleased by the play of muscles beneath his skin. He was no Loghain, battle-hardened and scarred, but he was also no lazy nobleman content to let others fight his battles for him. She found little scars in unexpected places and took to dragging her short-clipped nails over them, feeling him shudder and sigh. She finally buried her fingers in his hair once more, pulling him closer, forcing the kiss deeper once more.
His hands dipped below the edge of her waistband, then slipped between them to find the laces. She pulled her hips back just enough to give him access, tilting them to make it easier, but as he pressed his palm to the bottom of her belly, he paused. His lips on hers stilled, and then he pushed away.
He kept the kiss as long as he was able, and when it broke he whispered, "The door-" and turned and crossed the space as fast as he could. She nodded, once, and then settled back against his desk to watch, toeing off her boots and trying to regain her breath. She was flushed, heart hammering, body aching with liquid heat.
It was probably a good thing that he hadn't taken up her offer of sparring. She would have been a wreck afterwards.
He returned to her, catching at the laces of her leggings even before he had stopped walking. He didn't press close immediately, however, and he looked her over as his fingers worked at the knots. She was pale and largely unscarred from fighting in heavy plate, though she had many rough patches of skin, callouses from weapons and armor alike. He brushed his lips against one of those at her shoulder, then looked up to her and murmured, "Cauthrien." He smiled.
She exhaled shakily, hands gripping tight at the wood she leaned on, watching him work. The moment the laces were free, however, she straightened up and hooked her thumbs along the waistband, shifting her hips to slide free of the tight leather.
Before he could kiss her again, she swallowed and, remembering her earlier thought, said, "If you don't want your whole estate to hear me, find something to gag me with." The confession made her cheeks flush darker and brighter still.
He lifted an eyebrow in question, then nodded, gaze falling back to the column of her throat, the final fall of the buckskin from her legs. His hands went to the laces of his own trousers, then, and they soon followed hers to the ground. Freed, he pushed her against the desk once more, his motion less than gentle.
She should have pushed, should have insisted, kept him from making more of a scandal of this than it already would be, but she made contact hard with the edge of the desk, and it drew a surprised, pleased groan from her as she reached for him, pulled him in for another kiss.
She'd never known what it was like to have gentleness; she preferred rough, combative battles for dominance. Or, at least, she thought she would have preferred the last - she had always yielded to Loghain, let him pin her down on his table strewn with maps, let him hold her as he tried to find sleep those last few weeks.
Her hands, finding his his hair once more, turned rough and a little forceful as she pushed herself up to sit on the desk itself. There were papers there, trinkets, tools, but those got covered or pushed aside. He laughed and she heard him toe his shoes off as her hand slid against a pile of papers. Her letter to Anora was in there somewhere.
Should she report this?
She groaned again, this time a noise closer to a growl, and hooked one of her now bare legs around his hips. He tried again to undo the ties of her breastband and she arched, giving him the access he needed. It slithered open, then slid over her skin and to the floor.
Teagan leaned in again, lips finding her throat this time, leaving a trail of kisses up to her ear. His breath was ragged and her responses, her little moans and twitches, drew an answering sound from his lips. She trapped his hips against hers, rocked against him, listened for a hitch in his breathing.
When she heard it, she couldn't help the moan that rose from her throat, loud and needy, and she pressed one of her hands to her mouth to stifle it, slipped two fingers between her lips to bite down on. For all her years of repression - perhaps because of them - she was sensitive and responsive. A part of her had thought it was all because of Loghain - his hands and lips on her skin, bringing desperate, thankful cries to her lips - but she felt just the same now with Teagan against her.
What did that mean?
She didn't care. She could feel Teagan's arousal rocking against her hips, his hand sliding to her waist, then to her hips, tugging at the edge of her smalls. He dragged the fabric down just a bit, just enough to slide his hand across her waist, feel at where her hips turned and led down between her legs. He kissed his way down her chest as he pushed her smalls further down, inch by slow inch, and when his mouth found a nipple, he sucked it between his lips, tasting her, humming quietly against her. She gasped and arched, leaning back.
At first, her other hand stayed tangled in his hair, keeping him close, even as she shuddered at his touch and the scrape of whiskers against her skin, but then she had to let go, grip the side of the desk hard instead. She let go of his hips with her leg only to shift and kick her smalls down and off.
The wine glass was still on the desk, and it rattled as she hooked her legs around his waist again and pulled him hard against her. She ground her hips against his, whimpering and letting her head loll back.
He continued his investigation of her nipple, drawing circles around it with his tongue, interspersed with quick, flicking motions and nips of his teeth. She bucked against him and he responded by dropping a hand to tug at his own smalls, letting them fall. That hand then rose to cup her other breast, kneading, teasing.
Cauthrien groaned, gasped, and tried not to think about how Loghain had never been so attentive, so focused on her body.
She rocked her bare hips against his and made another low, needy sound at the sensation. She felt the slide of his fingers against her neck, then over her cheeks, and then he touched at her lower lip. She shuddered and opened her eyes (when had she shut them?), looking down at him hazily.
And then she slipped her fingers, already a little bit tender, from her mouth and took his instead, flicking her tongue along the tips to taste him, to get used to the feel of him.
That left her one hand to brace herself on the desk and one to tangle back in his hair, tugging on his braid, guiding him as she pressed herself up against him. He moved, sliding his hand from her breast to trace down her stomach and between her legs. A brief touch to her center, and then he was rolling his hips forward, pushing into her with a low groan echoed by her own gasping cry.
Her body accepted him easily, and she rocked her hips to take him further, shuddering and whining around his fingers. She shifted her legs until her heels were pressed to his lower back, until she could urge on his thrusts by tensing her legs while she rolled up against him.
Oh Maker.
Eight months. It had been eight months and while that was nothing to the wait before that, it was everything in that moment. She cried out loudly the first time he thrust deep and shut her eyes, gripping his scalp hard enough to hurt.
She wanted it to hurt, just a little. For every bit of her that existed only in the present moment, there was a tiny echo of you know what you did, a tiny echo that was waiting for punishment, for aggression, for frustrated anger. She wanted that just as much as every lathing sweep of his tongue.
He breathed her name against her breast and she could feel the vibrations go straight through her.
He pushed, pulled, rocked with her. He bucked against her heels and changed rhythms, using quicker and sharper thrusts- deep, but with less control, less tenderness. The sharpness of his thrusts, the way it made her jerk against the desk, made her cry out, relieved and burning still hotter. Her movements back against his hips grew harsher.
He lifted his head, leaving her breast and finding her neck again, leaving nips, playful and teasing up to her ear. She moaned at every one of them and he wrapped his lips around her earlobe and sucked, pulling it between his teeth for just a moment before letting it go. He whispered in her ear. It may have been her name, it might only have been yes and please.
She groaned, threw her head back, arched violently.
And then she pressed his fingers from her mouth with her tongue just long enough to gasp, "Hurt me-"
--
Ah.
He slowed and braced his arm on the table so he could look at her. He had heard her, but something in her voice made him nearly stop. He knew which side of the line she was on now, between abandon and actively seeking pain, and he wasn’t sure that he liked the implications.
They might be two adults, with the ability to play how they liked, but this was little different than the way she had buried herself in drink the night before.
She let out a needy, frustrated whine as he slowed to a halt.
“You understand that this isn't meant to be a punishment, don’t you?” he asked, quietly, feeling her flinch at the question. He hated the idea that she might have submitted to him out of some sort of guilt, felt a momentary flare of sick anger at the thought.
This wasn’t want he wanted at all.
Maker. He didn’t withdraw from her but he did stop and take his fingers out of her mouth so she could answer him properly.
"I know," she got out, voice hoarse and thick. She had trouble meeting his eyes, and lightly rocked her hips, as if it would make him forget, continue. "I just-"
He sighed. He wondered for a moment what exactly he had expected.
“Well then,” he laughed. “This is...” Awkward. Embarrassing. His heart was still racing, his breath still catching up to him.
And when he looked at her, spread beneath him, pale and with those eyes- Maker. His body was definitely still long behind his question, still needy and hoping that whatever lay ahead meant more of what he had interrupted.
But it was a question worth asking. The look on her face said that she really wasn’t that sure that she agreed, that she was looking for punishment even when she said she wasn’t. He leaned down and kissed her. It was soft, tender, breathless. That was what it should have been like from the beginning. That’s what he wanted still.
And whatever it was that she wanted, she was wrapping her arms around him, lifting herself slightly off the desk to be closer to him. She didn't nip or suck or bite; she responded in kind to him this time, matched his soft movements with ones of her own. She shuddered, arms tightening around him.
That was enough to bring some sort of life back into him, some strength. He pushed both arms around her back, holding her close, fingertips still and forearms bracing her, so she wouldn’t lay back around the desk. Couldn’t.
His hands weren’t soft but he could use them gently, and when he was sure she wasn’t moving away or trying to push him faster, he trailed fingertips around to her side, walking down the length of her ribs and waist, over her hips. Settling his hands around her, he grabbed her and pulled her closer, regaining the purchase inside her he had lost earlier. Her legs stayed tangled around his hips, though she had lost the angle to press her heels to his back. One of her hands slid gently up into his hair but this time she didn't pull, didn't grab.
He kept his mouth on hers, still gentle, but with a soft tongue caressing at her lips, unhurried. There was a low groan from him as he pulled into her again, kissing the sound onto her lips.
She shuddered again, and the sound she made was still part moan, but was also part sob.
He let his fingertips curl, just a little, into the flesh of her hips, her rear. It wasn't enough to hurt, just enough to feel her in his hands. Sinking into the thought, and into her, he rolled his hips forward again, pulling her close and feeling her around him.
When her breath caught, he listened for it, keeping his mouth on hers, kissing, tasting. He parted his lips for her tongue when she moaned, and waited to see what else she would do.
There was a determination in him now, a concentration to be as diligent, as precise as possible. He didn’t know her experience but he could feel when he was close- when she was close- and he slowed or sped up his pace accordingly. Her earlier insistence wasn’t gone from his mind but he used it instead as stimulation to do anything but what she had asked.
Soon, Cauthrien began to move insistently against him once more, breathing whimpers and sighs against his mouth as she clutched him tightly. When he could feel her coming back to him, he sped up just enough to keep rhythm with her breathing. The hand in his hair loosened and she trailed fingers over his cheekbone, along his ear, exploring. She groaned into his mouth, her hand at his back scrambling for purchase, finding it on his shoulder, and she tried to lean back.
He pushed her back down slowly, letting his other arm fall way and catch behind her shoulder. He didn't let her settle all the way onto the desk, instead giving more space between them. He drew his mouth away from hers, slowly, and she cried out in response as he trailed kisses down her throat. He smiled against her skin. She moved one of her legs, braced her foot against the edge of the desk, used the leverage to keep tempo, to contribute, to push and rock.
He kissed at her throat and shoulder, wishing away all the places he had nipped at earlier, and when he gave her the same opportunity, she echoed his motions. Her lips were soft and feathery, gentle but insistent as she curled around him, shuddering. She found his pulse. She found the sensitive spot just behind the corner of his jaw.
She learned quickly, he thought - not imitating his actions, but finding similar ones of her own. She could be tender, when she wanted.
And as he approached a level of need that made him let out a slow, low groan, he muffled it against her skin, a murmur of her name.
She tensed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, rolling her hips- and then she trembled, clutching at him, fingers digging in to the skin of his back. She lost herself in wordless cries and murmurs of Yes, yes, please- Teagan- Maker, I-, moans on the edge of sobs that she caught with her hand pressed to her lips.
At the tensing of her muscles around him, he lost control, just a little- just enough. His vision was hazy, but he opened his eyes to look at her. He caught words, the barest edges, and he sped up that last little bit. That was all it took for him to push himself over the edge, where he could feel himself come inside her as she was undone beneath him. He let another moan escape, quick to find her mouth and leaving the breath there with her as he finished.
Her body curled around him once more, all too-long limbs and sinewy muscles, and she pressed little, needy kisses to every inch of skin she could reach.
He smiled lazily in the aftermath. He nibbled at her ear gently and then kissed it before he slowly pulled away.
She clung to him for just a moment, trapping him against her, but then she sat back exhausted, hands behind her to prop herself up. Cauthrien sucked in deep breaths, her eyes remaining closed.
He went to her again, having only needed that moment of space- that wash of air to cool his flushed skin. He wrapped an arm around her and grabbed the glass of wine they had managed to leave standing on the table in the other.
With a kiss to the cheek, he offered her the glass.
She opened her eyes and, shakily, she took the wine glass. She stared at it for a moment, then finished off the last of the wine, accompanying it with another deep breath and shaking exhale. She passed the empty glass back to him, and slipped then from the edge of the desk onto shaky legs and bent to reclaim her smalls, not looking back to him.
He watched her, trying to steady himself. For a moment, he thought about taking the seat she'd left until he saw her reaching for her smalls. With a nod to himself, he looked for his own.
As he pulled them on, he looked at her, eyes narrowed and studying what he could see of her. “Cauthrien?” She was halfway into her leggings when he said her name, and she paused. Swallowed. He had known there would be a moment like this- had prepared for it earlier when they’d stopped. But now-
He reached for her tunic where he had thrown it on the other side of the desk, held onto it. He saw her breastband nearby and grabbed that too. It was only slightly petty, he thought. He wouldn't force her in to talking, but he wanted to at least make her acknowledge she was running.
She finished pulling her leggings up and worked on the laces, looking up at him. "I need some air," she said, voice quiet and wavering. She held out a hand for her clothing.
He hesitated, watched her for a moment, then looked down at her outstretched hand. He wanted to smile, to say something to comfort her, but she seemed certain. Reasonable. That’s what he wanted her to be-
Not the woman that thought herself pathetic.
With a nod, he reached his hand out, tunic and breastband bunched together. She took her clothing from him with a murmured thanks and dressed quickly. He thought about dressing himself, even going so far as to grab his breeches and slip them back on. When he looked to where the rest of his clothes rested, he decided against it and leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her finish dressing.
It wasn’t sexual or overt like how he had watched her earlier. Instead, it was contemplative, his lips pursed and his teeth grabbed at the skin inside his bottom lip. They could talk tomorrow, provided she still wanted him to help her learn better spelling.
She didn't meet his gaze even when she approached and, after a bit of searching, found the newest version of her report to Anora. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, folding the letter and tucking it into the pouch she belted back on, then headed for the door. "Thank you for- tonight."
He shook his head. “Thank you.” And then he added, “In the morning, then.” It wasn’t curt, necessarily, but he wouldn’t delay her either. As he thought on it, they both needed space- and time.
After she left, he poured himself another glass of wine. He didn’t finish dressing, but he at least picked up his things and put them on his chair as he brought it back around to the right side of the desk.
As he busied himself putting everything back in order, he found her letter to Anora, the first one she had shown him. He read it again, a smile on his lips and then turned to store it away. Whatever happened in the next month, he would keep that much of her.
When his office seemed nearly in order again, he picked up the bottle of wine and took it to his desk, sat in his chair and didn’t move again until he had finished it off. At least then, he knew, he would be able to sleep.
Without leaving instruction or comment of any kind, even leaving the rest of his clothes behind, he went to his room. He was right. The wine did help him sleep.
--
Cauthrien, however, slept horribly.
When she went back to her room, she had felt heavy, languid, sated. She should have let herself sleep then. She knew exhaustion well, but not this pleasant haze. Eight months ago, every interlude had ended with the reminder that there was work to be done, enemies to be vanquished. Here, there should have been only how her legs still trembled and her eyes wanted to close.
But she was trained to work, and she sat up late into the night, thinking about what in Andraste's name she was doing, and what she was going to do about it. Bann Teagan. On his desk, in his office, begging him to hurt her- and him refusing. That was never supposed to have been tender. She'd nearly cried by the end, buried herself against his body and sobbed.
She was hurting, had been bleeding out ever since- not even Loghain's death. Since she had realized they were losing. Before that, when she killed men and women no different from her parents. Before that, when she had given the order to retreat at Ostagar.
And a very large part of her thought that she deserved that slow, wasting death.
It seemed like Teagan wanted to bandage her, wrap her in a blanket and let her rest.
It was dangerous, and foolish, and it would only hurt his future. Anora would lose what little respect she had for Cauthrien. But Cauthrien was honest, and direct, and so she knew that Anora would have to be told. By her, preferably, and within the month.
She fell asleep bent over her writing desk.
The next morning, early, with a headache and a lingering ache between her legs and at her throat, she woke up, donned her armor, and went straight down to the stable.
She said nothing to anybody.
She ignored that she had told him she would see him in the morning.
--
By the time the wine had worked it’s way through his body, he was good and asleep, but that didn’t stop him from waking up early. He had had dreams of Ser Cauthrien beneath him, sometimes ending well, sometimes stuck on her request. Hurt me.
He got dressed quickly and was determined to find her before breakfast, hoping that she had enough time think the night before. That they could talk. But when he walked down the hallway, he found the door to the guest chambers open, Cauthrien - and her things - missing.
When he asked after her, no one had seen her. Maker’s breath-
When she ran, she ran.
He headed for the first place he thought to look knowing that her things were missing and found that so too, was her horse.
Cursing, he saddled his own horse and rode out after her. He knew it was early and that the people of Rainesfere would be awake, would be setting about their daily business and that seeing their Bann on his horse at this hour, racing out of town, was bound to cause confusion.
At that moment, he didn’t care.
He leaned forward in his saddle, chasing after her, riding hard on the road towards Denerim until there was an actual a form of her on the horizon to chase. As he rode closer, he sat back enough to yell after her.
“Cauthrien!”
He thought he saw her look back, but then she just bent forward, spurring her horse on to greater speeds.
She saw him, he knew she had. He kicked his heels and leaned forward again. He would catch her. He didn’t question it- knew it for a fact-
She was running. And he would catch her.
He was closer this time when he yelled after her: “Cauthrien, Stop!”
At first, she just kept riding without another look back and he thought she might ride forever. But then she pulled up hard on the reins, her garron coming to a fast halt, rearing and turning to face Teagan. She stared at him from under her grand helm.
"Bann Teagan," she said.
And then she dismounted in a great rattle of armor, her cloak swinging behind her, and began to unbuckle the Summer Sword.
With a deep breath and no idea what he would say to her (but a great deal of determination to say something), he dismounted as well.
--
She drew her sword and though she held it in a low guard, at her hip and pointed forward to the ground, she was not relaxed. She was not approachable. One step and she could disembowel a man. One step.
She knew that step very, very well.
He stood his ground.
“Cauthrien.”
"I'm returning to the capital," she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. "I suggest you do not attempt to hinder me. I am, after all, on the Queen's orders."
She didn't think about how unarmed he was- how he had raced after her, the killer, Loghain Mac Tir's dragon, unarmed, unguarded, just to bring her back. Couldn't think about that.
"You have a bannorn to help rebuild. I suggest you return to your duty, Bann Teagan."
He didn’t take his eyes off of hers. “I believe,” he said very slowly and very carefully, “and we can check the orders on my desk, that your orders are to stay in Rainesfere for a month.”
The muscles of Cauthrien's jaw twitched, and she shifted her grip slightly on the hilt of her sword.
"My orders were invalidated when I compromised my own integrity as an agent of the Queen. If I had not left, I would have reported my-" She looked away for just a flicker of a heartbeat.
"Indiscretion. And she would have called me home. I am simply expediting the process. Since there is nothing of worth to investigate more in Rainesfere, I am going to where I might be useful."
Without moving from his spot, Teagan shifted his weight.
“I will not hinder your progress if you choose to continue...” He took another breath and then even slower than he had spoken before, he continued, his tone gentle but firm. “If you go... I will continue to ride after you.”
With a slow nod he added, “Cauthrien.”
Cauthrien shook her head. "If you decide to follow, you have two options: I cut your horse down, or I cut you down."
She could see how his jaw clenched even at that distance. He kept his eyes on her and she quietly cursed his foolishness - or his bravery. But as she watched, his features softened and his shoulders relaxed.
“Do you really think so little of me? Of...” He sighed, closed his eyes.
Something twisted in her, low and dark, and she fought the urge to look away. To back away. To mount up and ride away and not look back, and if he was with her when she reached wherever she stopped for the night-
Maker, she could remember far too well his lips on hers-
She scowled.
"You appear," she said, slowly, picking at her words, "to be enamored of the idea of putting me back together. And if I don't want that? If I, at least, can remember what I did to the people of Ferelden, even while you ignore it? You say you don't forget, but if that were true, last night-"
Last night, he would have risen to the opportunity to hurt her.
He would not have held her close.
"So yes. You are a fool. A fool who would risk his people's hard-earned goodwill for a month with a war criminal with no future. Turn. Back."
This time when his jaw clenched, it stayed that way, and his expression was determined when he looked at her again. “So, I have this clear then- because I didn’t throw you out of my house, was a gracious if reluctant host, because I cared,” he paused as he struggled to keep his arms from shaking, “because I didn’t- didn’t hate you, because I didn’t hurt you - I’m the fool?”
He took a step forward, his hands balled into fists, knuckles white.
“I just want to make sure that we’re clear. That you would give up what could be one good month- because I’m a fool?”
She did not flinch.
The tip of her blade, however, did waver as he approached. She did not look away. She did not close her eyes.
She said, simply,
"Yes."
He finally understood - or at least, could have, if he had wanted to. She wasn't worth his hospitality except by virtue of her position. That was obvious. Clear. Indisputable. And yet he persisted in treating her like a decent, redeemable human being, even when that treatment would have led to his loss of the people's good will. He was a fool.
She wasn't worth any of that.
Perhaps he needed to hear that part, to understand why he was a fool. She, too, took a step forward, a careful shifting step that left her left foot still leading.
"And because I am the last surviving horror of the Blight."
He shook his head, took another step towards her.
“Bullshit.
“You wallow in your guilt. You let it eat away at you while the rest of us are trying to move on. You want to do everyone a favor? Live your life.”
He took another step as his fists unballed, pressing into his thighs.
“When I said, I hadn’t forgotten, I didn’t lie. I didn’t misspeak. I have to think about what happened here every day. But the truth is that I don’t blame you. There’s no point to it. I blame that...”
He swallowed and then more softly added, “I blame the war. I blame the Blight. Power. Politics. And that damned archdemon.” He gestured with the low wave of a hand, “Take you pick. Pick them all. But whatever it is you’re holding on to? That’s on you.”
Cauthrien flinched. She flinched visibly, even through all her armor, fighting to keep her gaze fixed on him while all she wanted to do was turn away from him.
She turned her blade away from him instead.
No, she thought. No, I'm the last monster of the Blight, the last abomination. I can run this man through. I can watch him die.
She took a step back.
"I am a farmer's daughter," she said, quietly. "Still half-illiterate. And yet I have killed hundreds in this bannorn alone by burning crops. By using what I learned from my father to wreak devastation across half the country. I called the retreat at Ostagar. I stood by and allowed all the horrors of the war. And when I finally began to see-
"When I started to understand just how far we had all fallen-
"When I could have exposed how we brought in Tevinter slavers-
"When I could have put a knife in his throat because I was the only one he still trusted-"
Her voice caught.
She looked away.
"The first time I faltered, he responded to every dream I'd had for seventeen years and I could not go against him."
Her hand tightened on the grip of her sword, a gift from him, a gift to win her back. She had never wanted to look at it that way, what he had done, that it had been calculated, that he was keeping his sword by giving a piece of metal to her.
"I should have died with the rest. And I'm just waiting until the Maker sees fit to rectify... me.
"So no, I will not let you throw your bannorn away on some flight of fancy or frustration with a woman - a thing - you barely know. Not when I'm half-convinced that I only remind you of your precious Lady Cousland."
She stared him down, willing him to look away, to flinch, to admit that yes, she was a mistake. Instead, he said two words that she had not expected and did not want to hear.
“Fuck Loghain.”
His hands fisted at his sides once again and his expression turned pained, furious.
“You didn’t die- because that man- that traitor- the Maker saw fit to give him a good and decent end after everything he did. I was there and so were you. The Warden, she took him and she gave him something he didn’t deserve: a good death.
“And you?” He raised his eyebrows. “The Maker left you here. Loghain, he used you. He took everything you could have been and knew you should have been, and he twisted it for his own purposes.
"You see that now, I think.
“Now, I don’t know what else the Maker sees fit for your life. But I know you’re not doing it justice.” He held her gaze, the muscles of his throat jumping in time with what she imagined had to be his pulse, hard and fast and as determined as he was.
She dropped her sword.
Just like that- it fell to the ground, as if it was the heaviest thing in the world, and she swallowed, trying to think. She tried to excuse everything Teagan had said- ignore it. Force it underground. Chew it, swallow it, destroy it with her body.
And when she couldn't, when used you rang too clearly still, she stepped that last little bit of distance between them and backhanded him, metal on skin. He would bruise, bleed, maybe even break. But it was not a fist, and it was not a blade to his gut, and when it was done, her vision blurred and she let her head drop forward.
I only wanted to protect Ferelden.
She had torn it apart, instead, but those words- everything you could have been... twisted for his own purposes. They echoed too clear and loud for her to ignore, and it became harder and harder to bear her failure as anger towards herself.
"Why are you here?" she got out, voice flat, barely a whisper, cracking on the edges with the building pressure of tears behind her eyes.
He had his own eyes closed and she watched as he raised a hand to his cheek, tenderly. Her breathing sounded ragged in her ears, her pulse thundering. Her hands trembled.
“I- well- I-" He faltered, paused, took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look upon her. "... I said that if you chose to go, I was going to follow you. I came for you.”
"You're a fool," she repeated, weakly.
She had been bleeding out internally for eight months over the wreckage of her country, and it was too late for a tourniquet, too late for a healer. Bann Teagan Guerrin was not that healer, and yet his words had slowed the bleeding just a little. His touch, his laugh, his patience- those had made parts of her twitch and stir in response that she had thought lost. She didn't want to think about it.
She tried not to think about it.
And she succeeded for one triumphant moment before she stepped forward, grabbed the front of his doublet, and pulled him in to kiss him, hard, all heat and teeth and desperation.
“Ow!” He pulled his head back, and then gently tried to push her away. She didn't let him.
“Typically, I think women are supposed kiss a man- and then slap him. Makes the kissing easier," he muttered, a weak sort of chuckle escaping his lips, and the look he gave her- it seemed hopeful, despite the pain he was in.
She pushed him to the ground, straddling him.
"If you came for me- if you want me- then this is what you get," she muttered, voice dark, pained. She reached up to pull her helm off, cast it aside.
But when she gripped the back of his head in her hand and pressed her lips to his once more, it was gentle. Soft. It was the way he had kissed her the night before. Her tongue swept only lightly over his lower lip, and then she pulled away to press feathery kisses to the part of his face that was beginning to swell. She closed her eyes and tried not to shake.
This man-
What did he do to her?
He smiled as he pulled away from her just the space of a breath, laughing. “I did say such a thing, didn’t I? And when I can use my lips again, I plan to show you properly.”
She felt the faint pressure of his hand settling on her armored thigh and she smiled, a tiny, lopsided, strained thing. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his where her gauntlet had not connected and took a deep breath.
A month.
A month with a man who was determined to put her back together, and while she still wasn't completely convinced that it could or should be done- Maker, he almost made her want to try. She opened her eyes, watched him a moment, and then brought her lips to his ear.
"Be quiet," she muttered. "... Bann Disappointment."
Authors: cherith & serindrana
Game: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Bann Teagan/Ser Cauthrien
Series Rating: NC-17
Chapter Rating: NC-17
Series Wordcount (to date): 23,428
Chapter Wordcount: 8,314
Warnings: Violence
Summary: "Oh, indeed." Cauthrien and Teagan attempt to navigate their relationship - and Cauthrien isn't sure she can handle it. (Ao3) (FF)
Notes: War is Never Cheap Here will be updating weekly, on Fridays. Projected length looking like twelve chapters.
Chapter(s): 1 2
Chapter Three
Cauthrien stared.
Growing up on her father's farm, out by the east-most bend of the Hafter river, she'd had a few fumbling encounters with boys. But then, still growing, gangly and awkward, she had met Loghain. From there it had been obsessive loyalty and adoration. It had been one man. Those long years of devotion hadn't involved courtship, not even by the end when he had pulled her close. They had involved working together, proving herself, being worthy.
This, however-
She couldn't let this happen. Teagan looked bashful and earnest and it made no sense. It would only hurt the both of them, could only end in ruin, and she shook her head.
"I burned half your bannorn," she said, not looking at him. "And you're enjoying the prospect of teaching me how to spell."
“I haven’t forgotten who you are, Ser Cauthrien.” His jaw clenched. “Nor, did I say I-” He faltered, frowned. “I said I would help you. But, only if you wanted it.” He shifted uncomfortably, his shoulders and jaw tensed. “And I still will, if that’s... all.”
"I do want you to," she said, anger turning inwards, becoming less obvious except in the set of her own jaw, the thin line her lips were pressed into. "... But I didn't come here to encourage you to make a fool of yourself." A fool of herself for reading more into what he'd said? What he'd implied? Yes. But not of him.
This was too much like forgiveness.
She emptied her cup and set it down, in preparation for being kicked out, for getting herself to leave. She didn't move.
Teagan let out a derisive snort. "I am positive I am capable of making a fool of myself without your help.” He gestured to indicate their current exchange.
With a shake of his head, he drained the rest of his glass and set it next to hers, picked up the bottle and poured them both another round. He held out her glass for her first. “However, you did ask me what I thought. And I- well, I thought you should know. Your current, or former employment or activities,” his jaw clenched just on reflex and he struggled to force a smile again before finishing, “aside.”
"That's- I meant-" she got out, stumbling over her words.
But he already knew what she had meant. He simply wasn't blaming her for his kind words, his stumbling compliments, his foolishness.
Maker, she wasn't imagining that he was flirting with her, was she.
She took the glass from him and moved to go sit down once more - which she did, heavily. She took another sip. She shouldn't get drunk here, but it was sorely tempting; otherwise, she had no idea what she was doing.
"I have no idea what I'm doing," she echoed aloud, scowling over at his desk for a moment before sighing and closing her eyes.
“Well, that makes two of us,” he said with a soft voice.
She wondered for just a moment what it would be like, to play out the fantasy her wayward imagination had provided that afternoon. And then she reminded herself that it would only damn Teagan in the eyes of his freeholders - and the other banns. And then where would he be?
Just another casualty at her hands.
"... So," she said, swallowing thickly and trying not to let grief or shame creep onto her face. "Spelling. We should-"
But she couldn't think of a way to finish the sentence except to take another drink. She was turning slowly into Loghain - guilt-wracked and making more and more horrible decisions.
"I should just go," she said, standing up. It was time to retreat. Retreat and-
This was not Ostagar, so why was her brain shouting that this was the exact wrong decision, that it was a betrayal? Of herself, this time, but it was too similar for comfort. She froze in place.
Teagan set his glass down and crossed the room, putting himself between her and the door. “Even if you leave- “ he took a breath and studied her face. “If you leave now... my offer will stand.”
He took a step towards her. She stood her ground.
It was hard, watching him approach and knowing that, whatever he was about to do, it would be a bad idea. Turn her aside, beckon her close- both would end horribly, somehow. But if he was going to force a choice with his movement, she was going to clarify it first.
"Your offer to teach me, or-?"
She didn't know, couldn't put into words, what the other thing they were dancing around was. It was something intimate, something for which he was willing ignore who she was and what she had done.
She held herself steady, keeping his gaze, though her pulse sped up and she felt hazy from more than the wine. The wineglass in her hand shook slightly.
He slowly took another step towards her, leaving little room between them. “I’d like you to stay Cauthrien,” her name was soft on his lips. He smiled and shook his head, “And not for a spelling lesson.”
No title.
No Ser, just her name, and spoken- spoken like he had eventually begun to say it.
Teagan Guerrin wanted her to stay. He wanted her, and part of her responded to that. He was former opposition, but he was also capable, charismatic, handsome.
And he was committing political suicide.
"I-" She looked down at her wine, wanting nothing more than to finish the glass. Not yet, though; not with him so close, not in this precarious moment. "If you... pursue this," she said, carefully, not sure how to frame it so as not to insult. She didn't want to insult him. "If you pursue this, your people will hate you."
“I’m not doing this for my people.” There was no smile, no joking playfulness, not even a hint of distaste at the thought as he said it.
He took the last step that remained between them and reached for her wine glass, gently prying it from her fingers. He set it on the desk behind her, leaving nothing between them but a few inches of air. He waited.
You're a fool, she thought, for a moment miserable despite her confused hopefulness.
But Arl Eamon had gotten away with marrying an Orlesian woman soon after the Occupation ended. And Cauthrien-
Well, it seemed Cauthrien had a thing for men who made career-ruining decisions.
She'd been there for just over a day- and yet it had been eighteen years between Loghain and the boy she'd been with before that. This was only eight months away, and a day of intermittent, awkward company. It made no sense. But she'd wanted Loghain within minutes, heaving for breath after the bandits had all been killed. That was how she worked, then; yes or no, quick decisions.
Her cheeks colored faintly and she glanced away. But it was only a moment; she made her decision. She did not shy away from her chosen course of action.
She leaned in and kissed him, one hand going to touch lightly at his jaw to steady herself.
His hand reached around her, tentatively at first and then caught in the moment, with a little more pressure against her lower back, he pulled her towards him.
Eight months. Eight months since Loghain's pyre had gone cold, and she-
She pushed that aside. She didn't want to dance around this anymore. She wanted, for one moment, not to live in the past, the guilt, the shame of what she had done.
She let him pull her close as she kept her lips against his. She hadn't gained much experience with Loghain; it had been awkward fumbling, him pushing, her allowing him. She followed orders, even then. All she knew to do on instinct was to reach up and slide her fingers into his hair to keep him close.
He pulled her closer and smoothed his hand up her back, tangling his fingers in her hair in return. He tempted with a light touch of his tongue and she made a small sound, a whimper, before parting her lips, responding and matching him move for move. Her hands in his hair tightened, her thumb catching on his braid, running over it. It was similar- but not. The scratch of his whiskers against her skin kept her firmly grounded in the present.
It kept her away, too, from Anora's or Loghain's voice yelling at her for kissing a Guerrin.
She took a step back towards the desk, seeking an anchor. She didn't let go of him, instead dragging him after her, his steps matching hers and then pressing her more firmly back. He hooked his fingers around the hem of her tunic, lifting just enough that he could stroke his thumb over the skin of her stomach, catching the sound she made on his lips. She arched as he trailed his other hand along the bottom of her ear, down the line of her jaw, and then tilted her chin down to him just enough that he could slide his tongue into her mouth with ease.
Her stomach twisted and roiled and she groaned more loudly, reaching back to grip the wood for balance. She was vocal by nature, something that Loghain had discovered much to his embarrassment the first time he had pushed her up against a wall and set his lips to her throat. He had kept a hand over her mouth after that to ensure discretion.
But here she had only his kisses to muffle her voice.
She hooked one leg around his to pull him closer and he answered her by catching her body against his, kiss deepening still further. He only broke away to take the hem of her tunic in both hands, tug it up and over her head.
She exhaled shakily as the fabric passed over her head and he tossed it aside, smile nervous and uncertain as she set to work unfastening the toggles of his doublet. She covered her wariness with another kiss, easily sinking into it this time. When she closed her eyes, she felt his hands go not to her waist or hips but to her hands, helping her with each catch of a clasp. Clothing was faster to remove than armor, and even a little hazy from the wine and the coiling arousal working through her, she was soon pushing the fabric off of his shoulders, fingers gripping at his arms and pulling him in close to feel skin on skin.
His arms encircled her and she felt his first tugs at the lacing of her breastband; she kept it bound tighter than most women to compress herself, and the ties were taut from the strain. The knot refused to give and with a frustrated growl, his hands dropped instead to the waistband of her leggings.
Her own fingers trailed up along his back, pleased by the play of muscles beneath his skin. He was no Loghain, battle-hardened and scarred, but he was also no lazy nobleman content to let others fight his battles for him. She found little scars in unexpected places and took to dragging her short-clipped nails over them, feeling him shudder and sigh. She finally buried her fingers in his hair once more, pulling him closer, forcing the kiss deeper once more.
His hands dipped below the edge of her waistband, then slipped between them to find the laces. She pulled her hips back just enough to give him access, tilting them to make it easier, but as he pressed his palm to the bottom of her belly, he paused. His lips on hers stilled, and then he pushed away.
He kept the kiss as long as he was able, and when it broke he whispered, "The door-" and turned and crossed the space as fast as he could. She nodded, once, and then settled back against his desk to watch, toeing off her boots and trying to regain her breath. She was flushed, heart hammering, body aching with liquid heat.
It was probably a good thing that he hadn't taken up her offer of sparring. She would have been a wreck afterwards.
He returned to her, catching at the laces of her leggings even before he had stopped walking. He didn't press close immediately, however, and he looked her over as his fingers worked at the knots. She was pale and largely unscarred from fighting in heavy plate, though she had many rough patches of skin, callouses from weapons and armor alike. He brushed his lips against one of those at her shoulder, then looked up to her and murmured, "Cauthrien." He smiled.
She exhaled shakily, hands gripping tight at the wood she leaned on, watching him work. The moment the laces were free, however, she straightened up and hooked her thumbs along the waistband, shifting her hips to slide free of the tight leather.
Before he could kiss her again, she swallowed and, remembering her earlier thought, said, "If you don't want your whole estate to hear me, find something to gag me with." The confession made her cheeks flush darker and brighter still.
He lifted an eyebrow in question, then nodded, gaze falling back to the column of her throat, the final fall of the buckskin from her legs. His hands went to the laces of his own trousers, then, and they soon followed hers to the ground. Freed, he pushed her against the desk once more, his motion less than gentle.
She should have pushed, should have insisted, kept him from making more of a scandal of this than it already would be, but she made contact hard with the edge of the desk, and it drew a surprised, pleased groan from her as she reached for him, pulled him in for another kiss.
She'd never known what it was like to have gentleness; she preferred rough, combative battles for dominance. Or, at least, she thought she would have preferred the last - she had always yielded to Loghain, let him pin her down on his table strewn with maps, let him hold her as he tried to find sleep those last few weeks.
Her hands, finding his his hair once more, turned rough and a little forceful as she pushed herself up to sit on the desk itself. There were papers there, trinkets, tools, but those got covered or pushed aside. He laughed and she heard him toe his shoes off as her hand slid against a pile of papers. Her letter to Anora was in there somewhere.
Should she report this?
She groaned again, this time a noise closer to a growl, and hooked one of her now bare legs around his hips. He tried again to undo the ties of her breastband and she arched, giving him the access he needed. It slithered open, then slid over her skin and to the floor.
Teagan leaned in again, lips finding her throat this time, leaving a trail of kisses up to her ear. His breath was ragged and her responses, her little moans and twitches, drew an answering sound from his lips. She trapped his hips against hers, rocked against him, listened for a hitch in his breathing.
When she heard it, she couldn't help the moan that rose from her throat, loud and needy, and she pressed one of her hands to her mouth to stifle it, slipped two fingers between her lips to bite down on. For all her years of repression - perhaps because of them - she was sensitive and responsive. A part of her had thought it was all because of Loghain - his hands and lips on her skin, bringing desperate, thankful cries to her lips - but she felt just the same now with Teagan against her.
What did that mean?
She didn't care. She could feel Teagan's arousal rocking against her hips, his hand sliding to her waist, then to her hips, tugging at the edge of her smalls. He dragged the fabric down just a bit, just enough to slide his hand across her waist, feel at where her hips turned and led down between her legs. He kissed his way down her chest as he pushed her smalls further down, inch by slow inch, and when his mouth found a nipple, he sucked it between his lips, tasting her, humming quietly against her. She gasped and arched, leaning back.
At first, her other hand stayed tangled in his hair, keeping him close, even as she shuddered at his touch and the scrape of whiskers against her skin, but then she had to let go, grip the side of the desk hard instead. She let go of his hips with her leg only to shift and kick her smalls down and off.
The wine glass was still on the desk, and it rattled as she hooked her legs around his waist again and pulled him hard against her. She ground her hips against his, whimpering and letting her head loll back.
He continued his investigation of her nipple, drawing circles around it with his tongue, interspersed with quick, flicking motions and nips of his teeth. She bucked against him and he responded by dropping a hand to tug at his own smalls, letting them fall. That hand then rose to cup her other breast, kneading, teasing.
Cauthrien groaned, gasped, and tried not to think about how Loghain had never been so attentive, so focused on her body.
She rocked her bare hips against his and made another low, needy sound at the sensation. She felt the slide of his fingers against her neck, then over her cheeks, and then he touched at her lower lip. She shuddered and opened her eyes (when had she shut them?), looking down at him hazily.
And then she slipped her fingers, already a little bit tender, from her mouth and took his instead, flicking her tongue along the tips to taste him, to get used to the feel of him.
That left her one hand to brace herself on the desk and one to tangle back in his hair, tugging on his braid, guiding him as she pressed herself up against him. He moved, sliding his hand from her breast to trace down her stomach and between her legs. A brief touch to her center, and then he was rolling his hips forward, pushing into her with a low groan echoed by her own gasping cry.
Her body accepted him easily, and she rocked her hips to take him further, shuddering and whining around his fingers. She shifted her legs until her heels were pressed to his lower back, until she could urge on his thrusts by tensing her legs while she rolled up against him.
Oh Maker.
Eight months. It had been eight months and while that was nothing to the wait before that, it was everything in that moment. She cried out loudly the first time he thrust deep and shut her eyes, gripping his scalp hard enough to hurt.
She wanted it to hurt, just a little. For every bit of her that existed only in the present moment, there was a tiny echo of you know what you did, a tiny echo that was waiting for punishment, for aggression, for frustrated anger. She wanted that just as much as every lathing sweep of his tongue.
He breathed her name against her breast and she could feel the vibrations go straight through her.
He pushed, pulled, rocked with her. He bucked against her heels and changed rhythms, using quicker and sharper thrusts- deep, but with less control, less tenderness. The sharpness of his thrusts, the way it made her jerk against the desk, made her cry out, relieved and burning still hotter. Her movements back against his hips grew harsher.
He lifted his head, leaving her breast and finding her neck again, leaving nips, playful and teasing up to her ear. She moaned at every one of them and he wrapped his lips around her earlobe and sucked, pulling it between his teeth for just a moment before letting it go. He whispered in her ear. It may have been her name, it might only have been yes and please.
She groaned, threw her head back, arched violently.
And then she pressed his fingers from her mouth with her tongue just long enough to gasp, "Hurt me-"
--
Ah.
He slowed and braced his arm on the table so he could look at her. He had heard her, but something in her voice made him nearly stop. He knew which side of the line she was on now, between abandon and actively seeking pain, and he wasn’t sure that he liked the implications.
They might be two adults, with the ability to play how they liked, but this was little different than the way she had buried herself in drink the night before.
She let out a needy, frustrated whine as he slowed to a halt.
“You understand that this isn't meant to be a punishment, don’t you?” he asked, quietly, feeling her flinch at the question. He hated the idea that she might have submitted to him out of some sort of guilt, felt a momentary flare of sick anger at the thought.
This wasn’t want he wanted at all.
Maker. He didn’t withdraw from her but he did stop and take his fingers out of her mouth so she could answer him properly.
"I know," she got out, voice hoarse and thick. She had trouble meeting his eyes, and lightly rocked her hips, as if it would make him forget, continue. "I just-"
He sighed. He wondered for a moment what exactly he had expected.
“Well then,” he laughed. “This is...” Awkward. Embarrassing. His heart was still racing, his breath still catching up to him.
And when he looked at her, spread beneath him, pale and with those eyes- Maker. His body was definitely still long behind his question, still needy and hoping that whatever lay ahead meant more of what he had interrupted.
But it was a question worth asking. The look on her face said that she really wasn’t that sure that she agreed, that she was looking for punishment even when she said she wasn’t. He leaned down and kissed her. It was soft, tender, breathless. That was what it should have been like from the beginning. That’s what he wanted still.
And whatever it was that she wanted, she was wrapping her arms around him, lifting herself slightly off the desk to be closer to him. She didn't nip or suck or bite; she responded in kind to him this time, matched his soft movements with ones of her own. She shuddered, arms tightening around him.
That was enough to bring some sort of life back into him, some strength. He pushed both arms around her back, holding her close, fingertips still and forearms bracing her, so she wouldn’t lay back around the desk. Couldn’t.
His hands weren’t soft but he could use them gently, and when he was sure she wasn’t moving away or trying to push him faster, he trailed fingertips around to her side, walking down the length of her ribs and waist, over her hips. Settling his hands around her, he grabbed her and pulled her closer, regaining the purchase inside her he had lost earlier. Her legs stayed tangled around his hips, though she had lost the angle to press her heels to his back. One of her hands slid gently up into his hair but this time she didn't pull, didn't grab.
He kept his mouth on hers, still gentle, but with a soft tongue caressing at her lips, unhurried. There was a low groan from him as he pulled into her again, kissing the sound onto her lips.
She shuddered again, and the sound she made was still part moan, but was also part sob.
He let his fingertips curl, just a little, into the flesh of her hips, her rear. It wasn't enough to hurt, just enough to feel her in his hands. Sinking into the thought, and into her, he rolled his hips forward again, pulling her close and feeling her around him.
When her breath caught, he listened for it, keeping his mouth on hers, kissing, tasting. He parted his lips for her tongue when she moaned, and waited to see what else she would do.
There was a determination in him now, a concentration to be as diligent, as precise as possible. He didn’t know her experience but he could feel when he was close- when she was close- and he slowed or sped up his pace accordingly. Her earlier insistence wasn’t gone from his mind but he used it instead as stimulation to do anything but what she had asked.
Soon, Cauthrien began to move insistently against him once more, breathing whimpers and sighs against his mouth as she clutched him tightly. When he could feel her coming back to him, he sped up just enough to keep rhythm with her breathing. The hand in his hair loosened and she trailed fingers over his cheekbone, along his ear, exploring. She groaned into his mouth, her hand at his back scrambling for purchase, finding it on his shoulder, and she tried to lean back.
He pushed her back down slowly, letting his other arm fall way and catch behind her shoulder. He didn't let her settle all the way onto the desk, instead giving more space between them. He drew his mouth away from hers, slowly, and she cried out in response as he trailed kisses down her throat. He smiled against her skin. She moved one of her legs, braced her foot against the edge of the desk, used the leverage to keep tempo, to contribute, to push and rock.
He kissed at her throat and shoulder, wishing away all the places he had nipped at earlier, and when he gave her the same opportunity, she echoed his motions. Her lips were soft and feathery, gentle but insistent as she curled around him, shuddering. She found his pulse. She found the sensitive spot just behind the corner of his jaw.
She learned quickly, he thought - not imitating his actions, but finding similar ones of her own. She could be tender, when she wanted.
And as he approached a level of need that made him let out a slow, low groan, he muffled it against her skin, a murmur of her name.
She tensed and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, rolling her hips- and then she trembled, clutching at him, fingers digging in to the skin of his back. She lost herself in wordless cries and murmurs of Yes, yes, please- Teagan- Maker, I-, moans on the edge of sobs that she caught with her hand pressed to her lips.
At the tensing of her muscles around him, he lost control, just a little- just enough. His vision was hazy, but he opened his eyes to look at her. He caught words, the barest edges, and he sped up that last little bit. That was all it took for him to push himself over the edge, where he could feel himself come inside her as she was undone beneath him. He let another moan escape, quick to find her mouth and leaving the breath there with her as he finished.
Her body curled around him once more, all too-long limbs and sinewy muscles, and she pressed little, needy kisses to every inch of skin she could reach.
He smiled lazily in the aftermath. He nibbled at her ear gently and then kissed it before he slowly pulled away.
She clung to him for just a moment, trapping him against her, but then she sat back exhausted, hands behind her to prop herself up. Cauthrien sucked in deep breaths, her eyes remaining closed.
He went to her again, having only needed that moment of space- that wash of air to cool his flushed skin. He wrapped an arm around her and grabbed the glass of wine they had managed to leave standing on the table in the other.
With a kiss to the cheek, he offered her the glass.
She opened her eyes and, shakily, she took the wine glass. She stared at it for a moment, then finished off the last of the wine, accompanying it with another deep breath and shaking exhale. She passed the empty glass back to him, and slipped then from the edge of the desk onto shaky legs and bent to reclaim her smalls, not looking back to him.
He watched her, trying to steady himself. For a moment, he thought about taking the seat she'd left until he saw her reaching for her smalls. With a nod to himself, he looked for his own.
As he pulled them on, he looked at her, eyes narrowed and studying what he could see of her. “Cauthrien?” She was halfway into her leggings when he said her name, and she paused. Swallowed. He had known there would be a moment like this- had prepared for it earlier when they’d stopped. But now-
He reached for her tunic where he had thrown it on the other side of the desk, held onto it. He saw her breastband nearby and grabbed that too. It was only slightly petty, he thought. He wouldn't force her in to talking, but he wanted to at least make her acknowledge she was running.
She finished pulling her leggings up and worked on the laces, looking up at him. "I need some air," she said, voice quiet and wavering. She held out a hand for her clothing.
He hesitated, watched her for a moment, then looked down at her outstretched hand. He wanted to smile, to say something to comfort her, but she seemed certain. Reasonable. That’s what he wanted her to be-
Not the woman that thought herself pathetic.
With a nod, he reached his hand out, tunic and breastband bunched together. She took her clothing from him with a murmured thanks and dressed quickly. He thought about dressing himself, even going so far as to grab his breeches and slip them back on. When he looked to where the rest of his clothes rested, he decided against it and leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest as he watched her finish dressing.
It wasn’t sexual or overt like how he had watched her earlier. Instead, it was contemplative, his lips pursed and his teeth grabbed at the skin inside his bottom lip. They could talk tomorrow, provided she still wanted him to help her learn better spelling.
She didn't meet his gaze even when she approached and, after a bit of searching, found the newest version of her report to Anora. "I'll see you in the morning," she said, folding the letter and tucking it into the pouch she belted back on, then headed for the door. "Thank you for- tonight."
He shook his head. “Thank you.” And then he added, “In the morning, then.” It wasn’t curt, necessarily, but he wouldn’t delay her either. As he thought on it, they both needed space- and time.
After she left, he poured himself another glass of wine. He didn’t finish dressing, but he at least picked up his things and put them on his chair as he brought it back around to the right side of the desk.
As he busied himself putting everything back in order, he found her letter to Anora, the first one she had shown him. He read it again, a smile on his lips and then turned to store it away. Whatever happened in the next month, he would keep that much of her.
When his office seemed nearly in order again, he picked up the bottle of wine and took it to his desk, sat in his chair and didn’t move again until he had finished it off. At least then, he knew, he would be able to sleep.
Without leaving instruction or comment of any kind, even leaving the rest of his clothes behind, he went to his room. He was right. The wine did help him sleep.
--
Cauthrien, however, slept horribly.
When she went back to her room, she had felt heavy, languid, sated. She should have let herself sleep then. She knew exhaustion well, but not this pleasant haze. Eight months ago, every interlude had ended with the reminder that there was work to be done, enemies to be vanquished. Here, there should have been only how her legs still trembled and her eyes wanted to close.
But she was trained to work, and she sat up late into the night, thinking about what in Andraste's name she was doing, and what she was going to do about it. Bann Teagan. On his desk, in his office, begging him to hurt her- and him refusing. That was never supposed to have been tender. She'd nearly cried by the end, buried herself against his body and sobbed.
She was hurting, had been bleeding out ever since- not even Loghain's death. Since she had realized they were losing. Before that, when she killed men and women no different from her parents. Before that, when she had given the order to retreat at Ostagar.
And a very large part of her thought that she deserved that slow, wasting death.
It seemed like Teagan wanted to bandage her, wrap her in a blanket and let her rest.
It was dangerous, and foolish, and it would only hurt his future. Anora would lose what little respect she had for Cauthrien. But Cauthrien was honest, and direct, and so she knew that Anora would have to be told. By her, preferably, and within the month.
She fell asleep bent over her writing desk.
The next morning, early, with a headache and a lingering ache between her legs and at her throat, she woke up, donned her armor, and went straight down to the stable.
She said nothing to anybody.
She ignored that she had told him she would see him in the morning.
--
By the time the wine had worked it’s way through his body, he was good and asleep, but that didn’t stop him from waking up early. He had had dreams of Ser Cauthrien beneath him, sometimes ending well, sometimes stuck on her request. Hurt me.
He got dressed quickly and was determined to find her before breakfast, hoping that she had enough time think the night before. That they could talk. But when he walked down the hallway, he found the door to the guest chambers open, Cauthrien - and her things - missing.
When he asked after her, no one had seen her. Maker’s breath-
When she ran, she ran.
He headed for the first place he thought to look knowing that her things were missing and found that so too, was her horse.
Cursing, he saddled his own horse and rode out after her. He knew it was early and that the people of Rainesfere would be awake, would be setting about their daily business and that seeing their Bann on his horse at this hour, racing out of town, was bound to cause confusion.
At that moment, he didn’t care.
He leaned forward in his saddle, chasing after her, riding hard on the road towards Denerim until there was an actual a form of her on the horizon to chase. As he rode closer, he sat back enough to yell after her.
“Cauthrien!”
He thought he saw her look back, but then she just bent forward, spurring her horse on to greater speeds.
She saw him, he knew she had. He kicked his heels and leaned forward again. He would catch her. He didn’t question it- knew it for a fact-
She was running. And he would catch her.
He was closer this time when he yelled after her: “Cauthrien, Stop!”
At first, she just kept riding without another look back and he thought she might ride forever. But then she pulled up hard on the reins, her garron coming to a fast halt, rearing and turning to face Teagan. She stared at him from under her grand helm.
"Bann Teagan," she said.
And then she dismounted in a great rattle of armor, her cloak swinging behind her, and began to unbuckle the Summer Sword.
With a deep breath and no idea what he would say to her (but a great deal of determination to say something), he dismounted as well.
--
She drew her sword and though she held it in a low guard, at her hip and pointed forward to the ground, she was not relaxed. She was not approachable. One step and she could disembowel a man. One step.
She knew that step very, very well.
He stood his ground.
“Cauthrien.”
"I'm returning to the capital," she said, fighting to keep her voice calm. "I suggest you do not attempt to hinder me. I am, after all, on the Queen's orders."
She didn't think about how unarmed he was- how he had raced after her, the killer, Loghain Mac Tir's dragon, unarmed, unguarded, just to bring her back. Couldn't think about that.
"You have a bannorn to help rebuild. I suggest you return to your duty, Bann Teagan."
He didn’t take his eyes off of hers. “I believe,” he said very slowly and very carefully, “and we can check the orders on my desk, that your orders are to stay in Rainesfere for a month.”
The muscles of Cauthrien's jaw twitched, and she shifted her grip slightly on the hilt of her sword.
"My orders were invalidated when I compromised my own integrity as an agent of the Queen. If I had not left, I would have reported my-" She looked away for just a flicker of a heartbeat.
"Indiscretion. And she would have called me home. I am simply expediting the process. Since there is nothing of worth to investigate more in Rainesfere, I am going to where I might be useful."
Without moving from his spot, Teagan shifted his weight.
“I will not hinder your progress if you choose to continue...” He took another breath and then even slower than he had spoken before, he continued, his tone gentle but firm. “If you go... I will continue to ride after you.”
With a slow nod he added, “Cauthrien.”
Cauthrien shook her head. "If you decide to follow, you have two options: I cut your horse down, or I cut you down."
She could see how his jaw clenched even at that distance. He kept his eyes on her and she quietly cursed his foolishness - or his bravery. But as she watched, his features softened and his shoulders relaxed.
“Do you really think so little of me? Of...” He sighed, closed his eyes.
Something twisted in her, low and dark, and she fought the urge to look away. To back away. To mount up and ride away and not look back, and if he was with her when she reached wherever she stopped for the night-
Maker, she could remember far too well his lips on hers-
She scowled.
"You appear," she said, slowly, picking at her words, "to be enamored of the idea of putting me back together. And if I don't want that? If I, at least, can remember what I did to the people of Ferelden, even while you ignore it? You say you don't forget, but if that were true, last night-"
Last night, he would have risen to the opportunity to hurt her.
He would not have held her close.
"So yes. You are a fool. A fool who would risk his people's hard-earned goodwill for a month with a war criminal with no future. Turn. Back."
This time when his jaw clenched, it stayed that way, and his expression was determined when he looked at her again. “So, I have this clear then- because I didn’t throw you out of my house, was a gracious if reluctant host, because I cared,” he paused as he struggled to keep his arms from shaking, “because I didn’t- didn’t hate you, because I didn’t hurt you - I’m the fool?”
He took a step forward, his hands balled into fists, knuckles white.
“I just want to make sure that we’re clear. That you would give up what could be one good month- because I’m a fool?”
She did not flinch.
The tip of her blade, however, did waver as he approached. She did not look away. She did not close her eyes.
She said, simply,
"Yes."
He finally understood - or at least, could have, if he had wanted to. She wasn't worth his hospitality except by virtue of her position. That was obvious. Clear. Indisputable. And yet he persisted in treating her like a decent, redeemable human being, even when that treatment would have led to his loss of the people's good will. He was a fool.
She wasn't worth any of that.
Perhaps he needed to hear that part, to understand why he was a fool. She, too, took a step forward, a careful shifting step that left her left foot still leading.
"And because I am the last surviving horror of the Blight."
He shook his head, took another step towards her.
“Bullshit.
“You wallow in your guilt. You let it eat away at you while the rest of us are trying to move on. You want to do everyone a favor? Live your life.”
He took another step as his fists unballed, pressing into his thighs.
“When I said, I hadn’t forgotten, I didn’t lie. I didn’t misspeak. I have to think about what happened here every day. But the truth is that I don’t blame you. There’s no point to it. I blame that...”
He swallowed and then more softly added, “I blame the war. I blame the Blight. Power. Politics. And that damned archdemon.” He gestured with the low wave of a hand, “Take you pick. Pick them all. But whatever it is you’re holding on to? That’s on you.”
Cauthrien flinched. She flinched visibly, even through all her armor, fighting to keep her gaze fixed on him while all she wanted to do was turn away from him.
She turned her blade away from him instead.
No, she thought. No, I'm the last monster of the Blight, the last abomination. I can run this man through. I can watch him die.
She took a step back.
"I am a farmer's daughter," she said, quietly. "Still half-illiterate. And yet I have killed hundreds in this bannorn alone by burning crops. By using what I learned from my father to wreak devastation across half the country. I called the retreat at Ostagar. I stood by and allowed all the horrors of the war. And when I finally began to see-
"When I started to understand just how far we had all fallen-
"When I could have exposed how we brought in Tevinter slavers-
"When I could have put a knife in his throat because I was the only one he still trusted-"
Her voice caught.
She looked away.
"The first time I faltered, he responded to every dream I'd had for seventeen years and I could not go against him."
Her hand tightened on the grip of her sword, a gift from him, a gift to win her back. She had never wanted to look at it that way, what he had done, that it had been calculated, that he was keeping his sword by giving a piece of metal to her.
"I should have died with the rest. And I'm just waiting until the Maker sees fit to rectify... me.
"So no, I will not let you throw your bannorn away on some flight of fancy or frustration with a woman - a thing - you barely know. Not when I'm half-convinced that I only remind you of your precious Lady Cousland."
She stared him down, willing him to look away, to flinch, to admit that yes, she was a mistake. Instead, he said two words that she had not expected and did not want to hear.
“Fuck Loghain.”
His hands fisted at his sides once again and his expression turned pained, furious.
“You didn’t die- because that man- that traitor- the Maker saw fit to give him a good and decent end after everything he did. I was there and so were you. The Warden, she took him and she gave him something he didn’t deserve: a good death.
“And you?” He raised his eyebrows. “The Maker left you here. Loghain, he used you. He took everything you could have been and knew you should have been, and he twisted it for his own purposes.
"You see that now, I think.
“Now, I don’t know what else the Maker sees fit for your life. But I know you’re not doing it justice.” He held her gaze, the muscles of his throat jumping in time with what she imagined had to be his pulse, hard and fast and as determined as he was.
She dropped her sword.
Just like that- it fell to the ground, as if it was the heaviest thing in the world, and she swallowed, trying to think. She tried to excuse everything Teagan had said- ignore it. Force it underground. Chew it, swallow it, destroy it with her body.
And when she couldn't, when used you rang too clearly still, she stepped that last little bit of distance between them and backhanded him, metal on skin. He would bruise, bleed, maybe even break. But it was not a fist, and it was not a blade to his gut, and when it was done, her vision blurred and she let her head drop forward.
I only wanted to protect Ferelden.
She had torn it apart, instead, but those words- everything you could have been... twisted for his own purposes. They echoed too clear and loud for her to ignore, and it became harder and harder to bear her failure as anger towards herself.
"Why are you here?" she got out, voice flat, barely a whisper, cracking on the edges with the building pressure of tears behind her eyes.
He had his own eyes closed and she watched as he raised a hand to his cheek, tenderly. Her breathing sounded ragged in her ears, her pulse thundering. Her hands trembled.
“I- well- I-" He faltered, paused, took a deep breath and opened his eyes to look upon her. "... I said that if you chose to go, I was going to follow you. I came for you.”
"You're a fool," she repeated, weakly.
She had been bleeding out internally for eight months over the wreckage of her country, and it was too late for a tourniquet, too late for a healer. Bann Teagan Guerrin was not that healer, and yet his words had slowed the bleeding just a little. His touch, his laugh, his patience- those had made parts of her twitch and stir in response that she had thought lost. She didn't want to think about it.
She tried not to think about it.
And she succeeded for one triumphant moment before she stepped forward, grabbed the front of his doublet, and pulled him in to kiss him, hard, all heat and teeth and desperation.
“Ow!” He pulled his head back, and then gently tried to push her away. She didn't let him.
“Typically, I think women are supposed kiss a man- and then slap him. Makes the kissing easier," he muttered, a weak sort of chuckle escaping his lips, and the look he gave her- it seemed hopeful, despite the pain he was in.
She pushed him to the ground, straddling him.
"If you came for me- if you want me- then this is what you get," she muttered, voice dark, pained. She reached up to pull her helm off, cast it aside.
But when she gripped the back of his head in her hand and pressed her lips to his once more, it was gentle. Soft. It was the way he had kissed her the night before. Her tongue swept only lightly over his lower lip, and then she pulled away to press feathery kisses to the part of his face that was beginning to swell. She closed her eyes and tried not to shake.
This man-
What did he do to her?
He smiled as he pulled away from her just the space of a breath, laughing. “I did say such a thing, didn’t I? And when I can use my lips again, I plan to show you properly.”
She felt the faint pressure of his hand settling on her armored thigh and she smiled, a tiny, lopsided, strained thing. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his where her gauntlet had not connected and took a deep breath.
A month.
A month with a man who was determined to put her back together, and while she still wasn't completely convinced that it could or should be done- Maker, he almost made her want to try. She opened her eyes, watched him a moment, and then brought her lips to his ear.
"Be quiet," she muttered. "... Bann Disappointment."