fic: a midwinter's thaw, chapter 16
okay, no, it's not quiiiiite Wednesday yet in my time zone, but... iwannapostandgotobedandidon'tcare. ;)
Hello again, all faithful readers and innocent bystanders. ;) A few things before we begin with today's installment of A Midwinter's Thaw….
First of all, tahara_l continues to spoil us with nifty illustrations. Take a look at this sketch of the pub scene from Chapter 15, and this one of the kiss from chapter's end. Squee. [eta: milia_timmain also left us a great pic in the comments to this entry today. To link would be spoilery, but just read and then look through the comments, and you'll get there. ;) ]
Secondly: thanks to certain unplanned events, Chapter 16 ran to nearly twice the length of our usual, and couldn't really be split. Today's chapter, therefore, will be followed by a bit of a break while we continue to write like mad writing things. There will be no new chapter on Friday, but we will have a smaller interlude that day to tide you over.
Third, and finally: just to remind you, the archives are over here if you need to catch up, or to revisit anything that's happened so far. And as for this part, well --
You might possibly want to make note of the rating.
*clears throat delicately, sidles over thiiiisaway….*
Title: A Midwinter's Thaw, Chapter 16
Author(s): pagerunner_j and the indefatigable w0rdinista
Characters: Alistair, Elinora Cousland, and a slowly-growing cast of thousands
Rating: M (and we mean it)
Pairing: Cousland/Alistair
Summary: It's eight years after the Archdemon's defeat, eight years after Loghain's heroic death on the top of Fort Drakon, and eight years after Alistair stormed out of the Landsmeet, never to be seen again. It's five years since Elinora took up the mantle of teyrna of Highever after Fergus remarried and became King in the process. And it's been one day since a man of Highever disappeared, only to be found dead under eerie circumstances by Alistair and Elinora, who are working together once again. Help is needed, hints scarce, and portents dire… and that "working together" part is already causing more than enough of its own sort of trouble….
Note: Awakening references within, possible mild spoilers in the first half.
--
From the private correspondence of Teyrna Elinora Cousland, to Seneschal Varel, Vigil's Keep:
I write first in apology for the lapse since my last letter. I believe the last you heard from me, Highever was in highest summer, and I was crouched amongst the casks of wine in Father's old cellar for some shelter from the heat. (I see on review of your last note that yes, you commented on the burgundy smudge on my second page. I hope I might be forgiven, under the circumstances.) In contrast, today we stand near buried -- although my men have already put much work into the disinterring -- under snow, which has descended upon us in quite unreasonable amounts over the last week. I suppose I've at least earned points for symmetry.
Although I'd like to say I'm writing to make up for my delinquence, I have a serious request to make, for I find myself in need of counsel for matters of a magical nature. I ask not only on my own behalf, but that of Highever as a whole. I would describe our trouble in detail, except that it remains in large part a mystery to us, and I'm loath to speculate lest word circulate despite ourselves and only cause more trouble. I hope you can understand my need for restraint, and that I would not be asking were the matter not troubling. Sadly, a good man has already died. I wish it could be termed an accident, but signs are strange enough that I worry about the cause, and I must do what I can to ensure no one else falls to such a fate.
What I feel I can say openly is that I need is a trusted mage with experience in Warden business. My first thought was Anders, if I might request his time away from the Keep for a while. (This is, of course, assuming he hasn't had a relapse of wanderlust and gone haring off to Cumberland to steal away recruits from the College of Magi, like he joked the last I heard from him. I believe he used the term "liberation." I believe I used the phrase "my brother and his wife would consider it a serious international incident, so perhaps you might refrain?") Failing that, I remember hearing good things about Mikarra, I believe her name was -- your recruit who assisted in the rebuilding of Amaranthine after leaving the Circle? She may also have helpful experience. My first choice, though, would be one who has familiarity with unconventional magic practices. I'm certain you can suggest a suitable candidate. Whoever you may send, please ensure he is accompanied and prepared for difficult travel. Weather might not be the only hazard on the roads this season.
The other important thing, I must add, is haste. We need to contain this situation before it worsens. I'm doing what I can to keep up everyone's spirits here -- it seems to have leaked into this letter, given a second look -- and I will of course defend my people to the best of my abilities, but deeper arcane expertise would aid us more than I can say.
I'm afraid I must end my letter here; I have many other matters to attend to besides this one, some distressingly mundane, some… otherwise. I imagine life at the Keep is much the same, although I hope for your sake that all your Wardens are sleeping better than I.
Also, I would feel remiss if I did not offer: please feel free to ask whatever favor you would in exchange for the mage's time. I regret only that I cannot offer my blacksmith's services, as he is the one who has died. If that is where your need lies, I may simply have to owe you.
Yours,
El--
"--linora?"
The sudden voice broke into Elinora's concentration. A few penstrokes from ending her letter, her hand skidded, and a dark line cut across the bottom of the parchment. She sighed, appending an apologetic postscript to ensure Varel that no, she hadn't been snatched away by horrible beasts at the last moment, and then turned to face the real trouble.
"Alistair," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing up?"
He could have asked her the same. It was morning, dreadfully early by any reckoning, but once again, Alistair had found Elinora at work in her study. She was still wearing her nightclothes and robe, with only the incongruous addition of snow boots for the tromp across the castle grounds. They stood beside her desk, quietly puddling onto the floor. Alistair was dressed, but only just; from the state of his tousled hair, he was fresh out of bed himself.
"Your guards are getting lax about me again," he said. "No one stopped me, wandering about the castle at night. Shocking, really."
"Maybe they're starting to believe you mean me no harm."
He dropped into a chair in the far corner of the room, tiredly trying to get comfortable. His borrowed trousers rode low enough that in the midst of the wriggling, Elinora thought she glimpsed something on his hip that wasn't simply a shadow. But then he sat back, and the view disappeared.
Shame, she thought, before scolding herself for the idea.
"I'm no harm to much of anything," Alistair said, "after a night like that. You'd think a day of hard labor would make a person sleep better, but…."
He trailed off. He seemed to be studying Elinora's reaction, and well he might, because she'd just glanced again at her rather coded letter to Varel. Perhaps she was being paranoid, thinking of what they might give away if the letter got intercepted… and yet. Magical threats. Deaths. I hope your Wardens are sleeping better than I….
"We're both… dreaming badly, aren't we," she said.
"I meant to tell you," Alistair sighed. "I was just afraid I was wrong."
She rubbed her eyes again, then leaned into her hands. What woke her an hour ago had been an ordinary enough nightmare at first, considering the carnage they'd seen yesterday, but the way it ended -- all gaping darkness and mindless roars and--
"--like something was…hungry," Alistair said, and that was it exactly. Elinora blew out a breath and lowered her hands.
"They're like the darkspawn dreams," she said, "except… wrong."
"Were they ever right?"
"Not hardly," she muttered.
He ran sleepy hands through his hair, further tousling the disordered strands. "I mean, even when the Archdemon was rallying them, the dreams had some... they weren't coherent, exactly, but there was some sort of..."
"Message," she finished for him. "We didn't understand the words, but that didn't stop the point from coming across loud and clear."
"Right." He looked at her a long moment, as if he didn't want to ask his next question: "Did you... have you had many dreams since the Archdemon was slain?"
Elinora assumed Alistair was speaking now in general rather than specific terms, and she drummed her fingers against her desk, remembering quite vividly the events in Amaranthine, at a time when she'd been sent to rebuild the order - and had been prepared to do precisely that - and had managed to get sucked into a number of other affairs. Kal Hirol still haunted her dreams, so many years later...
"Elinora?" Alistair prompted.
She looked up suddenly, not realizing she'd been silent for so long. "Sorry," she muttered, rubbing tiredly at her face, "I got lost in thought for a moment there."
"It... didn't look like you were lost in a particularly pleasant spot."
Elinora sighed, rubbing the back of her neck, grimacing at the tightness back there. "It wasn't exactly a holiday by the Antivan seaside, no."
His brow furrowed slightly. "But you... don't sound as if you want to tell me."
"It's more that I don't know exactly where to begin."
"Well, let's start with the part where I asked if you'd had any odd dreams since the Archdemon, and you didn't reply with an unequivocal 'no,' shall we?"
She inhaled deeply and let it out, pushing her chair out a bit, the better to face Alistair now. He seemed to notice all at once that she was in nothing more substantial than a dressing gown and nightclothes, and though Elinora couldn't be sure, she thought she saw his eyes dip down to a point far below her face, as color crept up to his cheeks. She didn't trust her eyes after so little sleep, and so attributed it to a trick of the lamplight.
"I went to Amaranthine some months after the Archdemon was slain," she began, trying to get comfortable in the chair as she told the tale. "Anora gave the lands of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens, and Vigil's Keep itself was intended to be our base of operations in Ferelden." She sighed, looking annoyed. "Don't ask me why we simply didn't use Soldiers Peak, because I've no answer for you beyond foolish superstition. People still think the place is haunted, if you can believe that."
"Still," Alistair replied, shaking his head slowly, "giving the whole of Arl Howe's lands to the Grey Wardens... didn't you find that even a little satisfying?"
Elinora made a face. "The Keep itself was in a ridiculous state of disrepair; Amaranthine had become a haven for smugglers, thieves, and malificar; nobles not loyal to Howe wanted to know how I'd fix everything, and nobles still loyal to Howe tried to stage a coup. If I ever found it remotely satisfying, I was cured of the feeling soon enough."
Alistair's brow furrowed. "Why should it all have been up to you?"
Leaning back in her chair, Elinora made a grand gesture. "The former Arlessa of Amaranthine, at your service," she said, dryly.
Alistair stared at her for many seconds. "You're joking."
"I wish I were. But no, evidently, since Amaranthine was bestowed to the Wardens, I, as Commander of the Grey, was also the ruling noble in the arling." She rolled her eyes before pinching at the bridge of her nose. "And let me tell you, the very last thing I wanted to deal with alongside talking darkspawn were the very nobles who'd thrown their lot in with Howe-"
"Wait a minute - talking darkspawn?"
Elinora tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "You... didn't dream of The Architect, then?" She thought a moment. "It would have been some months since you'd left. Six or eight, I believe."
"I had dreams, but..." he trailed off, and Elinora watched in silence as a myriad of expressions passed over Alistair's face, starting with shock, which ebbed into comprehension and alarm both, and then, strangely, something that looked a good deal like guilt. "I'd... simply attributed them to my..." his features twisted in distaste, "state of mind at the time."
She nodded, giving him the silence he needed to go on, but Alistair seemed disinclined to elaborate, so Elinora continued instead. "Those dreams had been... strangely more linear, they made more sense than the dreams we'd had until then. Which made them, in their own way, much worse." Goosebumps raised on her flesh as cobwebs of memory drifted across her skin and Elinora shivered to rid herself of the sensation. "After that, I made sure to get better at blocking them out."
"I can't blame you, if they'd started to talk."
Elinora began folding her letter to Varel, so she might keep her hands busy as she spoke. "There was one incident, a few years ago - their proximity must have had something to do with it - I was woken out of a dead sleep. As it turned out, there was a small band that had made camp about a mile from the castle walls. They were dispatched simply enough, and since then things have been surprisingly peaceful."
"And now," remarked Alistair, glancing at the window, "quite the opposite."
She gave an indelicate snort. "That's putting it lightly."
"How long have these dreams been bothering you?"
"I'm not sure," admitted Elinora. "I've had a few bouts of insomnia, which rather excludes the possibility for nightmares altogether, and the nightmares themselves have been so... odd that I didn't even consider they might be related to darkspawn." She looked disgusted for a moment, "Which sounds utterly inane now, of course."
"Well, it might not be," Alistair reasoned, leaning forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees.
She frowned as she melted sealing wax over the folded letter and pressed the Cousland family seal into the scarlet wax. "What else could it possibly be?" she asked, gently fanning the letter to cool the wax. "You said yourself you'd been having them as well - and it seems as if we're having identical dreams, which we're both unable to block out, and, really, after being at it this long, we ought to be able to do a better job at it. And the fact that whatever it is can simply slip in-" Elinora stopped suddenly, remembering all too vividly the state of Kerran's corpse. She looked at the letter in her hand and considered the very words she'd used, and then looked back at Alistair, eyes going wide; she could see by the look in his eyes that he'd come to the same conclusion she had.
"Blood magic," they said, nearly in unison.
"But no," Elinora said, shaking her head briskly. "How can that be? Why us?"
Alistair looked suddenly disgruntled. "Well, aside from Highever not being a place for simple questions?" he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair again.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing." Alistair closed his eyes and thought a moment. "Well, we only know that we're experiencing the dreams. We've no idea yet whether the other Wardens are."
"And even if they are, it could still be a blood mage," Elinora pointed out.
"True, but if they're not having the dreams," he countered, "then we canbe a little more certain that it's not darkspawn."
Elinora slouched in her chair, scowling. "And while that makes perfect sense, it also means we're both going to have to be far more patient than is my inclination at present."
He smiled, then, and it was incredibly out of place, given their conversation - so much so that it gave Elinora pause. "Alistair? What's so funny?"
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head fondly. "It's just... you always were so eager for the battle."
The nostalgia in his voice melted away some of Elinora's irritation with their current situation. "No point in delaying the inevitable," she said, smiling faintly.
"What was it you used to say? 'The sooner we get it over with...'"
"The sooner it's over," she supplied with a soft chuckle. "Maker, I thought I'd mellowed more than that."
Alistair's grin tilted slightly into something so recognizable that Elinora felt her heart give a bittersweet twist. "I cannot help but wonder what the younger, at times even more impetuous Elinora Cousland would have thought of Ser Perrin's rather wide protective streak."
Elinora began laughing and bowed her head, shaking it. "I cannot possibly say."
"Oh, I think you could," his voice had taken on a familiar, teasing tone, "but you aren't."
Elinora was covering her face now, laughing harder. It was as if all of the tension and stress built up over the past few days had decided to break at once. "Alistair, really."
"May I take a guess?"
She did not pull her hands away from her face. "I doubt I could stop you."
"What few conscious hours the poor lad would've had likely would have been spent wondering how he got so very many bruises." And because Elinora's response came only in the form of more laughter, Alistair leaned back in his chair, laughing a little himself.
"He's... a good sort, Alistair," Elinora finally said, wiping away the tears of mirth after she'd finally managed to collect herself. "I realize he's been giving you a terrible time, and I do apologize for it-"
He waved a dismissive hand. "Please, Elinora. Don't concern yourself with what he said to me tonight. I only wish you hadn't heard it at all."
"Really. Because I'm rather glad I did."
"Why?"
She tapped Varel's letter against the desk a moment before letting it fall against the flat surface. "Are you certain you want to get into this now?"
He gave her an unreadable look. "I think sleep is out of the question at this point."
Elinora swallowed hard, marveling at how quickly the infectious, giddy laughter had slipped away. "When you left..." she paused, pressing her lips together as she considered her words. "I almost didn't believe it at first. Didn't believe you'd actually leave. I kept... I kept watching for you. I kept expecting you to show up at the very last minute, charging in and... and I was so angry, so utterly furious with you afterward. For leaving. For not coming back. It was only after the battle was over, after... everything, that I realized..."
"...Realized what?"
Elinora stood and crossed the room, coming to kneel by the arm of Alistair's chair, looking up at him. "Realized it was my arrogance that had driven you away. I betrayed your trust, and-"
Alistair shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes darting away. "Elinora, stop."
"No," she said, her chin tilting stubbornly. "I betrayed your trust, Alistair. In my arrogance, in my self-righteousness, I believed my decision was right. And I took for granted that you'd simply go along with whatever path I chose. I thought of nothing beyond increasing the number of Wardens to fight the Archdemon, of making use of any available resource, of doing what I thought necessary to win. I thought for certain you'd come to your senses, that you'd eventually see reason, and would come back to finish what we'd started. But... you didn't."
"I should have. I should have, and I'm sorr-"
"And despite my grand strategy," she spat, hating the way the words tasted, even after so many years, "we had precisely as many Wardens as we would have had if you'd killed Loghain. There had been no benefit, no advantage - if anything, I made the battle more difficult, and for what? To bask in being right? To get a bit of revenge on Loghain? The truth of the matter is that your absence made me a poorer warrior - I felt as if I was trying to make it through the whole ordeal fighting with only one arm."
He twisted in his chair, gripping her shoulders. "Elinora-"
But the floodgates of her honesty, once opened, would not be closed. "That moment was my greatest failure as a leader, Alistair."
"And what do you think it was for me?" he said hoarsely.
She stared, suddenly unable to reply, as he continued to speak.
"Do you have any idea how many times I thought it? It would haunt me worse than the dreams, Elinora. I'd be huddled under a stolen cloak in a torrential rain, or drunk half-senseless in a seedy bar, or getting sick over the side of a ship bound for Maker-knew-where, and I'd start thinking, I could have been king of Ferelden." He let out a humorless laugh. "You know this is true: I stood as the strongest candidate in that room. I could have used Loghain to my advantage. I could have won over more of the nobles, I could have been seen as a pragmatic leader and a strategist… I might even have looked like some sort of vengeful, mighty warrior king, getting poetic revenge on my enemy. I could have come out of that battle without losing anything I cared about -- and I'd have commanded the awe of a nation."
There was something almost frightening in that stare, a depth of power that proved exactly how right he was. Elinora felt herself trembling, supported only by his hands; they still hadn't left her shoulders. But then something went from him, exhaled on a bitter sigh. "Instead I became this."
"Alistair…" she whispered.
"You were my leader and I deserted you. I deserted everyone. I acted on reckless emotion and pretended it was in the name of honor, but it could have been satisfied some other way, and I knew it. And so I wasted my chance." The fire in him shifted, became something more familiar. She could hear pain in his voice. "I could have done so much good…."
"You're doing good now," Elinora whispered. He bowed his head a fraction, and at last his hands began to move. They slid in soft, curving patterns, urging her closer with almost no effort at all.
"I spent all those years trying to hide from everything I did wrong," he said. "Eventually I almost even chose a new life, something I thought I wanted. But now it all seems so ridiculous. Seeing you again, seeing you work so selflessly it almost worries me, how much you're putting everyone else ahead of yourself… and then going after Kerran together and feeling like a real Warden again, even for just an instant… it's all coming back, Elinora. Every last little thing I was, especially from the times I was with you."
They were so close now. Elinora didn't dare speak, because he was clearly still struggling for words himself -- and he wouldn't stop touching her. The robe had slid off her shoulders, leaving only a thin layer of fabric between her skin and his. Her heart ached for him; the rest of her, shamefully, simply wanted.
"I've been trying harder than you know throughout all this," he said. "I've changed. So much has happened. I want to make up for the worst of it, help you where I can, fight beside you again….Maker, I wish I could be that reckless, innocent fool again for you and do it right this time. But…"
His hands began to slip, sliding tantalizingly lower. Elinora fought not to make a sound.
"I'm trying, but I'm… not quite the gentleman I was," he said. His voice slid from something rueful, almost sad, into a lower, rougher register that did absolutely terrible things to her. When she gasped, she could feel him shudder; his mouth dropped open as if the sound had been his own. "And Maker's breath, Elinora, you're making it so hard…."
She should have stopped him, reassured him, something, but instead she heard herself answer:
"You're in luck, then," she breathed. "I'm not feeling like much of a lady, either."
He made a small, desperate sound, and pulled her closer even as she pushed herself up from her knees to meet him.
The kiss came like a mad collision. His hands seized around her; hers clutched in all that long hair of his, tugging his head closer as she plunged her tongue into his mouth. They kissed like they were both starving, and something about the urgency put her on edge, but it also made the sensations sharper. She leaned into it, arching her back and pressing forward until he squirmed and twisted to feel more of her, his breath going raspy, heart racing.
"Please," he said, tugging urgently upward until she finally understood. Elinora rose to her feet, pulling him with her, but he stood so much taller that the balance was quickly upset again -- and he pushed every advantage he had. He took one step forward, then another, forcing her to back up until she hit the door with a sudden, breathless thud.
"Alistair," she gasped, feeling him press fully against her. Her fingers clutched at the shirt he wore, tugging it up and over his head, removing one more layer between them, and when he pressed against her again, the warmth of his skin seared through the thin material of her nightgown and it took all of her presence of mind not to moan. Desire was clouding her head and doing other, indescribable, delightful things to her body, and Maker have mercy, but this was happening so fast--
She shut her eyes, darkness rushing over her. That indefinable frission of nerves still lingered. Elinora tried to push it aside, and twined her limbs around him instead, wanting to touch as much of him as she could, fingertips tracing his spine, the slight curve at the small of his back, the pattern of his musculature, as if she could drink in the feel of him with her hands alone.
Such hunger….
The sudden, unbidden thought made her gasp again, and her head fell back hard against the door, striking the very spot she'd wounded in their duel. With it came a bright explosion of pain. Splintered memories sparked off in all directions: their first kiss, his templar powers striking her at full flare, the horrors of their shared nightmares, how it was (and how she wanted) to feel him inside her, moving, whispering her name--
She imagined it, and then actually heard it…. but Alistair's mouth was occupied at her throat (when his teeth gently nipped at her collarbone, it was nearly her undoing), and the voice itself was muffled and far away.
Elinora…she's… with th…. I saw--
Elinora struggled to focus. Under the maddening distraction of Alistair's hands rucking up her nightdress, she could barely think, but she managed, just barely, to push back. "Alistair," she whispered.
He didn't stop, not yet. He made a soft little moan, and his fingertips were brushing her skin in sensitive places, and the jolt of fire it produced made her hips thrust and back arch and her breath nearly stop -- but when she twisted her head aside, her ear pressed against the door, and something came clearer.
"Alistair, wait!" she hissed.
He finally met her eyes, looking dazed. His hands paused uncertainly at her waist, warm against her skin, the thin nightdress gathered up around her hips. "Elinora. Did I…. do something--"
She shook her head. "Voices," she breathed, her eyes going wide.
He stayed that way, perfectly still, pressed completely against her, hands gripping her naked waist. Neither of them moved. It was possible neither of them breathed. Elinora closed her eyes, listening closely to the voices; in a moment, she recognized them - it was Brother Elias and Sister Irna, and it was all Elinora could do not to groan and thud her head against the door out of sheer frustration.
"There is a light on in the study, Sister Irna - if Lady Elinora is awake already, I must speak with her!"
"Elias, use an ounce of the sense the Maker saw fit to give you. If her ladyship is awake at such an hour, it may be that she has no wish to be disturbed."
A point in your favor, Sister, Elinora thought.
"Doubtless she's working on the eulogy for Kerran-"
"Aye, and if she is," Irna broke in peevishly, "interrupting her won't put her in any better frame of mind!"
Also true. Honestly, we had more privacy in a canvas tent surrounded by-
Elinora's thoughts came screeching to a stop when she felt Alistair's hands move. She whipped her head around, eyes wide, in time to see a smirk at his lips the likes of which she'd not been on the receiving end of in quite some time.
What are you doing? Elinora mouthed the words, giving them no sound, but Alistair understood completely nevertheless, and brought his lips to her ear, speaking in a bare breath of a whisper that made her shiver:
"Shh... Don't want to get caught now, do we?"
His words echoing their exchange in the chapel made Elinora suck in a ragged breath, her hips wriggling traitorously against him. Heat pulsed through her and her already pounding heart beat even faster as Alistair's fingers followed a leisurely path along her waist, the curve of her hip, before sliding across the flat of her belly, and downward.
What Alistair was doing, coupled with the anticipation of what he might yet do, made Elinora's skin feel somehow two sizes too small and far too warm as she pressed herself eagerly against him, watching his face, mentally willing his fingers to travel just a short distance further down - but no, his hand stayed where it was, fingertips tracing light, teasing patterns across the skin. As Elinora shifted and squirmed, Alistair only smiled; scowling at him, she reached for his hand with her own - if she had to pursue the issue herself, then so be it. But Alistair's fingers closed around her wrist as he gave a brisk shake of his head, then brought her hand back to where it had been resting at his shoulder.
"Surely, Irna, she could benefit from my assistance and guidance in this difficult time."
Brother Elias' voice drifted through the wood and Elinora realized just how nearby he and Sister Irna were. She closed her eyes. Please don't knock. Please don't knock. Sweet Andraste's mercy, please don't knock...
As she was in the midst of this silent litany, Alistair's hand snaked downward, fingers lightly drifting through her curls and seeking out the source of so much heat and frustration. At the feather-light touch - which was far too timid, as far as she was concerned - Elinora's eyes flew open and she clapped her own hand over her mouth, effectively cutting off the strangled whimper that escaped from her throat.
Alistair only let out a soft breath of laughter before turning his attention once again to her throat.
"She could benefit from a little peace and quiet!"
A little bloody privacy, at least! Elinora squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her hips moving of their own accord, twisting and squirming, trying to coax Alistair along - but he would not be led. He stroked with slow, deliberate movements, teasing inward and withdrawing, and almost giving enough pressure to the spot she wanted... but not quite. She could feel him smiling against her ear.
"No smallclothes," he murmured. "Really, Elinora. Not feeling like a lady, indeed."
She groaned, then bit her hand outright to stop from making another sound.
"I suppose," she could hear Elias grumble, "I could wait a little longer…."
Elinora, who couldn't, pushed herself harder against Alistair's hand. The way they were moving, she was sure that any moment now they'd rattle the door in the frame, make some sort of involuntary noise, something, and those slick little sounds from Alistair's fingers plunging deeper into her were unmistakable. They'll know, Elinora thought, even as her trembling muscles managed to angle her hips just right, and oh, Maker, now his thumb was… was rubbing… just there….
"Glad you've got the idea," said Irna, which nearly made Elinora burst out into desperate laughter. But Alistair used his free hand to tug her sorely-abused one from her mouth and silence her with a deep, fiery kiss instead -- and they were pressed so close together now that she could tell exactly how hard he was, and how much effort he was making to hold himself back -- and Irna out there simply couldn't have said "now come along," surely not in those words… but Elinora, in one delirious, convulsive moment, gave herself over to it all and did. Alistair slid one arm around her for support as she arched up, seizing around his fingers (and he moaned when she did; she could feel it) again and again until the waves of pleasure died down.
In the aftermath she went liquid, boneless and warm, and was suddenly grateful for the door behind her -- and Alistair, still holding on -- to stop her from falling.
Details filtered in one at a time. The kiss had somehow ended, but Alistair's lips were still close to hers, enough that she felt his breath when he whispered, "Are they gone?"
Elinora tried to listen, but couldn't tell. Her senses weren't quite sorted out yet. "I…."
She lost the rest of that sentence, for his hand had just slid free of her -- and that registered, of course, feeling strangely more intimate than the touch itself had. She bit her lip, acutely aware of the wet brush against her thigh as his fingers moved away, and the slide of fabric over her skin as he let the nightdress fall.
Then he saw her bitten hand again, and frowned. "You hurt yourself…."
She shook her head: it's nothing, she meant to say. She still didn't dare speak freely. Someone might still be out there, only inches away. And Maker knew her voice couldn't be counted on not to shake just yet, or slide into a much-belated moan.
She tugged her hand free, accidentally brushing against his stomach when she did. It was there that she paused. You aren't the only one overcome, she thought. You know that. You felt that…
With greater deliberation, she pushed her hand further downward.
Oh, what are we doing, Elinora thought -- far too late, but she did just the same. She watched her own hand, marked with stinging, blood-red crescents, slide its way almost to the swell of his erection. I wasn't going to do this, not so soon….
He felt her hesitating, perhaps knew she was wondering how far to take this, and gave her a soft but urgent kiss. "Like I did, that's all I need," he whispered at its end. "Just touch me."
She shut her eyes, leaned against his shoulder, and did. The trousers, which were a hair too loose, rode low on his hips and allowed Elinora's hand to slide just inside. Elinora felt Alistair's sharp intake of breath as she did, and felt a rush of satisfaction over her nerves: it wasn't just his touch that drove her mad; hers appeared to have the same effect on him, still.
"Going to... tease me, are you?" he breathed into her ear.
"Turnabout is fair play," Elinora murmured, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. She let the tips of her fingers drift across his stomach, up to his ribs, then down again to his hip, loving every jolt, every shudder her touch elicited. She pulled back just enough to unfasten his trousers, when she saw what she'd only caught a glimpse of earlier - markings on Alistair's skin. It was largely concealed by his pants, but the decorative patterns stretched up just past his left hip.
Elinora arched an eyebrow as she pushed the material down, and then, all at once, she realized what she was looking at: a tattoo.
"Maker's breath," she gasped; it had the same sort of twining elegance unique to elven tattoo art, and seemed to follow the contours of his body like it belonged there. Curiously, Elinora traced part of the design with her fingernail, smiling when Alistair gave a great shudder and a breathless groan.
"What have you been up to?" Elinora's voice had grown so husky it was practically a purr.
He gave a ragged, desperate little laugh. "Surely you don't expect me to regale you now."
"Mmh, perhaps not." With that, she slid her hand further down, lightly grasping his erection, loosely closing her fingers around him and stroking, very, very slowly. His eyes closed almost immediately, head tilting back; smiling, Elinora stretched up to press a kiss against his neck as she wrapped her free arm around him. Maker, but this was an intoxicating feeling - seeing that she could still reduce him to this, could still elicit such reactions from him. It was nearly as powerful as the responses he'd pulled from her.
She kept stroking him, faster now, then slower, watching his reaction with rapt eyes. He began to thrust into her hand, his breath coming faster and more ragged, and when she tightened her grip just-so, his breath hitched and he exhaled her name, turning his head and watching her with eyes so swallowed up by the pupil, they appeared almost completely dark.
Somewhere amid the dizzying rush of desire, the voice of practicality whispered to Elinora so softly she nearly missed it at first. She glanced down and after just a moment or two of consideration, shifted her stance and began to lower herself to her knees.
Alistair noticed immediately, and though seemed initially puzzled at her intent, seemed to comprehend the matter with all due swiftness. "Elinora? What are you-oh." He braced his hands against the door, and this time it did rattle in the frame. "Oh, by the Maker, you're... oh, sweet Andraste..."
Elinora chuckled deep in her throat and felt no small amount of satisfaction when he let out a husky, helpless moan as the sound vibrated through him. And though this particular deviation had initially been spurred by practicality, Elinora took her time with it, teasing his erection with lips and tongue, even as she continued to stroke. She basked in Alistair's every jolt and shudder, every gasp, in his every invocation to the Maker. She felt him grow tense under her ministrations, felt the fine trembling in his legs as he fought to keep from thrusting wildly into her mouth. Then one hand came down, and as his fingers slid into her hair, she felt them twitch and spasm as Alistair drew every breath more and more raggedly.
Finally, when the tension seemed fit to shatter him, Alistair drew in a sharp breath as a great shudder overtook him, hips thrusting hard once, then twice as he gave himself over to sensation. Elinora accepted as he gasped and rocked against her, pulling back only once the tremors faded away, with a catlike lick of her lips.
He looked stunned in the moments after, with sweat sheening his forehead, his chest heaving, and his mouth open, still shaped with the cry he'd stopped himself from voicing. His fingers slowly unclenched from her hair. One second passed, then two, and she felt herself bend forward for one more kiss and lick as he softened, making him release all his breath in a long sigh and fold down to kneel there in front of her.
Elinora could hardly believe the look in his eyes when he did.
She was clouded enough with her own emotions to understand; certainly the shock, the desire and the lingering disbelief were shared. But there was wonder there, too, amazement at her, and even after such intimacies it was enough to make her want to blush now.
"You know," he said, his voice low and hoarse, "you've never…"
"Actually... I have."
He made the tiniest possible flinch. Acknowledgment of the obvious, jealousy, regret… "Not with me."
Elinora very, very gently pressed her lips to his, letting it linger before teasing his mouth open. Their tongues met briefly before Elinora withdrew. Another small flash of reaction crossed his face at the taste of himself on her tongue.
"Why now?" he said softly.
There were several answers, of course. She'd learned -- had to learn -- quite a lot since he'd been gone. She'd given up a few romantic ideals about sex and love. She'd experimented a little, and let herself be encouraged, and some of the lessons had been eye-opening; one of the men in particular had nearly been worth it. But it still held true that she'd kneel for almost no one. Why Alistair, why now --
A strange little shiver ran up her spine before she told him the most obvious reason:
"I was not about to have to explain the condition of our clothes, otherwise."
He loosed a sudden laugh and shook his head. "Destroy the evidence," he said. "Throw them in the fire."
His hand was still resting on her hair, and had begun, gently, to slide. She curved with it until he'd reached the back of her neck and could urge her forward into another kiss. "Yes," she said, between touches. "Burn it all. Thus leaving us… scandalously naked."
His touch slid down around her neck, across her collarbone, and lower. Elinora breathed in, rising into his palm. As he slowly stroked the curve of her breast through the fabric, he murmured, "I wouldn't mind."
She supposed not. She paused, though, unfortunately, in between the tingles of sensation, to think. Elias and Irna wouldn't be the only passers-by, soon enough. It was sliding past ridiculously early and into the hours where activity would truly begin around the castle, and such a thing as a naked, flushed, still-aroused teyrna dragging her lover back to her bedchambers would certainly attract attention.
Appreciative attention, most likely, she thought, glancing down at his unlaced trousers and what they were doing no good whatsoever to cover. Appropriate would be another matter.
For a few seconds, she hated herself for even thinking about what was appropriate, but by then, the spell had begun to break.
She drew back a little. Alistair let his hand withdraw, each of his fingertips brushing the sensitive contour of her nipple on the way. The little hissing breath she took made him make a slow, sly smile. Then he sobered, just a bit.
"Elinora," he said. "I don't suppose you actually meant to do all this, just now."
She bit her lip. "I... not exactly."
"Are you--"
He trailed off. She tried to fill it in. Upset? She wasn't sure. Confused? Absolutely. Wanting merely to do it all over again, sliding the rest of his clothes off and touching every inch of skin with her own, over and over again? She tried to restrain herself from saying so, but she knew he could feel the way she was trembling, and how she couldn't quite move away. "We can't make this obvious," she said slowly. "Certainly not today. There's a funeral, and with this threat out there we need to protect everyone, can't be seen like we're distracted…."
"I know."
"And people are already talking. We shouldn't encourage."
"I know…."
"And with me about to summon other Wardens here to help us" -- she glanced at the letter to Varel that had somehow, in the midst of all this, fallen to the floor -- "who will know what you are--"
Alistair silenced her with a thumb against her lips, and his curled forefinger gently stroking the lower curve. "But you want this, don't you?"
She couldn't help it. "Yes."
"Glad at least a little that I came back?"
"Yes."
His voice shook with what sounded like relief. "Good to know."
Before she knew it she was kissing him again, going deeper than before and finding it very, very hard to break away. At the end they simply held each other for a while. Elinora thought of all the things she had to do, the places she was expected, everything, and yet all she wanted to do was stay right here.
She turned her face into his shoulder. She didn't want to say this either, but there it was. Rather despite herself, she murmured the question that had been twisting in her stomach ever since they left Highever: "Just… why did you have to bring the monsters back with you?"
He sighed and kissed the crown of her head to soften his answer.
"They never left, Elinora," he said, and she had to admit it was probably the truth.
Hello again, all faithful readers and innocent bystanders. ;) A few things before we begin with today's installment of A Midwinter's Thaw….
First of all, tahara_l continues to spoil us with nifty illustrations. Take a look at this sketch of the pub scene from Chapter 15, and this one of the kiss from chapter's end. Squee. [eta: milia_timmain also left us a great pic in the comments to this entry today. To link would be spoilery, but just read and then look through the comments, and you'll get there. ;) ]
Secondly: thanks to certain unplanned events, Chapter 16 ran to nearly twice the length of our usual, and couldn't really be split. Today's chapter, therefore, will be followed by a bit of a break while we continue to write like mad writing things. There will be no new chapter on Friday, but we will have a smaller interlude that day to tide you over.
Third, and finally: just to remind you, the archives are over here if you need to catch up, or to revisit anything that's happened so far. And as for this part, well --
You might possibly want to make note of the rating.
*clears throat delicately, sidles over thiiiisaway….*
Title: A Midwinter's Thaw, Chapter 16
Author(s): pagerunner_j and the indefatigable w0rdinista
Characters: Alistair, Elinora Cousland, and a slowly-growing cast of thousands
Rating: M (and we mean it)
Pairing: Cousland/Alistair
Summary: It's eight years after the Archdemon's defeat, eight years after Loghain's heroic death on the top of Fort Drakon, and eight years after Alistair stormed out of the Landsmeet, never to be seen again. It's five years since Elinora took up the mantle of teyrna of Highever after Fergus remarried and became King in the process. And it's been one day since a man of Highever disappeared, only to be found dead under eerie circumstances by Alistair and Elinora, who are working together once again. Help is needed, hints scarce, and portents dire… and that "working together" part is already causing more than enough of its own sort of trouble….
Note: Awakening references within, possible mild spoilers in the first half.
--
From the private correspondence of Teyrna Elinora Cousland, to Seneschal Varel, Vigil's Keep:
I write first in apology for the lapse since my last letter. I believe the last you heard from me, Highever was in highest summer, and I was crouched amongst the casks of wine in Father's old cellar for some shelter from the heat. (I see on review of your last note that yes, you commented on the burgundy smudge on my second page. I hope I might be forgiven, under the circumstances.) In contrast, today we stand near buried -- although my men have already put much work into the disinterring -- under snow, which has descended upon us in quite unreasonable amounts over the last week. I suppose I've at least earned points for symmetry.
Although I'd like to say I'm writing to make up for my delinquence, I have a serious request to make, for I find myself in need of counsel for matters of a magical nature. I ask not only on my own behalf, but that of Highever as a whole. I would describe our trouble in detail, except that it remains in large part a mystery to us, and I'm loath to speculate lest word circulate despite ourselves and only cause more trouble. I hope you can understand my need for restraint, and that I would not be asking were the matter not troubling. Sadly, a good man has already died. I wish it could be termed an accident, but signs are strange enough that I worry about the cause, and I must do what I can to ensure no one else falls to such a fate.
What I feel I can say openly is that I need is a trusted mage with experience in Warden business. My first thought was Anders, if I might request his time away from the Keep for a while. (This is, of course, assuming he hasn't had a relapse of wanderlust and gone haring off to Cumberland to steal away recruits from the College of Magi, like he joked the last I heard from him. I believe he used the term "liberation." I believe I used the phrase "my brother and his wife would consider it a serious international incident, so perhaps you might refrain?") Failing that, I remember hearing good things about Mikarra, I believe her name was -- your recruit who assisted in the rebuilding of Amaranthine after leaving the Circle? She may also have helpful experience. My first choice, though, would be one who has familiarity with unconventional magic practices. I'm certain you can suggest a suitable candidate. Whoever you may send, please ensure he is accompanied and prepared for difficult travel. Weather might not be the only hazard on the roads this season.
The other important thing, I must add, is haste. We need to contain this situation before it worsens. I'm doing what I can to keep up everyone's spirits here -- it seems to have leaked into this letter, given a second look -- and I will of course defend my people to the best of my abilities, but deeper arcane expertise would aid us more than I can say.
I'm afraid I must end my letter here; I have many other matters to attend to besides this one, some distressingly mundane, some… otherwise. I imagine life at the Keep is much the same, although I hope for your sake that all your Wardens are sleeping better than I.
Also, I would feel remiss if I did not offer: please feel free to ask whatever favor you would in exchange for the mage's time. I regret only that I cannot offer my blacksmith's services, as he is the one who has died. If that is where your need lies, I may simply have to owe you.
Yours,
El--
"--linora?"
The sudden voice broke into Elinora's concentration. A few penstrokes from ending her letter, her hand skidded, and a dark line cut across the bottom of the parchment. She sighed, appending an apologetic postscript to ensure Varel that no, she hadn't been snatched away by horrible beasts at the last moment, and then turned to face the real trouble.
"Alistair," she said, rubbing her eyes. "What are you doing up?"
He could have asked her the same. It was morning, dreadfully early by any reckoning, but once again, Alistair had found Elinora at work in her study. She was still wearing her nightclothes and robe, with only the incongruous addition of snow boots for the tromp across the castle grounds. They stood beside her desk, quietly puddling onto the floor. Alistair was dressed, but only just; from the state of his tousled hair, he was fresh out of bed himself.
"Your guards are getting lax about me again," he said. "No one stopped me, wandering about the castle at night. Shocking, really."
"Maybe they're starting to believe you mean me no harm."
He dropped into a chair in the far corner of the room, tiredly trying to get comfortable. His borrowed trousers rode low enough that in the midst of the wriggling, Elinora thought she glimpsed something on his hip that wasn't simply a shadow. But then he sat back, and the view disappeared.
Shame, she thought, before scolding herself for the idea.
"I'm no harm to much of anything," Alistair said, "after a night like that. You'd think a day of hard labor would make a person sleep better, but…."
He trailed off. He seemed to be studying Elinora's reaction, and well he might, because she'd just glanced again at her rather coded letter to Varel. Perhaps she was being paranoid, thinking of what they might give away if the letter got intercepted… and yet. Magical threats. Deaths. I hope your Wardens are sleeping better than I….
"We're both… dreaming badly, aren't we," she said.
"I meant to tell you," Alistair sighed. "I was just afraid I was wrong."
She rubbed her eyes again, then leaned into her hands. What woke her an hour ago had been an ordinary enough nightmare at first, considering the carnage they'd seen yesterday, but the way it ended -- all gaping darkness and mindless roars and--
"--like something was…hungry," Alistair said, and that was it exactly. Elinora blew out a breath and lowered her hands.
"They're like the darkspawn dreams," she said, "except… wrong."
"Were they ever right?"
"Not hardly," she muttered.
He ran sleepy hands through his hair, further tousling the disordered strands. "I mean, even when the Archdemon was rallying them, the dreams had some... they weren't coherent, exactly, but there was some sort of..."
"Message," she finished for him. "We didn't understand the words, but that didn't stop the point from coming across loud and clear."
"Right." He looked at her a long moment, as if he didn't want to ask his next question: "Did you... have you had many dreams since the Archdemon was slain?"
Elinora assumed Alistair was speaking now in general rather than specific terms, and she drummed her fingers against her desk, remembering quite vividly the events in Amaranthine, at a time when she'd been sent to rebuild the order - and had been prepared to do precisely that - and had managed to get sucked into a number of other affairs. Kal Hirol still haunted her dreams, so many years later...
"Elinora?" Alistair prompted.
She looked up suddenly, not realizing she'd been silent for so long. "Sorry," she muttered, rubbing tiredly at her face, "I got lost in thought for a moment there."
"It... didn't look like you were lost in a particularly pleasant spot."
Elinora sighed, rubbing the back of her neck, grimacing at the tightness back there. "It wasn't exactly a holiday by the Antivan seaside, no."
His brow furrowed slightly. "But you... don't sound as if you want to tell me."
"It's more that I don't know exactly where to begin."
"Well, let's start with the part where I asked if you'd had any odd dreams since the Archdemon, and you didn't reply with an unequivocal 'no,' shall we?"
She inhaled deeply and let it out, pushing her chair out a bit, the better to face Alistair now. He seemed to notice all at once that she was in nothing more substantial than a dressing gown and nightclothes, and though Elinora couldn't be sure, she thought she saw his eyes dip down to a point far below her face, as color crept up to his cheeks. She didn't trust her eyes after so little sleep, and so attributed it to a trick of the lamplight.
"I went to Amaranthine some months after the Archdemon was slain," she began, trying to get comfortable in the chair as she told the tale. "Anora gave the lands of Amaranthine to the Grey Wardens, and Vigil's Keep itself was intended to be our base of operations in Ferelden." She sighed, looking annoyed. "Don't ask me why we simply didn't use Soldiers Peak, because I've no answer for you beyond foolish superstition. People still think the place is haunted, if you can believe that."
"Still," Alistair replied, shaking his head slowly, "giving the whole of Arl Howe's lands to the Grey Wardens... didn't you find that even a little satisfying?"
Elinora made a face. "The Keep itself was in a ridiculous state of disrepair; Amaranthine had become a haven for smugglers, thieves, and malificar; nobles not loyal to Howe wanted to know how I'd fix everything, and nobles still loyal to Howe tried to stage a coup. If I ever found it remotely satisfying, I was cured of the feeling soon enough."
Alistair's brow furrowed. "Why should it all have been up to you?"
Leaning back in her chair, Elinora made a grand gesture. "The former Arlessa of Amaranthine, at your service," she said, dryly.
Alistair stared at her for many seconds. "You're joking."
"I wish I were. But no, evidently, since Amaranthine was bestowed to the Wardens, I, as Commander of the Grey, was also the ruling noble in the arling." She rolled her eyes before pinching at the bridge of her nose. "And let me tell you, the very last thing I wanted to deal with alongside talking darkspawn were the very nobles who'd thrown their lot in with Howe-"
"Wait a minute - talking darkspawn?"
Elinora tilted her head, her brow furrowing. "You... didn't dream of The Architect, then?" She thought a moment. "It would have been some months since you'd left. Six or eight, I believe."
"I had dreams, but..." he trailed off, and Elinora watched in silence as a myriad of expressions passed over Alistair's face, starting with shock, which ebbed into comprehension and alarm both, and then, strangely, something that looked a good deal like guilt. "I'd... simply attributed them to my..." his features twisted in distaste, "state of mind at the time."
She nodded, giving him the silence he needed to go on, but Alistair seemed disinclined to elaborate, so Elinora continued instead. "Those dreams had been... strangely more linear, they made more sense than the dreams we'd had until then. Which made them, in their own way, much worse." Goosebumps raised on her flesh as cobwebs of memory drifted across her skin and Elinora shivered to rid herself of the sensation. "After that, I made sure to get better at blocking them out."
"I can't blame you, if they'd started to talk."
Elinora began folding her letter to Varel, so she might keep her hands busy as she spoke. "There was one incident, a few years ago - their proximity must have had something to do with it - I was woken out of a dead sleep. As it turned out, there was a small band that had made camp about a mile from the castle walls. They were dispatched simply enough, and since then things have been surprisingly peaceful."
"And now," remarked Alistair, glancing at the window, "quite the opposite."
She gave an indelicate snort. "That's putting it lightly."
"How long have these dreams been bothering you?"
"I'm not sure," admitted Elinora. "I've had a few bouts of insomnia, which rather excludes the possibility for nightmares altogether, and the nightmares themselves have been so... odd that I didn't even consider they might be related to darkspawn." She looked disgusted for a moment, "Which sounds utterly inane now, of course."
"Well, it might not be," Alistair reasoned, leaning forward in the chair and resting his elbows on his knees.
She frowned as she melted sealing wax over the folded letter and pressed the Cousland family seal into the scarlet wax. "What else could it possibly be?" she asked, gently fanning the letter to cool the wax. "You said yourself you'd been having them as well - and it seems as if we're having identical dreams, which we're both unable to block out, and, really, after being at it this long, we ought to be able to do a better job at it. And the fact that whatever it is can simply slip in-" Elinora stopped suddenly, remembering all too vividly the state of Kerran's corpse. She looked at the letter in her hand and considered the very words she'd used, and then looked back at Alistair, eyes going wide; she could see by the look in his eyes that he'd come to the same conclusion she had.
"Blood magic," they said, nearly in unison.
"But no," Elinora said, shaking her head briskly. "How can that be? Why us?"
Alistair looked suddenly disgruntled. "Well, aside from Highever not being a place for simple questions?" he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair again.
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing." Alistair closed his eyes and thought a moment. "Well, we only know that we're experiencing the dreams. We've no idea yet whether the other Wardens are."
"And even if they are, it could still be a blood mage," Elinora pointed out.
"True, but if they're not having the dreams," he countered, "then we canbe a little more certain that it's not darkspawn."
Elinora slouched in her chair, scowling. "And while that makes perfect sense, it also means we're both going to have to be far more patient than is my inclination at present."
He smiled, then, and it was incredibly out of place, given their conversation - so much so that it gave Elinora pause. "Alistair? What's so funny?"
"Nothing," he said, shaking his head fondly. "It's just... you always were so eager for the battle."
The nostalgia in his voice melted away some of Elinora's irritation with their current situation. "No point in delaying the inevitable," she said, smiling faintly.
"What was it you used to say? 'The sooner we get it over with...'"
"The sooner it's over," she supplied with a soft chuckle. "Maker, I thought I'd mellowed more than that."
Alistair's grin tilted slightly into something so recognizable that Elinora felt her heart give a bittersweet twist. "I cannot help but wonder what the younger, at times even more impetuous Elinora Cousland would have thought of Ser Perrin's rather wide protective streak."
Elinora began laughing and bowed her head, shaking it. "I cannot possibly say."
"Oh, I think you could," his voice had taken on a familiar, teasing tone, "but you aren't."
Elinora was covering her face now, laughing harder. It was as if all of the tension and stress built up over the past few days had decided to break at once. "Alistair, really."
"May I take a guess?"
She did not pull her hands away from her face. "I doubt I could stop you."
"What few conscious hours the poor lad would've had likely would have been spent wondering how he got so very many bruises." And because Elinora's response came only in the form of more laughter, Alistair leaned back in his chair, laughing a little himself.
"He's... a good sort, Alistair," Elinora finally said, wiping away the tears of mirth after she'd finally managed to collect herself. "I realize he's been giving you a terrible time, and I do apologize for it-"
He waved a dismissive hand. "Please, Elinora. Don't concern yourself with what he said to me tonight. I only wish you hadn't heard it at all."
"Really. Because I'm rather glad I did."
"Why?"
She tapped Varel's letter against the desk a moment before letting it fall against the flat surface. "Are you certain you want to get into this now?"
He gave her an unreadable look. "I think sleep is out of the question at this point."
Elinora swallowed hard, marveling at how quickly the infectious, giddy laughter had slipped away. "When you left..." she paused, pressing her lips together as she considered her words. "I almost didn't believe it at first. Didn't believe you'd actually leave. I kept... I kept watching for you. I kept expecting you to show up at the very last minute, charging in and... and I was so angry, so utterly furious with you afterward. For leaving. For not coming back. It was only after the battle was over, after... everything, that I realized..."
"...Realized what?"
Elinora stood and crossed the room, coming to kneel by the arm of Alistair's chair, looking up at him. "Realized it was my arrogance that had driven you away. I betrayed your trust, and-"
Alistair shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his eyes darting away. "Elinora, stop."
"No," she said, her chin tilting stubbornly. "I betrayed your trust, Alistair. In my arrogance, in my self-righteousness, I believed my decision was right. And I took for granted that you'd simply go along with whatever path I chose. I thought of nothing beyond increasing the number of Wardens to fight the Archdemon, of making use of any available resource, of doing what I thought necessary to win. I thought for certain you'd come to your senses, that you'd eventually see reason, and would come back to finish what we'd started. But... you didn't."
"I should have. I should have, and I'm sorr-"
"And despite my grand strategy," she spat, hating the way the words tasted, even after so many years, "we had precisely as many Wardens as we would have had if you'd killed Loghain. There had been no benefit, no advantage - if anything, I made the battle more difficult, and for what? To bask in being right? To get a bit of revenge on Loghain? The truth of the matter is that your absence made me a poorer warrior - I felt as if I was trying to make it through the whole ordeal fighting with only one arm."
He twisted in his chair, gripping her shoulders. "Elinora-"
But the floodgates of her honesty, once opened, would not be closed. "That moment was my greatest failure as a leader, Alistair."
"And what do you think it was for me?" he said hoarsely.
She stared, suddenly unable to reply, as he continued to speak.
"Do you have any idea how many times I thought it? It would haunt me worse than the dreams, Elinora. I'd be huddled under a stolen cloak in a torrential rain, or drunk half-senseless in a seedy bar, or getting sick over the side of a ship bound for Maker-knew-where, and I'd start thinking, I could have been king of Ferelden." He let out a humorless laugh. "You know this is true: I stood as the strongest candidate in that room. I could have used Loghain to my advantage. I could have won over more of the nobles, I could have been seen as a pragmatic leader and a strategist… I might even have looked like some sort of vengeful, mighty warrior king, getting poetic revenge on my enemy. I could have come out of that battle without losing anything I cared about -- and I'd have commanded the awe of a nation."
There was something almost frightening in that stare, a depth of power that proved exactly how right he was. Elinora felt herself trembling, supported only by his hands; they still hadn't left her shoulders. But then something went from him, exhaled on a bitter sigh. "Instead I became this."
"Alistair…" she whispered.
"You were my leader and I deserted you. I deserted everyone. I acted on reckless emotion and pretended it was in the name of honor, but it could have been satisfied some other way, and I knew it. And so I wasted my chance." The fire in him shifted, became something more familiar. She could hear pain in his voice. "I could have done so much good…."
"You're doing good now," Elinora whispered. He bowed his head a fraction, and at last his hands began to move. They slid in soft, curving patterns, urging her closer with almost no effort at all.
"I spent all those years trying to hide from everything I did wrong," he said. "Eventually I almost even chose a new life, something I thought I wanted. But now it all seems so ridiculous. Seeing you again, seeing you work so selflessly it almost worries me, how much you're putting everyone else ahead of yourself… and then going after Kerran together and feeling like a real Warden again, even for just an instant… it's all coming back, Elinora. Every last little thing I was, especially from the times I was with you."
They were so close now. Elinora didn't dare speak, because he was clearly still struggling for words himself -- and he wouldn't stop touching her. The robe had slid off her shoulders, leaving only a thin layer of fabric between her skin and his. Her heart ached for him; the rest of her, shamefully, simply wanted.
"I've been trying harder than you know throughout all this," he said. "I've changed. So much has happened. I want to make up for the worst of it, help you where I can, fight beside you again….Maker, I wish I could be that reckless, innocent fool again for you and do it right this time. But…"
His hands began to slip, sliding tantalizingly lower. Elinora fought not to make a sound.
"I'm trying, but I'm… not quite the gentleman I was," he said. His voice slid from something rueful, almost sad, into a lower, rougher register that did absolutely terrible things to her. When she gasped, she could feel him shudder; his mouth dropped open as if the sound had been his own. "And Maker's breath, Elinora, you're making it so hard…."
She should have stopped him, reassured him, something, but instead she heard herself answer:
"You're in luck, then," she breathed. "I'm not feeling like much of a lady, either."
He made a small, desperate sound, and pulled her closer even as she pushed herself up from her knees to meet him.
The kiss came like a mad collision. His hands seized around her; hers clutched in all that long hair of his, tugging his head closer as she plunged her tongue into his mouth. They kissed like they were both starving, and something about the urgency put her on edge, but it also made the sensations sharper. She leaned into it, arching her back and pressing forward until he squirmed and twisted to feel more of her, his breath going raspy, heart racing.
"Please," he said, tugging urgently upward until she finally understood. Elinora rose to her feet, pulling him with her, but he stood so much taller that the balance was quickly upset again -- and he pushed every advantage he had. He took one step forward, then another, forcing her to back up until she hit the door with a sudden, breathless thud.
"Alistair," she gasped, feeling him press fully against her. Her fingers clutched at the shirt he wore, tugging it up and over his head, removing one more layer between them, and when he pressed against her again, the warmth of his skin seared through the thin material of her nightgown and it took all of her presence of mind not to moan. Desire was clouding her head and doing other, indescribable, delightful things to her body, and Maker have mercy, but this was happening so fast--
She shut her eyes, darkness rushing over her. That indefinable frission of nerves still lingered. Elinora tried to push it aside, and twined her limbs around him instead, wanting to touch as much of him as she could, fingertips tracing his spine, the slight curve at the small of his back, the pattern of his musculature, as if she could drink in the feel of him with her hands alone.
Such hunger….
The sudden, unbidden thought made her gasp again, and her head fell back hard against the door, striking the very spot she'd wounded in their duel. With it came a bright explosion of pain. Splintered memories sparked off in all directions: their first kiss, his templar powers striking her at full flare, the horrors of their shared nightmares, how it was (and how she wanted) to feel him inside her, moving, whispering her name--
She imagined it, and then actually heard it…. but Alistair's mouth was occupied at her throat (when his teeth gently nipped at her collarbone, it was nearly her undoing), and the voice itself was muffled and far away.
Elinora…she's… with th…. I saw--
Elinora struggled to focus. Under the maddening distraction of Alistair's hands rucking up her nightdress, she could barely think, but she managed, just barely, to push back. "Alistair," she whispered.
He didn't stop, not yet. He made a soft little moan, and his fingertips were brushing her skin in sensitive places, and the jolt of fire it produced made her hips thrust and back arch and her breath nearly stop -- but when she twisted her head aside, her ear pressed against the door, and something came clearer.
"Alistair, wait!" she hissed.
He finally met her eyes, looking dazed. His hands paused uncertainly at her waist, warm against her skin, the thin nightdress gathered up around her hips. "Elinora. Did I…. do something--"
She shook her head. "Voices," she breathed, her eyes going wide.
He stayed that way, perfectly still, pressed completely against her, hands gripping her naked waist. Neither of them moved. It was possible neither of them breathed. Elinora closed her eyes, listening closely to the voices; in a moment, she recognized them - it was Brother Elias and Sister Irna, and it was all Elinora could do not to groan and thud her head against the door out of sheer frustration.
"There is a light on in the study, Sister Irna - if Lady Elinora is awake already, I must speak with her!"
"Elias, use an ounce of the sense the Maker saw fit to give you. If her ladyship is awake at such an hour, it may be that she has no wish to be disturbed."
A point in your favor, Sister, Elinora thought.
"Doubtless she's working on the eulogy for Kerran-"
"Aye, and if she is," Irna broke in peevishly, "interrupting her won't put her in any better frame of mind!"
Also true. Honestly, we had more privacy in a canvas tent surrounded by-
Elinora's thoughts came screeching to a stop when she felt Alistair's hands move. She whipped her head around, eyes wide, in time to see a smirk at his lips the likes of which she'd not been on the receiving end of in quite some time.
What are you doing? Elinora mouthed the words, giving them no sound, but Alistair understood completely nevertheless, and brought his lips to her ear, speaking in a bare breath of a whisper that made her shiver:
"Shh... Don't want to get caught now, do we?"
His words echoing their exchange in the chapel made Elinora suck in a ragged breath, her hips wriggling traitorously against him. Heat pulsed through her and her already pounding heart beat even faster as Alistair's fingers followed a leisurely path along her waist, the curve of her hip, before sliding across the flat of her belly, and downward.
What Alistair was doing, coupled with the anticipation of what he might yet do, made Elinora's skin feel somehow two sizes too small and far too warm as she pressed herself eagerly against him, watching his face, mentally willing his fingers to travel just a short distance further down - but no, his hand stayed where it was, fingertips tracing light, teasing patterns across the skin. As Elinora shifted and squirmed, Alistair only smiled; scowling at him, she reached for his hand with her own - if she had to pursue the issue herself, then so be it. But Alistair's fingers closed around her wrist as he gave a brisk shake of his head, then brought her hand back to where it had been resting at his shoulder.
"Surely, Irna, she could benefit from my assistance and guidance in this difficult time."
Brother Elias' voice drifted through the wood and Elinora realized just how nearby he and Sister Irna were. She closed her eyes. Please don't knock. Please don't knock. Sweet Andraste's mercy, please don't knock...
As she was in the midst of this silent litany, Alistair's hand snaked downward, fingers lightly drifting through her curls and seeking out the source of so much heat and frustration. At the feather-light touch - which was far too timid, as far as she was concerned - Elinora's eyes flew open and she clapped her own hand over her mouth, effectively cutting off the strangled whimper that escaped from her throat.
Alistair only let out a soft breath of laughter before turning his attention once again to her throat.
"She could benefit from a little peace and quiet!"
A little bloody privacy, at least! Elinora squeezed her eyes tightly shut, her hips moving of their own accord, twisting and squirming, trying to coax Alistair along - but he would not be led. He stroked with slow, deliberate movements, teasing inward and withdrawing, and almost giving enough pressure to the spot she wanted... but not quite. She could feel him smiling against her ear.
"No smallclothes," he murmured. "Really, Elinora. Not feeling like a lady, indeed."
She groaned, then bit her hand outright to stop from making another sound.
"I suppose," she could hear Elias grumble, "I could wait a little longer…."
Elinora, who couldn't, pushed herself harder against Alistair's hand. The way they were moving, she was sure that any moment now they'd rattle the door in the frame, make some sort of involuntary noise, something, and those slick little sounds from Alistair's fingers plunging deeper into her were unmistakable. They'll know, Elinora thought, even as her trembling muscles managed to angle her hips just right, and oh, Maker, now his thumb was… was rubbing… just there….
"Glad you've got the idea," said Irna, which nearly made Elinora burst out into desperate laughter. But Alistair used his free hand to tug her sorely-abused one from her mouth and silence her with a deep, fiery kiss instead -- and they were pressed so close together now that she could tell exactly how hard he was, and how much effort he was making to hold himself back -- and Irna out there simply couldn't have said "now come along," surely not in those words… but Elinora, in one delirious, convulsive moment, gave herself over to it all and did. Alistair slid one arm around her for support as she arched up, seizing around his fingers (and he moaned when she did; she could feel it) again and again until the waves of pleasure died down.
In the aftermath she went liquid, boneless and warm, and was suddenly grateful for the door behind her -- and Alistair, still holding on -- to stop her from falling.
Details filtered in one at a time. The kiss had somehow ended, but Alistair's lips were still close to hers, enough that she felt his breath when he whispered, "Are they gone?"
Elinora tried to listen, but couldn't tell. Her senses weren't quite sorted out yet. "I…."
She lost the rest of that sentence, for his hand had just slid free of her -- and that registered, of course, feeling strangely more intimate than the touch itself had. She bit her lip, acutely aware of the wet brush against her thigh as his fingers moved away, and the slide of fabric over her skin as he let the nightdress fall.
Then he saw her bitten hand again, and frowned. "You hurt yourself…."
She shook her head: it's nothing, she meant to say. She still didn't dare speak freely. Someone might still be out there, only inches away. And Maker knew her voice couldn't be counted on not to shake just yet, or slide into a much-belated moan.
She tugged her hand free, accidentally brushing against his stomach when she did. It was there that she paused. You aren't the only one overcome, she thought. You know that. You felt that…
With greater deliberation, she pushed her hand further downward.
Oh, what are we doing, Elinora thought -- far too late, but she did just the same. She watched her own hand, marked with stinging, blood-red crescents, slide its way almost to the swell of his erection. I wasn't going to do this, not so soon….
He felt her hesitating, perhaps knew she was wondering how far to take this, and gave her a soft but urgent kiss. "Like I did, that's all I need," he whispered at its end. "Just touch me."
She shut her eyes, leaned against his shoulder, and did. The trousers, which were a hair too loose, rode low on his hips and allowed Elinora's hand to slide just inside. Elinora felt Alistair's sharp intake of breath as she did, and felt a rush of satisfaction over her nerves: it wasn't just his touch that drove her mad; hers appeared to have the same effect on him, still.
"Going to... tease me, are you?" he breathed into her ear.
"Turnabout is fair play," Elinora murmured, pressing a kiss against his shoulder. She let the tips of her fingers drift across his stomach, up to his ribs, then down again to his hip, loving every jolt, every shudder her touch elicited. She pulled back just enough to unfasten his trousers, when she saw what she'd only caught a glimpse of earlier - markings on Alistair's skin. It was largely concealed by his pants, but the decorative patterns stretched up just past his left hip.
Elinora arched an eyebrow as she pushed the material down, and then, all at once, she realized what she was looking at: a tattoo.
"Maker's breath," she gasped; it had the same sort of twining elegance unique to elven tattoo art, and seemed to follow the contours of his body like it belonged there. Curiously, Elinora traced part of the design with her fingernail, smiling when Alistair gave a great shudder and a breathless groan.
"What have you been up to?" Elinora's voice had grown so husky it was practically a purr.
He gave a ragged, desperate little laugh. "Surely you don't expect me to regale you now."
"Mmh, perhaps not." With that, she slid her hand further down, lightly grasping his erection, loosely closing her fingers around him and stroking, very, very slowly. His eyes closed almost immediately, head tilting back; smiling, Elinora stretched up to press a kiss against his neck as she wrapped her free arm around him. Maker, but this was an intoxicating feeling - seeing that she could still reduce him to this, could still elicit such reactions from him. It was nearly as powerful as the responses he'd pulled from her.
She kept stroking him, faster now, then slower, watching his reaction with rapt eyes. He began to thrust into her hand, his breath coming faster and more ragged, and when she tightened her grip just-so, his breath hitched and he exhaled her name, turning his head and watching her with eyes so swallowed up by the pupil, they appeared almost completely dark.
Somewhere amid the dizzying rush of desire, the voice of practicality whispered to Elinora so softly she nearly missed it at first. She glanced down and after just a moment or two of consideration, shifted her stance and began to lower herself to her knees.
Alistair noticed immediately, and though seemed initially puzzled at her intent, seemed to comprehend the matter with all due swiftness. "Elinora? What are you-oh." He braced his hands against the door, and this time it did rattle in the frame. "Oh, by the Maker, you're... oh, sweet Andraste..."
Elinora chuckled deep in her throat and felt no small amount of satisfaction when he let out a husky, helpless moan as the sound vibrated through him. And though this particular deviation had initially been spurred by practicality, Elinora took her time with it, teasing his erection with lips and tongue, even as she continued to stroke. She basked in Alistair's every jolt and shudder, every gasp, in his every invocation to the Maker. She felt him grow tense under her ministrations, felt the fine trembling in his legs as he fought to keep from thrusting wildly into her mouth. Then one hand came down, and as his fingers slid into her hair, she felt them twitch and spasm as Alistair drew every breath more and more raggedly.
Finally, when the tension seemed fit to shatter him, Alistair drew in a sharp breath as a great shudder overtook him, hips thrusting hard once, then twice as he gave himself over to sensation. Elinora accepted as he gasped and rocked against her, pulling back only once the tremors faded away, with a catlike lick of her lips.
He looked stunned in the moments after, with sweat sheening his forehead, his chest heaving, and his mouth open, still shaped with the cry he'd stopped himself from voicing. His fingers slowly unclenched from her hair. One second passed, then two, and she felt herself bend forward for one more kiss and lick as he softened, making him release all his breath in a long sigh and fold down to kneel there in front of her.
Elinora could hardly believe the look in his eyes when he did.
She was clouded enough with her own emotions to understand; certainly the shock, the desire and the lingering disbelief were shared. But there was wonder there, too, amazement at her, and even after such intimacies it was enough to make her want to blush now.
"You know," he said, his voice low and hoarse, "you've never…"
"Actually... I have."
He made the tiniest possible flinch. Acknowledgment of the obvious, jealousy, regret… "Not with me."
Elinora very, very gently pressed her lips to his, letting it linger before teasing his mouth open. Their tongues met briefly before Elinora withdrew. Another small flash of reaction crossed his face at the taste of himself on her tongue.
"Why now?" he said softly.
There were several answers, of course. She'd learned -- had to learn -- quite a lot since he'd been gone. She'd given up a few romantic ideals about sex and love. She'd experimented a little, and let herself be encouraged, and some of the lessons had been eye-opening; one of the men in particular had nearly been worth it. But it still held true that she'd kneel for almost no one. Why Alistair, why now --
A strange little shiver ran up her spine before she told him the most obvious reason:
"I was not about to have to explain the condition of our clothes, otherwise."
He loosed a sudden laugh and shook his head. "Destroy the evidence," he said. "Throw them in the fire."
His hand was still resting on her hair, and had begun, gently, to slide. She curved with it until he'd reached the back of her neck and could urge her forward into another kiss. "Yes," she said, between touches. "Burn it all. Thus leaving us… scandalously naked."
His touch slid down around her neck, across her collarbone, and lower. Elinora breathed in, rising into his palm. As he slowly stroked the curve of her breast through the fabric, he murmured, "I wouldn't mind."
She supposed not. She paused, though, unfortunately, in between the tingles of sensation, to think. Elias and Irna wouldn't be the only passers-by, soon enough. It was sliding past ridiculously early and into the hours where activity would truly begin around the castle, and such a thing as a naked, flushed, still-aroused teyrna dragging her lover back to her bedchambers would certainly attract attention.
Appreciative attention, most likely, she thought, glancing down at his unlaced trousers and what they were doing no good whatsoever to cover. Appropriate would be another matter.
For a few seconds, she hated herself for even thinking about what was appropriate, but by then, the spell had begun to break.
She drew back a little. Alistair let his hand withdraw, each of his fingertips brushing the sensitive contour of her nipple on the way. The little hissing breath she took made him make a slow, sly smile. Then he sobered, just a bit.
"Elinora," he said. "I don't suppose you actually meant to do all this, just now."
She bit her lip. "I... not exactly."
"Are you--"
He trailed off. She tried to fill it in. Upset? She wasn't sure. Confused? Absolutely. Wanting merely to do it all over again, sliding the rest of his clothes off and touching every inch of skin with her own, over and over again? She tried to restrain herself from saying so, but she knew he could feel the way she was trembling, and how she couldn't quite move away. "We can't make this obvious," she said slowly. "Certainly not today. There's a funeral, and with this threat out there we need to protect everyone, can't be seen like we're distracted…."
"I know."
"And people are already talking. We shouldn't encourage."
"I know…."
"And with me about to summon other Wardens here to help us" -- she glanced at the letter to Varel that had somehow, in the midst of all this, fallen to the floor -- "who will know what you are--"
Alistair silenced her with a thumb against her lips, and his curled forefinger gently stroking the lower curve. "But you want this, don't you?"
She couldn't help it. "Yes."
"Glad at least a little that I came back?"
"Yes."
His voice shook with what sounded like relief. "Good to know."
Before she knew it she was kissing him again, going deeper than before and finding it very, very hard to break away. At the end they simply held each other for a while. Elinora thought of all the things she had to do, the places she was expected, everything, and yet all she wanted to do was stay right here.
She turned her face into his shoulder. She didn't want to say this either, but there it was. Rather despite herself, she murmured the question that had been twisting in her stomach ever since they left Highever: "Just… why did you have to bring the monsters back with you?"
He sighed and kissed the crown of her head to soften his answer.
"They never left, Elinora," he said, and she had to admit it was probably the truth.