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[RoraM]

Author's Note:  I've discovered romances are really difficult to write.  Content under constant revision.  Alternatively, this story may also be read via AO3.  Warnings regarding subject matter of suspect virtue dutifully applied in red.  Dialogue and text found in-game will be in blue. 

 

 

 

     “Commander?  Are you well?”

 

     His skull-splitting headache disappeared with the light touch of her hand on his shoulder.  Had she used magic?  Even without lyrium, nearby magic always set his teeth on edge.  This was, this must have been, something else.

 

    “Yes, Inquisitor.  It has passed. How may I be of service?”  She looked uneasy, as if about to bear him some unpleasant news.

 

     “This may prove impossible, given your responsibilities to our army, but I find myself in need of your help.  Specifically.  I would like you to train me.”

 

     Cullen was taken aback.  “Surely, there are others better suited. Would not First Enchanter Vivienne…?”

 

     The Inquisitor sighed.  “I understand your reluctance, but please, hear me out.  I have concerns facing the Red Templar contingent entrenched in Emprise de Lion. After what we witnessed at Therinfal Redoubt..."  Cullen saw her shudder.  "My training under Commander Helaine was too cursory for my liking and, as for First Enchanter Vivienne, well, I'd rather she knew as few of my weaknesses as possible, for as long as possible.  Moreover, when all is said and done, both she and Commander Helaine still think like mages.  I need to think like a templar. Surely, you see the wisdom in that.”

 

     “Without lyrium, I would be a poor proxy for what you would face.  Seeker Pentaghast-“

 

     “Yes,” interrupted the Herald, somewhat impatiently, “Seeker Pentaghast would seem the ideal candidate.  Her ability to negate magic is formidable and she would not hesitate to knock me on my noble backside, as would some,” the Herald grinned, “but it was not so long ago that she held me in chains at swordpoint.  I would prefer to approach her once we were on less antagonistic footing.  That will take time.  You strike me as a man of patience and restraint.”  She stepped toward him.  “Do you not see you are the only one I trust?”  Her eyes searched his face.  Green.  Her eyes were green.  She had not stood close enough for him to notice before.

 

     She was right, of course.  He bowed.  “As you wish, Inquisitor.”

 

***

 

     “Again,” she said as she picked herself off the floor.  They had elected to use one of Skyhold’s empty tower rooms for the Herald’s evening lessons, far away from prying eyes and listening ears.

 

     “My apologies, Inquisitor.  Other than getting out of the way, there is little defense against the charging bull, but it takes time to set up the proper stance-”

 

     “Which I obviously need to recognize sooner,” the Inquisitor smiled, ruefully, rubbing her backside.  Since becoming a knight-enchanter, she had forsaken the traditional long coat in favour of the sleeker enchanter's armour.  If Cullen were being truthful, he had switched to the tower shield for today’s lesson because he had been finding it difficult to tear his gaze from her figure, her waist cinched in sea silk and her shapely legs clad thigh-high in the dragonleather boots of the battlemage.

 

     The second time he charged, she Fade-stepped out of his way, then quickly closed the distance between them while he realigned his body for the next attack.  Maker, she was a quick study.  He suspected the briefness of her training with Commander Helaine had more to do with the fact she had already superseded the woman’s martial skills rather than any oversight on the part of her trainer.  Cullen was no new recruit and she already had him hard pressed to catch his breath.  She came at him relentlessly, her focus astonishing, but it became clear as he deflected the blows from her spirit blade that same focus led her to neglect her surroundings.  Not as much a problem on an open battlefield, but in close quarters…he saw his opportunity.  Stunning her with his shield to interrupt her spell, he knocked the staff from her hand before pinning her to the wall.

 

     “And with that, the Herald of Andraste meets her Maker,” she sighed. “I thank you, Commander, for not using your full strength to squeeze the life out of my lungs- and for not using a spiked shield.”

 

     “Your focus is both your strength and your weakness.  It was how I was able to use the walls against you.  You're also clearly right-handed.  Are all knight-enchanters taught to wield with the left?” 

 

     “I wondered that myself, but Commander Helaine is less than forthcoming with her underlings.  Her answer to everything seems to be ‘more flanking exercises’.”  The Inquisitor gave a throaty chuckle.  “But I take your meaning: the technique is not so much dual-wield as alternating single-wield.  I don’t know if I have enough focus to call up the spirit blade without the aid of a staff; I suspect that this is the reason we protect it during hand-to-hand combat.”

 

     “I know little of knight-enchanters, but being able to call up a blade without a staff would be useful."

 

     “And what would you suggest I do if caught in a mana purge with both arms pinned against a wall, as you had me today?”

 

     “Pray.”  Cullen fired back a grin. 

 

     “I will take that under advisement.”  She gave him one of her rare smiles.  “Good night, Commander.  I believe a long soak is in order.  I highly recommend it.”  He had a sudden vision of her undressing before bathing.  The room began to feel oppressively warm.  He bowed, hoping she would not notice anything amiss.

 

     “Good night, Inquisitor.”

 

     The lone walk back to his own tower seemed particularly wearisome.  He was only now becoming aware of the lancinating joint pains that portended an attack.  Perhaps he had pushed himself a little too far with the Inquisitor.  He was not looking forward to the two-storey ladder-climb to his bed, but the night-sweats had been near-unbearable of late and the open ceiling in his bedchamber served to both cool his dream-fevers and give him a view of the stars, reassurance that the sky remained in its proper place when he felt it pressing down upon him.

 

     As the weeks progressed, he found his mind less troubled, but this may have been due to following the Inquisitor’s advice to soak in a warm bath after their increasingly demanding sessions.  Unaccustomed to the luxury of heated water, Cullen wondered how he could have gone without it for so long.  The first night, his pain eased by the water’s warmth, he lay back, closed his eyes and had his first dreamless sleep in months. 

 

     He found himself eagerly looking forward to his sessions with the Herald, taxing as they were.  Blessed Andraste.  You’d think I was a novice initiate again.  All impulse and appetite.  He knew nothing more could come of their time together.  She was the Inquisitor, Andraste's Chosen, and they were at war.  Besides, she had been a Circle mage and he, a templar, an unlikely pairing under the best of circumstances; with the brutality of the mage-templar war still fresh, an impossible one.  And yet…he shook his head.  He was acting the fool.  He focused on preparing for their last session before she left for Emprise de Lion.

 

    This particular evening, however, he found her distracted.  Even accounting for the increased tempo of battle, she was allowing him to back her into a corner.  Once more, he had her pinned against a wall, but this night, he had foregone the tower shield in favour of a buckler.  With no wall of metal between them, he found himself less than a hands-breadth from her face, the bent knee from his forward lunge now between her legs.  He could see the colour rising to her cheeks, her pupils dilated, her lips slightly parted as she fought to catch her breath.  She smelled of sweat and lightly scented soap…what was it? Andraste’s grace.  He was taken aback.  Andraste's grace had grown in the fields near his childhood home in Honnleath.  Did she know it would make him want to immediately bury his face in her neck and kiss her on that sweet, full-lipped mouth?  Her cowl had been pushed back and a few stray wisps of dark hair had escaped from the pins that kept them from her face.  He longed to brush them away now, if only to know how smooth that golden skin felt.  Maker’s breath, she was beautiful.  

 

     “My apologies, Cullen. I- well- can we continue this some other time?  I’m afraid I make a rather poor sparring partner tonight.” Belatedly, he released her and sheathed his sword.  She was embarrassed.  He cursed himself seven ways for indulging his infatuation. Did she suspect?  How could she not, as he had stood over her, breathing in her scent?  

 

     He bowed. “Some other time, then, Your Worship.”  He dared not use her name.  He could not allow himself to become so familiar again. 

 

     She left him then.  Although all the torches remained lit, they seemed to burn less brightly.  He felt a headache coming on behind his eyes and knew it would not be a good night. 

 

     He was surprised to see her the following morning.  The war council was not set to meet until midday.

 

     "Did you need something?"

 

     “I thought we could talk.  Alone?”  Something in her voice made his heart beat faster.  Was it with fear or anticipation?

 

     “Alone?  Ah, I mean, of course.”

 

(To be continued…)

 

Lady Inquisitor Elissandra Trevelyan, Daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick, Shepherd and Leash of the Wayward Order of Templars, Purger of Heretics from the Ranks of the Faithful, Champion of the Blessed Andraste Herself

 

Leading the faithful to Skyhold

[RoraM]

     “Inquisitor Trevelyan?  That shipment of Fereldan soap you wanted has arrived.”

 

     “Fereldan soap, Ser Morris?” Lady Elissandra Trevelyan looked at Skyhold’s quartermaster, puzzled.

 

     “Yes, I wrote out the requisition myself.  Your friend— I seem to have forgotten his name, the one with the, the...Heavens.  I could picture him just a moment ago.”  The Inquisitor smiled and shook her head.  She would have to have a word with Cole later.

 

     “I know the one you mean.  Have it sent to my quarters.”

 

     “As you command, Your Worship.”  

 

     “Maker’s breath!”  Elissandra found several crates neatly stacked in the upper loft of her bedchamber when she returned that evening.  “How dirty does he think I get?”  Lifting one of the lids, she retrieved a daintily wrapped package in pale green paper, stamped with the image of a delicate, star-like flower she did not recognize.  Thank the Maker he hadn’t ordered Orlesian soap.  She detested the heady, over-rich fragrances they favoured.  

 

     She was used to the standard issue soap used by Inquisition soldiers, which, admittedly, left her skin dry and rough.  This soap was obviously finely milled and she delighted in its fresh, light scent.  Cole had chosen well.   Her bath would have to wait, however.  Tonight she had her first training session with Commander Cullen.

 

      She may have been the Inquisitor, but she had still expected him to refuse her request, somehow.  She knew something of his feelings towards mages.  His reluctance to talk about what happened at Ferelden’s Circle and his comparison of what transpired there with the Blight had been telling.  More importantly, he had been at Kirkwall, which had seen the wholesale slaughter of mages at the hands of his order and set off a chain of events that still rocked southern Thedas.  The reasons she had given for seeking his aid had been genuine, but there was one more she had dared not, for it would be proof that in a world gone mad, she had gone with it.  

 

***

 

     Elissandra's original assessment had been correct:  Helaine’s instruction had been insufficient against templar training.  The first time they had sparred, the Commander had neutralized the Inquisitor with ease, even without lyrium.  In the weeks since that disastrous first bout, which had ended with her bodily pinned to a wall, she had made significant progress.  Certainly, the Commander must have been pleased with her, for he had made no further mention of Cassandra taking over her training.  She hummed a little song on her way back to her quarters, where she knew a warm bath awaited her.  As she walked through the great hall, she overheard the servants talking.

 

     “D’ye ever notice the Commander and the Herald always order baths on the same night?”

 

     “So the higher-ups like to keep clean.  So what?”

 

     “Fereldan templars don't wash.  Point of pride.  I bet it’s her, turning him to her fancy noble ways.”

 

     “Fancy,  y'call it?  With all the fighting she does, I suppose you'd have the Herald of Andraste stink of demon blood and dusty road?”

 

     “I’m just sayin’ it was a lot easier haulin' up water for one bath instead of two.”

 

     Elissandra smiled to herself.  So, he had taken her advice.  She had tried to help him when she could, using the subtlest magic to ease his suffering, something she had learned from her Rivaini aunt, a hedge witch.  Tears sprang to her eyes with the memory of the day she had shown her how to gently dissipate another's pain.  “It takes special intent, unselfishness, and not a little love,” her aunt had said.  Then came the Annulment at Dairsmuid.  Her hands tightened into fists.  His brethren were responsible for that massacre and you would have him in your bed. You are worse than a fool.

 

     “He isn’t like the others.”  She wiped her eyes hastily and looked up to see her spirit companion making himself comfortable on a soap crate.  She tried to smile at him brightly.

 

     “Thank you for the soap, Cole.  It was a lovely thought, but please don’t make any more purchases on my behalf.  Inquisition coin is better spent elsewhere.  Now, if you don’t mind disappearing, I would like to take my bath.”

 

     Shedding her armour, she slipped into the warm water.  Her mind drifting, she smiled at the thought of Cullen enjoying his own bath.  Her thoughts then took a decidedly less innocent turn.  Sweet blood of Andraste!  Enough!  Yet, she knew this was not the first time, nor would it be the last, that such thoughts would steal into her head.  Maker, help me.

 

***

 

     “The only drawback of my new armour is the colour.  Why the Maker, in His infinite wisdom, saw fit to make dragon webbing bright orange is beyond me.  ‘Here I am, come get me, I’m the Herald of Andraste!’”  

 

     “On the other hand, ‘Lissa, your troops will be able to spot you anywhere and rally to your side."  It may have taken the better part of their time together to convince him, but it had been worth every moment to hear him say her name like that.  "You do realize you've dropped your sword arm and left yourself wide open.  One need only take down your barrier-”

 

     “But then I wouldn’t have the momentum to do this,” and she leapt, bringing her blade up in two sweeping cuts and a thrust:  effectively catching the outer edge of his raised shield, sending him off balance, then jabbing him squarely behind the pauldron of the arm holding his mace...which promptly thunked to the floor.  Had she not adjusted the keenness of her spirit blade, his arm might have joined it.

 

     He smiled, clearly chagrined.  “I think you’re ready.”  She happily returned his smile.  “And for what it’s worth, my lady, I know I would fight harder seeing you on the field.”  When he said my lady, it always felt like a caress.  She bent down to pick up the mace and tried to keep her tone light.

 

     “I suppose this means the end of our sessions.  I thank-”  

 

     “Must it?” Her heart leapt at the thought he would want to continue.  “To be honest, I was in serious danger of going soft.  My lieutenants will be a poor substitute after this.”

 

     “Then I am at your disposal for so long as you desire, Commander.” She noted with a small thrill that he was still staring after her as she walked away.

 

*** 

 

     She had spent several sleepless nights leading up to their final sparring session.  The Red Templars were monstrous and the numbers the scouts were reporting back from the Emprise were daunting, but she was forced to acknowledge there was more to her disquiet.  As Cullen closed in, her only thought was that this might be the last time she would see him.  Tonight, there would be no tower shield to get in the way and she wanted to know how it felt to have him close, his body against hers, if just once, if only ever like this.  

 

     She got her wish.  Pinned to the wall with his weight upon her, she looked up into his face, with its fierce expression, and instantly felt ashamed.  He had been fighting in earnest to hone the skills that would safeguard her life and she had repaid his efforts by behaving like some lovesick ninny.

 

     She couldn’t remember what she said next.  She stammered something about being a poor sparring partner and made her miserable way back to her quarters, her mind a jumble of thoughts.  He couldn't possibly...he wouldn't...what did you expect?  By the time she arrived, she had come to a resolution.  She was to leave for Emprise de Lion in two days.  I cannot allow this to follow me there.  She would have to know, one way or another, and be done with it.  Tomorrow, then.

 

(To be continued...)

 

Just before getting pinned to a wall

[RoraM]

     “You strike me as a man of patience and restraint.”

 

     Remembering her words, Cullen shook his head, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.  He had shown little patience to the poor recruit who had interrupted their meeting on the battlements and even less restraint when he kissed 'Lissa for the first time.  Her mouth had opened to him readily and despite his best intentions, he needed to taste her, to assuage this hunger he had been harbouring for her.  He may not have kissed a woman in over ten years, but he knew it had never been like this. 

 

     “You don’t regret it, do you?” she asked, her soft lips reddened from their encounter.

 

     “No! No. Not at all.” He bent his head to kiss her again.  This time, he lingered over her mouth, wanting to reassure her, the kiss searching and tender. 

 

     He held on to that memory while she was away from him.  His reverie was interrupted by a knock at his door. 

 

     “Come.”  It was Commander Helaine.  Somehow, word had reached her that the Inquisitor had sought additional training elsewhere, which prompted a last-minute offer to continue training under her supervision during Elissandra’s “off hours.”  It was too little, too late.  The Inquisitor had left for Emprise de Lion that morning and Cullen had little patience for the woman who had had the temerity to treat the Herald like some brainless subordinate.

 

     “You are well-regarded.”

 

     “Perhaps I’d be more appreciative if I knew your history,” Cullen replied coolly.
 

     “Perhaps.  Perhaps not.” 

 

     “Then perhaps you might allow me to get back to my duties.  Good day.”  He did not care to mask his annoyance.  People like Commander Helaine were good for drilling the basics into boneheaded recruits.  They had their place in any army, but she had nothing further to offer the Inquisitor. 

 

     A letter from his sister had arrived, chastising him, as usual, for not staying in contact.  He had told ‘Lissa a little of his family.  Thankfully, they were safe in South Reach.  He toyed with the idea of writing back to Mia, but ultimately decided against it.  He had little news to report that she did not already know.

 

     An interesting report of an operation near his former home in Honnleath crossed his desk.  Quieter and more introspective than his siblings,  he would retreat to the nearby river when his brother's and sisters’ antics proved too much to bear.  In spring, swollen with winter runoff, to a small boy, that river was a magnificent, terrifying thing.  Anything caught in its current would be swept away, never to be seen again, including a small boy.  In autumn, the water level would descend, leaving parts of the riverbed exposed, and he would find pieces of petrified wood and pebbles sparkling with pyrite lying among the white skeletons of small animals.  But he liked it best in the summer, when it flowed unhurriedly and serenely by.  Then, he would make sailboats of blood lotus and spindleweed and watch them float lazily downstream on the green, sun-dappled water.  He had always been happy there.  A plan began to form in his mind, but it would keep until the Herald returned.  In the meantime, there were a thousand other tasks requiring his attention.

 

***

 

     With Elissandra away, the days grew interminable.  Cullen found the intrusive thoughts and disturbing nightmares unrelenting.  More often, he was plagued with the all-too familiar pangs of lyrium withdrawal, despite the evening warm-water soaks.  Concentration was fleeting and he found his hands weak and shaking, unable to maintain grip on a sword.   As a result, he was snarling and irritable with his men.  Thank the Maker she’s not here to see this.  She had already made significant inroads into Emprise de Lion, despite the pervasive presence of red lyrium, and had recently sent word of their preparations to storm Suledin Keep.  He would ask Josephine to seek an appropriate seneschal at once to oversee the transition.  He had every confidence his- their Inquisitor would be successful and he wanted nothing to delay her return to Skyhold.   Andraste, help me last until then.

 

(To be continued...)

 

Patience

 

Restraint

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  Content of suspect virtue, in keeping with submissions to The Randy Dowager Quarterly.  You have been warned.

 

     Elissandra knew it was foolish, but part of her wished he had been there to greet her at the gate on her return from Emprise de Lion.  The Inquisition was a rapidly rising military power, with new recruits flocking to Skyhold each day as word of their reputation spread, and Cullen stood at the head of it all.  While civil war continued to rage in Orlais, they had been receiving increasingly worrisome reports out of the Western Approach.  Faced with the possibility of battling a blood magic-fuelled demon army, it was imperative they establish a foothold in the remote region, an operation that required extensive coordination and no doubt held the bulk of his attention.  She wondered if he had gotten any sleep while she had been away.

 

     She found him talking with Cassandra and at once saw the toll the past weeks had taken upon him.  Eyes ringed dark, haggard and pale, this was not the same man she had kissed on the battlements.  She longed to hold him in her arms, to smooth the lines from his face and take from him the pain she saw follow him with each step.   

 

     “Forgive me,” he pleaded as he passed.  She glanced at Cassandra, questioningly.  The Seeker apprised her of the situation:  Cullen had asked that a replacement be sought to head the Inquisition army and she had just refused.

 

     For once, she and Cassandra were in agreement.  Replacing Cullen was both unwanted and unnecessary and having him retake lyrium would destroy him.  She sought him in his office and narrowly avoided being struck by the contents of a hurled box.

 

     “Maker’s breath!  I didn’t hear you enter!  I- forgive me.”  He looked down, crestfallen.

 

     “Cullen, if you need to talk-” He groaned, a spasm of pain shuddering through him.  He reached for her.

 

     She listened as he recounted what befell him at Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall: the mind-breaking torture at the hands of abominations, his subsequent manipulation and betrayal by Knight-Commander Meredith, and throughout it all, so much senseless death.

 

     “But…these memories have always haunted me—if they become worse, if I cannot endure this…” She placed a hand gently on his chest, subtly siphoning away his pain and agitation until his breathing slowed back to normal.  

 

     “You can,”  she said, looking into his eyes.  She would make sure of it.

 

 

 

***

 

     It took all her powers of self-control not to bring lightning down upon the Revered Mother now importuning her to send Cassandra and Leliana to aid the clerics in the selection of the new Divine, the same clerics who, only months before, had denounced her as a fraud and a murderer.  The siege at Adamant and the subsequent battle in the Fade with the Nightmare demon had almost broken her.  Once alone in her room, she had wept with relief that both she and Cullen had made it back to Skyhold safely.  She had scarcely time to breathe before the events of Halamshiral unfolded, a grueling gauntlet of treachery, spite, and attempted murder.  By the time she had confronted the Grand Duchess with her crimes, she had become devoid of mercy.  Her execution of Grand Duchess Florianne in the ballroom before all her peers had not been an act of vengeance, nor a calculated political ploy, but the instinctive act of a woman weary of being the object of others’ machinations through no design or desire of her own.  She had put Florianne down as she would a rabid dog:  without pity or malice.  Only afterwards did she fully appreciate the message she had sent to Celene's court:  Not even your empress can protect you from me.  This side of herself frightened her.  Did this signify the beginning of the future the Envy demon had shown her, the first step towards the butcher's pit?  While the drunken nobles inside made toasts to her victories, she stood alone on a balcony, staring into the infinite night sky stretched before her.  Cullen had found her there, whispering from the Canticle of Trials:

 

     Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,

     I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm.

     I shall endure...

 

She silently repeated these words now before reminding the irksome woman that Josephine had already refused her request.  The Revered Mother left Skyhold not knowing how close she had come to annihilation.

 

     Elissandra continued on her way to the Commander's tower without further interruption.

 

 

***

 

     Cullen was issuing final orders to his men.  Catching his eye, she waited for him patiently by the door.

 

     “That will be all.”  Wearily, he shut the door behind them, sighing.  “There’s always something more, isn’t there?”

 

     “Wishing we were somewhere else?”  This elicited a chuckle.  It was good to hear him laugh, even a little.

 

     “I barely found time to get away before.  This war won’t last forever.  When it started, I- I hadn’t considered much beyond our survival.  But things are different now.”

 

     “What do you mean?” she asked carefully, her heart racing.

 

     “I find myself wondering what will happen after.  When this is over.  I won’t want to move on.  Not from you.”  He brought up a hand to caress her face.  “But I don’t know what you- that is, if you, ah…”  He turned from her, embarrassed.  She made him face her as she leant against his desk.

 

     “Cullen.  Do you need to ask?”  She saw the relief in his eyes and wondered how he could have ever conceived of a future when she would not want him, when she would not love him, for she certainly could not.

 

     “I suppose not.  I want-”  She inadvertently knocked an unopened bottle of lyrium to the floor, interrupting him.  Cursing herself inwardly for her clumsiness, she glanced up and saw him staring at her fiercely, intently. Within moments, he had cleared the desk’s surface, the floor now littered with war reports and broken glass. 

 

     Her breath caught in her throat with the realization of what he wanted.  Her eyes never leaving his, she slowly backed her way onto his desk as he moved to lie on top of her.  His mouth sought hers with an insistence she had not known before. She arched beneath him and he deepened their kiss, sending fire through her veins.

 

    “Mm.  Do you always wear plate armour when making love, Commander?” she teased, between kisses.

 

     “You never know what to expect with a mage,” he replied, his voice equally teasing.  He moved to unclasp a vambrace.

 

     “Let me.”  She had pictured doing this a thousand times.  She began kissing his neck, her tongue darting to taste his skin.  Warm satisfaction ran through her when he groaned in protest while she paused to undo the fastenings.  Pauldrons and breastplate soon joined vambraces and gloves on the floor.

 

     She slid her hands under his tunic, then bent down while he pulled it over his head, starting a trail of kisses from the middle of his chest, across his collar bone, up his neck, and ending at his mouth.

 

     He broke off their kiss.  “How did you-” She silenced him by placing a finger to his lips and started to undo the clasps of her own tunic.  

 

     “My turn,” he said softly, stilling her hands and continuing where she left off.  He slid his hands over her bare shoulders to free her from her clothing and another wave of heat ran through her.  As she lay back on the desk, she gasped as he moved to lie on top of her once more, repeating the same pattern of kisses she had performed on him only moments before.

 

     Now he was kissing her urgently, hungrily and there was no mistaking the intensity of his desire as he pushed himself between her legs.  She felt his hand move to undo the lacings of her trousers, whereupon he was utterly defeated. 

 

     “Maker’s breath,” he muttered, frustrated, “how many laces do trousers need?”  She laughed.

 

     “Two, in this case.  One on each side.  Of course,” she said, coyly extending one leg over his shoulder, “helping me unlace my boots would make this go much faster.”  It was his turn to laugh.

 

     "As you wish."

 

     His trousers, she soon discovered, were of a far less complicated construction, with a single overlapping opening in the front. 

 

     “Well, that’s convenient,” she chuckled, her hands sliding downwards to caress him.  She was rewarded with a moan of pleasure.

 

     “’Lissa, I -"

 

     “Yes?” she asked, innocently, hearing his sharp intake of breath at the sudden loss of her contact as she moved back onto his desk and unpinned her hair.  Then suddenly he was on top of her, his mouth on her throat, on her breasts.  She felt his hand move between her thighs and if he had been in doubt of her desire for him, her answering moans as her body rose to meet him told him all he needed to know.  She reached down again, drawing him to her, guiding him in.

 

     She gasped as he entered her.  Her eyes widened and he, suspecting correctly, slowed down, moving gently forward until he was fully inside her.  She pulled him towards her, moving her hips against him, and then, slowly at first, they began to move together. She had not known it could feel like this, this sense of both completion and surrender.  In that moment, she no longer belonged to herself.  She was his.  She was first to climax, her back arching as she cried out.  He came soon after, before collapsing into her arms, spent.

 

(To be continued...)

 

 

 

 

[RoraM]

  Author's Note:  Content of suspect virtue, in keeping with submissions to The Randy Dowager Quarterly.  You have been warned.

 

   It had taken all of his willpower not to climax before her.  She made him feel like he had been caught in some powerful current, in danger of being swept away completely.  Cullen's fingers traced a path between her breasts down her body, her skin glistening with sweat.  Her eyes were closed, but she smiled at his touch.

 

     “Was that…I mean, did you-“

 

     “What do you think?” she replied, opening her eyes and drawing his head down to kiss him deeply on the mouth. He sighed happily, then turned to survey the room.

 

     “I think I’m going to have difficulty explaining this,” he mused.  His desk had migrated several feet from its usual position and there was paper and broken glass everywhere.

 

     “If you would be so kind as to hand me my clothes…”  She looked so beautiful, sitting flushed and naked on his desk with her legs curled beneath her, her long dark hair flowing over her breasts and back, her golden skin luminous in the candlelight.  He wanted to hold that image of her in his mind forever.

 

     “You and your clothes are going nowhere, my lady,” he said, lifting her up into his arms.  “Did you think I would let you go so easily, now that I have you to myself?” He carried her to the ladder that led to his bedchamber.  She looked at him quizzically.

 

     “You wish me to climb.  Up there.  Completely naked.  Cullen, do you realize how cold it is?”

 

     “Oh, I have some inkling,” he said giving her a quick kiss on her disbelieving mouth while brushing a hand lightly across the peaked tip of one breast.  She shivered, but both of them knew it had not been from cold.

 

     “At least give me something to wear.”   The nearest article of clothing was his own tunic, which she pulled over her head before starting her climb.  “Now, look away.”  Cullen would not.  She blushed furiously.

 

     “Ser Cullen Stanton Rutherford.  Your Inquisitor is giving you a direct order.  Avert your eyes on pain of death!”

 

     “I would pay that price gladly, Your Worship,” he replied, grinning.  She responded by tossing his tunic onto his face.

 

     “No longer cold, my lady?”  he called to her, laughing.

 

***

 

     “I hope that makes up for my earlier transgression,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.  How many times had he imagined her here, just like this?

 

     “Mm.  Do you not remember?  Your life is forfeit.  Only the cleverest tongue will save you now.  How shall you plead?”  Her green eyes sparkled with mischief.  With an exaggerated sigh, he lay back on the bed, feigning exhaustion.

 

     “Ah,” she taunted him, “so it must be the lyrium that gives templars their famed stamina.  Had I but known-” He did not allow her to complete the thought.  With a growl, he was upon her, beginning his attentions anew.  “Perhaps,” he heard her say breathily between satisfying gasps of pleasure, “perhaps you don’t need lyrium after all.”

 

***

 

     No!  Leave me!  Leave me!  Cullen awoke with a start, drenched with sweat.  The golden light streaming through the ceiling of his room told him he was no longer in the Circle tower.  Above him was no abomination, but 'Lissa, an expression of concern on her face.

 

     "Bad dream?"

 

     "They always are.  Without lyrium, they're worse.  I didn't mean to worry you."  He reached up to touch her, as much to reassure her he was well as to reassure himself that she was real.

 

     "Despite the dreams, is it still a good morning?"  she asked, caressing his face.  He laughed and the last vestiges of darkness retreated from his mind.  This was his life now.

 

     "It's perfect,"  he said, as she bent her forehead to his.  "You are...I have never felt anything like this."

 

     "I love you.  You know that, right?"  He looked up into her clear green eyes.

 

     "I love you, too."  She kissed him before leaving to start the day's duties.  Cullen lay back, let out a long breath and, for the first time in a long time, saw a future full of possibilities.

 

(To be continued...)

 

 

 

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  Content of suspect virtue, in keeping with submissions to The Randy Dowager Quarterly.  You have been warned.

 

     “Well, you got your wish.”

 

     “What d’ye mean?”

 

     “The Commander.  Seems he’s returned to his Fereldan ways.  That just leaves the Herald’s bath to take care of.”

 

     “Thank the Maker for small favours!”

 

     Cullen, relaxed by the warmth of the water, leant back into ‘Lissa’s arms, her legs wrapped around his waist while she gently caressed him across his chest and shoulders with a sponge.

 

     “Now, isn’t this a more efficient use of Inquisition resources?” she asked him, her lips brushing his ear.  He sighed contentedly, settling against the softness of her breasts.

 

     "We should have started this long ago.”

 

     “I agree, but you, Cullen my love, are a stubborn man,” she said, tightening her legs around him emphatically.

 

     “I came to the Inquisition to atone.  It’s hardly atonement to sleep in a feather bed, under silk, in the arms of a beautiful woman.”  

 

     “Loving this mage is not atonement enough for you?”  The sponge stopped mid-caress.  She sounded almost angry. “You have confused atonement with suffering.  There is no atonement without reparation, and together, we have done much for the people of Thedas, both mages and non-mages.  What reparation can be achieved by keeping yourself from me?  You only punish us both.”  She let out an exasperated sigh.

 

     “You are right," he said, gently placing his hand on hers, "I’ve acted foolishly.”  She always saw things so clearly; she could not refuse what was due her station as Inquisitor, whereas he was no longer Order-bound to live in austerity.  She resumed her ministrations.

 

     “I worry for you.  I’d worry less having you near.  When I saw you after returning from Emprise de Lion…" she shook her head.  "Must I order you to never push yourself that hard again?”

 

     “That has always been the difficulty. Knowing how hard to push myself.”

 

     “Then, I shall tell you.”

 

     A wicked thought came to him.  He heard her gasp as he suddenly turned around, spilling water over the sides of the tub, and pressed himself into her.

 

     “Your orders, my lady?”  Her eyes widened.

 

     “Harder,” she breathed.  Cullen laughed low in his throat and bent his head to kiss her.

 

     “As you command.”

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     Having both lived in the Circle, they kept so few possessions between them, it was difficult to tell that Cullen had now taken up residence in her quarters.  She could count all she owned on one hand:  the Rivaini contra-bass leaning against the bookcase, her staff and armour, and a cherished silver coin stamped with the image of Andraste.  While set aside for her personal use, everything else technically belonged to the Inquisition, including the several crates of Fereldan soap stacked in the loft above their bed.  Cullen returned from the loft, fresh bar in hand.

 

     “You know, I’ve always loved that smell.  Andraste’s grace.  It reminded me of home.  Now, it reminds me of you.”

 

     “Is that its name?  I’d always wondered.”  He looked surprised.

 

     “Then how-”  Elissandra laughed at his confusion.

 

     “It was a gift.  From Cole.  He does that.  Dorian received a little wooden duck the other day.  Has he not given you anything?”

 

     “A message.”  He grew quiet.

 

     “Ah.”  She did not pry.  She knew he would tell her in his own time.  She just did not expect it to be so soon.   She heard him take a deep breath.

 

     “‘Uldred marked you, but didn’t make you.  You stayed you.’  I didn’t know if I wanted to believe that.”

 

     “Why?”

 

     “It would be…easier to blame Uldred, to tell myself if it were not for him, I would not have blinded myself to what was happening to the mages of the Kirkwall Circle.  When I came to the Inquisition, I wanted to be different to the man I was in Kirkwall.  To have stayed myself, to remain the man who only acts when it is almost too late…I could not, I cannot bear that.”

 

     “I don’t think that’s what Cole meant.”  She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against the back of his shoulder.  “He meant that you are, ultimately, a good man and I agree.  I would not love you if you were not.”  He turned to face her, the smile returning to his face.

 

    “Then I am satisfied,” he said, as he bent to kiss her. 

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

Author's note:  Distances were calculated assuming a 9-day total travel time between Kinloch Hold and Orzammar (c.f. Dagna, DA:O) at a loaded march speed of 6.4 km/h (4 mph) and a daily travel time of 12 hours.  Theodosian ravens were assumed to be diurnal with a flight speed of 45 km/h (28 mph).  Courier travel time was determined using data from the Pony Express. 

 

     “It-it was despair demons, Commander.  Her Worship went to close a Fade rift north of one of the western camps.  Seeker Pentaghast was with her.  They were overwhelmed.  The elf mage, Solas, got them out.  That’s all we know.  Sister Leliana would have told you herself but-"

 

     “Enough.  Dismissed.”  The messenger saluted and beat a hasty retreat, the slammed door behind him sounding like it had been cracked off its hinges.  Cullen knew it had not been the boy’s fault Leliana had been at Caer Bronach when the message came through.  He closed his eyes, feeling heartsick.  He knew this had always been a possibility, but after her miraculous escape from Haven and the victories at Adamant and the Winter Palace, it had been easy to forget the Inquisitor was not invincible.

 

     He paced the room like a caged animal.  Word from the Hissing Wastes took a week or more to reach Skyhold by raven. She might already be- Maker, no.  His first instinct was to go to her, but almost immediately he knew it to be impossible.  Couriers riding their fastest horses non-stop day and night with good roads, favourable weather and the blessing of the Maker Himself to avoid every bandit, demon, and Venatori in their path, could reach the Hissing Wastes from the western foothills of the Frostbacks in a little over nine days.  The Herald had made it in a fortnight, but she was a remarkable woman accompanied by elite fighters. By that time, Leliana might have already received word.  The Inquisition could not- and his heart wrenched within his chest- could not lose its Inquisitor, one of its founding members, and its Commander, too.  He could only wait and pray.

 

     He remembered their last night together.  ‘Lissa had been drying her hair by the fire.  By then, it fell to her waist.  He had been scowling over war reports at her desk.

 

     “We still don’t know what Corypheus wants in the Hissing Wastes.  We keep losing ravens and scouts to the blasted place.”  She came up beside him.

 

     “Something must be out there for the Venatori to be there in force.  I’ll find out what, take it from them, and come back to you as soon as I am able,” she said, gently caressing his back.  “Now come to bed.”

 

     They made love that night.  When he awoke, there was a note on her pillow:

 

Cullen-

 

You were sleeping so peacefully, I dared not wake you.  I wanted to carry that image of you with me.  I will return soon, beloved.  Be well.

 

L.

 

     It had been two weeks since any news had come out of the Hissing Wastes, one week since Cullen had ordered Rylen to send more scouting parties to find the Herald while Skyhold sent healers and additional reinforcements to the Western Approach.  Cullen thought he would go out of his mind. The nightmares and pain of lyrium withdrawal had ceased to bother him.  Now, he lay awake nights with worry and longing.  He had taken up residence in the library, where word would reach him the most quickly and where he could concentrate; he certainly could not at his own desk or in their quarters. 

 

    Leliana found him there one early evening, asleep in a chair.  She awoke him by gently placing a hand on his arm.  It had now been over a month since word of the Herald had reached Skyhold.

 

    “The raven arrived today, Commander.  She's alive.  They both are.  They’ve taken her to Griffon Wing Keep.  Our best healers are already there.”

 

     “Thank the Maker!”  He was glad of the chair.  He might have collapsed to his knees, otherwise.  For the first time in weeks, he slept in their bed and his heart did not ache.

 

     A fortnight later, he received a message from Cassandra.

 

Commander,

 

The Herald asked me to write to you on her behalf.  She improves daily, but is still too weak to hold quill to paper.  She asks that you forgive her for allowing another into your private affairs.  She dictates the following to me now:

 

Sorry to have made you worry, beloved.  Cassandra’s recovery was faster, I suspect, because of the strength of her faith in the Maker.  Since Haven, I fear my own faith has faltered, but it was my need to see you again that gave me the strength to fight the demons' despair.  I will recover.  I will kill every demon here.  I will come back to you.

 

She sleeps.  

 

Andraste watch over us all,

Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast

 

(To be continued...)

 

Author's Note:  I was playing on Nightmare difficulty in the Hissing Wastes when I happened upon the Fade rift described.  Unfortunately, I had brought Solas, whose skill-set I had built was next to useless against despair demons.  After my Inquisitor and Cassandra fell, I got Solas to beat a hasty retreat in order to save my squad.        

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  Content of suspect virtue, in keeping with submissions to The Randy Dowager Quarterly.  You have been warned.

 

     Cullen was there to meet her at Skyhold’s gates when she returned from the Hissing Wastes, an honour guard of torchbearers standing in formation behind him.  He crushed her to him the moment she dismounted, pressing his lips to her forehead before all on-lookers.

 

     “This is a change,” she whispered softly.

 

     “Decorum be damned,” he growled, placing a proud, protective arm around her.  "The honour guard was Josephine's idea.  I wanted you to myself."

 

     It had been late autumn when she had set out west.  Now, spring had returned to Skyhold.  He guided her back to their quarters, where a bath waited for her by the fire. 

 

     “Thank you,” she breathed, “I haven’t been able to bathe in so long.”

 

     “I knew you’d be missing water in the desert,” he grinned. 

 

     “I certainly won’t miss the sand.  It gets into everything.  I think I’ve eaten my weight in sand since I left Skyhold.”

 

     “That explains why you look starved.  That, and the taste of quillback.  You're home now.  We'll soon have you back to yourself."  She saw the worry in his eyes.  "I’ve asked for the evening meal to be sent up, with orders we are not to be otherwise disturbed, barring Corypheus himself flying in on an archdemon,” he said with a low chuckle.  He unpinned her hair, taking a moment to run his fingers through it before starting to undress her.  A shiver ran up her.  It had been months since she had known his touch.

 

    "What's this?" he asked, frowning.  He was looking at the new, perfectly curved half-moon scar in the palm of her right hand.  It was roughly the size of a coin.

 

    "Frostbite," she said lightly.  He looked at her questioningly, gave a little laugh, then brought her palm up to his lips to kiss it.

 

    "I'll want to hear that story later, but for now..."

 

     He picked her up in his arms and gently placed her in the bath.  A familiar shape wrapped in pale green paper had been placed within reach.

 

     “My soap,” she sighed with pleasure, and began to lather her skin and hair. She had not realized how much she would miss it until she had been forced to do without it. She immersed herself completely under the water before leaning back and closing her eyes.

 

     A knock at the door signalled the arrival of food.  She chuckled sleepily upon hearing the servant’s gasp of shock as the Commander of the Inquisition himself opened the door and peremptorily took the loaded tray from her hands.  The last thing she heard before dozing off was the clinking of cutlery as he laid the tray down on a nearby side table.

 

     She awakened with a gasp to the feeling of warm water falling onto her chest.  Kneeling by the tub, Cullen had found a sponge and was now rubbing gentle circles across her chest and shoulders.

 

     “May I join you?” he asked.  She saw that he was shirtless.

 

     “Are you certain?  It seems I’ve brought half the Hissing Wastes back with me,” she grimaced, showing him the grains of sand that had settled into the bath.

 

     “I'm not bathing to get clean.  Anyway, we can always bathe again later,” he said, standing up, and she saw that he had not only been shirtless.  The heat that had been building within her since waking now sent heavy pulsations of desire throughout her body.  He climbed into the tub, settling himself behind her, retrieved the sponge, and resumed his attentions.  As she leant back, she could feel his growing desire for her.

 

     “Cullen," she said, breathing his name, arching herself against him and feeling him respond.

 

     “Yes, ‘Lissa?” he asked softly, continuing to caress her gently with the sponge, but she could hear the undercurrent of need in his voice.

 

     “Cullen,” she said again, her voice low and breaking with passion.  She turned, placing a knee on either side of him, then stroked him to readiness as he leant back, eyes closed, before lowering herself down his full length.  She laughed throatily as his eyes flew open in surprise to find himself so soon and so completely inside her.

 

     She rocked her hips against him, tightening around him.  His hands encircled her waist and the water lapped at his chest with her steady movement.  

 

     "Let me see you," he whispered and she arched backwards so he could look at her as she continued to move atop him.  He groaned and leaned in to bury his face in her breasts, teasing each one in turn with his lips and tongue, while he slid his hands down from her waist to cup them beneath her and press her forward.  More and more water spilled over the sides of the tub as their motions grew increasingly urgent.  When she finally brought them to climax, most of the water lay on the stone floor, soaking the carpets.

 

    “Thank you for greeting me at the gate,” she whispered, her head bent to his.  She kissed him deeply on the mouth before gently releasing him.

 

    “I should greet you at the gate more often,” he said, breathing an appreciative sigh.

 

     “See that you do,” she said, nuzzling his ear.  “Now, let us eat.  I’m starving.”

 

(To be continued...)

 

Decorum be damned

[RoraM]

     “You risk too much, ‘Lissa!”  Cullen shouted, grasping her by both arms.

 

     “What would have you have me do, Cullen?”  Elissandra was not sober.  She had spent the evening at the ironically named Herald’s Rest.  She and Iron Bull had been celebrating their most recent dragonslaying.  Since losing the Chargers, it was the one thing that brought the Qunari back to any semblance of himself.

 

     “I would have you focus your efforts on the Arbor Wilds, where Corypheus-“

 

     “Killing those dragons protected Fereldan lives and opened Inquisition supply lines.  Killing those dragons safeguarded our people in the Exalted Plains and allowed us to finish dismantling the red lyrium operation in the Emprise-”

 

     “Which almost killed you, again!  You’re a mage!  You, of all people, know how even being near the blasted stuff affects your focus!  And what of the others?  The dragon you discovered living in the Emerald Graves bothered no one, except a few giants.  Then you went back to those damned Hissing Wastes, where there is nothing but sand and Venatori.  Those dwarven relics were hardly worth it.  You should have left them to the dragon.  Even in the Western Approach, Rylen sent no reports of issues with that abyssal high dragon.  You had to draw the thing out, for Maker’s sake!  Every day we wait to mobilize our forces, we risk Corypheus securing the eluvian.”

 

     “Corypheus commands a dragon,” she replied acidly.  “Each time I kill one, I draw one step closer to knowing how to kill his.  Or is this now something we can ignore?”

 

     “You and I know that’s not the reason.  Solas reports you took on the last one single-handed.  What were you thinking?  What did you learn that you did not already know?” he demanded.

 

     She could not tell him she was frightened.  She, the Herald of Andraste, for all her bravado, was frightened of facing Corypheus again.  She had fought the dragon alone because Haven haunted her still and she needed to know it could be done.  She remembered clawing her way out from under all that rock and ice, the blood freezing to her fingers, even as it flowed, fuelled by nothing but the dogged instinct to survive.  She had felt no divine presence guiding her forward.  Not then and not now, when even more was at stake.  How could she tell him this, he who had so much faith in Andraste, in the Maker, in her?  She leaned forward.

 

     “Kiss me,” she said and she pressed herself against him, her mouth seeking his.  She could feel his body respond, feel his tongue enter her mouth, but then he grasped her wrists and firmly removed them from around his neck.

 

     “No.  Not like this,” he shook his head.  “I need some air.”  He walked out the door of their quarters towards the main hall.  He could have gone out to one of the balconies, if air had been truly what he needed.  He had simply wanted to get away from her. 

 

     She went to a balcony now, already feeling the fire forming in her palms.  She screamed her frustration to the night sky, the hot tears streaming down her face as she began to rain fire and lightning down on the distant snowy mountainside.  Around her, her hair flew loose, unbound by the force of her effort.  Was this what it felt like to be a high dragon, filled with equal parts fear and fury?  How long did she have until someone finally slew her?  She kept hurling firebolts and flame until she had exhausted every last ounce of mana.  In the distance, the mountain burned, its exposed tree-line now blazing orange and red while the sound of thunder echoed through the valley.

 

     “Maker’s breath!” "Inquisitor!  What is happening?" Cullen and Cassandra burst into the room, Inquisition guards swiftly following on their heels.

 

     “Leave me!  All of you!”  She leaned heavily on the balustrade.  “Just leave me.”  She placed a hand over her eyes before collapsing to her knees.   Cassandra and the guards had seemingly obeyed her orders, but now strong arms were encircling her, lifting her up and carrying her over to her bed.  “Leave me,” she whispered, before sleep and the Fade claimed her.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

 

     Cullen knelt in the chapel.  Tonight, his heart was disquieted.  Upstairs, ‘Lissa lay in their bed while a fire raged on the mountainside.  He had come here every evening since arriving at Skyhold to give thanks to the Maker and His Bride, for he had finally understood:  all he had suffered had been so it might lead him to her.  She made him feel solid.  Safe.  Strong.  When he lay her in their bed that night, she seemed swallowed up by its expanse.  ‘Lissa had always been fine-boned, but tonight, emptied of mana and hair lying unbound around her, she looked fragile and child-like, she, who carried the hopes of all Thedas.  He cursed himself.  She had needed him.  Why could he not have just given her what she had wanted?

 

     “It would have helped, a little. But not for long.” Cole had appeared beside him.  Cullen smiled wryly.  The demon-boy was certainly not one for tact, but Cullen had gradually grown accustomed to his ways and no longer reached for his sword when he appeared; Cullen also knew that Cole's gift of soap had not been for ‘Lissa alone.

 

     “She fears she has fooled you.  A fraud, a fake.  Unworthy of faith.  And if she falls…'What will happen to him?  He has come so far after suffering so much.  Must he endure this loss, too?'”

 

     A searing pain pierced Cullen’s chest.  No.  Their love was of the Maker, of this he was certain.  His faith would not falter and if hers did, he would have enough for the two of them.  He now repeated the same canticle he had heard her whisper on the balcony in Halamshiral, which already seemed a lifetime ago.  Only now did he remember she had not said the last line:

 

What you have created, no one can tear asunder.

 

***

 

     'Lissa was nearly finished dressing when he awoke.  She had dark circles under her eyes, which were still red from either crying or restless sleep, or both.  He realized he had never seen her cry before.  She started pinning up her hair.

 

    "I've called the war council," she said, quietly.

 

     "We march?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

 

     "We march."

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

 
     Steel yourself.
 
     Cullen and his men had been fighting in the Arbor Wilds since dawn to keep the Herald's path to the Temple of Mythal clear.  But, just when he thought they might get a moment to breathe, another indefatigable wave of Red Templars would appear.  The mages among them had already fallen, unable to withstand the prolonged exposure to red lyrium.  He did not know how much longer he and his remaining men could last. 
 
    Yet another Horror had spotted him and was bearing down on his position when, suddenly, a Red Templar Shadow materialized at his flank, its spiked red lyrium arms poised to run him through.  He spun, raising his shield to deflect a blow that never came.  A statue of ice stood where the Shadow had been.  He had little time to grasp what had happened, as lightning now struck every Red Templar within view, stunning them momentarily, including the Horror that was almost on top of him.  As he cut it down, he heard the familiar metallic hum of a spirit blade followed by the sound of ice shattering.  He found his second wind.
 
     “I’ll be fine!  Keep going!  The Inquisition will not yield!” he roared, bashing in the skull of a Red Templar foot soldier with his shield before running his sword through its neck.  His blood raging in his ears, he fought to the side of a faltering Inquisition soldier, shielding them both from the razor-sharp red lyrium spikes hailing down upon them.  He charged the attacking Horror, stunning and eviscerating it in quick succession.
 
     “They fall!  The Red Templars fall!”  Hearing the jubilant cries of his men, Cullen turned around.  Then, he saw her.
 
     Remnants of raw electricity crackled down her arms while her spirit blade shone sun-bright, shearing through the last two Red Templars, who were already engulfed by flames.  The smouldering halves of their bodies fell into the river where she stood, surrounding her with clouds of steam that caught the light of her blade and enveloped her in a blazing golden aura; behind her, he could see pile upon blackened pile of charred and lightning-scorched remains.  This was the first time Cullen had seen her fight using the full extent of her power and it was both terrifying and beautiful.  Had he not known her taste, memorized her scent, run his hands over every inch of her body, had he not faith in the Maker and His Holy Bride, he would have dropped to his knees, as some of his men already had, and worshipped her as a goddess.
 
     “Commander, forgive me,” she announced, her blade vanishing as she strode up to him, “but I would not run while my soldiers fought.”  No longer needing to shield his eyes, he saw she was his 'Lissa once more.  Around them, his men cheered.  Cullen found his tongue.
 
     “We will hold here, Inquisitor.  Andraste guide your steps.”  She flashed him a smile before disappearing past the temple gates.
 
     And by her grace, bring you back to me.
 
(To be continued...)
 

 

 

[RoraM]

     The bastard is immortal.

 

     They ran towards the doors of the temple, his dragon spewing red lyrium-fuelled flame, while the Grey Warden body Corypheus now assumed wrenched convulsively, muscle tearing over bone to accommodate the full malevolence of his life force.

 

     It took all their strength to shut the heavy golden doors, completing the magical seal that protected the temple.  Outside, they could hear the dragon shriek its disappointment.

 

     Elissandra saw Calpernia and her Venatori disappear through a tunnel in the destroyed temple floor to rush towards the enigmatic Well of Sorrows.  Before she could follow them, Morrigan stopped her.

 

     “While they rush ahead, this leads to our true destination.  We should walk the petitioners’ path, as before.”  Elissandra looked to Solas, who, surprisingly, agreed with the witch.  It was his word she heeded.

 

     She wondered what Cullen would think as she retraced the footsteps of the Elvhen faithful along the glowing temple paths.  She knew what the Seeker thought.  Cassandra had snorted and wondered aloud how the elves could have poured so much of their devotion into “this nonsense”.  Yet, Elissandra could sense the power of this place.  It called to her magic, to her mark, as like to like.  The inner doors to the temple glowed once the ancient pagan rituals were completed.  As they entered, she felt the briefest disturbance in the still temple air.

 

     “We’re being watched,” she warned.  Suddenly they were surrounded by armoured elves with bows drawn and arrows trained upon them.  Their leader stood from a balcony above.

 

     “Venavis.  You…are unlike the other invaders.  You bear the mark of magic, which is…familiar."  Elissandra looked down to see her mark glowing brighter.  "How has this come to pass?  What is your connection to those who first disturbed our slumber?”

 

     “They are my enemies, as well as yours,” she replied fearlessly.  She had seen Corypheus die then come back to life.  She had already fought these elves, or those like them, and they did not frighten her. 

 

     His name was Abelas.  He belonged to the ancient race of Elvhen who only awakened to preserve the temple and the Well of Sorrows, the Vir’Abelasan.   Because she had shown respect to Mythal by completing the petitioners' path, he now offered an alliance against Corypheus and his Venatori.  In exchange, they were to leave the temple and never return.

 

     “This is our goal, is it not?”  Solas urged.  “There is no reason to fight these Sentinels.” 

 

     “Consider carefully," Morrigan whispered. "You must stop Corypheus, yes, but you may also need the well for your own.”  Once more, Elissandra placed her faith in Solas:  they would ally.  For now.

 

     “You will be guided to those you seek," pronounced Abelas.  "As for the Vir’Abelasan…it shall not be despoiled, even if I must destroy it myself.”

 

     “No!” cried Morrigan, instantly transforming into a raven to pursue Abelas, who had disappeared behind the balcony doors.

 

     There was nothing to do but follow their Elvhen guide, who led them down halls with soaring ceilings, past gorgeously gilded mosaics of the elven gods and fierce, winged statues of Mythal.  Along the walls, ancient elven writing, unintelligible but delicate and graceful, glowed in the light of veilfire.  In all her travels, Elissandra had not seen any architecture that could rival the Temple of Mythal for beauty or grandeur. 

 

     They came upon the embattled Sentinels, nearly overwhelmed by the superior numbers of the Venatori.  Elissandra’s spirit blade flashed into being.  While Solas reinforced their barriers and placed the Venatori in winter’s grasp, she brought lightning down upon them and slashed them shattering into bloody shards.

 

    At last, they reached the inner sanctum, where Calpernia stood on the verge of claiming her prize.  Elissandra did not care that the Tevinter, in a show of civility, had twice given her a chance to leave in peace, nor that she championed the cause of slaves.  She knew Calpernia for what she was.  Blinded by her lust for power and vengeance, the madwoman had aligned herself with the darkspawn magister who had brought Blight and chaos to their world.  Tevinter alone would not have satisfied her and she could not be allowed to rise further.  But first, Elissandra would have her see the treachery of her chosen god.  She tossed a copy of the binding ritual to the woman.

 

     “He tried it on your master, Erasthenes.”  As Calpernia read, Elissandra saw the look of dawning understanding on her face.

 

     “He made so many promises and every one a lie! Venhedis kaffan vas!” she swore, incinerating the pages to ash.  “He was to give Tevinter a true leader!  If Corypheus would misuse me, he’d misuse them, too.  I was blind!”

 

     “You know the truth of Corypheus’ betrayal.  You’ll die knowing it.”  If Tevinter was destined to be reborn, it would not be through Calpernia.  Elissandra summoned her spirit blade.

 

     For all her knowledge and power, even with the ferocity of demon-fighters at her side, Calpernia was outmatched.  Within minutes, the battle was over.  Elissandra could see the woman was gravely injured before she Fade-stepped to the top of the temple falls.

 

     “If I fall, it will not be by your hand,” she gasped before throwing herself over the edge, her body disappearing beneath the rising mist and rushing water.

 

     Elissandra turned to see Morrigan and Abelas racing to reach the Well of Sorrows.  In raven form, Morrigan proved too swift for the elf, reaching the Well mere moments before him.

 

     “So the sanctum is despoiled at last,” Abelas said bitterly.  Morrigan’s eyes flashed angrily.

 

     “You would have destroyed the Well yourself, given the chance.”  She stood between Abelas and the Well, ready to defend it.  Elissandra moved to join her.

 

     “To keep it from your grasping fingers!  Better it be lost than bestowed upon the undeserving.”

 

     “Fool!” Morrigan spat,  “You’d let your people’s legacy rot in the shadows!”  Elissandra felt Morrigan's mana building beside her.  If Abelas made an attempt to strike at the Well, the blast that would greet him would obliterate him.   

 

     “Corypheus needed Calpernia to use the well,” Elissandra interjected.  “Without her, there is no vessel to claim it.”  Morrigan glared.

 

     “The moment we leave, he will send more forces to secure this place.”  Elissandra saw alarm and understanding cross Abelas’ face, followed by resignation.  He turned from them, clearly feeling the weight of the decision before him.

 

     “You have shown respect to Mythal and there is a righteousness in you I cannot deny," he said, at last. "Is that your desire, to partake of the Vir’Abelasan as best you can, to fight your enemy?”  he asked carefully.

 

     “Gifts like this do not come freely,” answered Elissandra, equally carefully.

 

     “No boon of Mythal was ever granted without cost.  The Vir’Abelasan may be too much for a mortal to comprehend.  Brave it if you must, but know you this:  you shall be bound forever to the will of Mythal.” 

 

     “Bound to a goddess who no longer exists, if she ever did?” Morrigan asked mockingly.

 

     “Bound as we are bound,” he replied gravely.  “The choice is yours.”  

 

     Elissandra did not notice him leave.  From the moment he had granted permission to brave it, she had become transfixed by the Well:  undulating and shimmering, whispering and murmuring.  Beckoning.

 

     “Looking at it, listening to it,” she said softly, entranced, “That’s not just knowledge from the ancient elven priests.  It’s their will.”

 

     “How would you know such a thing?”  Morrigan seemed genuinely surprised that another mage might possess magical knowledge she did not.

 

     “That’s what Abelas was telling us!"  she said insistently, holding up her marked palm, feeling the Well’s magnetic pull.   "The collective will of the priests puts anyone who drinks under a compulsion, a geas.  Can’t you feel it?”  Morrigan looked doubtful.

 

     “That…would match the legends, but it does not tell us what the geas entails.  I would still use the well, but you are right.  We must be cautious.” 

 

     Whatever the Well was, the immense power it emanated was the closest feeling to divinity Elissandra had known.  It was clear someone had to partake of the Well, if only to keep it from Corypheus.  She did not know if Morrigan could be fully trusted, but the alternative could not be contemplated.  She would not be bound to anything or anyone else for all the world.  She belonged to Cullen alone.  If Morrigan betrayed them, she would face her then.  

 

     “It’s yours.”

 

     Satisfied, Morrigan stepped into the glowing water of the Well, kneeling to immerse herself completely as she drank.  The Well immediately emptied itself in an explosion of water that knocked Elissandra down and left Morrigan unconscious.

 

     “Morrigan!  Are you all right?” 

 

     “Ellasin selah!  Vissan…vissanalla…” she muttered on waking. “I- I am intact.  There is much to sift through, but now we can-"  Glowing mist surrounded them, bathing both Morrigan and Elissandra in blue light as the emptied Well bestowed its promised power.  Morrigan suddenly glanced up.  Elissandra looked in the direction of her gaze.  Corypheus had arrived.  Snarling with anger, he flew at them, ready to strike.

 

     “The eluvian!” Morrigan cried.

 

     “Through the mirror!”  Elissandra ordered, waiting for everyone else to escape before leaping through, herself.  She heard Corypheus’ frustrated cries behind her, his way to the eluvian blocked by an immense pillar of swirling water, the shape of a woman she did not recognize at its heart. Tumbling to the ground on the other side, she found herself back at Skyhold.  

 

(To be continued...)

 

 

 

 

 

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  Content of suspect virtue, in keeping with submissions to The Randy Dowager Quarterly.  You have been warned.

 

 

     The waiting was maddening.  Cullen stared at the map on the war table.  Since his defeat at Mythal, there had been no sign of Corypheus.  ‘Lissa had scoured southern Thedas looking for more elven ruins in search of a clue to his whereabouts, but without success.  Cullen wasn’t sure he wanted her to find the darkspawn magister. The reports of his ability to possess any Blighted creature were disturbing; that there was no limit to the range of this power, doubly so.  Cullen had been working day and night seeing to Skyhold’s defenses, but it never seemed enough.  Corypheus was immortal.  ‘Lissa was not.  He pounded a fist on the table in frustration.  He felt the Inquisitor’s gentle touch on his back.

 

     “Come,” she said, leading him by the hand, “I know what will take our minds off Corypheus.”

 

     “’Lissa, I don’t know if I can…”

 

     “No, not the bedroom.  The sparring room.”
 

     “Corypheus could strike at any time. I would not risk injuring you.”

 

     “You’d have to gain the upper hand first.  I promise to be gentle," she said cajolingly.  "Weapon of choice, Commander?  I seem to recall you not having much luck with the mace and shield.”  He laughed.

 

     “I’ll meet you there.  I’ll need the element of surprise on my side.”

 

     He found her slashing at a dummy, practicing her sword forms when he arrived.  She smiled upon seeing him.  Andraste, but she was lovely.

 

     “Longsword and tower shield, I see.  And I thought I'd be surprised."

 

     "You almost were.  Cole brought me a cheese wedge...and something made with a banana.”  He saw her raise an eyebrow at the sight of his battle sword.  "Cutting through all those Red Templars during the battle in the Arbor Wilds weakened the blade.  It’s only fit for practice, now.”

 

     “So, I’m to look out for flying pieces of broken blade.  Good to know,” she said drily.  “Ready?”  She cast barriers on both of them.  The first to take down the barrier of the other would win.

 

     She toyed with him at first, repeatedly Fade-stepping behind him, hitting him with the pommel of her spirit blade, then Fade-stepping away.

 

     “Getting tired yet?” she asked cockily, as they circled each other.

 

     “We’re just getting started,” he said, coming at her with a shield bash, which knocked her to the ground.  She deflected his thrust with a parry and swept one leg below his shield, knocking him off balance, giving her time to roll away and get back on her feet.

 

     “What, no charging bull?” she asked with wide-eyed impudence.

 

     “You’d just Fade-step out of my way,” he said, grinning.  She came at him and he brought up his shield, only to realize she had feinted, which left his legs open to the sweep of her staff that sent him falling onto his back.  He easily blocked her on-coming blows before getting to his feet.

 

     “So… it’s to be…lunge, slash, lunge, slash...how...boring!” she taunted.  They were both breathing hard.

 

     “You know me...better than that, ‘Lissa,” and he threw a grappling chain around her staff arm, yanking her into the path of his shield.

 

     She quickly sliced right through the chain with her spirit blade, then spun out of the way to flank him.  “If you…want me close, love, you…don’t need a chain.”  His weight had been placed forward in anticipation of the impact with her body.  She shoved him forward before he could transfer his weight, then came at his exposed back with a rapid series of slashes and thrusts until his barrier came down.  Hers remained intact.

 

     “Best…two out of three?” he managed to gasp out.  She laughed.  She walked over to the room’s makeshift bench.  He watched her chill her water skin with a tiny gesture of her hand. After drinking and splashing a little on her neck, she turned to offer him some.  He joined her on the bench, accepting the skin gratefully, downing the cool water in long gulps.

 

     “It was hardly a fair fight, Cullen,” she said apologetically.  “Every time I connect a blow, my barrier regenerates.”  He chuckled.

 

     “I know.  It was the only reason I agreed to spar in the first place.  As I said, I didn’t want to risk injuring you.”  They both laughed at themselves.  She laid her head on his shoulder.  Her hair was damp with perspiration, but he loved how she smelled.  He kissed her on the top of her head.

 

     “The last time we were here, I had you pinned to that wall,”  he said, gesturing with the water skin.  There was scaffolding erected now that the room had been earmarked for barracks.  He shook his head.  “Maker, it took all the strength I had not to take you right there and then.”  She turned her head to whisper, her lips just brushing his ear, sending electric shocks down his spine.

 

     “I would have let you.  I wanted you, too.”  She was looking at him, her eyes dark, her lips curved in a sultry half-smile.  He swallowed and felt the heat rising within him.  Sweet Andraste, what she did to him.

 

     “And now?” he asked, his voice rough with desire.

 

     “Pin me to a wall and find out,” she said, getting up and slowly backing into a corner

 

     Cullen began to kiss her, kiss her like he had wanted to that first time, hungrily, forcefully.  He couldn’t get his armor off fast enough. The neckline of his tunic tore as he ripped it from him. The buckles on the pauldrons would have to be repaired later.  ‘Lissa, wanting him as much as he wanted her, had taken the dagger from his waist and impatiently slashed open the uncooperative laces of her trousers.

 

      His one fevered thought was to be inside her.  Without waiting for the rest of her clothes to come off, he lifted her up, pinning her against the wall between her legs, which wrapped around him.  He buried his face in her neck tasting her skin, inhaling her scent, while he undid his trousers with one hand and freed himself.  He then reached for her, and she moaned at his touch, moving herself against his hand.  He started kissing her soft, sweet mouth again, his tongue seeking hers, as he lowered her onto him.  He tried not to enter her too quickly, but she felt like silk.  He broke off their kiss to look at her, a question in his eyes, and saw her nod.  He then thrust deep into her and she cried out, her back arching, her legs tightening around him.  The light touch of her fingers on the back of his neck told him he wasn’t hurting her and emboldened him further.  With each thrust, he only wanted to go faster and deeper.  She kept pace with him, bracing herself against the wall with one hand, guiding him with the other.  Only when he heard ‘Lissa whisper desperately, “Now, Cullen, now!” did he empty himself into her, punctuating his climax with a series of final shuddering thrusts that made her cry out once more.

 

     He lowered her to the ground, gasping as he withdrew from her, still sensitive from their encounter. 

 

     “Now that,” she said, kissing him, her tongue darting into his mouth, “was exactly what I wanted.”  He just became aware she had not been wearing any small clothes.

 

     “Mm.  Good,” he said, smiling. 

 

     She held up her trousers, frowning.  “I can command lightning, ice, and fire, but I never did learn how to mend clothing.”

 

     “There’s a spell for that?”

 

     “There’s a spell for everything, so Dorian tells me.  That tunic’s ruined.  Hand it to me, beloved?”  She tore a strip off the bottom and proceeded to pull it through the eyelets of her trousers, creating temporary lacings.  “This should last me until we get back to our quarters.  Oh, before I forget.”  She walked up to the scaffold and removed something she had hidden.  “Master Harritt told me you needed a new one.  I had Dagna enchant it.”

 

     Cullen unsheathed the sword.  It felt light, but was clearly made of dragonbone.  Unlike his old sword, this blade would not be warping any time soon.  The grip flashed gold with volcanic aurum and had been wrapped with dragonscale.  Swinging it felt like a natural extension of his arm.  He took a downward diagonal swing at the practice dummy and decapitated it, sending its head, along with one shoulder, spinning to the floor.

 

     “We seem to have wiped out most of the Red Templars, but that cleansing rune should work against anything corrupted.  Maker knows I’ve killed enough dragons, I can always have another made if you don't-”  He strode up to her, crushing her to him, his kiss stopping her mouth.

 

     “It’s perfect,” he said.

 

(To be continued...)

[RoraM]

     “Though all before me is shadow

     Yet shall the maker be my guide…”

 

     Blessed Andraste, it hurts to breathe.  I can’t feel my hands.  It’s so cold.

 

     “I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond…”

 

     Maker, help me.  Andraste guide me.  I cannot see.  I’m afraid.

 

     “For there is no darkness in the Maker’s light

     And nothing He has wrought shall be lost…”

 

     Andraste!  Maker!  Where are you?

 

     Elissandra came back to herself.  She was in Skyhold.  She was safe.  The man she loved was kneeling before the candle he had just lit at the feet of the chapel's stone Andraste.  If the sculptor had hoped to inspire awe and devotion, he had failed.  To Elissandra, the face of the Maker’s Bride was impassive and immovable.

 

     “A prayer for you?” she asked.  She, too, had once said the words, but the Chant of Light no longer brought her comfort.

 

     “For those we have lost and for those I am afraid to lose.”  

 

     “You’re afraid?”  He, whose faith was only matched by Cassandra’s, was afraid? 

 

     “Of course I am!  Corypheus possessed that Grey Warden body at Mythal!  What more is he capable of?  It’s only a matter of time before he retaliates.  We must draw strength wherever we can.  When the time comes, you will be thrown into his path again.  Andraste preserve me, I must send you to him.”

 

     She saw his pain and her heart broke.  Maker.  If you exist, if you ever truly existed, hear me now:  let him find happiness with someone else.  Let my death not be his end.  Grant me the strength to let him go.

 

     “What if I can’t…Cullen, if I don’t…” 

 

     “Maker, no.”  He took her into his arms.  His was the only comfort she knew.  His, the only strength.  “Whatever happens, you will come back.”  She wanted to believe him, but they might only have this moment. 

 

     “Cullen, you don’t have to-”  He would not release her. 

 

     “Allow me this.  To believe anything else would…I can’t.”

 

(To be continued...)

 

 

 

[RoraM]

Corypheus calls

 

(To be continued...)

[Nefi87]

Wow. U r very talented. I'm looking forward for the rest

[RoraM]

     How many times had he calibrated the trebuchets?  Eight?  Ten?  He looked up at the distant Breach.  She would have reached Haven by now.

 

     He clutched the coin in his hand tightly.

 

     “He will come for Skyhold next.  Keep our people safe, Cullen,” she had said.  She kissed him then, pressing the silver coin into his hand.

 

     “’Lissa-"  His heart cried out.  

 

     “Keep it safe for me?” she asked softly.  “I shall want it back.  Know that I carry you with me always.”  She held out her right palm, with its half-moon scar.  All his breath left him.  All his words dried up in his throat.  He bent his head to kiss her palm, while she gently stroked his hair with her other hand.  He grasped her tightly to him as he kissed her lips one last time.  Then, she was gone.

 

     They felt the tremors first.  Cullen looked up at the Breach, now jaggedly blotted from view.  Grabbing a spyglass, he saw the ruined Temple of Sacred Ashes raised to the sky while the air continued to echo with the thunderous sound of mountains being sundered.  Above the temple, two high dragons wheeled and dove at each other.  It had begun.

 

(To be continued...)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

[RoraM]

Author's Note: To listen to, as you read: "Return to Skyhold" by Trevor Morris

 

     Cullen.

 

     He was her one thought as they made the journey back to Skyhold.  Against all odds, she had made it back to him. 

 

     Past the gates.  Into the courtyard.  Up the stairs- each step moving with the drumbeat of her heart.  The rest of the world fell away the moment she saw him.

 

     Cullen.

 

     He took her in his arms and she was home.  Perhaps there was a Maker, after all.

 

(To be continued...)

 

[RoraM]

Author's Note:  Content of suspect virtue, in keeping with submissions to The Randy Dowager Quarterly.  You have been warned.

 

     Elissandra smiled, hearing the familiar tread of Cullen's footstep.  She turned to face him.

 

     “You managed to slip away," he said, smiling, "I thought I might claim more of your attention, after all."

 

     “I'm glad you’re here,” she said, opening the door that led to their quarters, her heart quickening.

 

     “Mm.  Good.”

 

     As the door to the main hall closed, he stole behind her, placing his arms so gently around her waist, it was as if he thought she might disappear if he held her too tightly. 

 

     "I have something that belongs to you," he murmured, kissing the back of her neck softly. Holding his hand in front of her, she saw him release a delicate silver chain, his silver coin suspended from it.  He fastened it around her neck, then began to undress her, unbuttoning her tunic, gently passing his hands over her breasts, all the while kissing her neck.  Her tunic fell to the ground.  She moved to untie her laces.  He stilled her hands, placing them on his body, instead, making her feel his desire for her.  He began a trail of kisses working his way down to her belly.  As he knelt, he removed his upper armour before pulling her hips closer to him.  She closed her eyes and leaned into his mouth.  He untied her laces and was now easing her trousers over her hips.  His mouth and tongue moved lower and she gasped.  He gently drew her downwards, laying her down, his lion mane collar beneath her.  He rid her of her trousers and gently spread her knees apart before kissing and caressing her inner thighs, moving slowly upwards until he reached the core of her, moving lips, tongue, and hand until she thought she might burst into flame.  She drew his head upwards, telling him wordlessly what she wanted.  He turned his face to kiss her palm before removing the rest of his clothes and climbing on top of her.  Behind them, she could hear the sound of voices and clinking glasses as the victory celebrations went on.  She tried not to moan as she finally felt the entirety of him inside her. Together, their bodies rose and fell on the stone floor, over and over, until she could feel herself coming into her climax. She brought a fist to her mouth, biting back her cries, while he arched his back thrusting deep inside her before coming himself.  They collapsed, both sweating and sated, his head resting between her breasts, while she ran fingers through his hair.  She could hear music playing from the hall.

 

     “I love you, Cullen,” she whispered.

 

     “Then never leave me again,” he said, entwining his fingers in hers.

 

***

 

     They managed to make it to their quarters on the second attempt.

 

     “Battle’s over.  There will be a new Divine.  Yet, I don’t care about anything other than you being alive.”

 

     “Cullen-" He took her into his arms.  A worried look passed over his face.

 

     “I don’t know what happens after this.” 

 

     “Neither do I,” she said, smiling.  But anything was possible.

 

 

 

 

[Ilyahna]

[RoraM]

For those of you, like me, who have difficulty letting go:  "Journeys Home" is a continuation of Elissandra and Cullen's romance post DA:I. (The title is vague and insipid, I know, but that's what comes of trying to entitle something when you only have a concept and nothing fully written...)  

[RoraM]

So, why did I find a romance so hard to write?  Well, for one thing, I limited myself in terms of vocabulary.  I posit there is no romantic word in the English language that refers to one's bottom.  (Don't you just giggle at hearing the word?)  Here is the list of the least offensive candidates:

• Ass
• Arse
• Backside
• Behind
• Bottom
• Bum
• Butt
• Buttocks
• Derrière
• Fanny
• Fundament
• Gluteus maximus
• Haunches
• Hindquarters
• Posterior
• Rear
• Rump
• Seat
• Tail
• Tush

Grasping someone's "gluteus maximus" while in the throes of passion hardly elicits the desired effect.  Same goes for caressing someone's supple "buttocks".  I defy anyone to tell me that "ass", the same word used to describe a braying beast of burden, has any romantic connotations whatsoever.

 

And that's not even the end of it.  (Mmph.  I couldn't help myself.)  Referring to the male member without bursting out laughing is just as difficult.  I won't append the extensive list here, but my favourite, by far, was "manroot".  Does that mean Solas has an "elfroot"?

 

Other words I refused to use:  erect, turgid, wetness... you get the idea.

 

But why bother describing anything at all, you ask?  Why not simply write:  "and then they fell into each other's arms"?  Because anyone can write that and has.  Countless times.  That was not the challenge I set myself.  I wanted to write a believable love scene without it turning clinical or unintentionally hilarious.  I hope I succeeded.

[the Dame]

^^^ So true!    In my humble opinion, you certainly succeeded. 

 

And not only in matter of writing tasteful yet sensual love scenes. Amazing work, thank you.

Modifié par dame Tasmit, 04 février 2015 - 11:14 .

[Marika Haliwell]

just wow you are awesome !  

 

I had in mind to start a fan fic of my own but now i will just stay here and read other peoples stories . You are a good writer madame