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"The Archdemon is coming," said Commander Cullen.
The man stood tall, a billowing cloak of crimson at his back. His hair was spun gold and his eyes the granite of determination. He gripped the hilt of his greatsword and stilled, hesitation like ice piercing his valiant heart.
"If I do not survive," he began.
But his doubt was not allowed to persist for his dearest companion was there to lend strength and courage.
"You will," said Knight Jim the Indomitable.
He was the whisper in the shadows, the helping hand none saw. The Commander felt friendship so profound that it cut like a halberd.
"They must know," Cullen insisted, lips curling in a snarl to reveal pearly and perfect teeth for even amid soot and blood he was ever the fearless, handsome leader. "The world must know," he corrected himself, "who truly helped the Inquisition in its direst hour."
His impassioned words rang true, but Jim's heart knew but tenderness and modesty. He was a noble and humble soul who, like a seed of decency, had blossomed into the embodiment of selflessness.
The Commander was wrong.
Jim would serve from the sidelines.
The world would never know that it was he and not the apostate elf hobo Solas—who curiously reeked of wet dog at all times—who'd led the survivors of Haven to Skyhold's doorstep, having spotted the magnificent fortress days before the entitled asshole who never acknowledged anyone's presence mage did.
The world would never know that it was he who stood vigil as the Inquisitor writhed and gasped, the anchor within her palm threatening to devour her whole.
The world would never know, and it was better this way.
"You will slay the Archdemon and return triumphant," Jim said, patting the Commander on the back, "and reunite with your lady love."
The world would never know that it was not the wheat-haired former Templar, and not even the fair maiden Inquisitor, who struck the final blow that brought down the red lyrium dragon.
It was Jim the Indomitable, and once more he retreated into the shadows to watch the lovers bask in the glory of a mad magister's defeat.
"What the fuck is this?" Trevelyan hissed.
Cullen looked at her through parted fingers. His large hands, even when cupping his face, did little to hide the persistent blush in his cheeks.
"Glorious, that's what it is," called Dorian from across the library.
Evelyn glared at the parchment. As if that could set it aflame. As if the words would suddenly flee beneath her furious gaze.
"I punched a bear," she said, angry breath wheezing through her teeth. "I punched a bear and I hacked the head off that fucking dragon."
"That's what upsets you?"
Dorian barked a laugh. He rolled a scrap of paper into a ball and hurled it across the library.
"Wait until you see this," he said.
Cullen swallowed.
He swallowed again.
And once more.
"Perhaps we should stop reading this altogether," he murmured, tentatively reaching for the crumpled page sporting quite the impressive title in bold, red letters.
Chapter Two: The Taming of the Virgin
"We owe him our lives, my love, but tonight we must live for ourselves," whispered the raven-haired woman.
Her ample breasts threatened to spill from her bodice, ripe fruits ready for the picking. And pick them the Commander did. Like apples, but slightly on the larger side, they filled his palms and he felt her strawberry nipples perk up at the touch.
"We owe him much more than that," the Commander agreed.
He was a chiseled god and there was no denying it.
The Inquisitor blushed a virginal red, her thighs clamping together in a vain attempt to satiate the scorching, wet heat of her desire.
"I have never known a man," she murmured as his powerful hands caressed her, "but in your arms I do not fear the abyss passion might bring."
"Then we shall drown together, my dove," Cullen breathed against the hollow of her throat, peppering it with kisses sweeter than nectar.
She shuddered, her knees giving out.
And the Commander took her over the edge.
Five times that night.
Cullen had gone white in the face. His next breath stuttered and the one after that caught in his throat.
"We shouldn't be reading this," he whispered.
"I am going to kill this blasphemous fuck," Evelyn growled. "Where is Leliana? I'm sending spies after his pustule-ridden ass."
She stormed out of the library, a veritable fury. Cullen's eyes absentmindedly followed her out.
"Now, now," Dorian made himself known once more, "don't stare too long at her strawberry nipples ."
Cullen went through about sixteen shades of red. "Maker," he swore, clumsily but just as hastily taking off after Evelyn.
It was a while before the quiet of the library was disturbed once more. Dorian quirked an eyebrow and tutted as he watched a scout ascend the staircase.
"I was told I'd find the Commander here," he said, throwing glances around. "I've a missive for him."
"I believe he's busy not fondling the Inquisitor's apple-shaped breasts," Dorian drawled.
The missive hit the floor.
"You know?" he whispered.
Dorian shrugged. "I live for this hogwash. Please, never stop."
If Jim were an elf, his ears would have probably twitched.
"I didn't know it would get this popular," he whispered.