Chapter Text
Do you, like a lot of people, think me a prude? Truthfully? Bloody annoying, this. Is it because I was a Templar? Ha! If only you lot knew what life in a Templar barracks was really like.
Well, sorry (not sorry!) to disabuse you of this notion, but I quite enjoy sex. As much as does any man. But running the Inquisition’s armies doesn’t leave me much free time, especially not in the aftermath of an attack by a dark spawn magister and his pet arch demon, or whatever that thing was!
So, yes, it’s been… a while for me.
That’s why I cannot stop thinking about her. It must be why she invades my waking thoughts—and my dreams when they are pleasant. Maker save me, I often imagine pushing her up against the nearest wall and plunging into her right there.
But these are wholly inappropriate thoughts—no, not because there is anything wrong with having sex or even thinking about it. It’s all to do with who we are, she and I.
You see, this woman is the Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor, and for all that, just a young girl, barely out of her teens. And I’m old enough to know better than to pursue anything with her.
Apart from the age difference between us, there are other reasons that anything between us, even a single night of passion, is ill-advised. To put it bluntly, I am not worthy of her. I’ve done things in my life that I am not proud of. No, I will not share the details; I’m sure you’ll understand my reluctance to relive that distressing part of my life. Anyway, my purpose here is to atone for my wrongdoings; believe it or not, that does not include seducing innocents.
Oh, and did I mention that she’s a mage?
Leaning against the stone wall of the courtyard, I watch her spar with the soldiers. Holding her staff in a practiced grip, she swings it in front of her, and icicles fly toward a recruit. She escapes his approach by gracefully fade-stepping across the training ring. Her long brown hair bounces as she moves and the scent of her perfume—embrium and crystal grace, perhaps—mixed with the ozone from her spell reaches me even at this distance.
She is magnificent. A force of nature, but a carefully controlled one. She finishes her attack by lobbing a weak fireball at another recruit. He dodges it but ends up in the dirt, flat on his arse.
“Widen your stance, lad,” I shout. “And keep that shield up. If the Inquisitor were your enemy, you’d be dead!”
“Yes, Commander.” The boy sends me a sheepish look and nods as he gets to his feet.
Maker save us from these raw recruits—farmers, tradesmen, and even some banns’ second and third sons, if you can believe that, from all over Thedas. But all, even the least capable, are here to serve the Inquisition, to do their part to battle the evil that threatens us all. And that inspires a sort of fatherly affection in me.
The gormless recruit falls back into position, his feet locked in a wider stance this time, and the Inquisitor prepares to fire another spell at him. She smiles at me and returns her attention to the young soldier.
My reaction is instantaneous; my heart knocks wildly against the walls of my chest, and heat spools in my groin, spreading to my lower belly and thighs.
I inhale sharply and close my eyes. Maker’s breath. It's not like she's trying to deliberately entice me, is it? She's wearing her full kit of mage armor! She's working with the blasted troops!
No, the more I think about it, it’s her. That’s no good. No good at all. Completely unacceptable!
My trousers are so damned tight, a constant state these days. Blast it; no amount of shifting around can assuage the strain. This is ridiculous. I have to do something about this.
The Herald’s Rest is loud and raucous. The Iron Bull is in his usual spot, his Chargers surrounding him as he regales them with stories of his past exploits with the Ben Hassrath, and Sera is already deep in her cups, leaning over the bar and singing out of tune to the music Maryden strums on her lute.
Several of my men sit at a table near the entrance, playing a game of Wicked Grace. I laugh as they all jump and give me bumbling salutes. Smiling to reassure them, I motion for them to continue their game. This very reason is why I don’t often come here; I know from experience that it’s never good to have your commanding officer around when you’re off duty and out with the lads for a bit of fun.
At the bar, I sit on one of the stools, taking care to stay far away from the crazy elf. Why the Inquisitor allowed her to join baffles me. She’s nothing but trouble, that one. She put bees, of all things, in my training dummy! I had to spend the morning in the infirmary having the damned stingers removed. Missing out on hours of important work because of the little termagant was irritating in the extreme, to say the least.
“Good to see you again, Commander,” Cabot greets me. “The usual, I’m guessin’?”
“Yes, thank you.” I nod once, and as I wait for my drink, I turn ‘round and survey the tavern again. There are several prospects present who are suitable for my needs tonight: Flissa, Minaeve, and Lysette are among them.
When Cabot hands me my honeyed mead, I stand and walk over to Lysette, who is leaning against the back wall. She’s a Templar and the most capable for the kind of sex I need tonight.
I can’t be gentle—this is not about making love or any soft rubbish like that. It’s just, forgive my crude language, fucking, assuaging a mutual need, as it were.
My cock twitches as a very inappropriate image of the Inquisitor bent over my desk, perfect arse thrust in the air, all rosy white skin with her dripping cunny ready for possession comes to mind.
Growling under my breath, I bite the inside of my cheek—hard. Continuing toward Lysette, I allow the right corner of my lips to turn up in the half-smile I know drives women crazy.
While I’m not a vain man, I realize that I’ve been blessed with good looks. Most of the time, it’s more of a hindrance than anything else, but it does help in situations like these. Let’s just say I’ve never had to do too much convincing to get a woman in my bed.
Lysette is clapping to the music and smiling as she watches the dancers. Her color is high; an attractive flush warms the apples of her cheeks, and her blond hair tumbles loose down her back. I slide in next to her and lean against the wall.
“Hello, love. You look fetching this evening.”
“Why, thank you, Commander.” Her flush darkens, and I smirk. We’ve tumbled each other before, and I know how athletic she can be in bed.
I carefully press my side against hers, leisurely taking a sip of my drink. She half-turns toward me, but her eyes are still on the dancers.
“I’m not here as your Commander,” I lean in and whisper in her ear. “Tonight, I’m just a man looking for a little….” Her breath hitches as I brush my fingers down from the beating pulse in her throat to the line of her cleavage displayed ever so nicely by her low-cut bodice. I allow my smirk to bloom into a full grin. “…fun. Would you like to come play with me?”
She cocks her head and purses her full red lips. “What did you have in mind?” she asks, her voice breathless and sultry. She brings a hand up to trace the open vee of my shirt before continuing down to caress my stomach.
“I think you know.”
The hand on my stomach dips lower. I shiver as she brushes it across me; I’m hard to the point of pain.
“Perhaps you can show me?”
Wrapping one hand around the back of her neck to hold her head still, my lips crash down on hers. I palm her breasts roughly—like I said, I can’t be gentle.
Her lips open, and I slide my tongue into her warm mouth. She tastes of mead and lyrium, a heady combination. My hands drift down to cup her arse and lift her against me, desperate to create some friction for my aching cock.
She moans into my mouth, and her arms come up to wrap ‘round my neck as she presses herself even closer. Maker, I have to have her now.
Tearing my mouth away from her tempting pucker, I growl in her ear, “Let’s get out of here.”
My tower is dark save for the lit candle I left on my desk before going down to the tavern. Taking it, I motion for Lysette to climb the ladder to my loft. She hesitates for a moment as if she wants to say something but chooses to quickly scale the ladder instead. I follow her up, climbing one-handed, with the other gripping the candle.
“Undress,” I command as I come up behind her and slide my hand over her firm arse.
Lysette turns to give me a smile as she begins to slowly unlace her bodice, letting it drop lower and lower down her voluptuous chest.
On another night, I might have enjoyed her teasing, but I’m in no mood for it now. I grab her dress and yank it the rest of the way down. Her breasts fall free.
“No breast band,” I murmur as my hands come up to cup them: they are full and large, with pink nipples, stiff in the cool air of my loft. She hisses as I pass a hand over her taut belly and reach to pull off her small clothes. Want coils in the muscles of my lower body, pulling them as taut as the strings on Maryden’s lute. “Get on your knees on the bed.”
“Yes, Commander,” she says, swinging her hips as she moves toward the bed. She climbs onto it, turning to smirk at me over her shoulder, tossing her blond curls back. The moonlight pouring through the hole in the roof traces patterns of light and dark across her body.
As I come up behind her, one hand working to release my aching cock from its confines, her tongue comes out to lick her lips, the straight row of white teeth bright beyond the dark slash of her painted mouth.
In one smooth move, I am inside her, holding her hips to keep them still. The slide is exquisite; the feel of her wet cunny surrounding me, welcoming me, is indescribable. “Stay just like this for a moment…let me appreciate this.”
She is so wet and silky. A groan escapes me as her walls tighten around me, and just like always, being buried in a woman’s warmth calms and centers me. For these moments, there is no Kinloch and Kirkwall, no breach, and no Corypheus.
Lysette cants her hips back, impaling herself more deeply while her arse grinds against me while I press a hand against her back to urge her lower and start to move. She is moaning now, too, and our cries meld with the slapping noises of skin on skin, filling the tower with the urgent sounds of lust.
She starts to come apart under me; she is trembling and mewling and begging me to fuck her harder.
Well. I am nothing if not diligent at any task set before me.
I ram my hips against hers, driving into her until I’m so deep inside her that the head of my cock scrapes against her womb.
“Yes, Cullen!” she cries out.
Satisfied that she is taking her pleasure, I let go, lips pulled back over my teeth as I shudder over her, emptying myself into her in a sudden rush.
My mattress welcomes my exhausted body with muscles slack, tension drained away. All I want now is to sleep, but I’m not such boor that I forget about the woman whose body has provided me this glorious surcease, this window of wellbeing.
Lysette is still kneeling on the bed beside me. She is braiding her hair into one long plait pulled over one shoulder. When I touch her thigh, she looks up from her work and smiles at me, green eyes soft and sparkling in the moonlight slipping through the gap in my roof.
“Thank you, love,” I say, words slow and slurred before sleep claims me.
I breeze into the War Room the next morning and take my place between Leliana and Josephine.
Leliana arches a brow at me, and I groan under my breath. That woman knows about everything—there’s no such thing as a secret with her.
“You’re looking particularly well this morning, Commander,” she says, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.
Paging through my paperwork, I lean over to adjust a marker on the War Table. Ignoring the bait, I merely smile affably. No need to give her ammunition, is there? “Thank you, Leliana. I feel quite well today.”
“Indeed,” says Josephine as she scribbles on her tablet. “That’s fortunate because I have to bring up something that you will not like.”
“Oh?” I hope it’s nothing to do with Orlesians. Their Game and their bloody masks—just thinking about it is enough to give me a headache. And I’d rather not have a headache today.
She smiles at me and pats my arm. “We’ll discuss it after the Inquisitor arrives.”
“Where is she?”
Just then, the War Room doors open, and the Inquisitor walks in. She nods at the ladies but does not so much as throw me a glance. I frown in puzzlement. She takes her position across the War Table but continues to keep her eyes averted.
The fall of her burnished brown locks covers her face, and I want to brush them aside so that I can see her face clearly. Her shoulders are hunched forward, and I notice the tremor in her hands as she tightly grips the edges of the War Table.
“Inquisitor, is there something the matter?” I ask softly. Perhaps the responsibility of being the Inquisitor is too much for such young shoulders to bear?
When she looks up, her eyes are liquid pools of blue, shimmering with unshed tears. My breathing stutters as my chest tightens, and I try to swallow around the lump in my throat. The stress relief left over from last night evaporates as if it never existed.
“Inquisitor!” Josephine cries out, moving quickly around the table to put an arm around the Inquisitor’s shoulders.
To my horror, the Inquisitor starts crying in earnest, huge racking sobs that shake her slim frame from head to toe. Josephine tightens her arm ‘round her and moves them to the settee on the left side of the room, gently sitting the girl down and murmuring softly to her.
Maker’s breath, what is going on here?
I am completely out of my depth, and I know it, so I still the impulse to come up on the Inquisitor's other side and give her a hug of my own. I settle for pulling out a handkerchief from my pocket and handing it to Leliana, who is moving to join the other women.
“Shhh, ma petite, it’s all right,” Leliana coos to the sobbing girl and offers her the handkerchief while locking eyes with the Ambassador. “Come, Josie, let’s get her back to her rooms.”
Josephine nods her head, and both women gather the girl between them and leave the room. The Antivan turns to look at me with a helpless shrug before disappearing through the War Room doors.
Thoughts whirling in my head, I remain where I am. A headache starts to pulse above my left eyebrow, setting up to pound my brains to tiny bits.
Wonderful.