I'm a lawyer who writes fantasy stories and fanfic and is deeply obsessed with Dragon Age and Baldur's Gate 3. This is where I fangirl over the things I love.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Nevarra City in winter had a festive yet martial air. The cheerful light of painted lanterns sparked in the armor of the heavily armed soldiers who stomped down the snowy streets. Stone castles wore dark-leafed garlands of red and white flowers like crotchety old men in floral bonnets. In much the way the snow and frost softened the rugged landscape, so, too, had the Nevarrans gentled their sharp-edged practicality with their love of beauty.
“I hear they wear armor during their winter balls,” Ava commented as she and Viktor waited in the market, watching the passersby.
“Do you suppose the nobles hang those garlands on the dragon heads in their entry halls?”
“Maybe they dress them up with bows.” Ava stomped her booted feet to fight the numbness in her toes, huddling into her fur-lined jacket.
Viktor studied her with canny grey eyes. Being from Ferelden, he was unbothered by the cold. But he knew she’d started life as a Tevinter galley slave before she joined the Lords of Fortune. It had been all beaches and jungles since then. Cold climes had never been her friend.
“You’d be warmer if you weren’t wearing a corset and a skimpy blouse under that jacket,” he remarked.
“And do you suppose I’ve got a clothing chest of long underwear back in Rivain?”
He tapped her reddened nose. “Be more prepared, you redheaded devil. You knew about this expedition in time to buy suitable gear.”
“I am prepared. I’ve got plenty of weapons and rope. Besides, I’m a Lord of Fortune. Aren’t I supposed to charge recklessly into the fray?”
“Please,” Viktor scoffed. “You’re too clever to do anything without a strategy. You just like to flaunt yourself.”
“That’s a strategy in and of itself.” She winked.
“Direct that nonsense at someone else. You don’t have what it takes to impress me.”
“A love sword?”
Viktor shook his head. “You must stop reading those trashy Varric Tethras novels.”
“You’re the one who is always insisting that I further my education.”
“I don’t think your education needs furthering on the subject of ‘love swords.’”
Ava guffawed. “Well, you’re not wrong about that.”
As he watched her rub her hands together, his eyes softened. “You don’t need to stand here with me. It’s my contact. I can handle this bit. Why don’t you go warm up with a drink?”
“I don’t dislike the sound of that,” Ava admitted. “It’s the idleness that gets to me. Once I’m on the hunt, I wouldn’t notice a blizzard. But with all this standing around, I’ve got nothing to do but fantasize about Rivaini beaches while my knickers freeze to my ass.”
“I’ve got just the place.” Viktor linked arms with her and led her to a small stone shop with a dark green awning. “Nice and cozy. You’ll like it.”
“This,” Ava said icily, “is a tea shop.”
“Tea is a drink. Or so I’ve heard.”
"I prefer mead.”
“It’s probably not a good idea to get in your cups. If the Nevarrans find out we’re Lords of Fortune, they might suspect we’re after the dragon’s hoard.”
Well. He wasn’t wrong about that. Word had it that a Pentaghast dragon slayer had managed to kill a frost dragon. But the canny reptile had done too good a job of hiding its lair. Search as they might, the Nevarrans couldn’t find it. So the Lords had decided to give it a try. The Pentaghast in question would likely take umbrage if he knew. He believed slaying the dragon gave him the right to claim its treasure. But the Lords were firm believers in “finders keepers.”
Ava sighed. “All right, get back to the meeting place. I’ll drink the damned tea.”
“There’s a girl.” He patted her on the back and retreated across the square.
Ava stared at the shop skeptically. Through the window, she could see a fire blazing in the fireplace. It cast a golden glow over the small, round tables with their white linen tablecloths. The delicate wooden chairs were Orlesian. So, too, were the porcelain teapots in pale blues and greens.
A skeleton had been painted on the window, holding an armful of purple flowers. Elegant golden letters beneath it read “Death’s Fond Embrace.”
“Ah, tea served with a reminder of my own mortality. That’s neat.” Ava snorted and pulled open the door. The warmth wrapped around her like a hug from a dear friend. Every inch of her sun-browned skin sighed in relief. She slumped into a chair. She hadn’t wanted to come, but now she might never leave.
The proprietor--a tidy man with meticulously parted hair and an apron over his perfectly tailored clothes--bustled over to attend her. "What would you like, miss?"
"I'm not much of a tea drinker. What do you recommend?"
"Our spiced apple tea. That should put the color back in your cheeks."
"Sounds lovely." She slipped a coin across the table.
"Coming right up." He pocketed her coin and hurried away to put the kettle on.
Ava scoped out the room. It occurred to her that there were other ways to keep warm. Their expedition wasn't leaving until first light tomorrow. And it had been ages since she'd taken a lover. Finding them among the Lords made her life too complicated. And her nomadic existence made anything long-term ill-advised. So when she was abroad on the hunt for gold, she sometimes sought out a little temporary company.
There were only two other people in the shop. A young woman with a mouth like a crevasse sat in one corner, scowling at her honey cake as if it had insulted her. In a wing-backed green armchair by the fire, a genteel older man sifted through the books and papers on the table in front of him, occasionally taking a sip of his tea. He was probably twenty years her senior. Still, he had a lean, elegant frame, and his hair and clothing were impeccable. She had half a mind to sleep with him just to steal his coat afterwards--a long, purple affair with dramatic shoulders that nearly reached his ears. Rings flashed from his fingers as he turned pages, the gold bangles on his arms jingling. She liked a man who appreciated accessories. And the gleam of jewels did things to her pirate heart.
The proprietor returned with her tea. She nodded her thanks. One sip almost erased her regret about the mead. The sweetness of apple and richness of the spices were a mouthful of autumn in the depth of winter. The cup warmed her hands as each sip warmed her insides. She picked up her tea cup and the pot, walking towards the gentleman by the fire.
He looked up as her shadow fell across his book. She favored him with a smile. "I hope you don't mind if I sit here. I'm hoping the fire will toast some of the frost from my boots."
He smiled back. "Oh, please." He gestured to the armchair across from him. "I have no intention of hoarding the fireplace to myself."
"So kind of you." She settled into the chair, setting down her drink. "Sorry to interrupt your studies."
"Oh, it's nothing crucial. I'm in town to give a lecture. I've spent my life immersed in this research, so I hardly need to revisit it. But I'd rather be over-prepared than underprepared. No sense in doing anything if you aren't going to do it well."
"Now there's a philosophy I can approve of." Ava wriggled out of her jacket. She aimed what she knew to be a perky set of breasts in his direction, displayed to their full advantage by a low-cut white blouse and a tight corset.
Depressingly, he persisted in making eye contact. He offered her one ringed hand. "I'm Professor Emmrich Volkarin."
"Lovely to meet you. I'm Ava Laidir." She shook his hand, refraining from pulling it closer to inspect the ruby on his ring finger. It was reflex to wonder how much it would fetch on the black market.
"What do you do, Ms. Laidir?"
"Ava," she corrected. Carefully omitting any mention of piracy, she added, "I'm a sailor."
"Ah. What brings you to Nevarra City? We haven't any coastline to speak of."
"Suits me." She grinned. "I don't mind a break from the ocean, seeing as I can't swim."
He chuckled. "A sailor who can't swim. That must be fraught."
"Well, see, the goal of a good sailor is to keep the ship afloat. If I have to swim, I've failed."
It was hard to say which warmth was more enjoyable--the warmth of the fire or the warmth in his dark eyes. "That's true. But one does want a backup plan."
"My backup plan is driftwood. I hear it floats. Or at least better than I do."
The lines around his eyes crinkled pleasantly. "You have the air of the Fade about you. You're a mage, are you not?"
"That I am. Learned a bit of battle magic from a Crow. That's sort of become my specialty." She tilted her head, nodding towards his staff. It was an impressively ornate piece topped by a skull with glowing green eyes. "You, too, I assume. Unless that’s just a fancy walking stick."
Emmrich chuckled. "Indeed I am. Necromancy is my area of expertise."
"Mm." She leaned forward, her chin in her hand. "I hear that requires a study of anatomy."
"Oh, yes. Quite a detailed study. It comes in handy when one is reconstructing a corpse."
"I'd imagine it comes in handy in other respects, too."
"Certainly." He missed the suggestive arch of her eyebrow as he shuffled his papers. "I'm of the opinion that everyone should study the subject. Why wouldn't one want to understand one's own body?"
"Oh, I know mine very well. And I don't mind sharing that knowledge with interested parties."
"Sharing knowledge is my passion, as well." He brought forth a diagram. "Look at this. Did you know there are 206 bones in the human body? There are 26 in the foot alone."
She stared at the diagram in mild dismay. This conversation was getting away from her. "I didn't know that."
He smiled. "I hope I’m not boring you. I can't seem to help teaching when a young person bestows their attention on me."
Young person. This was becoming less and less promising. She made an effort to save the situation. Leaning towards him again, she practically offered her tits on a plate. "Oh, you've definitely kept my attention. I don't suppose you have any dirty charts in there, do you?"
"Oh, no, I keep my documents very tidy, I can assure you."
Ava slumped back into her chair. "Ah." She had never worked this hard to bed someone in her life. Usually, the combination of pouty lips, fluttering eyelashes, and tanned skin was enough to manage it even if she didn't say a word. It made her want to glance down to make sure that her cleavage was out. Maybe he wasn't interested in women? Or maybe he preferred them older. Either way, her ego was bruised.
The bells on the door jingled. Viktor stepped inside, waving to her.
"Well. There's my compatriot." Ava slid her teapot towards Emmrich. "Have the rest, will you? I'd hate for it to go to waste." And someone should get something steamy out of this conversation, she added silently.
He smiled that mild-mannered smile of his. "So kind of you, really."
"Nice talking to you, professor." She strutted away with her jacket in her arms, determined to at least give him a view to inspire regret.
"Put on your jacket, you silly creature," Viktor scolded. "You'll freeze to death."
Ava mumbled and slid her arms into the sleeves.
Viktor glanced back towards the professor. "What's all this? I leave you for a few minutes and you're seducing the elderly?"
"We have a schedule to keep." She ushered him out of the door, almost as relieved to go back into the cold as she'd been to get out of it.
Emmrich loves to kiss deeply, passionately, it's just how he moves :)
Thank you so much to @dreamweaverofdusk for commissioning this piece, I hope you love it!
