"quiet me" for the prompt, please, any pairing you prefer : )
Quiet Me - Carver(Templar)/Emer(OC)
“He’s going to kill me! I didn’t do anything wrong, and he’s going to -”
“Look, just shut up, would you?”
Carver growled, wrapping one hand around the gibbering mage’s arm to drag her out of the main corridor. He picked door at random, pulling her into the dark confines of a broom cupboard. Ser Alrik was on the prowl, angry at something he had either learned from or been told by Knight-Commander Meredith, and Emer was an easy target. The Knight-Commander never even blinked when she heard of unpleasantness aimed at the last surviving Threnhold.
Emer was sobbing, terror seeping from every pore as she trembled, unable to quiet herself even when her life depended on it. Trapped in a dark space with a templar - even a templar who had been kind to her - was a fate she had always tried to avoid. Not for her the secret trysts that some templars forced on mages, whether they were welcomed or not. She was a target of choice for the nastier side of certain tempers, and Ser Alrik’s temper was not one she had ever wanted to get on the bad side of. All she had done was look at him; if she hadn’t been braced to run, she was certain he would have condemned her to Tranquility on the spot, just for existing.
Carver hadn’t known any of this was happening when Emer had barreled around the corner and run straight into him. He’d only been aware that a mage close to his own age was terrified and running; that she’d screamed when his hands had closed over her arms. Even here and now, when silence was her greatest ally, she was loud in her fear, utterly failing to muffle the whimpering cries that punctuated her terror.
“Emer ... look at me, listen ...” He gripped her arms, peering at her in the gloom. “You have to calm down. He’ll hear you!”
“I-I ... I can’t, I ... he ... what if ...”
The clank of armor in the corridor beyond the door caught Carver’s attention. What would Seryn do? he found himself wondering. Not that he needed to wonder far - his sister would probably burst out of the closet and attack. She wasn’t subtle, Seryn. But this was the Gallows, and a dead templar would attract all sorts of terrible attention. Emer would almost certainly be made Tranquil if he attacked a brother on her behalf, and then ... there wouldn’t be any more shy smiles in the library. No more passed notes on patrols. No more innocent touches of hand to hand as they passed in the halls. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing her made Tranquil, any more than he could stomach the idea of Seryn suffering the same fate. His sister had not forgiven him for joining the Order, but how else was he supposed to protect her? He’d failed Bethany; he wouldn’t fail Seryn. And right now ... he refused to fail Emer.
“... the little bitch? Where?” Ser Alrik’s voice growled beyond the door, far too close for comfort.
Emer wailed, certain she was soon for death or worse, and Carver ... just reacted.
His gauntleted hand cupped her jaw, pulling the petite woman close as his lips captured hers, the only thing he could think of to muffle her, to distract her from her terror. He felt her squeak beneath the unexpected kiss; felt her struggle and soften as the tension faded from her form. There was nothing but this darkness, this kiss, and as her soft hands crept to his cheeks, he finally let himself admit that this was what he had been wanting for far too long.
With gentle hands, he lifted her from her feet, pressing her back against the shelves that crowded the dark space, lips parting to ravish her mouth with hungry desire. She gasped as his fingers lifted her robe to knead at the tender flesh of her thigh, her legs wrapping tight about his hips, the danger forgotten. Did she want this, too? Was she just as tight with forbidden yearning each time their eyes met in this deadly place?
He wanted ... but he didn’t dare go too far. He didn’t want to be a templar that took what he wanted without a care for the wish of his charge. As the angry voices faded away, Carver gently lowered Emer to the floor, letting her robe slip back to modestly cover her legs as his kiss tenderly came to an end. She stared up at him, resin-dark eyes wide with unmistakable longing.
“There,” he murmured softly, one thumb stroking the tears from her cheeks. “He’s gone.”
She shivered, leaning into the protective curl of his hand to her cheek as her eyes closed, savoring the unexpected warmth of a touch not meant to harm. “I ... thank you, Ser Carver.”
“Just Carver,” he told her sternly, tilting her chin until she looked into his eyes. “I promised once that I wouldn’t let you be hurt for no reason, Emer. I, um ... I think we can both guess why, now.”
Despite her habitual fear, her learned meekness, he thought he saw a flicker of impishly sweet joy skitter over her face as she leaned into the press of his armor against her chest. “Carver,” she whispered, quiet now in his arms.
It was madness, to love a mage. Here in the Gallows, it was a death sentence if he was caught. Finally, he understood just why his mother had taken the risks she had. He would do that much, and more, just to see Emer Threnhold’s smile in the sunlight. They just had to survive Kirkwall somehow, in softness and secrecy. One day, things would improve.
But for now, there was quiet and calm, and these kisses to hold close, until they could find some way to be free.
Thank you, @damnedapostate, for this prompt! I haven’t really explored too much of Carver and Emer yet - wasn’t expecting it to go in this direction!
Prompt me, I dare you. I’ll write anything Dragon Age, any pairing - even my own OCs!
