#darker shadows

[esotericgal]

women who made me realize i was gay pt 2

ok so

it's the dark vibes, i just know it.

[sassycassie-s-writing]

Darker Shadows

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Azriel

Rating: PG-11/T-

Original Idea: Nothing in particular. Finished the first 4 books. Dunno if I can stand Nesta long enough to read ACOSF, so I wrote this with no information from ACOSF. Have fun.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) Whaaaaa...? I break my ongoing hiatus for this? Yep. I did. I hope a few more one-shots join this one, but I am making no promises. This one just came to me for about an hour so surprise! Happy August.

^^^^^ 

“Darker Shadows”

Azriel said nothing as he slipped through the door to our apartment, quiet and soft as the shadows surrounding him. I watched from the sitting room adjacent to the foyer. He must have known I was there—the shadows must have informed him—but he didn’t so much as look at me. Just rested his forehead on the door and sighed.

“Long day?” I asked.

He blinked his eyes open and turned. “Incredibly,” he replied.

I patted the sofa next to me, indicating he come sit.

Azriel’s shadows seemed to grow more numerous around him as he crossed to me. I realized why as his leathers thumped to the floor in his wake, leaving him in a light undershirt and undershorts.

No matter how long we lived together, he was always so modest.

Part of me wondered if it was more insecurity than modesty; but I would never invade his privacy that much to ask. He’d tell me when he was comfortable.

He hit the sofa cushion next to me hard. His wings barely missed getting caught behind him. Ever the precise, too. One arm and one wing wrapped over my shoulders. He was warm, even if his underclothes were cold from his sweat. I snuggled into his side. We both stared at the fire for a while.

“Did you eat up at the House?” I asked.

The shadows shrouding him retreated a little, going back to their usual shades. He glanced at me with those sharp hazel eyes before returning his gaze to the fire. “Yes. Rhys and Feyre were hosting a dinner for the Palace governors. A private celebration of rebuilding the city so quickly before the grand, public celebration in three days.”

I snorted. “Bet they loved that,” I said sarcastically. Among the family, it was well-known that Rhys and Feyre both hated formal parties and dinners with a fiery passion.

A glimmer of amusement joined the reflection of the flames in Azriel’s eyes. “Oh, they slipped out an hour in. I heard them in the library… having fun amongst the stacks. I left them to it and didn’t interrupt.”

I couldn’t stop the laughter that burst from my throat, but clamped it down hard to not disturb the neighbors.

Azriel held me tighter. “Would have been more enjoyable if you were there,” he said. His voice was soft, almost as though he didn’t actually want to admit it.

Reaching up, I cupped the side of his face. “Sorry I couldn’t go. I’d have liked to have been there.” I gestured to my wrapped leg. “I just don’t think I could handle a party today. If Rhysand had decided to host it three days from now with the rest of the celebrations, I would have been able to make it.” I made a face. “Sorry I missed it.”

“It’s alright. I understand.”

I reached around his wing to the end table, picking up my glass and handing it to him. He downed the rest and handed it back to me. I chuckled and set the glass on the coffee table instead.

After shuddering at the freezing chill of the water from my glass, Azriel turned to me. “How’s the pain?”

I shrugged. “Better than it was,” I said.

“At least you’re healing quickly.”

“Mmhmm.”

“How did you spend your night?”

I waved a vague hand to the small pile of books on the coffee table. “Just decided to read a little.”

“A little?” Azriel quoted. “You read five novels in four hours.”

“Oh, no. I didn’t finish them all. When I got bored I’d switch between them.”

“None of them holding your attention?”

“Not like they used to. Not since—”

The War with Hybern. Azriel knew. We all broke in some way over the course of it. I hadn’t had the attention span I used to since.

Azriel smiled at me. “Bathe, then bed?”

“Sounds great,” I replied.

He scooped me into his lap and stood up. I yelped at the sensation. My bad leg dangled looser than my good leg. My yelp earned me a twitched smile from my spymaster.

He carried me into the bathing room and sat me on the edge of the tub before turning it on. As it began to warm up and fill, he helped me unwrap my splint and undress. I returned the favor as best I could.

We bathed quickly and then got in our sleep clothes after drying off. After carrying me to bed, Azriel poked the point of my ear. “Goodnight,” he said softly.

I smiled, never able to contain my affection. “Sleep well,” I replied.

He doused the faelights and climbed under the covers.

We snuggled against each other. One of his wings draped over the both of us, keeping us warmer than the covers could. That warmth, his scent… it helped lull me to sleep. I could fall fast asleep on stone if Azriel was beside me.

—

Azriel watched his own scarred hand brush her nightshirt away from the skin of her back, revealing two sharp scars and an elaborate tattoo. Another rare Illyrian/High Fae hybrid, she’d been born with wings. Unlike Rhys, who could summon and desummon his wings at will, hers had been permanent.

Until her High Fae mother ordered her wings removed when she was still a child. Barely more than a toddler.

Azriel hadn’t met her until Rhys disappeared Under the Mountain. She’d been fifty-seven-years-old at the time. He’d seen her in the Rainbow, in one of the pottery studios, on a hot summer day. Her clothing revealed her back. The deep, disgustingly neat scars that made it clear how her wings had been taken from her, and the deep blue-black ink covering most of the exposed skin. She’d told him once she got it to both hide and show off the scars. When he’d asked why, she’d simply replied, “I’m stronger than the people who tried to hurt me.”

She hadn’t told him it was her mother—who’d wanted her to be a normal High Fae—for another decade.

He hadn’t been in love with her at the time. But during those fifty years everyone was stuck in Velaris, they became good friends. Azriel found her company much more peaceful than the other members of the Inner Circle. He loved them all—his family—but there was no harm, or shame, in being around someone who was quiet.

Then, a human girl broke Tamlin’s curse and Amarantha was dead. The High Lords and the members of their courts were released from Under the Mountain. And Rhys came home. And Azriel was both busier and freer than ever to spend time with his new friend.

He’d been so quietly pining for Morrigan for so long that, at first, he hadn’t realized the subject of his affections had changed.

During that final battle, when Prythian’s forces were spread so thin and even every reinforcement that came didn’t seem to make a dent… she’d taken a hit. A bad slash across the lower back.

And Azriel had seen red. His powers had already been mostly used up, his Siphons dim, and his wings badly injured.

But he’d gone to rescue her anyway.

His wings had screamed at him the entire flight back to a healer’s tent and then back to the battle. But during those moments, as she bled in his arms, he knew his feelings had transcended just friendship. “If we get out of this alive,” he’d said, “I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

She’d hummed, her side vibrating against his torso. “Mmm… dinner sounds nice. Afterwards, I can buy dessert.”

“We’ll see,” Azriel had said, smiling.

After they’d both healed and returned to Velaris, they’d done just that.

They’d been together ever since.

Azriel smiled at the memories.

—

“You’re staring,” I said quietly. His staring and touching had woken me.

“You’re incredible,” Azriel replied. “Have I told you that?”

“Today? No. This week? Many times.”

A soft chuckle. “So long as you know it.”

I rolled over so I was facing him. With his wing bent over both of us, I felt like I was in a sheet fort.

His eyes harbored a small glint in the half-light. I stared at him. “What is it?” His question was gentle.

I shrugged, feeling my scars pulling on my skin. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” he said.

“Charmer,” I teased.

That earned me a chuckle. Though his smile dropped after a moment. “Does it bother you?” He asked.

“What?”

“That you can’t fly?”

My humor disappeared. The phantom wings I still felt sometimes shivered in the back of my mind. “Sort of,” I replied. “I’d only barely taught myself how when Mother forced me to get them removed. It’s hard to miss what I didn’t really know. But I remember the wind over my scalp. My entire body fighting desperately to keep me aloft. I loved it. But now… now I get to fly with you and remember what it felt like. It’s not quite the same, but it’s enough for me.”

Azriel kissed my forehead. “Sorry I woke you,” he said.

“It’s okay. Any extra time I get to spend with you is worth it,” I replied with a smile.

[rlyamaturephotography]

letters

[valorcorrupt]

The Rescue - Part One

    “Do you truly believe that this is a wise course of action?” From Wynne’s tone of voice, it was clear that she did not think it was. “Blindly following Erlina’s whims into the hands of Rendon Howe? She may be leading you into danger,” Wynne objected as Inara began to ready herself for the journey to the Arl of Denerim’s Estate, where Queen Anora was allegedly being held against her will by the traitorous Arl Howe. “At the very least, you should not be going yourself. Send Leliana, or Zevran – they are better equipped for this type of work. And perhaps Alistair could encourage Eamon to—“

    “I’ll be fine,” Inara refused, tucking her Andraste amulet inside of her clothing. She was in no mood to think of Alistair, or sitting still. She was, however, in the mood to break into places, break things, and probably punch several people. “Erlina has no reason to lie to us about this.” After a pause, and a heated glare from Wynne, she reconsidered. “Okay, so she has some reason to lie about this. But even if it’s a trap and they trap and kill me, precious Alistair will still be here and ready to become King.”

    “We will, however, will be without one of the only two Grey Wardens at our disposal to end the Blight,” Wynne pointed out, brow furrowed. “And you will be dead.”

    “Valid point,” Inara conceded. Wynne smiled, until Inara added, “So it’s decided. You should come with me. To make sure I don’t die.”

    Wynne opened her mouth to protest, but before she could there came a knock at the door. After exchanging questioning glances with Wynne, Inara pulled the door open. An elven woman dressed more finely than Inara herself stood at the other side, shifting nervously and wringing her hands. She was pretty; nicely built with long, golden blonde hair that shimmered white in torchlight. “Excuse me, my lady?” she said softly. “May I… come in?”

     Inara ushered the young lady in, and once she entered, she shifted nervously and stared silently, apparently unwilling to speak, until Inara closed the door behind her, and then again until Wynne asked, very politely, if there was something wrong.

    “No, my lady. Nothing wrong, my lady. But I was just—“

    “You don’t have to be so formal,” Inara told her then. “I’m a commoner and Wynne’s a mage.”

    “First Enchanter,” Wynne corrected.

    “Still, she looks fancier than both of us combined. What’s your name?” Inara asked the young lady elf, who did not seem any more comforted than when she’d entered the room.

    “Iona, my lady,” she answered. She was well-statured, held her shoulders back like she was accustomed to noble meetings. She held her head up high, too. She was intriguing. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I was given strict instructions to speak to you, and you alone.”

     “Oh. Well, Iona, I’m Inara, and this is Wynne. You can use our names. And anything you have to speak to me about, you can say to her. She’s old enough to be like my grandmother-“ “Mother,” Wynne interjected. “-and I trust her completely.”

     “I wish—I mean, my lord wishes to speak with you. In private, about something very sensitive and important. But he wishes to see only you. Alone.”

    Inara and Wynne exchanged glances. Though the mage said nothing, Inara could gather very clearly what she thought of this new development. “Given all the people that are trying to kill me right at the moment, I don’t think it’s a great idea for me to agree with secret meetings alone with people I don’t even know the names of,” Inara responded.

    “Perhaps if you could schedule the meeting in Rendon Howe’s basement,” Wynne suggested, crossing her arms over her chest and regarding Inara with a very smug smirk.

    “Seriously? We have company. Rude,” Inara frowned, propping her hands up on her hips. Wynne smiled at Iona politely, and Iona looked even more uncomfortable than when she had begun.

    “I’m sorry,” Iona said, voice wavering, “But I really must—“

    “It’s fine, Iona.” The rough, gravely voice coming from nowhere jolted all three of the women in the room, sharply drawing their attention to the window, through which a man in a dark, long cloak had apparently climbed while they were distracted. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and in his left hand, licked by scars of burns, he held a beautiful, ebony cane upon which he leaned heavily. Inara thought only for a moment of reacting to this development violently, hands twitching towards the dagger at her hip, but upon seeing the crest that decorated the metal breastplate that he wore, she hesitated. And when he reached up, pulling back the hood that hid his face to reveal a mass of scars that crawled up the left side of his neck, crept across his neck and mangled his left ear, hair missing all the way back around the side of his head, she was glad to have relented, as well as amazed.

    “My name is Aedan Cousland,” he said, though from the way both Inara and Wynne’s mouths were already hanging open it was clear there was no need. “Rendon Howe betrayed my father, slaughtered my family, and took over our castle.”

    “Hi,” was all Inara could manage in response. She had heard about what had happened at Castle Cousland, of course – it had been on the lips of half the smugglers they had come across all over Ferelden. The actual events were rumors worthy of horror stories – Howe’s men cutting the Cousland family down in the middle of the night, slaughtering servants and soldiers rampantly and painting the castle floors and tapestries with their blood. Teryna Eleanor made to kiss Rendon’s feet before he slit the throats of both her and her loving husband.

    No one official would acknowledge the rumors, of course – Loghain and Rendon had released a statement saying it was Bryce Cousland himself who, out of cowardly terror at the thought of the Darkspawn invasion, had had his own people slaughtered after turning away from all hope and the Maker himself in despair before taking his own life. They painted him a coward and a traitor, with Rendon’s men arriving after the bulk of Highever’s forces had moved out, saving the lives of all those who were left alive by killing the soldiers still carrying out the Teryn’s twisted orders.

    “I mean—I know who you are. Of what happened to your family,” Inara told him, though the grim, hard line of the man’s lips and his furrowed brow showed that this gave him little hope or comfort.

    “You know nothing,” he told her. “The stories that have escaped do nothing to capture the horror, the depravity of Howe’s actions, of what befell my family and our people. Rendon Howe is a murderer, a coward, a sadist. He is a snake. And I intend to cut off his head.”

    “Understandable,” Wynne offered. But Aedan’s eyes did not leave Inara.

    “Take me with you.”

    “I’m sorry?” Inara inquired, exchanging a quick, puzzled look with Wynne.

    “When Iona and I saw Erlina sneak away from the Arl of Denerim’s Estate, I had Iona follow her here. She listened in on your meeting – I know that you intend to sneak into the Estate to rescue Queen Anora, and I know that Rendon Howe will be inside. Take me with you.”

    “I’m not sure that that’s—“ Inara was struggling to find words. She wanted to say no. This man was a stranger – an ominous one at that. However, his prowess at sneaking would no doubt be an asset, and the build of his body and the look on his face screamed of the violence he intended to do, with her blessing or without. She looked to Wynne, and Wynne offered her nothing.

     “I have been watching the rotation of the guard outside the Estate for days. I have learned their movements, their break cycle, know how well they are equipped. I’m an invaluable asset to you, just as you are to me. Take me with you, Warden. It is a demand, not a request. I deserve vengeance; my family deserves vengeance. Take me with you.”

    “Okay,” Inara said softly, her eyes locked helplessly with the young Coulsand’s. At her answer, the fire of his heated stare was finally released from her face, and she looked to Wynne. Wynne’s face was hard to read, but so were the flutterings in her own chest.

    “I will accompany you,” Wynne said.

    Inara hoped that was a vote of confidence.

[valorcorrupt]

Darker Shadows, Chapter Fifteen - Freedom

    Time passed slowly as Inara and Alistair sat back against the fence outside town, waiting for the Sister to return with the key to the qunari warrior’s cage. Morrigan disappeared into a thick near the wall of the Imperial Highway – going off to look for herbs, or so she claimed. It seemed to matter little; nothing happened, aside from the slow and steady roll of caravans heading out of the city and up onto the Highway.

    “Do you think we have a chance?” Alistair asked her as they sat, slowly stroking the snoring mabari hound as he laid with his feet in the air in the dirt beside him. “To get to Arl Eamon, to gather this army? Do you really think it’s possible?”

    “I don’t know,” Inara answered honestly, frowning a bit as she mulled it over in her head. “But I know it’s the only chance at anything we do have. All we can do is try. I guess.”

    “What if we get to Redcliffe and Arl Eamon is—I mean, what if he can’t…?”

    “He won’t be.” She said the words firmly, sturdily. But there was nothing hard inside her to brace the words up when his eyes shifted over to hers, needing. “And if he is, we’ll deal with it when we get there,” Inara responded, dropping the stick and pushing herself up off the ground when she spotted the Chantry Sister coming around the corner of the gate. She helped Alistair up, and both of them met the Sister in front of the qunari’s cage.

    “I have the key,” Leliana announced with a broad smile, holding it up so that Inara could see. She reached out to hand it over to her, and Inara reached to take it, but she hesitated, clutched it just before she gave it up. “It is yours, as long as I have your word that I have your approval to come along with you.”

    “You have my approval,” Inara answered. Alistair hesitated, but when Leliana began to withdraw the key, he gave his approval, too, and the Sister allowed Inara to take the key from her hand.

    “I confess, I did not think that the priestess would part with it,” Sten said, watching them with very sharp eyes. He caught Inara’s gaze for only just a moment, but even that graze with those piercing, off-colored eyes was enough to make her shiver, enough to make her stare at those big, strong hands and wonder just how far away she could jump at an instant’s notice, in case he decided that freedom was better when absolute.

    “She agreed to release you into the custody of the Wardens,” Leliana told him. “Before we let you go, you should promise us that this is what you will do, help us against the Blight.”

    Inara noted just how quickly she felt comfortable saying ‘us’, but did not comment. The qunari seemed just as unimpressed when he said, “So be it.” His eyes settled on Inara, and he looked less than thrilled that she did not speak up in those few moments that passed before he continued, “Set me free, and I will follow you against the Blight.”

    “What skills do you have, exactly?” Inara asked as she stepped up to the cage.

    “I have spent my life in the Vanguard,” the qunari told her as she worked to unlock that cage. “I know war. And you and your lands need all the help you can get.” When the door opened, Sten stepped out, looking relieved. “I will follow you into battle. In doing so, I shall find my atonement.”

    “Thank you, Sten,” she said with a smile. “Glad to have you along.”

    He did not smile in return. “May we proceed? I am eager to be elsewhere,” he said rather bluntly, and headed off for the Imperial Highway.

    Gara trotted off happily after the giant, and Leliana trailed along. Morrigan, apparently having returned to them while Inara was distracted, gave Inara only a passing grimace before she took up step behind them. “Off we go,” Inara shrugged to Alistair, and they put the group in motion all together.

    Once they rounded the hill past the windmill, they were met by a large group of refugees, all looking desperate and angry and… armed. They spread across the road, stood firm even in the shadow of that great qunari warrior, though a few of them hesitated, stutter-stepped back away from him.

    “Be wary,” Sten said as Inara walked past him to address the gathering of people. “They look like they mean to cause trouble.”

    “We done heard what was said,” the apparent leader of the men before them said as Alistair took his place at Inara’s side. “You’re Grey Wardens. I don’t know if what was said was true, and Maker help me, I don’t care. That bounty on your head could fill a lot of stomachs.”

    “Wait,” Inara tried to urge them, but it was too late. “We don’t want--!” It did not matter what they wanted; the battle was upon them.

[herdarkershadows]

Time to Move On

    Alistair was royalty.

    Inara’s head hurt. Her lips were dry, chapped and cracked from the repeated run of her tongue across them as she struggled to think clearly. Her fingers throbbed as they massaged against her temples, trying to soothe the pounding from beneath even as they ached in kind, tired from gripping the hilt of her sword, of her dagger, raw from pounding in tent stakes and buckling and unbuckling armor. Her body ached from the weight of her armor, the exhaustion of the trip, the wearing of leather against soft skin. Her mind was reeling, full to bursting with a reality that scarcely made any sort of sense.

    A month ago, she would have been sleeping at this time of day, curled up in the hay and scraps of cloth of the corner of her little rented room. She would have woken up when the sun crept through the cracks in the walls, gone out and worked all day for men who did not know what hunger of anything but the flesh even meant to make just enough money to keep her clothed and alive and just too little to make the hunger go away. She would have been suffering with a smile, dying slowly, surrounded by vibrance and nobility.

    Perhaps she had been foolish to think that joining the Grey Wardens would be anything better. Not like she had a choice – she would have hung if she hadn’t followed after Duncan that day, taken his deal and gone away with him to Ostagar. Still, she had allowed herself to fantasize: an easy victory over a straggling Darkspawn army, glittering armor in the sun and a place in an Order built up in tall towers with warm hallways and warmer food. It had been such a wonderful dream.

    But she was certainly awake now, head throbbing and eyes burning when the wind blew the campfire smoke her way. It wasn’t her watch; she didn’t need to be up and watching the fire dance over the coals, beautiful and bright even as it was dying. But she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t face those nightmares that made this all real and whispered of the poison in her blood, couldn’t stop replaying the last month in her head. The death, the blood, the fear and the mess. It made her fingers shake, made her stomach roll and her head tingle with sick.

    She felt unwell. She wanted to cry and scream and laugh and die all at once, felt like she was going mad faster than a mabari could catch a rabbit. Since the moment she had made that strike, saw the life drain from the guard and felt the warmth of his blood on her hands, the weight of his body slumping into hers, nothing had truly seemed real. It was all hazy, fuzzy, like a memory of a half-forgotten dream. And things just would not stop getting weirder. The re-emergence of the Grey Wardens, the beginning of the Fifth Blight, Loghain’s betrayal of Cailan, a meeting with the Witch of the Wilds – legends were bubbling to life all around her and there she was, being pushed and pulled by the tides of the world as it tried to rip itself apart. She wondered if this was what it felt like to be seasick. She wondered if that guard had killed her and this was all some sort of cruel fever dream, set upon her by the Maker himself.

    Did she believe in the Maker again? Simply as an explanation of her newfound sorrows? She pressed a hand into her churning stomach and cast a glance over at Sten, who very vigilantly continued to pretend not to notice her glances to see if he had noticed her distress. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared out at the forest from the mouth of the little cavern they had found to make camp inside for the night. He stood still as a statue. He was unshaken. She wished that she could be like that.

    But she wasn’t like that. She was frightened. In the morning, when the sun dragged itself up from behind those hills, they would crest the hill that overlooked the village, cross the bridge and head up the ridge to Redcliffe Castle. To meet an arl. Who had raised her secretly royal companion. To ask for his allegiance. And she was terrified.

    “Because that’s what Grey Wardens do,” she muttered to herself. The words tasted sour on her lips.

    Ellis would have been braver. Those tasted like bile on her tongue, and she hadn’t even spoken them. She swallowed them down, tried not to dwell on thinking that it should have been her buried in a shallow grave outside the Alienage while Ellis camped and strategized and dreamed and breathed. She tried to think of anything else, of pleasant things.

    It didn’t last. Alistair was a prince.

    Maker, she was so stupid. They had touched, they had flirted and joked and she had spent entirely too long admiring his hair and the way he smiled and his eyes and the curve of his ass. Only to find out that he was a prince, of all things.

    And he had such a nice ass.

    Ah, well. She flopped back on her bedroll, covered her face with an arm. Time to move on.

[herdarkershadows]

A Wander in the Wilds - Part Four

     Their pairing off for watch was simple enough; Corith and Hamet were enamored with each other, the young elven boy drilling the old man for stories of war and travel and the courting of fine ladies. Not that Corith kept his stories only to Hamet’s ears – Inara learned rather quickly in their journey that he had been born and raised Chaisnd, ‘til he was a young man and just not-clever enough to wander into the world of men. In a village south of Lothering he had been falsely accused of theft and thrown in prison.

     He had been absolutely certain, he said, that he was going to die there, caged up like a mangy dog who could only speak and understand half the words hurled at him like stones. But a week and some days after he had been locked up, some Ash Warriors had passed on through, and taken him up with them. His arrest record, his clothing, everything that he owned or proved he had been alive before that moment was burned up, and he said he was born again through that death. He served them through the Blight, he said solemnly. He was there at Ostagar. And in the fires that stole his brothers from him, he said, he was reborn again.

     He left the Ash Warriors and became a wanderer, a guide for any who dared venture into the Wilds. Just him and his hound Ragsvar, the only company he needed in the world. Fereldens feared him, he said, and the Wilders revered him. “And there was no better way to be.”

     Alistair and Hamet listened to this tale like star-struck pups; Malta and Lemet feigned disinterest, but never quite turned themselves away.

     Malta and Alistair pawed at one another like they were blood. She laughed and fussed and fixed every hair and garment that slid out of place, primped and plucked at him and nagged him to clean his socks when he bathed. He was the only one that she did not look at with towering walls reflecting in her eyes, the only one she seemed to want to sit near in the quiet moments that passed around them in the dark. Inara was impressed by Alistair’s ability to keep the whole truth of who they were from her as they passed old stories like the playing cards Corith and Hamet dealt over and over again, amused by the way he blushed and fumbled when Malta tried to discuss her favorite features of women with him.

     “She is pretty, your lover,” she gushed to him one night, a sparkle in her eyes and crook in her lips. The tone with which she said lover, the way that it oozed from her lips covered in sugar and honey made Alistair quiver. “Had one like her once, with those thick hips and supple breasts. She was an Orlesian noblewoman, and rather fancied me. Have I told you this one already?”

     It didn’t how many times she asked him that question; he always said no, and listened to it one more time with his eyes wide open and mouth watering.

     This left Inara with Lemet. It seemed to please them both enough, not having to bother with idle talk or the pampering, unwanted touches of another. They traded in words only what they needed to survive, quiet and cool. Inara appreciated that she was not bothered and fussed over, the intimate details of her past demanded, and Lemet appreciated the fact that Inara did not choose to comment on her elven-ness, and her eyes only barely ever lingered on the pointed tips of her ears.

     “The Wilds are quieter than I had heard,” Inara was quite surprised when it was Lemet who was the first to break the silence between them that evening, and to have a conversation at that. “We were told stories of monsters and madmen. Our father told us we would die if we ever ventured into these woods.”

     At Inara’s side, Elas stirred in the dirt, sniffed and snorted and opened one eye to regard the young elf lady lazily.

     “They were filled with Darkspawn, for a time,” Inara responded softly, reaching one hand down to pat her hound on the head. “The Blight destroyed so much land and withered so very many plants. It’s possible that some of the Wilders starved, or were made fearful. But as we go deeper in, it won’t be safe. Don’t let the quiet fool you.”

     “Were you at Ostagar?” Lemet asked her then, gaze locked sharply on Inara’s face although she refused to meet her eyes.

     “Yes,” Inara said. “I was.”

     “So were we,” Lemet told her.

     Inara looked up, but it seemed that she was done with their conversation.

[herdarkershadows]

A Wander in the Wilds - Part Three

     “I thought that elves weren’t allowed to carry weapons in Ferelden,” Corith had shown up that morning with hardened leather boots for Hamet, expressing a genuine interest in the two that he had not shown the day before. They’d gone to the pub together the night before, Malta told Alistair sometime later. Team bonding, or something of the sort. Inara got the feeling that she had not joined in so much as observed. 

     “We will not be in Ferelden,” Lemet pointed out, not seeming quite as fond of the big, burly “shem” as her brother did. She looked at him with thinly veiled disdain on her face, watched him like a mangy dog she wanted to shoo away from getting too close. The fact that her brother stared up at him with stars in his eyes and a dopey, almost love-struck grin upon his face seemed a thorn in her side; Inara hoped it would not cause problems later.

     “Have you no plans to go back?” If her distrust and dislike bothered him, Corith did not show it, his large cheeks red and plump as his eyes glittered with the reflection of his smile. “The reward waits back in Lothering.”

     “We will take it and take ship,” Lemet responded coldly.

     “We’ve heard that elves can do well in Antiva,” Hamet chimed in, his voice sweet and far warmer than his sister’s. “We can take a ship there with the reward from this alone. Then we can find a place—“

     “These people do not need to know our business,” Lemet interrupted with a glare. Hemet’s smile faded; he spent the rest of the walk ‘til lunch staring at the ground. Corith did not opt to test her temper, either.

     They ate simple. Malta and Inara gathered berries from around the clearing where they sat to eat in the sun, Corith picking more than a fair share of apples from a little grove of trees along their path there. Corith seemed pleased with the path that Inara had plotted, said it was good hunting and fishing land save for the very end. The plan, then, seemed to be to gather what they could for meals while gathering was good, and save their more hearty supplies for later. Just as well, Inara figured. No need to break out the Grey Warden packaging on the tack and dried fruits before it was necessary, after all.

     “So how do you two know each other?” Malta asked Alistair to break the silence that settled between them and the elves after lunch, her eyes sweeping Inara from head to toe as she stood several paces ahead of them, speaking over directions and trail signs with Corith.

     “We were in the army together,” he answered faithfully, his eyes drawn by the question to the back of the woman that he so adored. Lies did not come quite so easily to him as Inara, this was true. But this was one that he had rehearsed more than well enough. “Served together during the Blight. She saved my life.”

     “You lovers?” Her directness caught him off guard; he must have looked goofy, the way that his cheeks and throat lit up with color. She smirked. “Thought so,” she said, her face radiating smugness. “You’re not the irritating sort, are you? Lovey dovey, always touching?”

     “What? No, we’re not—“

     “Yes we are,” Alistair jumped at Inara’s sudden presence there beside him, found himself flustered by her words. “He’s a terrible sap, hangs all over me. Trips over himself for every compliment. But we keep the thick mush in the tents, don’t worry.”

     They both laughed, and Alistair tripped some weak objection while his cheeks burned red. Inara kissed his cheek, and Malta rolled her eyes while shaking her head softly, like a mother amused by two young children.

     “Long as I don’t have to watch the two of you stick your tongues down each other’s throats,” Malta shrugged.

     “Come now,” Inara crooked a finger at her lover once Malta had passed them both by to trail after Corith. “We’re losing daylight.”