RP Archive - Maerwyn and Emrys, Pt. 13
--M--
The grin on Maerwyn’s face was permanent, eyes unable to part from Emrys. Her companions–specifically Varric–eyed the couple suspiciously and curiously, a mischievous grin soon tugging at the dwarf’s lips. He chuckled with realization.
Varric shook his head. “Good job, Fluffy.”
“Is there something funny, Varric?” Cassandra asked, eyebrows reaching toward her hairline. The rest of the group directed their attention toward the Dwarf, equally as confused.
“It’s nothing to worry about, Seeker,” Varric assured. Leliana soon joined in with stifled giggling.
While embarrassment would have caused blush to spread quickly across her cheeks and ears, Maerwyn’s mind was too preoccupied with the previous night to worry about his newfound knowledge. Instead, Maerwyn entwined her fingers with Emrys’ tightly and bumped her hip against his. “Ma’salath…” She stood on her toes and planted a kiss on his jaw. “Ar lath ma.”
--E--
Please see the Part 13 Interlude in the archive.
--M--
Maerwyn threw a wave toward Cassandra, black pieces of hair sticking to her forehead and chest heaving, before entering the requisitions building. The sound of clinking glass and the scent of ground herbs immediately overwhelmed her senses. Emrys was no doubt deep in concentration, fingers stained green from the mixing of various potions.
The stairs barely moved beneath her weight as Maerwyn tip-toed up them with a silly, lopsided grin. Emrys’ bald head glistened with sweat from hours of work as Maerwyn approached. She brought her mouth down to his ear, placing a small kiss on his neck before whispering, “Adventure awaits, emma lath. My advisors need me in the Exalted Plains.”
With a breath of laughter, Maerwyn leaned against the table, scattered pieces of unrecognizable plants and herbs decorating the top. “War. Elves. Dragons. Well, the dragon bit is only rumoured. It would certainly be an experience, though.”
--E--
Emrys squinted irritably at the requisition ledger, wondering idly if Josephine could arrange a lesson or two in penmanship for their new quartermaster. Ser Morris was accommodating enough, and enthusiastic about his duties, but his handwriting looked more like sneezes of ink than words. An entire morning of deciphering Morris’s chicken scratch hadn’t made it any more intuitive and Emrys could feel a headache starting behind his eyes.
A touch to his neck disrupted his frustrated musing and only the familiar voice in his ear kept him from flinching away in alarm. He turned, relieved for the interruption, and buried his face against Maerwyn’s side with a sigh.
“Anything,” he said into her tunic, “that doesn’t involve reading Morris’s lists.” He got laboriously to his feet and kissed her. “A dragon would indeed be an experience.” He kissed her again. “A perfect experience.” And a third time. “For other people to have.”
He kissed her properly this time, the fingers of one hand light on her chin and the other resting on her lower back.
--M--
Maerwyn leaned into the kiss with a sigh, every muscle relaxing against Emrys. Thoughts became fuzzy, distracting her from the words he had said. With realization, Maerwyn broke the kiss. Her bottom lip pushed out in a childish pout. “You don’t think I could kill a dragon without severely maiming myself?”
“If you refuse to let me, perhaps I need to tease an agreement out of you.” Her laugh was mischievous. Maerwyn leaned in to rejoin their lips, pulling away at the last second. Her voice was breathy and low, “I really want to fight a dragon.”
--E--
Emrys wasn’t fooled by her sudden sensuality, but he responded to it anyway, his heartbeat speeding up and heat tingling in his belly. He too leaned forward, stopping just shy of of kissing her, their noses brushing and lips so close they touched when he spoke.
“Oh you do, do you?” he murmured, eyes heavy-lidded. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be too unreasonable.“ He circled her hipbones slowly with his thumbs, shifting closer until they were pressed together from chest to hip. He dragged his lips deliberately against hers without committing to a kiss. “If I can fight it with you.”
--M--
Maerwyn caved, pushing her lips against Emrys’ with a passionate need. Her fingertips caressed the skin of his neck, holding him tightly against her. The other hand curled into a ball, a fist-full of Emrys’ robes along with it. “You are too clothed for this,” she mumbled against his mouth.
Before arousal overcame all reservations, Maerwyn pulled away and rested her forehead against Emrys’ with a satisfied sigh. “Of course you can fight with me, emma lath.”
Crumbled remnants of ancient elven civilizations greeted the party upon arrival. The Exalted Plains were more desolate and depressing than Maerwyn anticipated, a growing desire inside her chest to witness the forgotten glory of this place, before the war had torn it apart. The scent and towering smoke stacks from burning flora was thick in the air, the crackling flames in the distance masking the soothing sound of water against the shore.
Iron Bull provided amusement, the way his feet seemed to bounce upon the ground with an expression of pure excitement. “Where’s this dragon, boss?”
Maerwyn grinned with a low chuckle, reaching for the staff strapped onto her back. “We’ll find it, Bull, don’t worry. First,” Her attention returned to the group of demons approaching, eyes meeting the fiery orbs of a rage demon, “we need the clear the path ahead.”
--E--
The Exalted Plains were far from exalted. Emrys’s people had a history there, he knew, but he couldn’t see past the burnt settlements and patrolling demons to appreciate it. The plains had been a home to wars for too long and from Harding’s report, there was yet another being waged on its flats. Gaspard’s forces and Celene’s retinue were still haranguing in the grass about succession. The news from Halamshiral hadn’t made it this far, apparently. After the third skirmish with a group of riftless demons, Emrys was beginning to understand why.
And a dragon on top of all this, he thought, and sincerely hoped meeting it would cure Maerwyn of her excitement for dragon fighting. He suspected she caught it from Bull. At this rate, they would make it a hobby.
Their maps weren’t helpful in the slightest. The terrain had been so changed during battles and burnings and droughts that plotting it had become pointless; instead they were given a sheaf of vellum, a vague indication where landmarks were, and a “good luck.” Maerwyn and Bull were relentlessly enthusiastic, Cole fretted about the state of the trees, and at the back of the group, Emrys and Solas shared an exasperated look.
The grass was almost the same colour as the dirt path they had followed and it crunched underfoot despite the season. Emrys surveyed it for any hint of green while Maerwyn and Bull dithered about whether dragons preferred high ground or low at a crossroads. To their right, swamps. To their left, hills. They had just made up their minds to go left when, from the depths of the swamp, an almighty shriek blasted the relative silence to pieces.
“That was definitely a dragon,” said Solas with a sage nod.
Emrys sighed. “Oh no.”
--M--
If Maerwyn was not already aware a dragon loomed in these plains, she would have believed a storm was incoming. The female’s roars mimicked thunder and shook the grounds beneath their feet as they grew closer. It would have been beneficial to bring proper foot wear, as finding the dragon required trudging through a knee-deep swamp and her toes were no doubt prunes in her boots by now. Her armour was stained with dirt up to her neck, dried and patchy against her skin.
With a playful laugh, Maerwyn wiped a steak of mud along Emrys’ face. “It helps the pores I believe.” She sniffed at her fingers with a frown. “Though it smells horrendous. Something must have died in this swamp.”
A few dead mundane wyverns and one snowy wyvern later, the untamed beast Gamordan Stormrider landed upon a small patch of hardened ground with a shriek. Bursts of steam exploded from the ground, masking the dragon in an eerie fog. Maerwyn gasped, reaching behind to pat Bull on the arm. “She’s…beautiful. It’s such a shame we have to kill this magnificent creature.”
Iron Bull was in awe, eyes wide and brows reaching toward his horns, with the hilt of his greatsword twisting eagerly between his fingers. “Boss, you are the best!” The excited Qunari let out a bellowing war cry before sprinting toward the dragon. The beast noticed, wiggling it’s tail and rearing back to blow a puff of electricity. Bull slid out of the blast zone easily.
Maerwyn bumped shoulders with Emrys, a smirk playing on the edges of her mouth. “You ready?”
--E--
Emrys was as swept up in the awe of the dragon as the rest of them, but was much more inclined to admire from a distance. Bull wasn’t having it. With a charge befitting his name, he effectively destroyed any chance they had of leaving peacefully. Emrys realised their peril just in time; he seized Maerwyn and Solas by their collars and dragged them onto dry land just before the beast’s storm missed Bull and landed in the water. Sparks crackled all through the swamp. Dead fish floated to the surface of the water shortly afterward.
Emrys leveled a flat look at Maerwyn. “To be electrocuted? Oh, always.”
He sighed and readied his staff. This was going to be a very long day.
Of course the electricity dragon lives in a blasted swamp, Emrys thought sourly a quarter of an hour later. Where else would she live?
They were making headway – in the same way that tides made headway against bedrock – but Emrys’s patience was wearing thin. There was more water than dry land and the Stormrider’s electricity attacks seemed inexhaustible. More than once Emrys hadn’t cleared the water in time and whatever limb was still submerged twitched painfully and then went numb. He’d given up on keeping a barrier going around Bull, who didn’t seem to mind electrocution one way or another.
He watched Bull and the dragon circle one another in the middle of the swamp, Maerwyn on dry land just behind them, angling for a clear shot. Bull’s muscles were twitching still from the rider’s latest bout of lightning, but he was still caterwauling enthusiastically in the dragon’s face. Emrys tracked the ripples that spread outwards from their face off and had a patently ridiculous idea that probably wouldn’t work in a thousand years.
He might as well give it a shot.
“Sorry, Bull,” he wheezed, too winded to shout it properly, and knelt at the edge of the water. He flexed his fingers, frost crackling to life along his skin and misting in the humid air, and set his palm on the water’s surface.
Exhausted as he was, it took him a little longer than usual to summon the willpower, but soon ice was creeping through the little pool. It spread downward as well as forward, solidifying the water from surface to bed. He pushed the ice as fast as it could go, hurrying to get the whole of the lake frozen before the dragon took wing again.
--M--
The dragon flailed its neck with a deafening shriek, ice cracking and breaking around her feet. The edge of Maerwyn’s mouth quirked up into a smile. The butt of her staff slammed into the ground. The spiked vines that decorated the surrounding walls of rock lifted from their resting place and wrapped tightly around the dragon’s legs, ceasing the dragon’s attempt at freedom.
“Finish her off, Bull!” Her yell barely reached the full distance, eyelids drooping in exhaustion. Maerwyn leaned against her staff for support.
Iron Bull wasted little time, lifting his greatsword up behind him for one final, powerful swing against the beasts’ head. The sharp blade sliced easily through the dragon’s neck, her body soon tumbling to the ground. Dist erupted in a cloud of smoke from the impact.
Maerwyn joined the enthusiastic Qunari in a fit of laughter, almost in a state of disbelief. They had slain a dragon. A high dragon. A beast of pure rage and relentless power that few survived mere encounters with. She wrapped her arm as far as possible around Bull’s shoulders. “I believe this is a cause for celebration.”
“Drinks in the tavern, boss. On me,” Bull offered with a smug smile, wiping the dragon’s blood that decorated the greatswords blade against his pants.
The return trip was equally as unpleasant, perhaps more with how exhausted she was. Maerwyn was convinced her body was covered in as much mud as physically possible. It weighed heavy in her pockets, dried her hair into thick strands that stuck against her forehead, and managed to sneak its way into her boots, toes squishing with each step. Maerwyn’s height worked against her. The murky water reached mid-thigh, every stride more taxing than the previous one.
The party dispersed in their own directions upon returning to Skyhold. Maerwyn took Emrys’ hand in her own, dried pieces of mud flaking off from the friction, and pulled him toward her chambers with a coy smile. “A hot bath would be wonderful right now. What do you say?”
--E--
Emrys felt more mud puddle than elf by the time they returned to Skyhold, and the rest of the party was hardly any cleaner. Only Bull seemed buoyant, but then again, he had a new dragon’s tooth in his pocket and Emrys doubted there was anything that could spoil that triumph for him.
He nearly cried in relief when Maerwyn offered a bath. Then his relief turned to something else when the full implications of sharing a tub made it through his desperation for ablution.
“Well,” he said, making a show of dragging his feet. “You may have to twist my arm a little bit…”
The bath hadn’t been marble, Maerwyn had noted with a petulant sigh, but it had been plenty big for the both of them. Josephine had apparently been anticipating their filthiness and had prepared accordingly. There were bars of soft, fragrant soaps, a stack of scrubbing cloths, and a veritable fortress of downy towels waiting for them in Maerwyn’s quarters. The tub itself was well-polished copper, positioned in front of the fire for optimum warming, and already filled with steaming water. Neither of them could get to it fast enough.
It was the first true bath they’d had in months and they took their time being incredibly… thorough. Maerwyn had to reheat the water twice before they finally coaxed one another out of the bath, and even then they lingered in front of the fire, cloaked in towels almost as big as they were and exchanging kisses as they put on clean clothes. Only through a combination of exhaustion and willpower did they manage not to get distracted even more.
Leliana was waiting for them at the foot of the stairs, looking as serene as ever.
“You two look quite refreshed,” she said by way of greeting. “Inquisitor, word of your defeat of the dragon has spread quite quickly. We should decide what to do with the remains before anyone else happens upon them. The others are waiting for you in the war room.”
Noting Leliana’s particular tone – one that made everything sound like a suggestion when it really wasn’t – Emrys pressed a kiss below Maerwyn’s ear and nudged her gently in the side.
“I’ll go on ahead,” he said with a smile. “Make sure Bull hasn’t drunk the tavern dry.”
--M--
Maerwyn raised an eyebrow, mouth agape with dumbfoundedness.” Ambassador, you are suggesting we spend vital resources that would otherwise be directed to our war against Corypheus to bring a dragon’s skull to Skyhold. To mount it. On my wall.” She threw her arms out in exasperation. “Whatever makes the nobles happy, I guess.”
Once the decision had been approved by the Inquisitor, the meeting finished up rather quickly. Maerwyn left the great hall with a skip in her step, anxious to have a moment to relax and and catch her breath. Maryden’s soothing voice and flickering candle light spilled from the cracks in the wood, lighting the shadowed path leading toward the tavern. Upon throwing open the door, Maerwyn was greeted with the unexpected sight of a drunken Emrys.
“I see you’ve been busy.” She placed a kiss upon his cheek with a small chuckle.
--E--
Emrys swayed on his stool. Whatever Bull was plying him with was very dreadful and very strong and Emrys couldn’t fathom why he kept drinking it, but he was already most of the way through his second mug of it. It was foolish to give up now. He couldn’t remember when exactly Varric and Dorian had joined them, but as neither of them could manage to sit straight in their chairs either, it was at least one mug of… something ago. Emrys couldn’t remember what they were talking about, but Bull was very passionate about it, so he nodded sagely along with Dorian and swallowed another sour mouthful of alcohol.
“Boss!” said Bull mid-sentence and Emrys squinted, trying to remember when he’d been promoted – or if anyone had even told him yet – when a familiar voice spoke in his ear.
He wasn’t the boss, Maerwyn was. And Maerwyn was here.
He smiled dopily at her. “Hi.” He nodded in agreement with whatever she had said to him, something about busy, and said matter-of-factly, “Bull has terrible taste in drinks. I don’t think he has taste buds.”
--M--
Maerwyn grinned, running her fingers along the point of Emrys’ ear. He was an adorable drunk. With a free hand, she motioned toward Bull’s drink. “Hand one over then. I need to see this for myself.”
Iron Bull handed her a mug of…something. It had a foul, sour odour and the colouration of no liquid Maerwyn had ever seen. With a shrug, she took a swig, the bitter liquid almost knocking her over. She swallowed with a scowl and a shake of her head, blonde hair smacking against her face with each shake. “What in the bloody Dread Wolf is in this? DId you piss it in or something?”
“Don’t ask, just drink,” Bull said, pouring more liquid into her mug.
Varric chuckled from his seat next to Emrys, half-full mug in hand, “That is possibly the worst advice you’ve ever given, Tiny.”
Maerwyn took another swig. Then another. The alcohol worked quickly at unsteadying her feet and slurring her words. She gripped onto Emrys’ chair with one hand to keep herself upright. “Bull, this tastes absolutely terrible.” Maerwyn frowned into her mug, sloshing the liquid around inside. “I’m almost completely convinced you pissed in it.”
An unexpected squeal left Maerwyn’s mouth. “Okay okay okay.” She glanced around frantically before grabbing an empty bottle from a nearby table and placed it in the centre of theirs. “Spin the bottle.”
--E--
Emrys hadn’t considered the possibility of something unsavoury – well, more unsavoury than the drink itself – in his mug and took another pull to see if he could taste it. He could only taste the ale itself, which was horrid enough, but now his mug was empty, which was almost worse. His empty mug was replaced with a full one and he lifted it in thanks to whoever it was who’d made the switch. He wasn’t paying attention.
In the time it took him to raise and lower the mug for his first sip, a bottle had appeared on the table. It was empty and on its side, which seemed to defeat the purpose. Then Maerwyn annouced “spin the bottle” and its presence made sense. She jostled him on his chair with a giggle and told him to go first. He tried to find the words to tell her he didn’t want to kiss anyone but her, but the alcohol was getting in the way and he figured it wasn’t a permanent change of kissing partner.
He spun the bottle, which miraculously didn’t fall off the table, and it wound slowly down and stopped at Dorian. Emrys grinned. That wasn’t too bad.
Dorian smirked back, looking as unsteady as Emrys felt. “Alright, loverboy,” he said, standing up and leaning towards Emrys across the table. “Let’s see what swept our Inquisitor off her feet.”
Emrys stood up too, grabbed Dorian by the front of his robes to hold both of them still, and kissed him. He didn’t bother starting slow, he didn’t think he could stay standing for that long, instead tilting his head and kissing Dorian like he was… well, like he was Maerwyn. He pulled back after a moment with a wet pop and blinked at Dorian, who was gaping at him.
“I… I was not expecting that,” Dorian wheezed, flushed.
--M--
Maerwyn watched intently as Emrys kissed Dorian. Their lips met with an unexpected passion, and her drink threatened to spew from her mouth at the dumbfounded expression on Dorian’s face once they parted. Maerwyn let out a breath of laughter after swallowing. “I told you he was a brilliant kisser.”
As Emrys returned to his seat, flushed and beaming, Maerwyn poked at his side with her elbow. “Was it everything you thought it’d be?”
“Aright! My turn.” Maerwyn grasped the bottle firmly with sweaty palms, spinning it as fast as she could. Her heart slammed against her ribcage as it slowed. By the creators, don’t let it be Dorian. Anyone but Dorian. The bottle stilled, top aimed at Iron Bull. She brushed the hair from her eyes. “Prepare to have your mind blown.”
Maerwyn approached bull, gazing into his eyes for a moment. “This is awkward,” she mumbled underneath her breath. Wrapping one arm around Bull’s neck, Maerwyn leaned in, pushing into the kiss with a heated intensity. A giggle erupted deep within her chest and pressed against her lips, threatening to interrupt. After a moment Maerwyn broke the kiss, unable to suppress the laughter any longer. “I’m sorry. Your lips…they taste like that piss ale you’ve been forcing us to drink all night.”
--E--
Emrys laughed at the look on Bull’s face and choked on his mouthful of ale, almost missing Bull’s rebuttal about other things his lips could taste like, which only made him laugh harder. Chuckling, Varric shook his head in general despair of their whole table and reached for the bottle.
It was a good spin, smooth and centered and hardly wobbling to either side at all. Emrys was so caught up in being impressed at Varric’s bottle spinning skills it took him a minute to realise the bottle had stopped. It was pointing at him. He looked up at Varric, who was already rounding the table.
“Ground rules, Fluffy,” he said with a smirk. “No dipping and no pulling on the chest hair.”
He framed Emrys’s face in his square hands and lay one on him with gusto that nearly pulled Emrys out of his seat. Emrys did his best to match Varric’s enthusiasm, but it was very difficult to concentrate; Varric was a very good kisser and Emrys now understood the allure of stubble. They broke apart with a flourish and Emrys noted with a tingle of pride that Varric too was a little dazed.
“I owe Smiley a few royals,” Varric said.
Emrys smirked. “And I didn’t even need to pull the chest hair.”
--M--
Maerwyn slapped her palm against Varric’s as he strode past her, a smugness to his grin. “Perhaps I picked the wrong man to be my lover.”
Dorian leaned forward and spun the bottle with confidence and flair. It wobbled slightly, and seemed to spin in slow motion. Maerwyn’s hear stilled inside her chest, eyes growing twice in size as the tip of the bottle slowed until it landed facing her.
“Oh, no…” She groaned. Emrys shook with laughter beside her, and Maerwyn felt the overwhelming urge to shove her elbow into his side. “Let’s make this as quick as possible, shall we?”
Both of the mage’s lips curled in disgust as their faces neared. Dorian closed the distance without warning. Maerwyn stumbled backward, ramming her butt cheek into the corner of the table. His moustache created an itchy sensation on her nose, and his lips were undesirably wet. Maerwyn broke the kiss with a curse, both from pain and discomfort. “Let’s never do that again.”
--E--
“Agreed,” said Dorian, sitting down with a grimace and wiping at his mouth as Iron Bull set the bottle spinning again. It landed on Dorian, though Dorian was too busy taking a drink to notice.
“Here,” Bull purred, leaning forward. “Let me help you with that.”
The kiss Bull gave him was the most theatrical of the night. He swept Dorian from his chair and dipped him so far he was nearly upside down. Even Varric gave in to full-bellied laughs with the rest of them at the exaggerated kissing noises coming from under the table.
Bull righted them both, looking smug and composed. Dorian, on the other hand, was disheveled, incredibly red in the face, and a little starry-eyed. The table only laughed louder at his absent attempts to smooth his moustache.
Still hiccoughing with giggles, Emrys spun the bottle and smiled when it spun lazily and landed on Maerwyn. He didn’t need an excuse to kiss her, he knew, but it was nice to have a reason to anyway.
She was smiling as brightly as he was when he turned to her and she leaned to meet him halfway in a kiss that started out chaste, but didn’t stay that way for long. Someone else at the table whistled, but Emrys was too engrossed to care who.
End Part 13
