Little Victories

by seimaisin

A snowstorm brings a group of Grey Wardens to Redcliffe Castle, as the guests of its new Arl. Bethany finds that some of Isabela's old lessons are useful indeed, when it comes to both games of chance and her attraction to Teagan.

The first snowstorm of winter brought the Grey Wardens to Redcliffe Castle. The foursome were unexpected visitors, but Teagan was happy to admit them when they arrived. "Thank you," the leader - Stroud, who Teagan had met a couple of times while traveling with the king - said, as stood in Teagan's study. "I was hoping for a place to stay with your guards. I didn't expect you to take us into your home."

"I have the room. And I'm always happy to help the Wardens." Teagan looked the man over - his blue and silver armor was dirty and stained, and his eyes spoke of experiences Teagan knew he was better off not knowing about. "Where are you coming from?"

"Orzammar. We came out of the Deep Roads there. We could have stayed for a few days, but," Stroud said with a quirk of his mouth, "I believe all of us were ready to see the open sky by that point."

"I can only imagine." Teagan had visited Orzammar once, on a diplomatic mission with Alistair, and after a day or so, he'd felt trapped by all the stone surrounding him. The king was worse off - nightmares kept him awake every night. "Just be glad this is as far as you have to go," Alistair told him one morning. His eyes had been haunted much like Stroud's were now. Teagan counted himself very lucky that he'd never had to experience the Deep Roads. "You're welcome as long as you'd like," he told Stroud.

Stroud gave him a half-bow. "Thank you, ser. We've got an injured man, so we'll likely stay long enough to see him on his feet again."

Teagan didn't mind. To be honest, the castle at Redcliffe felt empty most of the time. He was used to coming here to find Eamon and Isolde and Connor living their lives somewhere inside. But Eamon and Isolde had retired to Denerim, Connor was living at the Circle, and Teagan had no family with which to fill these halls. It was too large a space for just a staff and a lord - an often absent lord at that, given how often Teagan was called to escort the king on his travels. So, having visitors - even four travel-weary Grey Wardens - was a pleasure for him.

Stroud left the study, and Teagan worked for a bit longer before restlessness overcame him. Wandering the halls of the castle had become something of a daily habit. Not that he was unfamiliar with the castle, not with all the years he'd spent as a guest, but somehow, being Redcliffe's lord made everything seem new. The light seemed to shine in a far different way now that the halls belonged to him.

The door to one of the common rooms was ajar; it was an area that was generally unoccupied, but close enough to the guest quarters that Teagan wasn't surprised to see it in use. He was, however, surprised to feel a cold wind swirl through the opening. When he peeked in, the door to the balcony was open, and a dark-haired woman stood at the railing, clutching a thin cloak around her body. Teagan smiled to himself. His guests came from the Free Marches, where the transition from fall into winter was far less pronounced than it was here in the south of Ferelden. His visitor might be curious enough to want to experience the weather first-hand, but she was clearly not prepared for it.

After watching her for a moment, as she struggled to keep the material from flying away, Teagan stepped back and headed back to his study. He'd abandoned his own cloak inside, and it seemed like one of his visitors might have more need of it than he did.

Bethany had traveled through Redcliffe once, as a child, when her family was moving to Lothering. She remembered sitting outside the Chantry, looking up the cliff at the giant castle that overlooked the town. She may have daydreamed about living inside the castle - it seemed like something a younger Bethany would have done - but actually being inside was something different entirely. She stood on a balcony and looked out below. From this distance, with the snow falling in fluffy waves, she could barely see the village at all.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her arms. It felt strange, not to be wearing her armor - they'd been traveling for so long, and in the Deep Roads for more weeks than she cared to think about. But here, one of the maids had provided her with a house dress that, the maid said, once belonged to the former Arlessa; perhaps the Arlessa had abandoned it because it was out of style, but to Bethany, the soft fabric felt like an unimaginable luxury.

The balcony was relatively protected from the weather - the roof hung far enough over her that most of the snow missed her. But there was a biting chill in the air, and Bethany tugged her thin cloak a little tighter around her shoulders. She could go inside, true, but after weeks spent underground, she intended to breathe fresh air for as long as she could.

Suddenly, a heavier cloak dropped onto Bethany's shoulders, and she jumped. "I'm sorry," a voice said from behind her. "I didn't mean to startle you."

When she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with a tall, copper-haired man; he was dressed well enough that Bethany made an educated guess. "Arl Teagan?"

He smiled. "You have me at a disadvantage. Though I assume you're with the Wardens."

Bethany nodded. "Bethany Hawke. Thank you for your hospitality. And," she added, gesturing to the warm, woolen cloak that now surrounded her, "the extra layer."

"You looked cold."

"But aren't you cold now?"

"I'm used to southern Ferelden." The Arl moved to lean on the balcony railing next to her. "You're from the Free Marches, yes?"

"Not originally." Bethany looked back out over the town. "I grew up not too far from here, actually."

"Oh, really?"

"Lothering. We fled to Kirkwall during the Blight."

"Ah."

When Bethany glanced back at him, she saw a shadow pass across his face; it reminded her that, in a way, her family were some of the lucky ones. While being a refugee in Kirkwall hadn't been a picnic, many more people had been left here to face the darkspawn for far longer. And if there was one thing her new life had taught her, it was that no one was ever prepared for the destruction darkspawn could bring. Not even Wardens, sometimes.

She cleared her throat and changed the subject back. "It's very nice of you to let us stay here."

"I have more than enough room. It would be selfish of me to to keep it all to myself."

"Do you have any family here?" Stroud hadn't mentioned anyone but the Arl, but that didn't mean anything. Her commander wasn't given to handing out extraneous information - or what he considered to be extraneous, which sometimes got them in trouble.

"No, it's just me." When a corner of her cloak flew out of her grasp, he caught it; with a small smile, he reached for the clasp on the other side and fastened the flyaway part more tightly. The gesture pulled Bethany slightly closer, so that she had to tip her chin to look up at him. "So I welcome the company."

Bethany felt her cheeks warm. Was that flirting? Or just a polite statement? Maker, but she was bad at figuring that sort of thing. It was unlikely, she finally decided - or, if he was, it was the sort of thing that most noblemen did as easily as breathing. "Well," she said, calling up her own smile and stepping backwards an inch, "I'm glad of the opportunity to sleep in an actual bed for a little while. It's a little cold for camping right now."

"I can imagine." The Arl opened his mouth, but obviously thought better of whatever he was about to say, because he immediately closed it and, with a half-grin, stepped away from the railing. "I should get back to work, before the paperwork begins breeding and overtakes my office." When Bethany laughed, the grin widened, just for a moment. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Bethany."

"You too, my lord."

"Teagan, please." He inclined his head toward her. "I'll see you at dinner, I hope."

Bethany simply nodded, and watched as he walked back into the castle. When she turned back to look out over the railing, she realized he'd left his cloak with her. She took a deep breath. The cloak smelled a bit of something spicy - a soap, perhaps, or something the servants used to clean clothes here? Or maybe she just wasn't used to wearing anything that was washed on a regular basis. She smiled to herself and leaned on the railing again to watch the snow fall over Redcliffe Village.

Three of the four visiting Wardens joined Teagan for dinner - the fourth was, he was told, resting his injury so that the Wardens would be able to get back on the road as soon as the weather cleared. Teagan took a seat on the side of the table - he always felt wrong taking the head of the table when the dinner wasn't a formal one - directly across from Bethany, who smiled at him. "You forgot your cloak earlier."

"No, I didn't. It's yours as long as you need it."

It was a small pleasure, being able to make a lovely woman smile, but Teagan's pleasures had been too few and far between recently. His responsibilities had all but tripled since he took over his brother's arling; work had been practically all he'd known for months. So, he decided, he'd take a bit of time to appreciate the first woman who'd sat at his table since Isolde. When Stroud and the third Warden - Dunnock, he was introduced as - began a conversation, he turned to Bethany. "So, you've lived in Kirkwall. How did you like it?"

She wrinkled her nose; the gesture made her look far younger than he'd originally pegged her for. "I didn't really like it, I'm afraid. Ferelden refugees don't live very well there. We lived in Lowtown, and we were some of the lucky ones."

He could well imagine. The Blight had left many of those who remained in Ferelden battered and homeless. Those who left probably weren't in any better shape. He imagined that the proud, often snobbish citizens of the urban Free Marches hadn't been terribly happy to see the poor and the dirty at their door. "I lived in Kirkwall for a time," he said, "when I was a squire. I'm afraid I didn't see much beyond Hightown, other than a rebellious young man's requisite visits to the Hanged Man. It's still around, isn't it?"

Bethany laughed. "Oh, yes. I spent a lot of time there, drinking truly terrible ale and learning to play cards."

"Really? What do you play?"

"Wicked Grace, mostly. A friend of mine was an expert." The way her lips curved up impishly caused a small ball of warmth low in Teagan's belly. Clearly, he'd gone far too long without a woman, if a simple smile could stir him.

Dunnock, overhearing the remark, snorted. "Don't play her, my lord. And definitely don't bet against her. She'll own the castle in two hours."

"Don't discourage him," Stroud said. "The Wardens could use a second base in Ferelden."

Bethany shook her head. "No, the friend who taught me to play could win the castle. I might be able to win the stables, though."

"It's nice of you to start dividing up my properties without knowing what kind of player I am." Teagan grinned at Bethany. "Now I'm obligated to play a hand with you, I think. No wagers, though. Not until I know what I'm getting into."

"I would love to play." Bethany held out her hand, and Teagan shook it, as if sealing a deal.

The other two Wardens laughed. "I wish you luck," Stroud said to Teagan. "You're going to need it."

The two men drifted away after dinner. When Bethany stood, Teagan gestured to the far door. "Shall we?"

They retired to his personal study, across the hall from his private rooms. When Teagan pulled several decks of cards out of his desk, Bethany giggled. "I'm not sure why," she said, "but it seems funny that you have cards stashed here."

"I do most of my business in the other study," he said, sitting down in the chair across from her. "This room is for ... personal items." He stopped himself before he said "pleasure" - though, as he noticed the way the low, warm light lit Bethany's cheeks, the word could certainly apply tonight. But to say it would be a suggestion he wasn't yet sure would be welcome. And would put several entirely ungentlemanly thoughts into his head about the woman across from him and the large, empty bed across the hall.

He cleared his throat. "I enjoy Wicked Grace," he continued, pushing the cards across the small table so she could shuffle them. "I play with the king from time to time, actually. He's surprisingly good."

"If you believe my friend - which I mostly don't - she taught the king to play, as well."

"Anything is possible. Whenever I ask, he usually just turns red and changes the subject."

"Oh my." Bethany giggled again. "Maybe she was telling the truth, after all."

"Now that sounds like a story."

Bethany just shook her head and handed the shuffled deck back to him. "Isabela has a lot of stories. Most of them inappropriate for polite company."

Teagan smiled - and filed the name 'Isabela' away to mention to Alistair at a later date. "The curse of being nobility," he said as he dealt the cards, "is always being considered 'polite company.'"

"So you'd rather be impolite?"

"The impolite stories are always the more entertaining ones."

"For certain values of entertainment, I suppose." Bethany picked up her cards, adjusted her skirt, and curled her legs underneath her; she looked entirely comfortable - and entirely at home - in the plush chair. He recognized the dress she wore as part of Isolde's abandoned wardrobe; his sister-in-law had insisted on an entirely new closet for life in the capital. But Isolde's taste in clothing had always been impeccable, and this dress - deep red, in a fabric that looked soft to the touch, not that he should be considering touching right now - suited Bethany very well. Teagan allowed himself to stare for a moment, storing her image away for the nights he sat here, alone, with only his books for company.

Teagan's mind was only half on the game at hand; he was more interested in the company than the victory, quite frankly. "How did you get from Kirkwall to the Wardens?" he asked.

A shadow passed over Bethany's face. "It wasn't by choice," she said quietly, looking down as she discarded a card.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't pry."

"No, it's fine. It's been a few years, and the life of a Warden isn't … well," she finished, shrugging, "it's likely better than a life in the Gallows would have been."

Teagan raised an eyebrow. "You're a mage?"

"Yes." She raised her eyes and looked at him steadily. "Is that a problem?"

"Not in the least. I've had the pleasure of knowing a number of mages, including the Hero of Ferelden. And my nephew," he added, "who's at the Circle now." He played one of his cards. "It's just not my first instinct, to assume someone I've just met has magic."

Bethany gave him a small smile. "I'm sorry. I'm used to a very different reaction."

"That's unfortunate. Were you ever in the Circle here?"

"No. My father … was also a mage, a runaway from the Kirkwall Circle. He trained me. I was lucky that way."

"Indeed." Teagan paused for a moment, contemplating his hand. "My nephew - well, he was not so lucky."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He looked up and smiled. "I'm just glad he's being properly trained now. If only it didn't also mean never seeing him."

Bethany nodded. "I'm grateful I got to grow up with my family. Well, some days, I am." She made a face.

"I spent a lot of time separated from my family as a child. I only vaguely remember my father and sister, and Eamon and I were fostered separately for a long time. Growing up with your own family … sounds nice." Teagan had no idea where that came from. It wasn't as if he spoke about his childhood with much of anyone - especially not with a person he barely knew. He looked away from her, somewhat embarrassed at having revealed something so personal.

Bethany was quiet for a long moment. "It's good to have perspective from time to time," she said finally said. "Thank you."

When Teagan looked back at her, her elbow rested on the arm of her chair, and a small, gentle smile played over her face. Her dark hair tumbled down over one of her eyes, and he resisted a strong urge to lean across the table and brush it back, just to feel the softness between his fingers. Instead, he just smiled back and gestured for her to continue. Her smile spread when she picked up the next card and laid it back down. "The Angel of Death," she announced. "Show your hand."

Tegan had lost, quite miserably. His own fault, he figured, for concentrating more on her than the game. "Rematch?"

"If you're interested."

"I am."

She handed her cards back to him, a twinkle in her eyes. "Then you're welcome to try again."

When she woke up the next morning, Bethany felt a pang of regret - if the storm had cleared, Stroud would want to head out today. They all wanted to complete their visit to the battle site at Ostagar before the worst of winter truly set in. But really, Bethany thought, she wouldn't mind spending a few more evenings playing cards with Teagan.

… or doing more than playing cards. But she wasn't sure if their host's mind was anywhere near the same place as hers, so she'd content herself with more nights in his cozy study, if she could. At least one more night, she asked the Maker silently, to curl up in a chair and listen to him talk, to tease him when he inevitably lost another hand to her. It was nice, to feel so normal - to not be a Warden for a little while. She'd spent weeks buried deep inside the earth, surrounded by rock and spiders and the stench of darkspawn. Didn't she deserve a short break from her life?

When she stood up and looked out the window, she let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Oh, thank you," she murmured, just in case the Maker was in fact listening. The world outside was a whirlwind of white, the snow so thick that she could barely see the roof of the guardhouse below the window. Even if Maronne could walk today, there was no way Stroud could possibly make them travel in this weather. She doubted that the horses could even be let out of the stables like this.

Her theory was confirmed at breakfast. "I'm afraid we'll have to impose on you for a bit longer," Stroud said to Teagan.

"It's no imposition at all. You're all welcome for as long as you need to stay. Quite frankly," he added, "I think my staff is grateful for the work. My manservant has told me I'm actually boring, as little as I ask them to do."

Bethany spent the day scrubbing her armor; she could have given it to one of the servants, true, but she had little else to do, other than wander the castle and daydream. And the process of removing all the grime and guts from underneath the scales felt like a ritual meant to shake off the horror of the last mission, an ending that would make facing the next horror a tiny bit more bearable.

At dinner, Maronne joined them, and laughed when he heard that Teagan had agreed to play Wicked Grace with Bethany. "Did you manage to win at all?"

"No," Teagan admitted easily. "But I'm not giving up."

"If you'd care to keep losing, I'm more than happy to oblige," Bethany said, a spark of pleasure flitting up her spine.

"We'll see who loses this time."

Once upon a time, Isabela had been a fabulous instructor, for both cards and life. "Playing fair is for storybooks, sweetheart," she told Bethany. "The point of a game is to win something. It isn't always about literally winning the game, though. You can win respect, you can win someone's attention, you can win some pleasure and satisfaction for yourself. The trick is to know what you're going into the game to win. I learned how to cheat," Isabela admitted, flipping a card up from underneath her wrist brace, "because winning at cards was one of the best ways to earn a sailor's respect. I keep cheating because I like coin. And because it's fun to frustrate people." She grinned. "Thus, winning me some easy pleasure."

Bethany was grateful for the lesson after joining the Wardens. Becoming a legendary Wicked Grace champion had started her on her journey from being the sad, mopey mage girl Stroud had taken pity on to becoming a respected, fairly well-liked Warden in her own right. If she had to palm a few cards here and there to make it happen … well, Isabela would be proud of her, she thought. Now, she continued to win to maintain her reputation. Isabela also taught her about how much better a woman had to be to be considered the equal of a man. It was truer than she'd wanted to believe, back in the innocent days of Kirkwall.

But why she continued to play a less-than-honest game with Teagan, she thought as she shuffled the cards for their third match of the evening, was a bit of a mystery. The longer they played, the more it seemed that the game was simply an excuse to relax and talk, for both of them. She had no reputation to maintain here; Teagan seemed to like her as a conversational companion - and perhaps as a woman? She was fairly sure he was flirting with her, but those were the sort of lessons she'd never gotten around to taking from Isabela, so her instincts were haphazard at best. Whatever his intentions, though, the game they played likely had no effect on his impression of her. So why did she continue to use tricks to win?

Force of habit, perhaps. Or, perhaps it was her own awkward attempt at flirting - as long as he felt as if he had something to prove, however jokingly, he'd continue to play cards with her. She could sit here, laugh, try not to blush when he smiled at her … she wouldn't have to go back to her bedroom alone, not as long as he continued to play.

Of course, as an independent-minded woman, she could just ask him to come to bed with her, and cut out all the uncertainty. But however much Isabela had taught her about life, that was one way in which she wasn't sure she could emulate her friend.

Putting her own uncertainty aside, she began to deal the cards and finished the story she'd been telling. "So, she completely ignored Carver's existence, and spent the whole day trailing Garrett around town like a puppy. Which somehow turned out to be my fault, even though I told Carver she wasn't really that good of a friend. But apparently I was supposed to have some kind of mind control power in my magic arsenal, I don't know." She shrugged. "He yelled at me, I set his shoes on fire, and then we made up and told everyone in the tavern that Garrett had volunteered to buy the whole place a round and ran away before he could blame us for his empty purse. And that's pretty much the story of my entire childhood."

Teagan laughed. "Sounds like fun."

"It could be, when no one was nailing my braids to the headboard." She wrinkled her nose. "Brothers are a pain."

"I would take offense to that, but I clearly remember being very young, when Eamon and I still lived together, and pouring a bucket full of dirt into his bed for some reason I no longer recall. So yes. Brothers can be an awful pain." He winked and laid a card on the pile.

The next card she drew was the Angel of Death. She considered hiding it briefly, but her hand was good enough on its own to lay it down. "Show me what you've got," she said, and laughed when his pairs of Serpents and Songs were no match for her trio of Knights. "Closer, but not quite."

"You know, I was thinking." Teagan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Perhaps I might be more motivated to play better if we wagered."

Bethany raised an eyebrow. "A bold suggestion, for a man who's lost seven hands in two nights."

"I'm a man with nothing to lose at this point."

"Except your castle."

He laughed. "I'm not quite that bold, sorry to say. My lands and buildings are off limits. But beyond that, name a forfeit to claim if I lose the next hand."

Several ideas sprang immediately to Bethany's mind, mostly of the sort that brought a flush to her cheeks. Speaking of not being quite that bold … no, she couldn't possibly. "You've put me on the spot," she said. "I'd have to think about it."

"Then I'll leave it open. If you win again, you can name your forfeit."

"That's brave."

He shrugged. The dim light of the study couldn't quite hide the spark in his eyes as he looked at her. "However, if I manage to win this round … would it be too forward of me to ask for a kiss as my reward?"

Bethany's breath caught in her throat, and she was sure that her blush could be seen even in this light. "No," she responded, her voice more breathy than she really intended, "not too forward. But you do have to win first."

"Then that's motivation indeed."

They were silent while they played this hand. Every time Bethany looked up from her cards, Teagan was concentrating on his. She wondered what cards he had - the deal had been very kind to her this time, and she'd collected a Angels-high full house without even pulling any extra cards. It would be a hard hand to beat.

Too bad this was the one hand she'd be happy to lose.

When her turn came up again, she stared at her cards for a long moment. Finally, she grabbed her highest-ranked Angel and discarded it. On the next round, she abandoned another Angel; when Teagan drew again, the Angel of Death appeared. Bethany bit back a smile as she laid down her lowly pair of Daggers. Teagan showed three Songs - more than enough to win the hand. "I guess the wager was motivating," she said.

"Maybe." He looked at the cards, then up at her. "I wonder, though, what I'd see if I looked through the discard pile."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"I'm sure you don't."

Teagan chuckled softly and sat back in his chair. Bethany took a deep breath and stood up. If there was ever a time to channel a tiny bit of Isabela, this seemed to be it. "Perhaps," she said, walking over to stand next to him, "I wanted to pay the forfeit." That sounded lame, she chided herself, but there was no time to take it back - not when he grabbed her hand to tug her down, when she was leaning over him and pressing her lips lightly to his.

He hummed against her mouth, a pleased little sound, and she shivered at the small vibration on her skin. But, she found herself bent at a strange angle, and when she tried to move her feet to get a better position, she found herself overbalanced. With a yelp, she stumbled against him - his arms came around her waist, and he dragged her over far enough that she landed on her hip across his lap. "Oof! Oh, Maker, I'm sorry …"

"Don't be." He helped her wriggle until she was in a more comfortable sitting position. "I'm never sorry to have a beautiful woman in my lap."

Bethany hooked her arms around his neck and just looked at him for a moment. He brought a hand up to caress her cheek. "Do you want to be here?" he asked softly.

Did she … "Oh, yes," she murmured, and leaned in to kiss him again.

She lost herself that way, as Teagan's arms pulled her close enough that she curled around his body, hooking her legs underneath his. Dimly, as his tongue slid against hers, she realized that the spicy scent she'd smelled on his cloak was him, somehow, a masculine scent that mingled with sweat and cool air and made her dizzy. When his mouth trailed from hers to skim along her jawline, she pressed her nose into his hair and inhaled.

It had been too long, since she last had a man's arms around her. She intended to enjoy this moment for all it was worth.

Teagan was no longer a young man, which had certain advantages. His body no longer prodded him to bury his cock inside a woman's body the moment he had one in his arms - he was content to enjoy the feeling of Bethany in his lap for a while, to taste the skin on her neck and listen to the lovely, breathy noises she made whenever he scraped his teeth lightly against her throat. His cock did wake up when she squirmed close enough to lean her hip against his groin, but at this point, that was more a pleasant ache than anything. Proof he was still alive, really.

He brought his mouth back up to hers and kissed her slowly, deeply, until she was whimpering against his lips and tugging at the fabric of his shirt. "Do you," he asked, rubbing his nose against hers, "want to move this to my chambers?"

"Mmmmm. Yes, please."

He helped her stand up, and was moderately pleased with himself when she had to steady herself on shaky legs by grabbing his arm. He threaded her arm into his and led her across the hall, where one of the maids had thankfully already lit the lamp next to his bed. He kissed Bethany softly, as they stood at the foot of the bed. "Do you need help with your dress?"

She giggled. "Yes, please. I needed the maid to come in and unfasten the back of my dress last night."

"Turn around, then."

He was more than familiar with the lacings of a noblewoman's dress; yet, every time he parted fabric to see the smooth, warm skin of a woman's back, it sent a thrill through him. He noticed several faded pink scars as he pushed the material over and down her shoulders. One crossed her right shoulder, and he bent to run his tongue along the length of it. She sighed. "Oh, yes."

"I would taste every inch of your skin," he murmured, lips against her ear, "if you give me the time."

Her body pressed back into his as he skimmed a hand down to her belly. "I have nowhere else to be."

"Good."

When she was divested of everything but her smalls and the band that held her generous breasts, she turned and slid her hands underneath his shirt. "Now you," she said. Teagan happily let her unfasten buttons and pull the material up over his head. Once his shirt was on the floor, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her back to him, reveling in the feel of her skin against his. He captured her mouth as he backed her towards the bed. When the backs of her legs hit the bed, he pulled away just enough to let her sit down. As she scooted back into the middle of the bed, she reached back and freed her breasts from the fabric. "Oh!" she said, giggling and holding her hands over nipples. "It's cold in here!"

Teagan laughed. His room was drafty, it was true, but he'd forgotten with the heat of her body still lingering on his skin. "Here, let me help." He climbed onto the bed and straddled her legs. She laid back, and he slid his hands up her torso and cupped her breasts. When he swiped his thumbs over her nipples, she sighed happily. "Better?"

"Much." The giggles returned when he bent and swirled his tongue around one of her nipples. "Are you ticklish?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Maybe a little," Bethany admitted. Teagan just grinned at her and turned his head just enough to rub a whisker-covered cheek against her nipple. She let out a squeak and dug her blunt nails into his shoulders. "Or a lot," she said, laughter making her shake.

He enjoyed torturing her - kissing and licking and tickling until she was breathless. When all she could seem to say was his name and "please" over and over, he finally pulled back to look at her. Her face was flushed, and her eyelashes fluttered open when the contact ceased. Her legs, which she'd wriggled out from underneath him, came up to lock around his waist. "Don't stop," she whispered.

"I wouldn't dare." He leaned down far enough to feel her nipples grazing lightly against his chest, and captured her lips with his in another slow kiss. After a minute or so, her legs began to tighten around him, pulling him closer and closer until he gave up and dropped to his elbows. He put his hands behind her head and sank his fingers into her hair; she began grinding against him, and he groaned, feeling his cock come to life at the friction. It's been a long time, that part of his body reminded him, now insistent, and she feels so good.

In response - patience, he told himself, we'll get there - he struggled back up to a kneeling position and trailed a hand down her throat, between her breasts, and down her stomach. The muscles underneath his fingers trembled, and he slowed down just long enough to trace the line of another scar just below her navel. Then, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her smalls. "Let me," he murmured, using his other hand to pull one of her legs out from behind him.

Bethany released her hold and allowed him to drag her smalls down over her legs. Once he'd discarded them, he reached between her legs and caressed her gently. She was already so wet, and if the low keening noise she made at the contact was any indication, she was well on her way to her own pleasure. He smiled, probing a finger into the heat until he found the small nub that made her whine louder and clutch the blanket underneath her. When he rubbed, very slowly, she cursed in a most unladylike fashion. "Fuck, Teagan, oh please …"

"Anything," he promised. With a hand underneath her buttocks, he urged her to move farther up the bed, until her head rested on the pillow. As she watched, golden eyes wide and dark, he spread her legs and leaned over far enough to place a nearly chaste kiss underneath her navel, just above the damp, curly hair. And then he moved lower and kissed the sensitive nub with the same care. She cursed again, and he laughed, settling himself into a comfortable position at the foot of the bed.

There was very little more satisfying, Teagan thought, than having the ability to make a woman shatter to pieces with nothing more than your hands and mouth. He considered himself to be good at it - he'd certainly spent many years of his youth perfecting his technique. And he was always happy to realize his skills didn't deteriorate when months went by between his liaisons. Bethany certainly seemed to appreciate him; she keened and begged and dug her heels into the bed. When he fastened his mouth around her and sucked just a bit harder, his tongue firm against her heat, she shuddered violently and threaded a hand through his hair. It didn't take much more after that - in what seemed like no time at all, she was arching off the bed and making high-pitched, incoherent noises at the back of her throat. Teagan didn't let up, not until she'd collapsed back down into the mattress and took several deep, shaky breaths.

Teagan wiped his mouth and beard before he moved back up the bed. Still, when he kissed her, Bethany let out a giggle. "That always tastes so strange," she murmured, writhing against him. "Good, but strange."

"I like the way it tastes," he said. He pressed her torso down into the bed with his. His erection strained against her, with only the fabric of his pants separating it from her hot skin. He kissed her one more time before lifting himself off the bed to finally undress himself.

When he climbed back onto the bed, Bethany surprised him by sitting up and urging him onto his back. "Let me," she said softly, straddling him. "I want to …"

Whatever it was she wanted, it involved taking his cock in her hands and stroking, which Teagan fully approved of. He grunted and laid back on the pillow, watching as she bent her head to concentrate on her ministrations. Her hands were damp, slick with sweat and, once she'd lifted a palm to her mouth, saliva, and so the friction simply felt glorious. She settled on a rhythm, and Teagan felt himself floating with the pleasure of her touch.

Her hair fell over her face, obscuring it from his view, so he reached up and pushed it back. Bethany looked up at him, eyes shining. She left off her work - Teagan couldn't help the groan he let out when her hands left his cock - and placed her hands on his chest. She leaned down briefly to press a kiss to his lips. "I want you inside of me," she whispered.

"Me too," was all he could manage, before she sat back up and positioned herself above him. He reached down and helped her line up; when she began to sink down on his cock, though, he could only grab at her thighs and close his eyes, savoring the sensation. She was hot and tight and when she slid up, then back down again, he couldn't help but thrust up to meet her.

She laughed, and wiggled a bit. "Oh, that feels so good."

"Yes," he said, and then words were lost to him as she started to ride.

He missed this. Maker, but he missed this - the more responsibility he claimed, the less opportunity he had to lure a beautiful woman to his bed, someone who would own her own glory and abandon like this, bouncing on her knees and throwing her head back like some obscene goddess of old. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good - couldn't remember anything or anyone else but Bethany right now, not while she rocked and moaned and changed the angle just enough that her eyes flew open and her mouth rounded into a wide "o" of surprise. "Oh. Oh. There. Right there …" Her thrusts became more frantic then, concentrating on some secret spot inside of her that made her shudder. He could only try to time his own thrusts just right; when a giggle bubbled up from her chest, he reached up and closed his hands over her breasts. He squeezed, and she laughed outright; it was possibly the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

He was close, so very close, but it was worth gathering the last threads of his self-control to hold off and watch her as she tossed her head back and lost herself again. The shout on her lips resolved into his name, shaky and high-pitched, and that finally broke him - with one more thrust upward, he gave in to the sensations and spilled into her warm, welcoming body.

When it was done, Bethany withdrew from him and collapsed onto the bed. He had just enough wherewithal to pull the blankets up over them both and drag her close, until her head lay pillowed on his chest. She buried her face in his skin and lay still for a long few minutes, her breath hot and damp.

When he could speak again, Teagan carded a hand through her hair. "Thank you," he murmured.

She looked up. "For what?"

"This." He smiled, and touched a finger to her nose. "For giving an old man a night of your beauty."

She wrinkled her nose. "Stop it. You're far from old."

"Old enough." Teagan chuckled when she poked him in the side. But when she brought her head close enough to kiss him, he wrapped his arms around her back and let the contact float him slowly back down from the orgasm-fueled high.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, kissing lazily, with their legs tangled together, until Bethany pulled back and sighed. "I should probably go back to my own bed," she said, reluctance plain in her voice.

"Why?"

She blinked, surprised. "You want me to stay?"

"I'd like nothing more than to wake up next to you in the morning."

Bethany frowned. "I have nightmares," she said. "They're not often pleasant."

He nodded. "I'm somewhat familiar with Warden nightmares. I've traveled with Alistair often enough." Unconsciously, he tightened his arms around her. Watching Alistair struggle with the demons that came to him at night was hard. Watching Bethany might, in fact, be even harder. But even the icy dread that speared his heart didn't kill his desire to hold her until the sun shone through his window.

"Oh. If you're sure …" She closed her eyes. "Thank you."

"Just sleep."

Bethany lowered herself back down to his chest. As she snuggled close to him, she let out a soft laugh. "I rather hope the weather doesn't improve tomorrow," she confessed.

"Me too." Teagan kissed the top of her head. "After all, I think you owe me another chance to win a game properly."

He felt more than heard her laugh against his skin. When she fell silent, Teagan reached over to douse the lamp. He closed his eyes and stroked her hair until he heard her breathing even out into sleep.

It was novel, to feel a weight at his side, to hear someone else's breath whispering through his bedroom. He said a silent prayer of thanks for the company, even for just a little while. Life was no more than a game of chance, and he'd savor a victory for as long as he was allowed.