Underneath, a neverwinter nights fanfic

The story described a couple of scenes between the main character and Casavir without getting too involved in where in the plotline they are. I've left the description of the race and class of the main character vague and I don't even give her name. I wanted to allow every reader to be able to put their main character (or themselves) in as the protagonist.

I am exploring similar themes to my first fanfic piece, "Unguarded" (Bishop) so there will be some parallel ideas. There is more dialogue here as well. It was also partially inspired by No Doubt's "Underneath it All" and Shakira's "Underneath Your Clothes". I love the idea of depth and complexity and felt that Casavir's character could have been explored a little further (Enough with Old Owl Well already!) but I didn't want to take it too far before I actually understood what he stood for myself.

Please note that the material you are about to read is definitely rated as Mature/Restricted for scenes of violence, sexuality, and nudity. You should be 18 years old or older before continuing on as adult themes are explored. Please do NOT continue if any of these makes you uncomfortable. There are graphic and descriptive scenes in this narrative.

Underneath

He stood at the top of the wall of the Keep, overlooking the farmlands stretching out from the Courtyard gate to the edge of the hill. He could see the changing of the guards below him. The sun was beginning to dip low in the western skies, its rays being dampened by the growing shadows at the edge of the Mere. He saw her walk out of the tavern and a moment later, Bishop followed at a distance. Casavir knew her routine: every day before sunset and at the changing of the guards, she would do a round of her Keep. More days than not, that Luskan ranger would follow her, often with a drink in hand. She never gave any indication whether she knew or cared but it worried him. It worried him because she didn't seem to care and didn't seem worried. Bishop was so unpredictable and Casavir hated him with every fibre of his being. He had told her he would protect her from everything – and he meant it to include even their traveling companions. From his vantage point, Casavir could keep an eye on Bishop… or was it an eye on her? He found his gaze being drawn to her more often. Her girlishness had taken on a certain womanly maturity since he had first met her at Old Owl Well. Perhaps it was the added responsibilities, which she took on quietly…or perhaps it was a lingering sadness which seemed to envelope her more each day – a sadness which he could not take away even when he touched her to heal her… Casavir looked back at Bishop and noticed the ranger was staring back at him, eyeing him coldly and carefully, before resuming his stalking with a seemingly extra malevolence. He would have to speak to her later about this…

She found herself standing outside his closed door. She did not know how long she had been wandering the halls of the Keep, her bare feet padding softly on the cold stone floor. She did not know how she got in front of his door, only that her careful and measured steps slowly, inexorably, had taken her here. Her nights were restless now; she found the hours between moonlight and sunlight growing in her sleepless rapture. By now the night guards were used to her aimless meanderings and no longer glanced at her quizzically when she made her way past them in the torch lit hallways. They simply and respectfully drew up their height to full attention as she walked past. She was just another nighttime ghost in the long dead Keep, looking for a beginning or an end. Even Bishop had stopped following her as her circular rounds started approaching the dawn.

She knew Casavir was probably in a deep sleep and felt guilty for considering the thought of awakening him. She didn't even know why she had stopped by his door. Maybe she wouldn't even have to wake him up; just being near him at times was comfort enough. She pressed her hands to the door and paused; she could almost feel his soothing presence through the wood. She glanced surreptitiously down the hall: the guards at either end were staring straight ahead and not at her. She briefly wondered where Bishop was, if he was watching her at the paladin's door and what he thought, but if he was present, he did not make himself known. Pushing the door open, she slipped her slight frame through and carefully let it fall closed.

She saw him sleeping on his back, his right hand stretched behind his head under his pillow. His blanket was tussled, as if he had been tossing and turning in his sleep. She wondered what could have been disturbing his dreams so. She walked around the bed until she was by his side, staring down into his face. When he slept, he was much younger looking – all duties and cares left for the dawn. His black hair was disheveled and she smiled; she liked him better when he wasn't trying to be so perfect. She crouched so she was at eye level with his face and studied it critically but not unkindly. She liked his jaw, how it was strong and firm – like him. His lips appeared surprisingly soft when not tightened in anger over some injustice, some dishonor or Bishop. She wanted to lean in and kiss him lightly in his sleep – it was a selfish thought entirely, made mostly for curiosity's sake. Maybe she could…if she moved slowly…

Casavir's eyes suddenly snapped open and his right hand moved swiftly from his pillow, where he kept a small hidden dagger, to the intruder by his side. His arm made the wide arc, the blade glinting in the moonlight, when he looked and saw her eyes staring back at him, making no move to duck, dodge or defend herself. Recognition stayed his hand; he stopped the blade a hair's breath from her throat and dropped it in shock. It clattered to the ground besides her, the metallic ring harsh in the unmoving night.

"My lady!" he whispered hoarsely, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed her shoulders to check to see if he had cut her in his moment of drowsy defense. "What…What are you doing here? Are you hurt?" Realizing his hands were gripping her small shoulders rather hard, he quickly let them go, flushing in the darkness, and sat up, "Is everything all right?" He could not hear the sounds of battle; no alarm had gone up.

She continued staring at him, as if in a trance, making no indication that she even knew how close to death she had just come. He looked at her, concerned. Was she under some sort of spell? He could not detect any magic emanating from her. "My Lady," he continued cautiously, "Why did you come here like that? I…I could have hurt you…even…killed you!"

She finally gave him a wisp of a smile and shook her head slightly, "No Casavir, I knew you could never hurt me." She seemed sad and as he looked closer he saw how tired she looked. Her hair was still perfectly kept and her house-robe was pristine. He frowned slightly, "Have you not been to sleep?"

She shook her head again. "Sleep does not find me easily these days." She seemed resigned to staying up and staying with him, and rested her arms and head on his bed, always staring at him with a wistful smile. Casavir suddenly realized that he had left her sitting on the cold stone floor while he rested comfortably in the bed and silently chided himself for not being more gracious. He sat up and swung his legs over the side of bed, lifting the blanket. "Well, my Captain, would you care to sit with me then?" She nodded and he helped her stand. Casavir tried not to stare at her body as she moved past his eyes. Her long house-robe was cinched at the waist by a silk belt, and he could see the curve of her hips, the fullness of her breasts... It was then that he realized she was not actually wearing anything under the robe and he could see the top of the two pale mounds of soft flesh where her neckline plunged dangerously low. He looked away quickly but it was too late; he felt the heat rising in his cheeks and felt his heart grow taut with desire. She had a way of stirring up long lost feelings in him, feelings he had vowed would never interfere with his duty again. He quickly wrapped her in the blanket to cover her up and tried to push the image of her collarbone and the dark line of cleavage where her breasts pressed together out of his mind….He shook his head sternly.

She seemed uncharacteristically grateful for the small gesture of offering her the blanket and rested her head upon his shoulder. They remained in silence in the dark for a time. She was content to lean against Casavir and while he seemed unsure of what exactly was going on, he kindly allowed her to stay. He was wearing a simple gray sleeping tunic and dark linen pants, but even without his plate mail, his shoulders and chest were broad and imperial. She reached out and slipped her hand in his, squeezing his fingers. She could feel his back suddenly tense with her touch and he broke the silence hurriedly. "Is there anything I can do for you, my Lady? Anything you wish to discuss? The troops looked fine this aftern-"

"I do not wish to discuss the troops, Casavir." She immediately regretted saying that as he suddenly looked crushed. She did not mean to be difficult but the very reason why she could not sleep was because of the troops. The King of Shadows. Crossroad Keep. Daeghun. Shandra. West Harbor. The Silver Sword. She worried about her traveling friends. She worried about him. She offered, simply, "I want to talk about you." I want to talk to you. To Casavir. Not the Paladin of Tyr. Not the Katalmach. To Casavir. But she did not say this aloud.

"About…me?"

"About you."

He relented, "Very well. What is it that you wish to know?"

She considered her words carefully. She had to do everything carefully now, living under the constant threat that that moment could very well be her last. But this time, she wanted to make sure she did it right; she might only have one chance with Casavir. One chance for what?

"Why do you follow me? I am no true leader of men, of troops, of a Keep. Surely this …endeavor…must not be up to your standards?"

He gently lifted her head from his shoulder and looked intently into her eyes, "My Lady, I follow you because it is the right thing to do. I follow you because together we can achieve a greater good and defeat the King of Shadows. I follow you because I have pledged my sword to your cause. Whether the endeavor and your efforts are up to some standards does not matter; your heart is good and pure."

She smiled softly at him, "Then do you see it as simply your duty, O Paladin of Tyr, to comfort me in the middle of the night and to hold my hand, to protect me from harm and dishonor?" Her eyes were searching his face looking for an answer she already knew.

He lifted his eyes from her face and stared at a fixed point over her left shoulder. "Yes…there is…duty. To see harm come to you would mean the end of our hopes." He dropped his eyes back to hers. "Of my hopes. You may think it is I who comfort you but …it is very much the other way around. You have quelled my doubts and I find purpose in life again." He turned his body to hers and took both her hands in his. "My Lady…you…must know already how I feel. To say it aloud or to dwell upon it only serves… as a distraction, an interference… to the task which lies ahead. Perhaps, after the King of Shadows' defeat…" But he stopped speaking, seeing her eyes suddenly flare up in the dark.

"And what if he cannot be defeated? How would you feel then, if I were lost to you or you to me or…both to each other? Would you be satisfied that you had left us both so unsatisfied in death? You speak of your duties to me, Casavir, yet you continue to deny me."

His face looked pained. "What would you have me do, my Lady, to show you that my pledge…and heart…are both true? I will do anything you ask."

She suddenly turned to him, a wild and unbridled look in her eyes, and he felt a knot form in his stomach. Maybe agreeing to do anything wasn't such a good idea. She knelt on the bed so her face reached his. She slowly shrugged off the blanket covering her shoulders and Casavir watched it fall and settle around her hips. She stared at him through her thick, lowered lashes and said in a commanding, husky voice that only she could do, "Undress me."

Casavir stared at her in shock and his eyes darted left and right, trying to find an escape. But there was no escaping from his promised words of earlier. They hung heavy in the air between them. She waited, patiently and expectantly, the left shoulder of her gown already slipping off and revealing the gentle slope of her body. Casavir lifted his hands and gave a slight tug on her right sleeve, and the soft fabric slid down to join its twin on the other side. She sat in front of him, the moonlight glowing behind her head, like some angel, her shoulders bare. She was beautiful, a carved living statue in a temple. She was too perfect – he could not mar her with his clumsy human touch…

He heard her exhale loudly through her nose but he sensed her exasperation was more for show than actual feeling. "If you won't undress me, then undress yourself. Take off your shirt." He paused, considering, realizing that if he agreed to this request perhaps she would have no more for him. It would perhaps delay her and perhaps by then she would be tired and go to bed, and he could keep his oaths, her honor and her feelings all intact. He pulled the linen tunic over his head and she took it from him, throwing it over the back of the chair. His skin crawled with goosebumps in the chill of the night air. Her slender hand reached out and stroked his smooth face, tracing her finger down his chin, along his throat, to his chest. She pressed her palm against his heart. She could feel his heart beating, strong and steady as the man. Casavir was strong; she could see every defined muscle of his torso, his arms – unyielding. She glanced at his face. He was politely staring ahead, with lowered eyes, his hand clasped in his lap – trying not to let her see his nervousness or the building warmth in his loins. But she knew; every woman knows when desire is thick. She moved around him and pressed her chest to his straight back, wrapping her arms around his shoulder and nuzzling into his neck. Casavir felt his back warm to her skin and he leaned back into her, listening to her breath become deep and rhythmic. "My Lady, if you wish to stay here tonight, I could go and sleep with the Graycloaks…"

Her voice came to him, muffled but sharp despite her drowsiness, "You will do no such thing. If I wished to sleep alone, I have my own chambers. I did not seek you out and nearly have my throat slit, to sleep alone." She softened and pressed her lips behind his ear, "You're rather silly sometimes, my paladin." She lifted the blanket and tucked her legs underneath and smiled at him expectantly. He slowly swung his legs back onto the bed and she let the blanket fall. She sidled up against him, "Now take off your pants. And lie down."

She watched him open his mouth, then shut it, then open it again before he managed to say, "My pants?" She nodded then replied crisply, "That or you can remove my robe; the choice is yours." She felt a twinge of guilt, cornering him and manipulating him like this but told herself firmly It is for his own good. And mine. She watched him reach down and pull the last of his clothing off, being inordinately careful to keep the blanket on top of him. She saw him push his breeches to the edge of the bed; she heard the rustling as it fell to the cobbled stone floor. He lay down, placing his head stiffly on the down pillow and folding his hands once again in his lap to hide the growing stiffness. She pressed herself insistently against his side once again, resting her head on his chest, and her hand on his flat stomach and his arm instinctively went around her and clasped her to him.

Casavir was surprised at the ease with which he held her. Her slim body fit snuggly in the crook of his arm. But more than that, he was surprised that he even remembered how to hold a woman. How long had it been? He remembered adolescent fumblings, stolen kisses and touches in dark corners, follies of youth before the seriousness of life caught up with him…but never anything like this with her. He felt her fingers idly tracing the skin below his navel and he felt himself warming, hardening to her gentle caresses. He closed his eyes and inhaled, steadying himself. He was not such a fool that he did not know what she would ask next. Her lilting voice came to him again in the dark, begging, "Now will you undress me?" Keeping his eyes closed, his fingers found the knot in her silk belt. The knot was loosely done but his finger floundered with the thin fabric. Finally, he tugged the knot free and stopped.

Her voice was chiding but tender, "You'll have to do better than that, Casavir." He sighed, "My Lady, what you have requested of me…is most unusual. I have sworn to protect your honor, not…defile it!"

"Casavir, is it really dishonor to love a woman? Especially one who loves you?" He felt his heart give another squeeze and found himself smiling at her, "No but…there are certain rituals and rites which a…Paladin of Tyr…and a Lady of Neverwinter must undergo before they are to…" He flushed even harder and thanked the gods that it was dark in his room. "To…ah…love one another," he finished lamely.

She suddenly laughed, her voice ringing out like a clear bell in the night and when he looked at her, she had an impish smile on her face. "I am no true Lady, no true noblewoman – just a Lady in name and convenience during times of war. As such, I believe I am exempt from these requirements. The Ladies of the Courts of Neverwinter are already disdainful of me for knowing how to wield both sword and spell; what more can they do if they find out that I also know how to wield a paladin? Besides," the wicked smile got even bigger and she wiggled her eyebrows at him suggestively, and he saw that the spirit of the girl from West Harbor was still alive, "I won't tell if you don't tell?"

He laughed, and gathered her up in his arms when her suddenly serious expression stopped him. Her face registered a flurry of emotions, "Casavir, I say this truly and honestly: I want you to take me. I have longed for you for weeks and want you to have me, as man and woman. But if you decide against it for whatever reason, I will never hold it against you. But it is a decision that you, and you alone, must make." She kissed the tip of his nose.

He gazed at her, and she returned the gaze, openly and unwaveringly. Her words haunted him; her beauty and figure, her skin and touch, her voice, laugh, walk…it had all haunted him for weeks. And now the decision was his.

He thought of his past of broken vows and oaths fallen to the wayside; yet her words from earlier continued to echo in his ears…

"How would you feel then, if I were lost to you or you to me or…both to each other? Would you be satisfied that you had left us both so unsatisfied in death? You speak of your duties to me, Casavir, yet you continue to deny me."

He suddenly realized it was true. Even if they had wanted to undergo the rituals of union, there would be no priest of Tyr to perform them in these times of war, darkness and uncertainty. Time was growing slim and everyday, his ability to protect her waned as the shadows advanced. He could lose her tomorrow…and the thought of that terrified him.

He felt himself yielding to her, and leaned in to meet her lips with his - tentatively, like he was kissing a dream that was to dissipate with the first rays of the dawn. She lay still in his arms, so light that she seemed to float. It was a chaste, shy kiss – one of promised love, of undying loyalty, of souls left open. There was no ritual of Tyr, but he did not need one; he pledged himself to her to the end of time with that kiss.

Then he kissed her again, kissed her with the passion he had wanted to since the first time he had touched her and felt the charged energy running from his fingers, up his arms, to the very top of his head and through to the soles of his feet. He felt her mouth responding vehemently, her desire dangerous and fierce, their mouths burning together with insatiable desire. She was utterly inebriating as she pressed her naked body against his, her robe falling entirely open, and he pulled it off fervidly. He wanted to be close to her; no, closer, closest! He wanted to close all distance between his body and hers, his heart and hers, his soul and hers. She had wrapped her legs around his, intertwined her arms and fingers around his body, head and hair. He could feel her trembling, breathing in short, catching breaths as she readied herself for him.

He braced himself against the bed, between her slender legs, feeling the softness of her thighs against his hips. As he lowered himself to her, he heard her whisper, "Casavir, I love you," as she angled her hips to meet his and they became one.

He pushed slowly, savoring every intoxicating inch as she slowly gave way to his girth. She was frowning slightly, her lips parted, as she took him in. He whispered gently to her, "Are you all right, my Lady?" She nodded, pressing her cheek to his, "I am yours now. Everything is all right."

She held him against her, luxuriating in the weight and masculinity of his body. She could smell the incense of Tyr on his skin and candle smoke, from his nightly devotions. Her small frame was almost entirely covered by him, safe and protected. His eyes were closed as well, his breath coming from deep within his chest. He began to rock gently against her, and a sigh escaped her lips as she felt the delicious length of him sliding against her. She felt the familiar heat blossoming within her as Casavir began to push into her in earnest. She threw her head back into the pillow, her whole body heaving with each lunge.

Casavir felt her returning his thrusts, slowly at first, but quickening until she was in time with him. O Tyr, what had he done to deserve her? His body was throbbing with a love, a passion that he had never allowed to be released. He could hear the sounds of their flesh meeting under the covers in his dark chambers; he could hear the way her breath caught every time he plunged into her fully; he could hear the quiet insistent whimpering in his ear as he withdrew. He could feel the excitement emanating from her skin, and he exhaled into the nape of her neck. He had to clench his jaw and swallow hard; she was bringing him to his explosive brink with no signs of slowing but he wanted her satisfied first. His hands cupped her face, kissing her lips, forehead, eyelids; he traced his lips down to her throat, finally burying his face between her breasts. She was clutching his dark hair, roughly pulling and he found the pain pleasurable. She could not believe how he filled her, how he made her feel so whole and complete. Her voice came to him, low and thick, "Please…Casavir…."

Her urging whisper ran through him to his core and he drove into her, hard and quick. He felt himself swelling, engorging to the tip. Their bodies were slick with sweat and he was panting from the exertion. His hand found her perfect breasts and slender waist and he moaned unabashedly when he felt her fingers raked at his back, leaving dark red welts. He felt her whole body tense as one muscle, he felt her tightening around him suddenly and he knew he could not hold back. Not for a woman like her; not for a woman who demanded and deserved everything. He thrust into her one last time with a force he did know he had, impaling her and pinning her to the bed; he heard her cry out his name with an unrestraining moan, bucking and shuddering before sinking her teeth into his shoulder – but there was no pain, there could never be pain again until the day they parted in life and death - and he released himself into her, letting the waves of pleasure wash over him, letting his torment and guilt be destroyed by her love, giving himself over utterly to her…his Captain, his Lady, his Love…

She lay there with him, spent, and realized for the first time in days she could feel the quiet quilt of sleep settle on her. Her living ghost would no longer tread the halls, soft, silent, and sad. It had found her beginning and it knew she would not be alone in the end. She listened to Casavir's breathing as he slowly drifted into slumber, and she whispered jokingly and affectionately, "So…I won't tell if you don't tell?"