A very OOC fic that just would not shut up! With decent coercion and a bit of selfishness, NONE of the Templars would stand a chance, let alone Cullen. A view of how the Tower might be if you take away the guilt. Rated M because I'm not sure it isn't.
Review as/if you see fit.
Official disclaimer - I don't own it
There were always eyes open in the Tower. The Templars watched the Mages with stern stares, and the Mages watched the Templars in return, with whispered resentments. One of the Apprentice girls giggled about the Templars watching them bathe. Amell rolled her eyes, and struggled not to laugh out loud. Of course they did. They watched everything. Someone had eyes on her at all times. On all of them.
She knew, of course, who was watching her as she ghosted through each section of the Tower. As she moved through Ser Bran's territory, knowing he was yawning and still struggling to wake as he took the midnight post. A small secret smile exchanged as she handed him the steaming cup of coffee she'd brought from the kitchen on her way up.
A beaming smile for the aging Ser Bryant, still fast enough, but a touch addled by his daily lyrium. She reached into her pouch slung off her hip and pulled out a piece of parchment, a sketch she had done of an apple blossom, complete with parts labeled, slipping it into the cuff of his gauntlet.
For Ser Carroll, a cheeky grin and raised hem to expose her calves. She heard his happy groan behind her when she raised up on her toes for a few steps. Carroll had a fixation on tautened calf muscles that she didn't understand, but was willing to indulge. She silently raised her finger to her lips in a hush gesture, and winked at him, then continued on her way.
She left Carroll's gaze and fell under Ser Merell's. For him a small honey cake and two cookies, extra walnuts, and a sweet kiss pressed to his cheek.
Beyond Merell was Ser Patrik, who nodded as she passed, cheeks suddenly burning. His bribe embarrassed her, but she would continue to pay every day, so long as he continued to nod silently as she passed.
Next was the open door of Greagior's office, lights still burning bright as he shuffled papers, his sigh heavy. For the first time since starting her trek, she spoke. "Knight-Commander?" One could never be sure one knew exactly who was watching.
He raised his head, and waved her in. "Come, my dear." She stepped fully into the room, came around the desk, and settled into Greagior's lap, her arms wrapping around his neck. Her feet kicked childishly, and she widened her eyes.
"Do you need anything done tonight?" Sometimes she would file for him, or sit and polish his armor. Most nights, he needed nothing. Tonight was one of those. At his head shake, she smiled innocently, and stretched up to kiss him lightly. He smiled absently at her, and lightly patted her back as she scampered off his lap, and headed for the door. In a practiced childish voice, she whispered "Good night, Daddy."
"Good night, darling girl." His head bent back to his papers, his face lighter now, a smile replacing the scowl. "Ah, tell Thian and Cullen when you pass them, they're to take tomorrow morning off. Irving has convinced me to let some of the senior apprentices out on the lake to practice tomorrow afternoon, and I will need them both to go. Go with them, if you wish." She nodded as she scooted out the door.
Under the watchful eyes of Ser Garrin, she considered that Greagior didn't seem to see her as a mage on these nights. What he did see, though, it may as well be true. No matter that she was not his child by blood, Greagior was the closest thing she had to a father, since coming to the Tower at seven years old.
Each Templar on her route had his weakness. Some food, some affection, and she filled the empty spaces in their lives. She was daughter, sister, friend, and they her father, brothers and uncles. So what if the other mages wouldn't approve? If her fate was to be locked away in this Tower with these men, should she despise and fear them, as so many mages did? She found that she could not. Even those who were harsh and unrelentingly stern treated her with affection, as she loved them unabashedly. They were her family!
She spun around, and underhand tossed an orange to Garrin, pilfered from the kitchen during lunch today. For Ser Thian, who came next, she passed on Greagior's message, reminding him to confirm on his way to bed, and as he removed his gauntlet, she turned her back on him, and stood stock still as he slid his fingers into her hair, gripping firmly until she hissed. Nor did she fake the pain to keep him gentle. If this was what he needed, this was what she would give. And he would not dream of abusing her, nor the apprentice mages that he used to get so very angry at. Sometimes he would make her cry, and every now and again, in quiet darkened corners, his fingers twisted her flesh until only her teeth in his shoulder muffled her screams. Most wanted symbols of her affection. Some, like Thian, needed her for something they had difficulty suppressing, and she the only outlet.
Ser Selwyn raised his eyebrow at her as she approached, and she nodded, stepped to him, and unclasped the top of her robes. She held out her hand expectantly, and he dropped a nearly empty vial of lyrium into it. She tipped the remainder of the thick blue liquid into the hollow of her clavicle, and tilted her head so he could clean it off her skin with his tongue. He so rarely asked for this, when he did, she bared her throat willingly, but it had to be his own daily lyrium. She would not provide something that would hurt him. He wiped her neck and chest down tenderly with a scrap of cloth when he was finished, removing all trace of himself from her skin. Fastening her robe again, she smiled and laid her fingers gently against his cheek, then turned and continued on.
One last turn in the corridor, and she came to the chamber she slept in on these nights. She slipped into the room and left the door wide open, stripping off her mage's robe, she warmed the tub of water swiftly with a flick of her wrist, and shed her undergarments. She twisted her long red hair into a messy bun, stabbed it with a quill from her bedside table to hold it, and climbed into the water to soak for a few minutes, then swiftly scrubbed herself clean of the day.
"I need you to watch over me." Her tone was velvet dusk. "I need you to watch me."
He stood in the doorway, his the eyes on her now. Her bribes all paid, to bring her here once more. Her breath hitched as her palm slid across her hip. "I need you…"
His movement was swift, his armor quickly shed. His arms sheltered her, his mouth devoured her, desperate for her as she was for him.
He slid between her thighs, soft, wet and girl, and her body arched against his, and Cullen watched very closely indeed.