(Dragon Age)
The Priestess and the Arishok
A/N - This is a short story of the origins of my Qunari Inquisitor, Garesh Adaar. Partially inspired by KrystylSky, who asked jokingly for a oneshot on how Adaar's parents, revealed to be a former Tamassran and the Arishok himself in the 9th chapter of my DA:I work, Riding the Bull, met. This gave me the idea to pursue a story about it. This will hopefully be a SHORT story, maybe 3-5 chapters and will incorporate events from both DA 2 and DA: I. But we all know the Muse sometimes has ideas of her own. Anyway, please read and review. Tell me what you think!
5/24 - minor edits/corrections
8/16 - EDIT: Changed the location. The seat of the Qunari is on Par Vollen, not Seheron. Thanks to AllGirlsBoyBand for pointing that out and making me stop being lazy and change it!
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters, nor do I receive compensation for this work.
Chapter 1 – The Meeting
The Qunari dreadnought navigated the waves of the Boeric Ocean, finally drawing near the vicinity of Qunadar on the island of Par Vollen. The Antaam had been successful again, beating back the Imperium's forces to allow a small but formidable contingent of Berasaad to make camp on the region of Tevinter known as the Eyes of Nocen.
It was a strategic location, giving them an eye on the coast, specifically the route to Minrathous, the capital. If any of the Tevinters tried to mount an attack against them, the Qunari would be made abreast of it long before they could get close.
The campaign had taken four months to accomplish, and his men were justifiably eager to return home to rest, food, and diversion.
The Arishok sat on his throne, overlooking his men's preparation to disembark as they edged ever closer to shore. The sights and sounds of duties being fulfilled gave him comfort. It was good to be home.
He thrived on purpose, as did all who lived under the Qun. That included expanding and educating others. The people had made forays into Tevinter, Antiva, and even Rivain, attempting to bring their teachings to the many bas races.
Each time they had been repelled, to their great frustration. Today's victory was a hard-fought blessing, and many would celebrate this night.
There were also prisoners, those who had surrendered or defected, some of whom would undoubtedly convert or be made useful by other means.
All would be sorted when they made landfall. For now, the Arishok was content just to watch his homeland as they approached, breathing in the salty air laced with the vegetation and other life that populated the island.
He was tired, exhausted even. In his role he was expected to oversee the Antaam, but he preferred to do so in battle, alongside his men. At best, the throne was a tedious indulgence, one he only rarely sat.
His body ached with the need for rest, a good, dull soreness that said he had accomplished something that had been difficult, but completely worth, the struggle.
At the same time however, was the restlessness in his mind and spirit, always present after an intense battle. He had not left the fight without losing some of his men, and it grated hard on his thoughts.
Soon he was on a boat, being rowed to shore, others disembarking behind him as the dreadnought was set to anchor.
Tired warriors dragged themselves to wherever they would lay their heads, many in any of the identical housing complexes that lined the countryside. The Arishok had his own quarters, as befitting someone of his station.
The restlessness he had hoped would leave him remained, so much that it was clear he would get no rest if it wasn't alleviated soon. So he diverted his route, turning his steps to a different location than to his quarters.
He would need to make a stop before he laid his head down to rest tonight.
Giving his farewells to his men, the warrior made his way to the dwelling of the Tamassran priestesses, specifically the pleasure temple. Perhaps they could settle him so he could rest. Tomorrow would surely be another busy day.
The domicile was always open to those in need, day or night, and the Arishok quietly entered. He was immediately intercepted by the hostess, who greeted him politely.
"Shanedan. You honor us with your visit, Arishok," she stated, her white robes standing out in the dim lights, waving about her in the evening breeze. Her hair was styled in braids flowing down her back like shining, white ropes.
She gestured down a hallway. "Please, follow me." He did as bidden, and was led to a room that housed only a bed and table with a few chairs.
The one window in the room was slightly open, the curtains drawn, the breeze blowing them gently. Candles were lit on sconces as well as on the table. The smell of incense was prevalent throughout the structure, all designed to relax and relieve visitors of stress.
All the same, the Arishok remained standing as the hostess assured him that someone would attend him shortly. He would visit the priesthood regularly, especially before and after a campaign. It kept him loose and undistracted by thoughts of his body's needs.
No one condemned him this. The Arishok could indulge from time to time, as could anyone, was actually expected to do so. It made him calm, centered and ready to accomplish the duties for which he was appointed.
Leading the body of the Qun was by no means a small task, and he needed to be at his best.
The door opened, announcing the arrival of she who would serve him. He took a deep breath as the light scent of flowers drifted to his nose. He could feel himself already relaxing in her presence.
He heard light footfalls as she approached him, then the warmth of a feminine hand at his elbow. "Shanedan, Arishok," murmured the velvety, light voice softly at his ear. "I am honored to serve you," she said with a slight bow.
Her voice…she wasn't familiar to him. Perhaps she was newly-brought to the temple. Some of the Tamassrans served their purpose through the education of children and viddathari. Some were known to shift position from time to time. Perhaps she came from there.
He turned to have a look at the female, who had stepped back a respectable distance. She was beautiful, as Tamassrans tended to be. Her curved horns were adorned with gold bands and chains. Upon her pointed ears, she wore cuffs, one with a thin chain that attached to one of the bands.
Her robes were white but shear. He could see the dark tips of her breasts through the thin fabric, his gaze pausing to appreciate.
As his eyes traveled further down, the Arishok noted the pleasing flair of her hips, the miniscule fabric draping over her smooth skin perfectly. Her feet were bare, warmed by the abundance of furs lining the chamber floor.
When his gaze returned to her face, he found the priestess held his eyes, undaunted by his appearance. She surely knew who he was. His armor would have given him away immediately. But her posture, and those eyes, the color of burnt honey, met his unflinching.
It was at that moment that he felt his first pangs of arousal.
She padded forward with silent steps, stopping just in front of him. "How may I be of service to you?" she asked, her strange eyes never leaving his face.
He stared, transfixed, and he could tell she was unsure how to respond. "Perhaps a massage for your weary muscles?" she suggested.
That was a good idea. When he gave her a quick nod, she set to work removing his armor, doing so with such practiced ease, he caught himself wondering if she'd done this before and for whom.
She removed his gauntlets and unbuckled his pauldrons and harness, baring his upper half, with its interlocking lines of red war paint, entirely. Her knuckles brushed against his back, and he felt warmth linger there long after her touch had left.
The disrobing did not stop there. Soon, his sword and axe were unstrapped and sitting on the table. His lower garments followed, and soon he was without raiment at all save the gold metal that encircled his neck.
She was not intimidated by his nakedness, and ushered him over to the bed, where she had him lay on his stomach. When she straddled his lower back, he drew in a long breath, willing his heart rate to slow despite his growing excitement.
It would not do for anyone to see the Arishok lose his composure. As her firm hands set to work, he exhaled, letting the strain of the day wash off him under her skilled ministrations.
She kneaded and pushed, rubbing tight circles first over the back of his neck, his shoulders and down his spine. The priestess placed her weight over her arms, applying such a pleasing pressure to his aches that he lost the battle to avoid making any sound, releasing a grunt that evolved into a groan by the end.
All the time she was doing this, he was made painfully aware of smooth, muscular thighs pressed against him, shifting along his sides with her movements.
He blamed his exhaustion for his weakness. Surely that was the reasoning for this hypersensitivity.
Her scent continued to plague him, her little breaths and grunts making his head imagine other, more tantalizing vocalizations. Yes, he must be very weary indeed.
All too soon the massage ended. But the Arishok found that he was not content to part from the priestess, not yet. When she finished and climbed off him, he grabbed her arm, drawing her golden gaze.
He sat up, all the while maintaining his grasp, sliding it to her wrist. "I require release," he said, and his eyes conveyed how great his need was upon him as they caressed her body.
Her stiffness relaxed, and he relinquished his hold on her arm as he placed his hands on her hips, pulling her forward to stand between his spread thighs.
Her hands went to his head, touching him almost lovingly. "As you wish, Arishok," she whispered.
He buried his nose in her belly, breathing in her enticing scent. His hands tugged at her robes, and she gave no resistance when he began removing them with purposeful hands. Assisting him only slightly, it was not long before the priestess was herself unclothed.
She stepped from the shimmering pool of white fabric, kicking it to the side and out of the way.
She shivered as large, clawed hands moved up her back, prompting her to bend forward. His mouth met her breast half way, immediately taking a nipple into his mouth.
Her breath caught, and she tried to remain quiet while he suckled and mouthed her sensitive skin. Her hands had moved to his head again as if on their own, caressing the base of his horns, an area known to cause great pleasure among their race.
Rough hands dragged her onto his lap, and he fondled her thighs and breasts as his mouth continued to work her. This went on for some time, his excitement evident and throbbing against her lower abdomen.
She began to writhe, her hips moving in a way that caused her to rub against him time and again, and she reached between them, her fingers encircling him and stroking gently.
He withstood the teasing friction, the awkward angle stimulating but not enough to bring him ultimate pleasure. He finally stopped her, grasping her rear and lifting her over the erection she had made painfully-hard.
Her hand returned, but this time to guide him to her center. She aligned his flesh with hers and slowly sat upon him, his length sinking inside her inch by torturous inch.
When he was fully sheathed, he gave her no pause, so great was the need gripping him. He lifted her gingerly, his eyes close, brows knitted together. Then he lowered her, his hips rising to meet her.
Her breathing was changing, becoming more audible as she became more aroused, and it would have been impossible to tell if the Arishok was excited by this at a glance. But it was there in the way his hands squeezed, how his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring.
Soon the room was abuzz with the panting of both. The priestess had wound her arms about his neck, grinding her hips against him as his hands urged her to ride him.
Her body was warm, wet, and she was enjoying herself. He'd never been with a Tamassran so responsive. Most couplings were cold, routine, a task that simply needed completing, a purpose to fulfill.
But this one…she held him like no other, tightly to her. Her cheek brushed against his head as she clutched him tight, her sighs becoming a balm to his senses and turbulent mind. When a moan slipped past her lovely lips, it was all he could take.
Gripping her legs, the Arishok stood, turning so he could place her at the edge of the bed, his body holding her up as his arms ringed her legs. He resumed his thrusts, powerful and savage, the type of coupling to be expected of a warrior such as him.
She took it all, unflinching and wild. Her hair spread around her like a great white halo, her back arching into each slap of his hips, her head thrown back as far as her horns would allow. The arch of her throat, fully extended, beaconed his mouth, and he did not reject the compulsion.
He leaned over her and clamped down on the tender skin just under her jaw, pounding furiously into her until he felt her sheath tighten and pulsate around him. Her body was convulsing, and her breaths were ragged to his ears.
Her tightness and damp warmth were his undoing, the tinder of arousal ignited when she once again reached up to his horns, using her nails to stimulate at their base. With a snarl against her skin, he slammed against her one last time, spilling himself within the hot depths of her body.
His hands held her hips in place as he thrust slowly inside her before going still. They stayed so for a beat longer, the Arishok finally pulling away from her throat. His eyes met hers, his usually stoic gaze regarding her with an odd expression.
She was unsure what to think, seeing him look at her that way, but then the moment was over. His face became his usual smooth mask, the face of the Antaam, and he withdrew from her, turning away so his back was to her.
She took a moment to observe the scars he held, obviously gained from his many battles. She was possessed of an urge to run her fingers along each but quickly tamped down the impulse.
She rose and moved toward her discarded garments. However, before she could don them she was cut off by the deep bass of his voice, the growling tone vibrating her to her very bones. The sensation caused her eyelids to flutter and ever more moisture to pool at her core.
"No," he warned. "I require more." Her eyes met his, and her robes were once again forgotten as she went to him, pulled by the unmitigated heat in his gaze.
He grasped her hand, and she again allowed him to take the lead. The Arishok wasted no time returning her to the bed.
He left her sleeping deeply, donning his armor quietly and glancing at her one last time before slipping through the door soundlessly.
He met the hostess at the exit. She bowed her head. "I hope that we have served your needs to your satisfaction, Arishok."
He returned her nod, stepping over the threshold. She had begun to close the door but was stopped by his unmistakable voice. "That one," he started, inclining his head in the direction of the hallway. "What is her name?"
"But my Arishok," the hostess said playfully. "We do not have names under the Qun."
His face showed his disdain for her coyness, so she relented. "Ataani," she answered. He considered this for a moment then turned away.
"Hn," she heard him mutter.
"Panahedan," the hostess called as she closed the door. How odd that he would ask such a question. She turned on her heel and headed to the room where she expected to find her charge.
Ataani was awakened by her hostess' voice and hand on her shoulder, shaking her. As soon as her eyes fell on the elder Qunari's face, she quickly sat up, suddenly wide awake.
"Take yourself to your quarters," the hostess ordered. "We must clean this room for our next visitors. You know this." She gave her a derisive look.
"Apologies, Mireeka," Ataani murmured, getting up and gathering her garments. "I must have fallen asleep."
"Clearly," was the reply. As the younger priestess moved aside, the elder set to work clearing the soiled bedding. "He asked your name."
Ataani paused as she was pulling her clothing on, glancing back at her friend's face. "What?"
"Yes, an inquiry he has never made before," Mireeka nodded. "You pleased him."
"How do you know?" Ataani was nearly dressed now.
"I have known the Arishok all my life. He and I grew up under the same Tama. We are as brother and sister." She smirked at Ataani. "Believe me, I know." With that, she left to find clean linens, leaving a shocked priestess in her wake.
Ataani returned to her rooms, thinking about what Mireeka had told her. Yes, the Arishok had seemed…pleased by her attentions. She had thoroughly enjoyed herself as well, something that had surprised her.
Mostly, her purpose was to bring release and replenishment to her patrons. Her pleasure was neither required nor expected. It simply was not a priority. Hers was a duty and nothing more.
But tonight…she had to admit that it was not an unwelcome sensation to enjoy an encounter.
Lying down, she pulled the covers about her and, with images of the Arishok, specifically his hands and body, fell into a peaceful sleep.
Nearby, the object of her thoughts was doing the same, astonished at being unable to remove the priestess from his mind. Why this was, the Arishok did not known nor did he dwell upon it. The demands of the Qun did not dictate an attachment of this sort, so there would be none.
But it was not the Demands at the forefront of his mind as he went to his rest that night. His thoughts were on a pair of golden eyes in the sultry face of a certain Tamassran.
He decided to steel himself and refocus on the purpose for which he was appointed. That was the way of one who truly lived by the Qun, and he would exemplify that completely.
Despite his resolve, his mind drifted back, to smooth thighs, breasts darkly-tipped, and breathy moans.
It was not certain that he would see her again should he revisit the temple. But if, by chance he did, it would not be unwelcome.
What did you think? Thanks for reading!