Inevitable Grey

"I don't think we can go back to Arl Eamon's like this," the Warden whispered conspiratorially, rubbing her mouth with the back of her hand to push away any foam that still lingered on her lips. After three very dark beers (and three very light beers), the Warden was past sober and prone to ear-splitting grins.

Riordan, also having had one too many drinks, nodded his head in agreement with her. "I agree."

After exploring the Denerim vault for the better part of the day, the Wardens rifling through the cache of items and equipment, he had brought her to the Lady's Favor tavern. It had been Duncan's favorite haunt while in Denerim, and he trusted his late good friend's judgment. He had promised to show her that being a Grey Warden could mean more than just dying alone in the Deep Roads, that it meant finding your brothers and sisters and rejoicing in the time you had.

He had regaled her with tales from his younger years as they sat nestled away in a dark corner of the tavern. They had sat side by side on the small couch, with the Warden closest to the wall for her own safety. As the day turned into night they supped on the small platter of cheese and bread that the Warden had generously paid for. The longer they sat together, the more they grew comfortable with one another.

And so as Riordan launched into his tenth tale about fighting Darkspawn right outside of Kirkwall, the Warden slipped her long legs over Riordan's lap. She watched him spin his yarn from over the rim of her mug, eyes crinkling merrily when he made jokes and wincing when he became more somber.

She shared tales with him too. She spoke to him of her companions, of Dane and how he was at that very moment entertaining the cook's children, her family, and the adventures they had shared together. She briefly mentioned Highever, drinking deeply of her mug whenever she did, and Riordan only nodded sympathetically each time and wiped the foam from her nose with a chuckle.

Which is how time found them, the Warden having just spoken of Fergus and coming to the realization that she was perhaps too drunk to be a respectable commander and, "likely to be a miserable drunk, so I should stop."

"I am a very boisterous drunk," Riordan replied with a wide smile, patting her knees gently. "More than a match for you and your misery."

"My misery perhaps, but not for me." She bit the rim of the mug, teeth revealing as her lips pulled back into a deep smirk. "I have always liked my men with a bit of grey."

Riordan guessed she was referring to his age, rather than his status as a Grey Warden.

His hand that had been patting her knees slipped between them, sliding its way up the inside of her leg to rest heavily on her inner thigh. His sensibilities were loosened with the drink. "And do you like me?"

"I like you very much." Placing her mug on the table and folding her hands serenely on her stomach, she gave him the same look she had in Eamon's library. "Do you like me?"

"I do, lass." His fingertips wiggled further along her leg, nearly grazing the treasure that lay hidden away at the apex of her thighs. "I do."

Her eyes, half-lidded, smoldered in the candle light. The Warden placed her hand before Riordan. "Show me."

With the grace that came from years of practice, Riordan was on his feet, taking her hand, and leading her up to the tavern keeper. The Warden had the sense to cover her face with her hands, giggling and blushing like a maid as she kicked up her heels, swayed her hips, and twirled her hair as though she were just a tavern floozy and not the lady that she was.

The tavern keeper passed them an old, rusting key to one of his rooms, explaining which door it opened, and shaking his head as the two Grey Wardens passed him.

Riordan led the way, his feet light and limber up the flight of stairs to the second level of the building. As soon as they had cleared the landing, he heard the Warden's giggling and feet stamping come to a stop. He turned back to look at her once he reached the door, to make sure she was all right, and found himself gazing into her dark eyes. He turned the key in the lock, heard the door click, and swung it open.

The Warden followed him inside.

He had her pinned to the door before it had even fully shut, his hands on her face, his lips on her mouth. Her own hands clutched at his shoulders, fingertips trying to find purchase on the leather. He nestled a knee between her thighs, pressing it against the junction, inviting her to use it as she saw fit. And so she did, as his hands cradled her cheeks and he plundered her mouth with his tongue, she rocked herself against his knee. In turn he pressed himself against her, letting her feel the growing bulge within his breeches each time she rubbed him in her pleasure.

She gasped for air, her head tilting backwards as she sucked in hazy, drunken gulps. Riordan attacked the vulnerable expanse of skin of her neck, teeth nipping and suckling at the skin while she panted and growled low in her throat. His hands slipped to her shoulders, down her arms, and came to her hands. Entwining his fingers with hers, he brought her hands up to either side of her head, pinning them next to the golden expanse of hair that was trapped behind her.

The Warden struggled against him, her shoulders pushing against his restraints, but he only grinned up wickedly. He stole another kiss from her swollen lips, teasing them with his tongue before he went back to the curves of her neck. She twisted and whimpered under his lips, and, Riordan guessed, Alistair had never kissed her like this before.

"I would see all of you, lass," he whispered against her temple, having kissed his way delicately up her cheek. He could feel her eyelashes fluttering against his skin.

"You will," she said, as an infinitely practical Fereldan, "need to assist me then."

"Allow me the honor," he said, releasing her hands and motioning for her to turn to face the door. She braced herself against it, her hands flat against the thick wood, and he swept the long mane of hair away from her back and over her shoulder. His fingers moved to prick and pry at the many laces that tied the corset together. "Did I mention," he said, kissing the back of her neck, "that this is my favorite color?"

"Several times," she smiled a bit too widely to be completely sober.

Riordan could feel the goose bumps rising along her skin, and he blew on the back of her neck for good effect. She hissed and shied away from his mouth, but there was nowhere to go. He tugged the corset away from her body, shoving it down the length of her body, squeezing it over her hips and allowing it to fall to the ground. The Warden nudged it gently with her foot towards the dresser, barely having enough time to do so as Riordan's hands were now under her tunic and cupping the swells of her breasts that hung free.

He thumbed skin and nipple, squeezing gently where it was appropriate. The Warden's back arched, sending her rear end against his arousal and her head against his shoulder. Riordan took the opportunity to nip quickly at her ear, rocking his hips against her.

There was little sound left in the room, save for their labored breaths and the creak of floorboards below their feet as they danced with their clothes. Her tunic was discarded, he shimmied out of his armor and, with light fingers, they helped each other out of boots and breeches.

Riordan knelt before the Warden, taking her calf in his hand as he wiggled the boot from her left foot. His dark eyes darted up at her, staring at her lovely face through the hollow space between her breasts. His fingers tickled the thickly gloved toes, and he watched her put her hands to her mouth to stifle her laughter, her elbows pushing her breasts to her chest.

The sock came off easily, as did the other boot and its twin. Her right foot was as ticklish as the left, as were the backs of her knees and the tops of her thighs. Still kneeling before her, his fingers hooked around the edges of her breeches and gently tucked down. It revealed to him the planes of her stomach, the puckered skin, scars and slash marks from battles untold. It further revealed to him the creamy skin of her thighs, also with their share of scars, and shapely calves.

The Warden stepped out of her pants obligingly as he rolled them down her ankles, leaving her left in nothing except her smalls and a smile.

Riordan stood, hands scraping against skin as he took the Warden in his arms. He kissed her soundly on the lips, thoroughly, inviting her own curious hands to explore his own scarred and muscled frame, to tease around his belt and assist in undressing him.

She did indeed prove to be an excellent student, for she mimicked and taunted him as she worked to remove his clothing. With lashes fanned against her cheek and eyes turned downward, she knelt before him with delicate moves. Her fingers toyed with the buckle of his belt, eyes darting upward with excellently-feigned coyness. She fluttered them at him and standing on her knees, placed a kiss below his navel with wickedly rosy lips.

Riordan could not help the way his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it perhaps too tightly to test if this was indeed reality. His breath caught in anticipation as she unfastened the catches to his boots, but he did not give her enough time to divest them from him. He kicked them off and the socks with them, standing barefoot and ready before her.

"Are you in a hurry?" she whispered, rubbing her cheek against him.

He only chuckled in response, the laughter low in his throat.

Agile fingers were quick to unfasten the belt that danced before her eyes in the weak candlelight. She slipped it from its loops, letting it fall beside her to curl about on the ground like a garden snake. As he had done to her, she slowly tugged his pants down his hips, revealing the muscular cut of his obliques, and then down his legs. His thighs and calves were lean and well-muscled, covered in the same dark brown hair that covered his arms, scattered across his chest and trained down his stomach. He kicked his pants away, taking a few steps back to stare at the lovely young woman who knelt on her knees before him, her hands folded contritely on her nearly naked lap.

"Come here, lass" he said huskily, crooking his finger at her. He watched her rise, pushing herself to the full length of her height before she moved towards him and pressed her naked breasts into his chest.

They smelt each other, the combined scent of homeland, sweat, and arousal. Ultimately though, to Riordan she smelt of woman, which was perhaps the Maker's greatest gift to man. It had been a long time since he'd held a woman in his arms and had had the pleasure of burying his nose in her hair. Rarely did he seek the company of women these days, having given them up the older he got. Those women who were not Grey Wardens did not need to be burdened, and those women who were Grey Wardens were disinterested. He was also the Senior Warden of Jader, and he had to maintain some semblance of a respectable image.

But the young Grey Warden in his arms was warm and willing, and her lips were leaving gentle kisses along his shoulder, leaving the skin below her lips scalding hot.

He backed her towards the bed, one arm wrapped around her waist while the others tugged at the drawstrings to his smalls. He loosened them, letting them slip to his ankles as he walked and kicking them to some dark corner of the small room that had become their world. He felt her body quake when the backs of her knees hit the bed frame. Her hands were on his chest; her forearms hiding the large, dark nipples he knew were there. Her eyes had trailed with some trepidation between them, coming to rest on what lay swollen between his legs.

The mischievous glint had disappeared, replaced with something akin to panic. In the fathomless grey of her eyes, the Warden was scared of what was about to pass between them. She had been confident enough to talk the talk, but could not follow through and walk the walk. Riordan suspected it was a combination of guilt and inexperience. No matter how drunk she got or who she was with, the Warden would not succumb easily to the sudden presence of naked, unbarred lust. It was the luxury of station.

He was reminded of noblewomen in Orlais who, having been too long under the thumbs of their strict parents, turned wild and wonton with any man or woman they could find. But she was the daughter of a Teyrn who had fought for Ferelden's freedom, and Duncan had observed her most carefully in Highever. She sat as equals with men, touched their hands and let them kiss her cheeks. Flirtatious, bold, and defiant, this girl had lived a life without fear, repercussions, or strictness. But her freedom was her cage.

Briefly, he wondered, while stroking her arms, if this was how Andraste had come before Maferath and her other generals: strong, beautiful, and willing to promise but not deliver. Had she enthralled them with her long hair and slender feet, did she have them watch her delicate ankles as she danced, but expect them to only look and never touch? Never take? Is that what she had done to capture their hearts and minds? Was it the curse of powerful women to reserve themselves from men, allowing only the hands of a God to touch them, to bring them pleasure?

Riordan took her face in his hands, dropping small kisses along her lips. He watched her eyes flutter shut, but felt the tenseness in her shoulders. He coaxed her lips apart, letting his tongue glide gently into the mouth that welcomed him warmly. He did not need the sort of fulfillment she worried about, nor did Riordan feel it was his place to take that which she was uncertain to give him. He had wanted to show her joy, to show her fun. He did not want her to feel regret.

And there were many other means by which they could enjoy themselves. His fingers were useful for more than just throwing daggers, after all.

Riordan's hands ghosted over her lower back, skimming along the thin fabric that covered her rear. He plucked it away from her, pushing the fabric down with his callused hands leaving her completely nude before him.

"Lay back," he whispered against her lips, and he watched her slip like a cat to the bed.

The Warden stretched out before him, a tangle of white limbs and golden hair on the rough spun sheets below her. He could not help but pounce atop her, coming to rest between her legs, his hands resting just above her shoulders on the bed.

She laughed at his antics and the wide grin he wore, her hand coming up touch his cheek and scratch at the stubble there. "You are very agile."

"I have had much practice." His hair slipped over the sides of his face to form a curtain between them, shielding them from the rest of the world.

"I'll bet you have," she replied, her grin unfaltering, but her tone too flat to match it.

Riordan quieted her chatter with a soft kiss to her lips, nestling himself close to her side. He pillowed her head on his arm, letting his free hand wander the plains of her body. It slipped down her chest, over her stomach, and came to the damp mat of curls that shielded her secrets. He slipped past, fingers parting moist folds as he heard the Warden's breath hitch.

She was warm, wet, and ready.

Riordan held her close as he slipped the first of his fingers inside her, feeling her shudder in his arms. He rubbed at that hidden place which he knew would set her aflame with his thumb, mindful of how she arched against his hand when he touched her so. She sighed and clawed at the sheets, her eyes shut tightly as she memorized the sensation. He touched her slowly; stroking and pumping at a soft pace, letting her body adjust to the intrusion, before he slipped in a second finger. He found it a snug fit.

He listened to the soft gasps and sighs she made, picking up on the rhythm accordingly, pushing her when her breasts rose and fell rapidly, and slowing just when he saw her jaw clench to stifle her cries.

"Oh you," she whispered out, "tease."

He merely grinned at her, dropping a kiss to her forehead.

He tickled her sex, and when she was glistening with her sweat, her legs kicking and twisting against the rush mattress, he let her find her release.

She curled into him, biting the flesh of her thumb to quiet the sobs of relief she made. The whispers of her belabored breathing dancing in his ears, Riordan stroked her to completion and did not stop until she hissed and clawed at him. Pale and spent, with limbs weary from exertion and anxiety, she lay bonelessly in his arms. He held her as she trembled, her skin flushed pink and the air smelling faintly of her released fears and arousal. She curled on her side, and he stroked her flank with soft, light brushes, plucking at the scars there like some exquisite harp.

For the Warden, it had been a much-needed release. Her mortal coil had been wound so tightly, she was surprised she had not broken already.

"Are you thinking of Alistair?" Riordan asked, guessing the reason for the grim look she wore.

"No," she replied.

Perhaps too quickly for Riordan's satisfaction, but he would not press her on the issue.

Like a lithe, ginger cat she stretched out beside him, one hand slinking down his stomach to fondle him. What had softened at her possible melancholy sprang to life immediately at her touch. She teased her fingers along the skin, trailing her nails down sensitive undersides and over his crown. "How do you like to be touched?" she asked, leaning forward to press against his lips. "Show me."

Riordan's fingers twitched at that sinful command, the one that had gotten them there in the first place.

She watched, intrigued, as his hand came to cover hers. He closed her fingers around himself, and slowly, with a ragged exhale of breath, pumped her hand along his length. He guided her as she squeezed her fingers, contouring her grip to be tight where it mattered most upon him. He moved her hand faster, his eyes fluttering shut when he felt the cool touch of her other hand join its twin, gripping his base tightly.

His eyes rolled back into his head as he felt the long forgotten coil tighten in his belly. It had been a long time for Riordan, and he was reaching his end quickly. Embarrassingly quickly. He had her stroke him quicker, his heartbeat racing as fast as the rhythm he had set for their hands.

Riordan's jaw clenched, his lips murmuring her name, as he spilled himself all over her fingers.

The Warden chuckled, fondling him as he softened, and he bucked his hips in protest as she teased him.

"Enough, enough!" He laughed at her insistent touches, "I'm spent, lass. There's nothing more left to me."

She gave him a look as if to say, 'we'll see about that,' before she carefully made her way off the bed, mindful not to use her hands lest she smudge the sheets with his seed. The Warden searched about for a rag or cloth, peering in cabinets and drawers, giving Riordan a view of her rounded backside as she did so.

A stray cleaning rag forgotten in a cupboard served as the Warden's savior, and she rubbed the sticky mess away from her hands. She tossed the rag back where she found it before returning to Riordan's side on the bed.

He was watching her with a fond half-smile, his arms opened to her as she sank beside him once more. She nestled herself against him, throwing a leg over his, her hand idly drawing patterns in the hair of his chest. Each closed their eyes, content to rest in the safety and familiarity of the other's presence until sleep took them away to the Archdemon and the inevitable grey of their dreams.

This is a continuation of Interlude VI: The Landsmeet Part I from Trovommi Amor.

Where does it fit in with the story? Unfortunately, no where cleanly or easily.

I am not including it in the main body of the story, since I don't think it fits with the overall theme and direction of the plot. That being said, the ideas in my head wouldn't leave until I wrote them out (persistent things, those smut bunnies), and now that they're out, I thought I'd share. If (for some reason) you happen to feel really strongly about the Warden cheating on Alistair, and would prefer to shut your eyes, plug your ears, and hum a loud tune, then you can eagerly snuff this piece out of canon and consider it an AU. If you want to consider it canon, by all means do so. The nocturnal activities occurring here shouldn't be mentioned in any subsequent Trovommi Amor chapters, making this effectively a stand-alone one shot. Plot bunnies win, everyone gets what they want!

As always, lots of love goes to Lady Winde for betaing smut. My bad, bad smut. *winces* Sorry! And again, flirty!Riordan is stolen shamelessly from Shakespira.

And before we close, I'll really do my best to make sure this doesn't become, "Aurora sleeps her way around Ferelden with every interesting minor character." I reeeealllly promise not to do that.