Disclaimer: This is an authorised translation of Vistin's "Die Hübschlerin des Kommandanten", which can be found here:
fanfiktion
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Die-Huebschlerin-des-Kommandanten
(just remove the linebreaks, I can't get ffnet to show the complete address).
I own neither plot nor characters and setting and I'm not making money here, sadly.
The Commander's Companion
It war shortly after the change of guards – the one moment each morning when everyone knew what they had to do, when the day was so bright and everything so bustling with activity that there was little danger of incidents or attacks – that the door to the commander's office was opened without knocking and then promptly closed again. He looked up and smiled as Maddy pulled off the hood of her army coat.
"Lock the doors, please, I'll only be a moment", he said and continued writing. Her footsteps made no sound as she moved from door to door and fastened the latches. When she was finished, she stepped behind him and looked out the narrow window to the gatehouse, watching the carts rattle across the bridge. He did not finish right away so she stayed in the background, trying not to look at his steady, elegant hand as it brought symbols to paper. Maddy could not read. Her father had only taught her the numbers, and she knew the crests of the Fereldian nobility. That was enough for buying groceries and making business transactions. She found it remarkable how lightly the commander's big hand held the slender feather, how confidently he formed the beautiful symbols that perhaps decided very important matters.
Usually she liked watching him, but today she could not bring herself to, for he had been injured a few days ago. His horse had thrown him off during a duty training, and he had cut his right arm and hand on the sharp stone ground. By now the wounds were scabbed, but she still pitied him.
He dusted powder over the black ink and then tapped the paper against the edge of the table to remove the excess. He got up, and for a second she thought he had forgotten about her, but then he turned back to her with a smile. It was a shy smile, like the ones she remembered from her childhood, the smiles the boys had given her when they had played tag together. That was why she knew that the smile was directed at her, not at what she did.
With a slight bow, hardly more than a nod, he motioned for her to go first. It was the same gesture he used when he let the lady in white go ahead into the Great Hall, though his back was straighter and his feet together on those occasions. She gave a bashful smile and hurried up the staircase, even though she knew there was no need to rush.
In his chamber, two buckets with fresh water were waiting, and two kettles had been placed on the stove. She slipped out of her sandals and let her heavy coat fall on top of them. He had given her that coat as a gift so she would not be cold, but she hardly ever wore it. Actually she only ever used it when she went to see him. The coat must not look too worn so it would still look like the uniform of a guard. He had never said so, but she knew that he preferred it if no one noticed her come and go.
She pulled the small washing bowl out from under the washstand and filled it with water. Of the second bucket she used only half and then adjusted the temperature with hot water. She had developed a routine: if she took one kettle for the washing bowl, she could use the contents of the second one for herself and still have some left for tea.
The commander had poured them wine and taken off his boots. He looked tired, much like he always did. By the way he squinted his eyes she knew he had a headache. She would have liked to put her cool hand on his forehead, comb through his hair and tell him it would soon be better. Instead she just smiled, stepped up to him and pushed his coat aside so she could open the fastenings of his armour plates. The room was well heated, but she knew that he was always cold, so she let him keep the coat on as long as possible.
He let it happen, drinking his wine and gazing vacantly into the distance. When she took off his coat he came back to the present and started to unbutton his heavy jerkin. She helped him with his injured arm and noted that he slowly became aware of her presence again.
Because he liked the scent so much, she had rubbed a little lavender into her hair after washing it. He breathed in deeply, as if he noticed the flowery scent wafting about her, and it pleased her. He touched her shoulder lightly with his palm and pointed in the direction of the second cup of wine.
"Have a drink," he said. It was a request, not an order.
He always poured for her whatever he himself drank at the time. Once it had been brandy. It had made her cough, and he had apologised a hundred times, and they had both laughed. Today it was a crisp white wine. She savoured it.
The commander stood in front of the washstand and pulled his shirt over his head. She had to bite her lip as she saw that his right side was bruised blue and green. His shoulder was slightly swollen and he wore a bandage on his upper arm. She would have liked to say something, to show him that she was sorry to see him like this, but she was not at liberty to do so. He might find that uncomfortable, and perhaps he would send her away.
She put down her cup and stepped closer again. She reached for the soap and the sponge he had taken out of the washstand and chanced a glance to his face as she said, "Please, allow me, sir."
He did not incline his head, but he loosened his grip on the sponge and let his head roll back. He never looked at her while she touched him. She was somehow grateful for that, even though she was not ashamed for the way she earned her living. She was alone, homeless and poor. If she had married, she probably would have had to do worse things without getting paid. This way she could keep her freedom and simply go if it became too much for her. But here at Skyhold life was good, even for women like her. Since there were lots of soldiers who were handsomely paid, there were also lots of generous clients. And there was him: Commander Cullen Rutherford. He kept his men in check at all times. She had witnessed him order a flogging because a recruit had beaten one of the women. He had not only done it because the Inquisitor had demanded it, he had been truly angry. He had yelled at the whole unit and made it clear that a man in the service of the Inquisition had to behave honourably towards everyone.
The foam was leaving trails down his legs. She dried them off before the water had cooled, but he still had goosebumps. She had long since stopped to apologise for that. There was nothing she could do, no matter how hard she tried, and he did not hold it against her. Carefully she touched him with her lips and unbuttoned her dress. His hand twitched slightly as she took him into her mouth, but he never touched her. She knew that men found it difficult not to grab her head in that moment, but the commander threw his hands up in front of his face, took two hitching breaths and then ran his hands through his hair. She liked to touch him this way, and he liked it too, but he could never take it for long. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders, and she got up, letting her hands slide up his body tenderly. Slowly, she nudged him towards the bed. His eyes were closed, though his hands reached for her, caressing her. His lips were slightly parted and his breath was coming faster. She would have liked to kiss him, but since he had never initiated that himself, she never did either.
She pulled him onto the bed, and he grunted as he had to put weight on his right arm. She mumbled an apology, which he ignored, and scooted closer to the edge of the bed so he could lie more on his left side. He buried his face in her hair that was falling over her shoulder. She felt his lips touch her in a quick peck and stroked his back, brushing her fingers over countless scars, while his right hand carefully cupped her breast. He never closed his hands, never squeezed, never groped her. Every girl wished for such treatment, but Maddy caught herself feeling insulted when it was the commander who treated her so politely.
She knew when she could come to him, and he was never angry when she did not. What was between them was familiar and comfortable. Afterwards he always let her go. She wished he would try to stop her just once. It was a foolish and painful wish. He had chosen her, yes, and she was sure that she did appeal to him. He often told her that she was pretty. But that had not been his reason. He knew more about her than what she had told him. He had not chosen her because she was special or because she had something he wanted. It had been because there was something she did not have: a past.
At first, Maddy had not understood why the commander would want such a scrawny, inexperienced girl like her. Now she knew. It was because she had no reason to be afraid. He never grabbed her or handled her roughly, so he felt even her slightest twitch, and he could not bear it. At the beginning, when she had not yet known him, she had been lying in an uncomfortable position and one of his thrusts had hurt her. She had been unable to suppress a cry of pain, and he had frozen. That had been one of the few times he had looked at her. He had seemed so startled, so helpless, that she had smiled and brought her hand to his cheek, but his whole body had tensed up, so she had pulled it back immediately. They had resumed afterwards, but it had taken longer and not felt right anymore. Since then she made sure that it was nice for her, too. She even dared to nudge him in the right position. It never ceased to amaze her how readily he complied with her silent instructions.
Even if he never looked at her, she always liked to watch him. She liked it when he was unshaven and the stubble on his cheeks scratched over her skin while his lips closed on her nipples. She liked to look at his hair shimmering red or golden, depending on the angle of the light. She also liked to watch him outside. From where she did her laundry at the stream she had a good view of the drill ground. From there she had seen his accident happen. She had jumped up, and one of her shirts would have been swept away by the current if Bette had not caught it. Her friend had lectured her that it was silly to get too attached to a client. Maddy's weakness for the commander must not become the subject of gossip.
His hand slid between her thighs and gently opened her legs. She quickly took off her wool socks, and she thought she felt his lips twitch into a smile. She could not see it, though, for he had buried his face in the crook of her neck again.
She guided him, and he groaned. But then there was that hesitation again, a short pause as if he held himself back. She lifted her knees, rested her heels on his legs and wrapped her legs securely around him. Toady, more of his weight rested on her since he could not quite support himself on his right arm. She would have offered him another position, but this was the only way he could hide his face in her hair and still face her. The latter was important to him. He had even said so once; he had meant something else though.
"There's no need to turn away from me. If you want to leave, you can always do so." Those had been his words. But she had never taken him up on his offer. Instead, she had taken great care not to seem unwelcoming.
His movements were pleasant. Other women had told her that they were sometimes overcome by the same feeling men got. Maddy had never known that feeling, not even when she touched herself, but with the commander it felt so good that she could almost imagine it. She held on to him to signal that everything was fine. She listened to his breathing and waited that he slowed down, then she loosened her legs to make it easier for him to pull back. The scabs on his hand scratched her, but she was thankful to feel the warm semen on her stomach. It was another rare kindness, meant to make her feel comfortable. He shivered slightly, and she felt for the blanket and pulled it up to his hips. His lips caressed her shoulder and she felt his warm breath on her neck. There was a grunt again, almost like a curse, as he pulled his arm out from between them at an awkward angle. Then he released her and flopped down next to her. She remained still for a heartbeat and watched him while his eyes were still closed. When he opened them and looked at the ceiling, she jumped up.
She took vinegar and a sponge wrapped around a stick out of her coat pocket and began to wash herself. The sutler who had taken her to Haven had taught her to count the days between her bleedings and figure out which were the dangerous ones. So far, she had been in luck, but even with the commander she would take no risks. When she was finished, she pulled on her thick socks and made to pour the water down the drain. The commander behind her laughed. She felt herself flush and hurried to pick up her dress with the yellow trimmings.
"You're beautiful, Maddy," he said, and his forehead seemed a little smoother than before. She smiled in contentment and slipped on her dress.
"You should sleep, sir," she suggested and opened the stove to throw an extra log into the fire. He chuckled, slumped back into the cushions and mumbled his agreement, but then he asked, "How's the boy?"
"Just a few scratches, sir. He still wants to serve under you, sir, but he's blaming himself. He thinks it's his fault you had to kill that horse."
"It was just a horse," the commander said and wearily ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't even like it, it always bit me."
Maddy giggled. She emptied her wine cup and took the leather pouch placed beside it. It was too heavy, so she opened it to have a look.
"Sir, that's too much," she began, but he interrupted her in a sleepy tone.
"Could you do me a favour, Maddy?"
"Certainly, sir."
"Tell the boy that the infantry is here next week. If he likes, he can do drills with them. And take his mother to the kitchens, there's lots of corned horse to be had." The last part she could hardly make out. Then he fell asleep.
Maddy watched him for a while, until it hurt too much. She closed her eyes and did not open them again until they had stopped burning. She had been good for him. She had soothed his headache and helped him fall asleep. It was not enough, but it was all she could give him. Even if – in her eyes – he deserved everything. Gingerly she draped the blanket over him and closed the blinds so he would not be disturbed by a draft. When she took the steps down to the courtyard, she pulled the hood deep into her face. No one must see her, and no one must see her cry.
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