A/N: Dragon Age and all its characters belong to Bioware. I am not making any money out of this. This story actually began as a rather dark one-shot, published elsewhere. But I thought I'd give it another try.

A mage, of all things

Chapter One: Payback

Her body was tensed like a bowstring, covered in a battlemage armour. Her head turned quietly from side to side, the eyes behind the Ferelden helmet probably scanning the area. She couldn't see him, however, hidden in the entrance of the burning house to her right.

The wooden ceiling mad a crackling noise, but it did not disturb him. In fight, his senses were always clear, his mind always calm.

He would kill her, another mage on the list, another abomination stopped. It helped when they wore armour, when you couldn't see behind the helmet, when you didn't see the face that belonged to someone's daughter. Or wife.

He rose his sword and waited until her eyes were focused on the other direction, then with a few quick steps he ambushed her.

As he had almost reached her, she flung around, raising her staff against him, trying to jump to her left. She was too slow, of course, the moment of surprise still on his side and as his body collided with hers, she was swept of her feet and fell to the ground. However, she managed to grab for him before she fell and he lost his balance, crashing right on top of her.

Her fingers hurriedly searched for her staff, but he reached it first, throwing it away. She rose her head and hit it against his, the iron steel of her helmet painfully colliding with his bare skin and he roared, ripping it off her head without a second thought, pressing his sword against her throat.

The mage stopped moving, her eyes glaring at him with hatred.

She had a pretty face, he realised. Long, black hair, messed up now due to the rough fighting and sweating, high cheekbones and light blue eyes. What captivated him most, however, were her lips, not particularly full in shape, but preciously curved. Suddenly, he wanted to press his lips upon them. He didn't know where the thought came from, but it was vividly in his head, his hand grabbing the hair of hers... Maker, he could feel himself harden by the mere thought of it and he hated himself for it. He was a templar, for fuck's sake and she was a mage, the enemy, the cause of all this chaos...

It wasn't his fault. It was hers. It was because of what her kind had done to him. That demon they had summoned had taunted him, teased him until he had had no other choice but to comply; until his mind had been nothing more but a crumpled mess; until there had been nothing more but desire and moans. He looked at the pretty figure under him and suddenly, he knew that he had to do. He had to repay that, once and for all, repay what her kind had done to him. Right here, right now.

His sword still at her throat, he bent down and kissed her hungrily, his tongue darting between her lips, his body heavy on her slender figure.

For a second, she appeared to be numbed in shock, then she bit him. He backed up in surprise – he should have guessed – and she hit her elbow right into his face so hard that his nose began to bleed. She used the second of surprise and hit the sword out his hands. He tried to stop her, but it was too late and all it got him was the loss of his fragile balance.

They rolled over the dusty ground, now both unarmed. She was in advantage, because he was so much heavier than her and ended up on top of him. His fingers found a way to her throat, but they didn't choke her, not yet.

It took him a few seconds to realize that his she could feel his lust properly now, sitting above him.

"And I thought templars didn't have that in them," she said.

He let out an angry growl and tried to buck her off, but the grip of her thighs was firm and unforgiving. Then, she started to rub her body against his.

His fingers still lay motionless at her throat.

"Go on, choke me," she said, moving against him mercilessly. "Kill me."

He moaned and she laughed so hard her body shook above him, releasing him from her firm grip. He grabbed her immediately and pinned her down on the ground, kissing her again, while his hands ravished her body, tearing down her armour without any thoughts on her cuts and bruises.

Without it, he could see how slender she really was, with her ribs showing off slightly under her bronze skin. His hands caressed her soft flesh, making her moan against his hair.

He enjoyed it, having control over her even without a sword in his hand and he moved his right hand down her belly, hitting home easily.

Her hand moved under his belt, but he stopped her immediately. He couldn't let her do that. That was what the demon had done, in the beginning. Touched him. Teased him. But never letting him come, oh no. It had waited until he hadn't been able to think of anything else but final release and then, it had spread his legs...

He shook his head shortly. No, he would not think about it. He would pay it back to this mage, he would make her beg and shiver, just as he had begged and shivered. An eye for an eye.

He opened his belt and breeches, not bothering to take his clothes off completely.

He looked at her, her eyes gleaming with rage and lust and with one, hard thrust entered her – and oh Maker, she was so hot and wet that for a second he believed he'd come immediately.

"Do it," she said, as he kept still inside her.

And he did. She let out a hissing sound he thought was a "yes", but he wasn't quite sure.

He had always been gentle with the women before her, but she deserved none of it. Moreover, she didn't want it. The harder and faster he moved, the louder and more seductive her moans grew. It blurred the world out completely; the sound of fighting from afar, the smell of the burning house behind them, the screams of mages, templars, all of it.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked. "Tell me you like it. Tell me what you want." His voice sounded hoarse, not a little bit like him.

She didn't. Her eyes were fixed on his, but instead of talking, she just grinned at him.

He stopped - it took him all of his control, but her reaction was just as he had expected. As he had hoped.

"What are you doing?" she asked sharply.

"Say it," he commanded, looking at her.

"What?"

"Tell me you want me. Tell me," he ordered.

Hatred shone in her eyes as she glanced at him, yet instead of replying, she tried to roll her hips against him.

"No," he said and moved his hands to her waist, pinning her to the ground.

She let out a cry of despair, wriggling under him. He enjoyed it. Teasing her even further, his fingers moved over her bare thighs slowly.

Sweat glistened on her forehead and he could see how she bit her lips, trying to endure the procedure.

Finally, she gave up. "I want you. Now!" she shouted out in frustration.

It weren't the words he had told her, but it was enough. He kissed her hard on the mouth and continued. And Andraste preserved him, she felt so good, her flesh soft against his touch, her mouth pressed hard against his own, her legs spread wide open to serve him that he just couldn't keep his pace slow and steady as he had wanted to.

"Oh maker," he moaned, feeling himself tighten inside her.

Her hands grabbed for his shoulders. "Oh please...," she let out, her voice filled with unbelievable desire.

It sent him over the edge immediately and he came with one last moan, the mage following him right after. He collapsed on top of her, gasping for air.

There was a moment of momentarily peace and silence. A moment in which they both just lay there, panting.

Then, with a quick move, she rolled on her side and grabbed the sword he had lost ages ago.

Before he could stop her, her left had grabbed his neck, her right pressing the cold steel to his throat.

"I wanted to kill you," she said, her voice now sounding very casual. "But you had such a gorgeous ass, I wondered if the rest of the package could match up. Now that I know, I might go back to my initial attempt, don't you think?"

He looked at her, the lust in her eyes replaced by the former contempt.

"Do it," he said. And meant it.

There was a glimmer of surprise in her eyes. "You want to die?"

"What's there left for us to live for? The circles are destroyed. The templars have been corrupted. You and me, we are memories of a world that ceased to exist."

She stared at him, wide-eyed. "I never knew templars were philosophers," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Do it," he repeated.

She didn't. She flung the sword away, as far as she could manage, still laying on the ground.

"Get off me," she hissed.

He complied and while he nestled with his belt, she picked up her scattered clothes from the ground, her legs shaking with every step she took. Her back was covered in dirt and a little blood. He wondered if she even realised it.

He gave her the time she needed to redress, pretending to be fumbling with the rest of his clothes. Then, he just stood there, looking at the ground in confusion.

What in the name of the maker had just happened?

She picked up her staff and glanced at him. "Next time you're dead, templar," she said, spit out before him and hurried into the woods.

Cullen turned on his heels, suddenly feeling very sick. He needed to get out of here.

Fast.

A/N: If you have any suggestions, want to tell me whether you liked it or not, or want to point out mistakes, please take a little time and review. Thank you.