A/N: Double release day! Born out of the smutty excerpt in 'Halfway Idiots'. And because it had to be written. Plus, if you're looking for a plot or accurate characterization, I'm sorry to disappoint.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, Bioware and EA does. I do apologize for any minds scarred by this derivative work.
"Mahariel," Wynne puts her scholarly hands on the girl's shoulder. "Would you care to give these old bones some help?" The rest of the camp had fallen asleep and the young Warden is left with nightwatch duty in the company of the elder but beautiful and well-endowed mage.
The Warden, helpful and kind as she is, immediately offers her nod in assent. "Of course, Wynne! Anything you need."
Wynne grins, fine lines appearing in the corner of her mouth. "You see, I've been meaning to write a book about the Dalish's art of blood writing."
Mahariel's gem-like eyes sparkle with sorrow. "Oh, I'm so sorry but I'm afraid I cannot share how it's done."
"I know, Mahariel, and I wouldn't ask that from you. But I'd like to know if it goes beyond the face?" The sophisticated mage implores as her gray eyes covet her junior's smiling red lips.
"What a curious thing to ask, Wynne, of course it does!" The Dalish Warden takes off a glove and raises her sleeve, revealing intricate lines running up from the tips of her fingers to her arm, disappearing into the garment. Mahariel's other hand continues from where the lines disappeared, tracing invisible lines on her left shoulder then curves down several times around each breast then ends her imaginary painting with the other shoulder. The mage's lustful stare follows every line. "It covers everything, really," Mahariel finishes, unaware of the woman's intentions.
"What I really need is an illustration of how it looks entirely." Wynne takes out a sheet of parchment, a bottle of ink and quill from a leather pack which lay on her side. "I hope you don't mind."
The Warden turns a lovely shade of pink. "You want to see everything? But I have to be naked for that."
"It's for knowledge, Mahariel." Wynne places an arm around the girl's shoulders then draws her close. The scent of the forest and earth fill the mage's nostrils, heightening her desire. "You want the world to understand your people better, yes?"
Mahariel looks thoughtful, highlighting her innocent visage. "Yes, I suppose. Very well!" Her deft hands already popping at the fastens of her Dalish breastplate. "Please make sure you get every detail right, Wynne. It's very very intricate, after all."
"Oh, I will." Wynne grins wider and runs her fingers through Mahariel's soft hair. She eases the girl out of her armor and soon her experienced hands are on the tender smooth skin of Mahariel's breasts, small but shapely. True enough, intricate linework covers most of bright skin, what looks like small vines swirl around each lump and just as the young Warden described, both extend to her arms. Mahariel failed to detail, however, that the other ends of blood writing around her breasts continue downward to her nether region, which much to Wynne's delight, is smooth. The vines even swirl to what looks like an arrow pointing right at the folds. The mage's lips thin at the sight and her hand is unable to withhold a grope at the budding tits.
"Ah!" Mahariel cries in surprise, tilting her head as she looks curiously at the exquisite lady before her. "Was that necessary?"
"Why, yes, my young Warden." Wynne casually answers and takes a soft nipple between her middle and index fingers then proceeds to gently knead the womanly flesh. Mahariel gasps and the adorning pink bud hardens in Wynne's expert touch. "My eyes are poor and I have to examine the lines closely. Am I making you uncomfortable?"
The Warden grows flustered as she nods. "Quite," she looks around camp and shivers. "May we take this inside the tent? I'm feeling cold."
Wynne tries to protest but Mahariel has already slipped into her tent along with her discarded clothing and armor. The mage bites her thumb, fearing her plan of bedding the blossoming Dalish has been thwarted. "No, no, impossible. Mahariel's too gullible to catch on." She thus follows Mahariel into the tent with illustration props in hand but finds no one. Wynne almost jumps when a pair of hands grab her from behind, one hiking up the hem of her robes and the other already busy fondling an ample breast. A look upon the small tattooed hands immediately labels her assailant as the young Warden.
"Mahariel, what are you..." Wynne's words are stopped by a hiss when the Dalish pinches her nipple through her clothing.
Moist red lips brush against the mage's ear and chirps. "Oh, Wynne, I'm not that much of an idiot," Mahariel's dainty hand has dragged her senior's robes up to the hips and is busy stroking the inner thighs. "If you wanted some action all you have to do is ask, you wonderful conniving mage you. "
"Truly?" Wynne arches her head back and rests it on Mahariel's shoulder with a moan, reveling in the feel of hard nipples on her back. "I was afraid you wouldn't want an aged woman like me."
"Nonsense! Besides," the Dalish cupped the hefty pair of breasts with an entire arm around the mage's torso. "There is nothing aged about these."
Wynne spins around to face Mahariel and takes both of her hands, guiding them to the buttons of her clothes. "Then I'm thrilled what you'll say when you see them up close." Mahariel smirks at the invitation and nimble fingers soon glide over the fabric. She sees that the fabled dexterity of the Dalish is no legend when hardly a moment passes before the Warden has undone the robes's excessive buttons and complex sashes. Wynne, left in a thin chemise and smallclothes, runs her lips on a pointed ear as the young girl lustfully tugs at the crumpled mass of clothing at the mage's waist.
RIIIIP!
Grey Warden strength is likewise no myth, it seems, despite Mahariel's slender girlish arms as she throws the torn clothing behind her while showering kisses upon Wynne's neck and exposed chest. Scholarly hands roam and caress the work of art that is the Warden's skin as Wynne imagines how well those dextrous and firm fingers will feel in and out of her; she shudders and feels her moist arousal. A tinted hand makes its way beneath the chemise and tears the pair of delicates beneath, another hand then joins and settles still upon the bare, surprisingly smooth skin. The mage casts her eyes down and meets the Mahariel's frowning face.
"Did you hear that?" the Warden asks, her hands slowly retreating from the ample mounds.
Wynne grips Mahariel's wrists and keeps the hands where they are. "Oh my dear girl don't leave me wanting now," the mage whimpers.
Long ears twitch again and Mahariel turns her head towards the flaps which serve as the tent's entrance and exit. "No, I'm sure that..."
"Maker! Mahariel, how could you?"
The Warden and mage are horrified when Leliana walks into the tent.
~o~o~o~o~o~
What will the salacious mage do in the midst of the nubile Warden's jealous lover? Find out the answer on the next chapter of Warden's Tattoos: "Play us, you Bard!"
Mahariel could not believe what she just read. The sordidly detailed illustrations also made it worse. Mahariel turned to Varel, Seneschal to Vigil's Keep, and waved the thin anthology of adult stories in her hand.
"Have you any information on who made this...this thing?" the Warden-Commander asked, voice dripping with disgust.
Varel shook his head. "No, Warden. All that we know of the pissant is that he or she goes by the initials of S.C."
The young Warden shook her head as she walked to the fireplace of the throne room of Vigil's Keep, then throwing the offending material into the fire. Her eyes glittered on the bright embers. "Find the blighter. I'll give the shem something to write about."