Disclaimer: Dragon Age and all of it's characters belong to Bioware.
The heat is suffocating. Riordan is taking damage faster than he can inflict it. He prays for a moment to catch his breath. Sweat pours from him, mixes with darkspawn blood, stinging his eyes and compromising his grip on the sword. Pure force of will fires him on to dispense with one and then another of the foes before him and then he breaks free for a moment, eyes searching for his brethren but finding none. No matter how hard he fights, how long he endures, the onslaught is relentless. Over and over he beats one down and another appears to take its place. Above his head, the heavy beating of wings betrays the Archdemon, passing over and over the battlefield watching his minions against the lone warden, waiting to claim the final blow, writhing and screaming in the sky above him, a pronouncement of the hopelessness of his fight.
Then he is falling, blows beating upon his head, a roar of fire from the Archdemon searing his skin, engulfing him. The roaring in his head grows unbearable, as he sinks down to the ground. Then he feels his wrists grabbed and held and he thinks, ...oh Maker, finally, this must be the end...let me go. Let me die, I can take no more.
He is aware of being prone, of a hand on his wrist. His eyes snap open. Muirin, her face ashen with concern, is sitting beside him. As he stops struggling she releases her grip, dips a cloth into some water and presses a cool compress against his burning forehead. It hurts to even move his eyes, he opens his mouth to speak but his throat is so dry that he cannot form a coherent word.
She fills a cup with something and returns to his side. He tries to sit up, the room spins a little and then steadies. When he is ready, she presses the cup to his lips. Cool weak ale washes down his grateful throat, but it is a few more minutes before he can speak.
"Sister...I should sleep apart from the rest of you from now on. This will only get worse."
She nods almost imperceptibly. "T'is fortunate that the others are sleeping deeply tonight. Tomorrow we will reach an inn that I know of, lets make sure you get your own room."
She reaches out and rakes her fingers through his hair several times, then presses her fingertips against his temple, pushing back into his hair with gentle strokes that ease the band of iron behind his eyes. He breathes deeply and as the pain lessens, he becomes acutely aware of the feeling of her skin against his, of her closeness and warmth.
"What can I do?" she asks. He tells her that she has already helped. He doesn't want to risk a return to sleep. She tells him that she is on the last watch of the night. As she will be awake until the dawn anyway, she suggests they talk quietly, to redirect his thoughts. So they talk, and her fingers work again on his aching temples, neck and shoulders. He feels uncomfortable allowing somebody to exert themselves so long for his benefit, but the relief it brings him is so great that he lets her continue as long as she will. And so she hears of Riordan's early days in the order with Duncan, of battles fought, brothers and sisters lost. When the daybreak comes, she feels a great sadness that this person, who she is just starting to know, has so little time left to him.
The day brings a only a minor skirmish on the road. A score of darkspawn and no serious damage taken. Riordan is glad of the exertion that somehow helps release some of the tension in his body from the previous night.
They reach the inn and settle into their rooms, taking food and ale in front of the fireplace in the main bar downstairs. In the due course of time the wardens retire to Riordan's private room and settle into large comfortable chairs to discuss the Joining ritual. Knowing his Calling is near, and that these may soon be the only wardens in Ferelden, Riordan is anxious to give them the knowledge necessary to recruit new bretheren, as fate allows.
Lulled by the warmth and comfort of the abode and exhausted, Muirin falls asleep curled up in her chair. Riordan gestures to Alistair to just leave her there, as he falls onto the bed himself.
After a few hours, Muirin awakens, feeling cold. The fire has died down and the only light in the room is from the glow of the embers. She glances over to Riordan, expecting to find him asleep, but even in the low light, she can see his intense gaze upon her. "It seems you might sleep better if I take myself off to my own room," she says.
"I doubt that lass," he replies. "I am a lost cause for sleep - although the proximity of another warden calms me. Being close to my Calling, I am sensitive to the presence of you and Alistair. My body draws a kind of calm, resonating with both of you. It's a lot to ask at such an hour as this, I know... but if you could stay close a little longer, that would be like a blessing from the Maker."
She hesitates for a moment, and then moves over to the bed, laying behind him, pressing up to his back with an arm loosely wrapped across his chest, pressing her forefinger against the pulse in his neck. She feels his blood pulsing and after a moment it seems as though her own pulse becomes one with his, her breath falling into line with his until she notices his breathing get deeper and shorter. He places his hand upon her arm, pulling her more closely against his back. Her face rests against strands of his soft brown hair and he can feel her warm breath against the exposed part of his neck. She softly kisses an exposed section of the back of his neck, eliciting a gentle moan from him.
Emboldened, she takes a handful of his long hair and pulls, exposing more of his neck to her mouth, kissing him hard now, trailing red marks across his neck. With a gasp, he rolls around to face her. As their eyes meet, she feels a jolt of desire coarse through her, a wave of dampness marking her response. He puts a hand up to trace her jaw, his eyes locked onto hers, as his breath becomes more ragged. Riordan is shaking with the effort of restraint, his closeness to the Calling has heightened all his senses, and his body feels intoxicated with desire. Another move from her and he feels he would be unable to control his response. But he has to say it, has to state the obvious. "Are you sure?" he whispers. "You know that even if we defeat the Archdemon, I won't live much longer, we won't have much time."
"Any of us could be dead tomorrow. Since the Joining I have been living in the moment. It would be foolish of me to plan and wait for anything to be perfect. To have this moment of pleasure is all that I ask." She replies.
And with that, she straddles his prone body, resting her hips against his hardness, transfixed by his gaze. He pulls her face down to his, kissing her gently at first, his mouth warm and soft. She draws back to pull off his shirt, her lips leaving soft kisses down the center of his chest and onto his stomach, where the touch of her causes a surge of tightening in his groin. She continues downwards, tracing his erection with her lips, as it bulges against his leggings.
"Maker, Muirin," he gasps, pushing his groin hard against her. Her deft fingers unravel the lacings at his waist, pulling off the last vestiges of his clothing and exposing him to her view. Parting his legs with her hands she kisses his inner thighs, teasing him.
A growl rises in his throat. Rolling her onto her back, he lets go of his reserve, forcing his hot tongue into her mouth, guttural moans emanating from him as her tongue meets his. Without breaking that kiss, he parts her legs with his knee, pining her beneath him. With a sharp intake of breath he pulls back, tries to pull her shift over her head. When it catches on the head of the bed, preventing it's swift removal, his hands grab the neck of the garment and tear it down the center in a single move. In a flash Muirin remembers how those same powerful hands had snapped the neck of Howe's guard, and she feels a hot flush of dampness in response to seeing his power translate into passion.
He straddles her, pushing her head back onto the bedroll and bringing his body up so that his hard member is close to her face, silently begging... she smells the desire on him, and responds - circling the soft smooth head of his cock with her warm tongue. He pushes forward into her, and she takes him down, wrapping her hand around the base of him, to control his strong thrusts and to add to his sensation of being engulfed in her. She feels his cock pulse in response to her mouth, swelling further, until he draws out with a gasp and takes a moment to regain his control. In a swift move his mouth moves down on her, his tongue flicking against her nub as his fingers push into her wetness. She raises her hips into him as he increases the pressure against her most sensitive spot, and then in a moment, his mouth is upon hers again and his cock is rubbing against her opening. He pulls back so he can see himself enter her, and then he sinks his cock into her smoothly, all the way. He stops and gasps, catching her jaw with his hand and holding her in his gaze. His breathing is ragged, matching her own. She feels her body ramp up to that intense plateau of pleasure that she wants to hold on to, but it is impossible to stay still, and she arches her body up to his. He grabs her hair and slams into her again and again, unstoppable now. She feels her climax approaching and then she is is there. With a loud cry she pushes against him, shuddering, her muscles tightening around him and then pulsing in waves of release. There is a roaring of blood in his ears, a white light behind his eyes and he surges into her. For a moment, reality is lost, there is just a pure joy in the physical pleasure of her.
For a moment he forgets who he is, and what is to come. But then he rolls over on to his side and it all comes back in a rush. Her hand reaches out and touches his face and a tightness that is both pain and joy grips his heart, along with the realization of something that he thought he would never feel again.
Riordan realizes with the horror of hopelessness, that he does not want to die.