Green and Gold
It was quite a pleasant afternoon and Leora had drifted away from camp looking for herbs when her sensitive ears picked up a sound behind her. On turning she saw that Alistair, her Grey Warden companion of some eight weeks, was also pacing through the woodland. His short blond hair and wide shoulders unmistakable even from a distance. She wondered what he was doing there when she saw him look around him in all directions; she thought that this was somewhat strange, so instead of calling out to and greeting him, for some reason, she ducked down behind a bush.
Alistair then appeared to select a tree and walked up to it. Turning towards it, he began to unlace the flies of his breeches, opened his legs somewhat and thrust his pelvis forward. Leora was mortified but despite knowing that it was so, so wrong, she could not tear her eyes from what he was doing. He was now rummaging in the front of his pants. Suddenly his member surged out, it appeared to be in an advanced state of arousal. Leora suppressed the impulse to giggle nervously by biting her tongue and clamping her hands over her mouth.
"Maker's breath, now I can't even bloody pee!" he struck the bark of the tree with one large open hand and cursed.
Warily, he looked about him again.
Then with a small groan, wrapping both hands around his awkward cock, he turned his back to tree and let himself slide down it until he was seated at its foot with his legs akimbo. Leora knew it was wrong, very, very wrong but, entranced, slunk among the bushes with the practiced steps of the Dalish until she was better able to conceal herself.
As she watched, he sighed and closed his eyes leaning his head back against the tree trunk.
Leora could not tear her eyes away from him: this was the face he would pull in the throes of passion, these the sounds he would make, she thought… Inevitably she felt her own body responding to his.
She had already judged him quite handsome, for a shemlen, of course, and felt the initial thrill of something like attraction between them, but suddenly watching him like this she became aware that she was desperately excited and desperately sorry for him all at the same time.
He was a large clumsy youth, a virgin obviously; he blushed every time he spoke to her, now she knew why. The only way he could find some relief was alone, ashamed and exposed, like this. The quest they were on was dangerous they were both aware either of them could die any minute.
Leora began to creep away, "Alistair" she breathed his name to herself as she went, as if trying it for size. "Alistair".
From behind her Alistair's groans became louder and more urgent, almost as if he were in pain. Leora resisted the temptation to look back, but suddenly he cried out, cried out Leora's name.
This was unexpected and for a moment Leora froze. It seemed so wrong that he had to resort to comforting himself in isolation, as if the most loving part of his being, his deepest desires and urges, were somehow cheap and unworthy. As she made her way back to their small rough camp she decided she needed to do something about it.
The whole scene had also provoked in Leora a feeling of unease, quite apart from the guilt of eavesdropping, as if somehow the world were wrong, out of balance… The Dalish had a word for that feeling but Leora was at a loss to find an equivalent in Fereldan… Perhaps 'disturbance' or 'unfamiliarity', but those words seemed too blunt… She settled on 'disquiet'.
Later that evening alone in her tent having performed her evocations, Leora spent some time thinking this over. Among the Dalish, she realised, a clan member who had assumed the vir, path or responsibilities Alistair had taken upon himself, those of a fighter, warrior, defender would not still be unmated. That was not to say that he would have been permanently paired up necessarily, but that the clan would have ensured that he was not lacking in companionship when he needed to talk things through, whether it be to boast about his successes when the gods had smiled upon him or to receive commiseration for his trials when they had shown themselves cruel or indifferent as they often did. Neither would he lack company to share a drink or some other intoxicant with him if that was the way he choose to deal with the pressure or arms to enfold him should he seek solace of a more intimate kind.
The Dalish were very mindful of balance and especially careful that onerous responsibilities should be well assuaged with social comforts. Any clan, it was often said, was only as good as the sense of harmony of the most sensitive of its members felt on a disfavourable day.
Apart from her personal inclinations, then, her path was clear, Alistair had chosen for her to be the Hahren, or senior, and Morrigan had fit in with that pattern. A hahren also needed to act as a good parent might, it was her responsibility for all their wellbeing to ensure he was as attuned as he possibly could be.
She sent Sandal to summon him two days later in the evening. He came, partially armed in the cheap haphazard scale mail, the only thing they could afford, grey iron sword on his back.
Leora was fletching arrows with some goose feathers she had found binding them onto the shafts with sinew.
She glanced up at him and he cleared his throat: "I know why you sent for me." Alistair's expression was set and serious. He was standing up very straight, every inch the proud fighter. "I'm sorry you had to see that…"
Leora felt her face blanch. She had been convinced he hadn't seen her spying on him.
"It was appalling…" He added.
"Well…" She gasped looking down and spreading her open hands on her lap.
"My performance today, I mean…" He added, "Definitely below par… I let that emissary flee and he should have been my priority, what with their ability to cast and that…"
Leora lowered her head so he couldn't see her sudden, relieved grin.
Alistair apparently mistook the gesture for some sort of admonition because he said, "I promise I won't be so lax again, Leora, you can count on me you know that… Despite what Morrie might say…" He seemed hurt, no doubt Morrigan had been laying into him again. The young witch of the wild had a talent for that Leora had noticed, though Alistair often gave as good as he got.
"I know." She said looking up at him, for a very brief moment meeting his hazel eyes, so gentle for a fighter, drinking them in. "I have every confidence in you, Alistair."
He relaxed quite visibly, "Well then." He shifted on the spot.
She moved along the cot and patted the space next to her. "Why don't you sit here for a moment?"
"Why…" He seemed puzzled but quickly made up his mind. "Alright then."
The fragile cot sunk visibly as he sat. He loosened the sword, looking embarrassed. "So you make your own arrows?" He asked after a while of watching her cut, place, wrap and tie. She nodded.
"That's very…" He seemed to be fishing for the right word. "Resourceful… You Dalish, you seem to be… Like that." He concluded lamely and sighed.
"Would you like me to show you how it's done?"
"Umm… Yes. Alright."
So Leora showed him how to splice the feathers, what position to place them in respect of the nook and how to use the twine to bind them on. He tried doing a few himself, but he just couldn't seem to get the hang of it. More often than not he ended up tying his own fingers to the arrows rather than the feathers.
"Leora," He said in the end, "This really isn't me… Good thing I'm not an archer 'cause if I were I'd have to spend all my sovereigns, which I haven't got, by the way, buying the damned things…" So he watched her for a little while more.
"Alistair," She said eventually after calling up all her courage. "Have you ever… Ah… Kissed anyone?"
For a moment he was mute. "You mean like a… real kiss? With—"
"Yes." Leora interrupted him.
He gave her a sideways glance and then looked away. "Once…" He said. "But I've never licked a lamppost in winter, if you get my drift…"
"A lamppost…"
"Ah… Perhaps you've never seen a lamppost… What I mean is… You know…. Gone all the way." He paused. Tilted his head. "Have you?"
"Yes. Yes, several times." She replied quickly. This was more uncomfortable than Leora had anticipated.
"I see." Alistair said, shifting in his seat, "Well good for you Leora. Look, it's getting a bit late, I should be going, 'cause the others are going to notice and…"
Leora put her hand on his arm, "Alistair…"
He looked down at her hand.
There was no helping it. She could not hold herself back, the arrows slipped from her lap and she threw her arms around his neck pulled his face towards hers put her lips on his and before he could say or do anything, or react, pushed her tongue into his mouth.
For a moment he just sat there, then, suddenly, she found herself on her back on her cot and he was all over her kissing her for all he was worth. His tongue was avid and eager, filling her mouth, his hands cradling her jaw, her face, the weight of his body pressed up against hers. Leora could feel the cot shaking precariously under them. His hands began roving all over her, feeling her body through her clothes here and there, warm and excited, as if he couldn't control himself. Eventually his kisses moved from her mouth to her ear and then the side of her neck. "Alistair," She gasped when he freed her mouth, "Alistair…" as the goose-bumps rose on her flesh.
Just as suddenly he stopped, sat up, and began fussing about his clothing, especially the front of his breeches. "I must go, Leora. I really, really must go…"
Leora propped herself up on an elbow. "I want you." She said in a strange strangled voice.
A look of dismay followed quickly, by one of surprise, "I thought you had better taste than that, to tell the truth." But there was colour in his face, his lips looked swollen and his eyes were dripping with amber.
"Always doing yourself down, Alistair…" She chided, "You mean you didn't enjoy that?"
"Of course I did! It's just that… Maker… I am so not worth your time…"
She struggled to her feet and put a hand to her neck where she suspected she may well come out in a bruise the next day. "Well I think you are, you chose to make me your senior, and, in any event, I'm a good deal older than you, Warden Alistair."
Suddenly he grinned. "Really? How much older?"
Leora looked to one side in mock embarrassment. "I am not telling you that. Tomorrow evening?"
"Tomorrow evening what?"
"Tomorrow evening you come here and when you leave in the morning, you'll be a changed man."
"Are you inviting me to do what I think you're inviting me to do?"
"You mean lick a lamppost, whatever that may be? Yes. Time you did and got it over with, shem." She added saucily.
He stood up somewhat unsteady. "Ummmm… What can I say?"
"You can say: 'Yes, Leora' like a nice da'shem. Little shem, I mean." Leora added and then nodded towards the obvious bulge in his breeches, "Part of you is saying 'Yes' already."
He had said 'Yes'.
He couldn't believe it. He had said 'Yes' and fled.
He'd fancied her since the moment he'd set eyes on her. Her long braid that fell down to her… Um, well. The elaborate, curlicued, markings on her face that made her look so exotic. Those questioning grey eyes with the little wrinkles at the corners. Oh, he'd guessed she was older than him from the beginning and he liked that. He liked that a lot.
Why he seemed to recall he'd entertained himself fantasising about her the very evening they'd met, a few days before Ostagar. At the time he'd told himself the armour she was wearing had something to do with it. Never seen armour on a woman before, never seen armour made for a woman that made her look sooo like that… The breastplate covering her delicate breasts but displaying her cleavage to best effect. Her long pale legs sheathed in leather boots half way up… The skirt of leather strips that fell just below her, say it, Alistair, backside… Bum. He'd thought about that backside a lot, way too much, but then he did spend most of his days following it around.
And then there was the way she reached back for an arrow from her quiver which showed off her bosom so well. The exquisite poise and balance of her body when she was lining up a shot and the little furrow between her brows when she was aiming, thinking or annoyed.
He even thought he'd caught Duncan looking at her in that way, once or twice and then felt the jolt of jealousy? Was that jealousy? Flow through him…
Alistair stirred restlessly. Duncan… Fuck, where are you when I need you? And Cailan… Both of you… Gone.
He needed to stop thinking about that. He reached down below the covers, should he? Shouldn't he? In the end he decided against it… Keep yourself pure, Alistair, if only for one day dammit!
Didn't stop him squirming in his agitation on his cot. Didn't stop him almost biting his pillow in frustration. Didn't stop him having a very, very, naughty dream when he eventually fell asleep.
He left his boots by the tent entrance. He smelled of lye and his hair had just been cleaned and carefully arranged. When Leora pecked him on the cheek to welcome him, she noticed he had shaved too, except for that little patch thingy on his chin, of course, a curious affectation that, as if Alistair needed to prove to the world that he could grow a beard if he wanted to, but he simply preferred not to. Leora was somewhat aware of the human custom of associating male facial hair with maturity.
He was wearing a faded grey home spun tunic with matching breeches; they were both terribly worn, darned and patched, rather incompetently, in places. She guessed he'd done the repairs himself. The white grey warden griffon embroidered on left side of the tunic was threadbare and hardly recognisable, it could have a been a crow even a chicken, clearly he lacked the skill to do anything about that, but again, his clothing, like his person, was fresh cleaned and Leora was touched by the effort he'd made for her.
He was a bit pale.
He passed her what appeared to be a rose with a somewhat shaky hand and mumbled something about where he'd found it and how it reminded him of her. Leora was taken aback, the Dalish didn't believe in picking flowers, plants were either left to thrive in their natural environment or collected to be used for a purpose not just for decoration, but she thanked him, anyway.
Truth was he'd turned up a little earlier than she'd expected and she'd only had time to half unravel her braid.
Leora caught him looking at her robe held in place by a leather thong, "It's an old thing." She explained, a knitted rather shapeless garment of thick yarn wool dyed blue in colour. The Dalish did not have the time or the resources for silks, satins and velvets.
"I like it." He said, "Never seen you in a… dress. It suits you." Leora knew that Alistair could catch glimpses of her white skin beneath the weave.
Leora bent over to attend to her smallest cooking pot aware of his eyes on her behind and thighs. "I'm making us a light broth." She said. "Sit yourself down, Alistair." He did so crossing his legs.
"I see you've dismantled your cot," He remarked looking behind him.
Leora shrugged. "I didn't think it would have taken the weight of us… Well."
"My weight, you mean Leora."
"You've nothing to be ashamed of, Alistair, you are as you are and… You are fine-looking to my eyes." She glanced away but did not miss the flush that crept up over his features from his neck in response to her words. "I hope you don't mind…"
"You mean about us rolling about on a mattress on the ground in the throes of passion?" Alistair squirmed a little. "Not really… I don't think I'll notice…"
Leora pulled a face at him, then tasted the mixture to ensure it was ready and then poured it into two wooded bowls handing him one.
He looked at her with his hazel eyes over the brim of his steaming bowl. "This isn't one of those… apro… Whatyamay call it, potion things, is it? Because if it is, I really don't need it, you know…"
Leora smiled at him and took a sip of her broth. "Of course not. Why would I concoct something like that? I just thought it would help get us settled." The truth was it was a calming brew but short of being a soporific because she was well aware, remembering her own first time, how Alistair must be feeling.
They finished their broth and set the bowls aside.
"Now what?" He asked.
"Now…" Her voice had gone husky again, she wondered if this was the aural equivalent of Alistair's blushing. She got onto her knees and shuffled over to him, for once that made her taller than him held his face, kissed his mouth. Alistair followed her lead enthusiastically enough answering her kisses with his own, touching her face with his fingertips but he didn't take the initiative like he had last time. She sat back on her haunches and looked at him, feeling a little disappointed.
Then she realised that she had never fully undone her braid as she had planned so she reached back and continued to unravel it. "Can I help you do that?" He asked.
Leora nodded so he knelt down behind her, "So your idea was to meet me in this lovely dress with your hair all loose, right?"
She nodded. He kissed her neck very lightly several times and then continued to unplait. "Well there you are…"
Leora got up and searched for her comb in one of her storage chests and quickly pulled it through her hair with her back to him. Then she turned around. Her black locks flowed down past her waist in easy waves.
He was standing, his face was full of excitement. "Leora, ah, you look… Radiant like that… So beautiful. My pretty girl…" and with two or three hasty steps Alistair's arms were round her squeezing her tight against him and his face buried in her hair while he whispered a stream of incoherent endearments. For a few moments Leora had difficulty breathing, she felt she was melting, responding to this sweet awkward shem and his unpredictable reactions much more that she had ever anticipated.
Within the confines of his embrace, she loosened the thong, tugged at her robe and let it puddle at her feet.
Alistair took a step back and then for a long moment studied her, taking her in from head to toe. Inevitably his gaze came finally to rest on a certain part of her body… Then he exclaimed, "What?"
"It was an… enansal, a gift…" Leora explained.
"A gift…" He marvelled looking at the perfect tattoo of an oak leaf covering her groin. It was beautifully etched in shades of green brown with a hint of orange and was so well adapted to her anatomy that her cleft had become the leaf's midrib. Suddenly he frowned, "This 'friend' did he…?"
"No! Alistair, he was like… My brother, lethallin, we shared a wet nurse, so…" she faltered. Why was she babbling? Why did she feel the need to justify? "His talent was the vallaslin, you know our tattoos, blood writing?" she said laying a finger on her own, "He was too young to do mine when I came of age… But… I had a reputation for being awkward among my clan because I insisted on making my bows of oak rather than yew and…"
"So it's a kind of joke as well… It's beautiful but… A bit weird."
"Not a joke, more like a tribute or blessing for my… Nameday. Uh, except we Dalish celebrate it when we were conceived and… Aghhh!" Leora shook her head in frustration, "Sometimes your shem language is so clunky."
"Nevermind." he said. "I like it. The tattoo I mean… Really, but…" without further ado he began to struggle mightily with his tunic while Leora fiddled with the laces of his breeches.
He managed to pull his tunic top off and Leora patted down his hair that had been slightly disarranged. Alistair then finished with the laces and dropped his breeches. "And to think neither of us were wearing smallclothes…" He declared. "What naughty people we are…"
They had their arms around each other they were skin to skin, flesh to flesh. Both naked except for their twin amulets.
Alistair's head was throbbing like it usually did when he had an erection but, of course, on this occasion it was throbbing even more.
He could feel her heartbeat against his chest while he nibbled the tips of her ears. He'd heard in the barracks whilst he was training as a Templar that elves did not have body hair save for that on their scalps, well now he'd discovered that at least that was true, although lots of the other stuff he'd heard from his fellow Templars he would still take with a generous pinch of salt.
He liked Leora's hairless body and that tattoo, really exotic… but he'd wondered whether she would be repelled by his bulky, hairy(-ish) one. Well, that didn't appear to be the case because at this very moment, ignoring his rampant stiffy, she was rubbing her cheek against his chest hair… Was she purring? It sounded a bit like purring…
"Shall we… Uh… Lay down?" I want to feel your breasts…
"Of course." Said Leora and with a delicious smile she spread herself out on her cot's mattress that she had replaced on a rush mat on the floor of her tent.
Alistair followed very quickly.
Cue more kissing and… Yes! He got to hold the most beautiful things in the world, her breasts, feel them weigh them, caress them… They were tender, smooth but beguilingly solid. Then those delicate things, like a garland of miniature roses they actually responded to his touch and Leora was making small noises in the back of her throat.
Eventually he put his lips around one of the buds and suckled it, wondering whether that was the right thing to do. Clearly it was because Leora started to squirm like an excited little fish and murmur things to him in what the thought was Dalish.
for a member of her race Leora was not particularly intuitive ; if she had been she would hardly have ended up here, she thought ruefully, but as she looked down and the burnished blond head bobbing so eagerly and allowed herself to feel the physical effects of what he was doing, she found herself closing her eyes, whispering hoarse endearments and, for a brief moment, imagining that she was feeding some kind of majestic beast, perhaps a lion or perhaps one of those large dogs shems seemed to appreciate so much, Mabaris… Something ferocious, devout and gentle all at the same time, noble but fearsome…
She opened her eyes again and it was just a shem, albeit a very handsome shem, a large, well-endowed shem, but a shem all the same.
After a little while she very gently pried him away and started caressing his chest.
He chuckled, "Oh Leora, I'm a man. I don't work like that." But Leora ignored him and persisted teasing the little pips with her fingers lips and tongue. Sooner than expected she wrenched a gasp from him.
"You were saying?" She said.
"Nothing," He muttered, "You're a witch obviously… Nothing… Just carry on…"
When Leora reached lower he jumped. He was hard but velvety to touch, like the petals of the rose he'd handed her earlier. She ran her lithe fingers through the fine golden curls down there, cupped his balls and then handled him again. He gripped her wrist.
"I'm sorry… I can't… If you continue doing that I'll embarrass myself."
Leora let him go but tickled his lips with her tongue. "I think it's time then…" she said.
Alistair turned on his side, looked down at himself and then at her. He ran a finger carefully over the leaf, over her cleft. "Is this going to work?" He asked.
For a moment Leora was tempted to laugh but then she gave it some consideration. From his perspective, his background, his education, or lack of it, the question made perfect sense so she tried to appear as sensible as she could without her clothes on and looking him dead in the eye said. "Yes, Alistair, nature will assist."
He seemed relieved. "Well, if you say so."
When he entered her they both groaned in unison and then they giggled because they'd groaned.
From hearing the other Templars droning on and on about their myriad sexual encounters, most of which, he was pretty certain had taken place solely in their heads, Alistair had not long ago reached the conclusion that sex was overrated.
Oh, he more than acknowledged his own desires (at the same time as being pretty creeped out by them…), and even setting that to one side, he believed he could discern how beautiful women actually were, but… The act itself… Drinking was great, eating was better, the blood lust of battle, even relieving oneself… Could lovemaking physically compare and even be superior to these? He had his doubts, especially as a child of a fortuitous encounter between social unequals.
Well… He was wrong. Completely. Utterly.
The heat and power of their bodies merging, the feeling that he was something significant that at this point the world had a meaning. The pulse of raw pleasure he felt now from the tip of his toes to his scalp, coursing through his whole physical being, was unsurpassed by any of those other things. That was without taking into account the companionship, the affection, the sense of somehow belonging, the emotional bond that had developed so quickly between himself and Leora.
"Alistair…" She said and touched his face awaking him from these thoughts.
"This feels… So good." He gasped.
Leora smiled, "It does doesn't it, da'shem?"
He nodded his mouth felt dry. Suddenly he noticed he was deeper yet in her, then he realised she had crossed her ankles over the small of his back, giving him slightly more leverage. He moved, she closed her eyes and moaned a little.
Somewhat later when he was nearing the verge, Leora looked up at him and said, "Alistair if you wish to prolong this… You can slow down, or think about something else, they say that works too…"
Alistair held himself still at her words. Caught under him Leora was aware that every muscle every sinew in his robust body was urging him on and that keeping still was putting an amazing strain on him, there was a faint tremor in his rigid arms and legs.
"Leora… In Andraste's sweet name… How… How could I possibly think of anything else while I'm doing this?"
There were beads of sweat collecting on his brow though the tent was far from warm. Leora reached up and pushed a loose lock of hair back from his forehead. "You are quite right." She said. Her husky voice had returned.
When he came shortly afterwards he convulsed, arched his back and called out her name several times as his essence spilled into the depths of her body. An involuntary frisson of excitement run through Leora she had never expected to be so important so… for someone else.
"What about love?" Alistair asked sometime later as they snuggled together under several pelts.
Leora turned over and looked at him. "It's a long word, with many shades of meaning."
"It only has four letters... And one meaning." He objected.
"In Fereldan, perhaps." She clarified. "Not in Dalish." Then she added, "A lot lies ahead of us Alistair… Emma lath."
He sighed, lay back and folded one arm above his head on the pillow looking at the canvas above him. He seemed about to say something but didn't. Leora embraced him and put her head on his chest feeling wistful all of a sudden. They fell asleep.
He was standing with his back to her naked looking out at the rain from the tent's doorway.
"So much for that." He said as Leora went up to him clutching one of the pelts around her and shivering slightly. One of his hands was holding up the tent's flap, the other hanging loose at his side. She clasped it, working her fingers between his.
Sometimes Leora thought about her falon Tamlen. Tamlen… whom she'd lost forever in the dark netherworld of a cursed eluvian. She studied Alistair's still face in the first light of dawn and understood that he too was thinking of his own dinen, those he had lost, his mentor and friend, his King…
As she remembered her own meeting with the king, her thoughts jumped unbidden to her momentary vision. It struck her, suddenly, just how much the man next to her resembled Cailan in build, colouring and features. "Who are you, Alistair?" She whispered before she could stop herself.
He shook his head hazel eyes still fixed on the rain. "No one very important… I suppose I'll have to tell you one day… Maybe soon."
Leora was silent for a while, they both looked at the rain falling, filling their world. Then she said. "Well, whoever you are, you were my first shem."
He glanced down at her then, raising an eyebrow. "And was I all right?"
Leora smiled pensively and gripped his hand a little tighter, "You were… Wonderful, Alistair."
"Wonderful…" He mused, "Well, I suppose that's something…"
FIN