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Sleeping With the Tempest
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The sky had turned angry grey right before sunset that night and soft thunder rumbled low and menacingly in the humid Ferelden night. No doubt a total washout was due for them that night.
Darrian had spent most of the evening after supper with Alistair, making additional fastenings for all their companion's tents in the hope the winds and sleeting, heavy rain wouldn't destroy their makeshift dwellings in middle of the night.
He had wished they were closer to town; they could have simply stayed in an inn, but that was unfortunately not the case.
Now done with his work, he sat in his tent, staring at the roof, feeling concerned for his friends and comrades. Especially Morrigan, his… whatever she considered herself to be in relation to himself. He watched her wince more than once over supper as the thunder seemed to shake the very earth beneath them.
When he had prepared her tent for the oncoming storm, she offered no help to him—not that he expected or needed her to. She sat by the fire the entire time not speaking a single word to him, her mother's tattered leather grimoire clutched in her slender, pale hands. Though in the twenty minutes he spent hammering stakes into the ground and occasionally chancing glances in her direction, he didn't see her turn a single solitary page.
The telltale sound of fat, heavy raindrops beginning to rain upon his shelter began as he remained absorbed in his thoughts.
Morrigan had become increasingly agitated as of late, seemingly beginning the moment he defeated Flemeth and dropped the old witch's spellbook into her hands. He had thought giving her what she wanted would have made her happy, but after they had their talk about love two days later, her disposition suddenly changed.
They spoke, sure, but not nearly as much, and when they did it was always about their current situation. She seemed uninterested in idle chat with him about herself or her thoughts, which had become a most welcome common occurrence for them. She never jerked away from him, but when he placed a hand on her small shoulder the day before, she casually walked away as if she hadn't noticed him.
Earlier that day when the sun was bathing their trek in brilliant golden light, they walked past a grove of trees. A bird hopped from its perch behind them, making a loud noise in the otherwise mouse quiet grove, and she instinctively turned to look in his direction. A beam hit her in just the right light, bathing her entire body with a bone breakingly beautiful glow. Darrian's stomach lurched with loneliness and regret as she didn't even look at him directly, and he wanted to kiss her so badly he ached.
But he didn't. She had given him no impression in the last handful of days following their talk that she still wanted him, or that they were even amicable.
She had expressed quite clearly her reservations about their closeness, as he had expressed he had no intention of ending it unless she did, which she didn't.
But if this was to be their 'relationship' as it was—what was the point of holding on? She was clearly unhappy, and as much as he cared for and—yes, loved her; it was hard for him to swallow the distance between them.
He almost wished she would say with certainty that she had grown tired of him. Losing her would be devastating, but at least there would be no false pretenses or veneer on what they were.
The rain continued to fall, and the tent was dead silent apart from the sound of his own even breathing.
The Warden wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he began to feel lethargy tickling and spreading up the back of his mind. He wasn't sure if he was asleep or only halfway there when a rustle at his flap woke him.
The elf immediately leapt to attention, hands instinctively flying to the hilt of the blade he kept at his bedroll.
What manner of creature or bandit is out in this mess? He wondered. They had agreed to forego a nightly watch because even the darkspawn were unlikely to strike given the conditions.
He took a step toward his tent entrance when someone barreled in.
Someone soaking wet and agitated. Someone with rain and wind mussed ebony black hair pulled back.
"Morrigan?!"
"Your reinforcements to my tent left much to be desired, Warden."
He went to her and ushered her farther into his space with a hand pressed to the small of her back.
"I'm so sorry. I thought I had everything pretty well hunkered down… Did you want me to try and fix it?"
A dumb question given the weather, he knew. But he wasn't sure what else to say.
Morrigan sat down, pushing back rebel strands of damp hair. "In this storm? Do not be such a fool."
Darrian sat cross-legged across from her, pressing his lips together. His was the closest tent to hers, so logically she came here to escape the rain. Surely he was the last person she'd want to share this small space with.
"Did you want me to try and find you a tent buddy? I know you and Leliana have your differences, but she would most likely share hers given the circumstances. Or maybe I could go bunk with Alistair and let you stay here?"
"Or perhaps I could go to Zevran? Tis certain he would be more than happy to lend some space and body heat."
She was clearly irritable. Though she said it ruefully with no small amount of sarcasm, a large bubble of jealously settled nicely in his chest.
"Why would you even suggest something like that?"
Morrigan huffed. "You seem quite eager to pawn me off on someone else. Why is that? Because I have not satisfied your manly libido as of late? You are much the same as any man, despite everything you claim to the contrary."
Darrian scowled, planning two palms in front of himself as he leaned in to her. "That's not true and you know it. Have I so much as mentioned sex since you made it abundantly clear you weren't interested?"
"You have not." she admitted without hesitation, "Indeed, you have been too distant to have had any conversation with me at all. Do you realize you have hardly spoken to me in two days? The last time we have had any contact was the kiss we shared after we made love nearly a week ago. I came to you tonight seeking refuge from the storm and you cannot devise plans to separate us quickly enough."
She remained fiercely obstinate, but he saw the unmistakable hurt flash briefly in her amber colored eyes before ire replaced it.
The Warden swallowed hard. "I was trying to give you space, Morrigan. Isn't that what you wanted?"
His voice was controlled, gravely, and sounded weak even to his own ears.
"I wanted understanding, Warden. This is new territory for me. If you have grown bored with things as they are, I would like to know so that I can put this out of my mind and move on. I have no desire to be toyed with."
Darrian sighed and reached over to the other side of the tent and retrieved his pack. He rummaged through until he found a hefty tunic and held it out to her.
"I thought you didn't want me," he rebutted, "I was hoping to keep things from getting more strained than they already were."
"I do believe we achieved the exact opposite." She accepted the shirt.
The rogue chuckled in mournful agreement to avoid having to put his failure in words, giving the miscalculation life. "Here, something dry for you to sleep in," he clarified. "I don't want you to get sick."
"… Thank you."
Darrian cleared his throat. "Do you… uh, want me to turn away and give you some privacy?"
Morrigan began to undress without preamble. "Turn away if it is an affront to your senses." She snapped, "Tis not like you are unaccustomed to seeing me naked."
He was going to argue that seeing someone naked during intimacy was different than ogling someone while they undressed, but refrained.
"It's definitely not an affront, Morrigan." came his taut reply.
He didn't leer, but made it a point to reinforce what he said by not looking away.
But Maker's Breath, he was reminded of everything he had been missing. She peeled off her wet clothes fashioned during her days in the wild, and every stitch removed set his heart pounding.
Her creamy pale complexion in all its glory made him swallow hard, and while she had always been small framed, her skin looked a little tighter around her bones. Nothing dramatic; it was nothing he would have noticed if he hadn't spent so much time appreciating and mapping every inch of her body during their fervid couplings.
The witch took his tunic and slipped it over her head. While he wasn't as burly as his human counterparts, he was still taller and broader than his partner, and the tunic did a good job of covering her—the length almost coming to her knees.
Darrian normally would have felt a prickle of desire over his current view—now it was washed away by concern. "Are you eating properly?"
"Are you playing the part of my father now? Changed roles now that the lovemaking is on hiatus?"
A lump formed in his throat—an equal mass of anger and guilt.
"I'm worried about you. Now that we haven't been eating together in the evenings I rarely see you at supper. I just figured you were taking your meals alone. You're slight enough; you need to keep up your strength."
Morrigan folded her arms across her chest. "I am fully capable of taking care of myself; I have been doing so long before I met you with no assistance needed."
Silence settled over them once again, Darrian knowing to protest any further would lead to another circular argument. He would just have to pay special attention from now on—she spent so much time with her concoctions and reading that damned grimoire that she was skipping nourishment, and that wouldn't do. He wasn't fool enough to even entertain that it was out of an attitude change from their estrangement; Morrigan was many things but lovesick wasn't one of them. Perhaps some people desired such dependence from their partners; he did not.
The whirl of the wind shook the tent slightly and the sleeting rain outside was a constant hum. Darrian scratched the back of his neck, unsure of what to say next. He decided on the truth.
"I've missed you."
Morrigan's expression softened a bit from her previous irritation. "Tis unexpected how acclimated to you I have also become. It is not entirely unwelcome."
Best as he could tell, that was Morrigan-speak for 'I missed you, too.' Perhaps seeking validation was childish, but Maker's breath if it wasn't exactly what he needed to hear from her.
Darrian reached over and brushed across her bottom lip with his thumb, and without further preface he leaned in and kissed her.
It wasn't burning with passion, but there was an understood need there, one that had cut through mere convenience and raw desire quite some time ago for him. Maybe he had loved her from the very beginning; he couldn't be sure anymore. It was like she was in his blood, in his bones; he had forgotten how inebriating the feeling was in the days without her.
Not that he could tell her that, but he savored the flavor of her on his lips while it lasted before he pulled away, regardless of how she might feel about his "sentimentality."
The kiss hadn't lasted long enough for either of them to be winded, but he found himself breathing in deeply nonetheless. He looked at her, full lips still poised as if waiting for his. She was beautiful, she was alluring, and yet somehow still at arm's length. A sadness crept upon him, along with desire and no small amount of regret that this was retribution for falling for the witch.
Not that he ever began this with the intention of having a fling with her to blow off steam from the responsibility thrust upon him—she was the first woman he had ever been with and that was no small thing to him. That's not to say that back alley liaisons weren't common in the pious, cramped environment of the alienage—they were. Some were born from true affection, albeit stifled, others from lust or rebellion against the commonplace arranged marriages.
What he had with Morrigan seemed like it should have been the least genuine thing even among those affairs, yet it felt more real than his botched wedding had all those months ago. Perhaps he could have lied to Morrigan—feigned nonchalance so that they could have continued as they were, but he would know the truth. He was no actor—he doubted things would have went better if he had pretended this was a free and easy dalliance.
She was conflicted, hurting, and he was more worried about making things better for his own stunted affections. He had neglected to be even a good friend to her, much less the lover he thought himself as.
"I'm sorry," he apologized after all the swirling emotions inside him after their kiss were too much to keep inside. "You told me how you felt and I became so scared of saying or doing the wrong thing that I ended up doing nothing at all. I should have asked what you needed instead of assuming."
"Tis in the past now—no need to dwell on it. I am cold, damp, and rather tired."
The witch laid back onto the bedroll. He'd be lying if he said the vision of her wearing only his tunic and sprawled out on his blankets didn't inspire little prickles of desire to dance around in his gut, but a pleasant warmth seemed to seep into his very blood alongside it.
It was the same feeling one gets when sliding into a warm bath after a long day, or the first draught of good tea or coffee—perhaps ale, if you were Oghren. It was raw happiness, comfort, and it filled him with even more determination to see Loghain and the Archdemon dealt with so this wonderful thing between them would stop being so complicated.
"Are you going to just stare at me all evening or are you going to come to bed?"
Darrian abandoned his thoughts at her voice calling to him and all the uncertainty between them seemed to dissipate, crawling to her side and sliding underneath his bedding beside her.
"Are you warm? Dry? I'm sure I have another blanket if you need it."
"'Tis not necessary. You always give off plenty of body warmth. I daresay I could skip the linens altogether."
He smiled a little. "I'll make sure to stay close, then. I don't want you getting sick."
Morrigan traced his bottom lip with her slender finger. "Mmm. Ever the gentleman."
Her touch—mild as it was—made gooseflesh erupt on his skin.
His hand found her narrow hip and she initiated the kiss this time, winding her hands through his wavy mahogany hair as she pulled his lips to hers.
This kiss was different than the one they shared earlier. It was slow, burning, and the intensity almost got away with him. Her legs tangled with his and part of him wanted nothing more than to let this go as far as it could. When her tongue prodded past his lips, he had to fight every instinct in his body that called him to be close to her, for intimacy. He didn't realize that his hand had made it under her shirt and was now pressed against her belly, or that he was halfway on top of her until her firm palm was against his chest, pushing him away.
They parted with a soft smack of lips, and for a moment he was terrified he went too far.
"Darrian" she breathed her warning. It wasn't angry; it sounded almost sad to him.
"I know, I know." He replied quietly, looking into her amber eyes, which burned low with desire just as his did, but the ambivalence within their depths was clear too. "I'm sorry. I just… It feels good. You feel good."
She bit her lip, but not in the alluring, seductive way he was familiar with. She seemed uncertain, but about what he couldn't say. He'd seen her angry, coy, seen her writhe beneath and atop him in all her naked glory while lost in the intense fog of their lovemaking, but there was something painfully beautiful about the witch as she laid beside him now, vulnerable and unsure.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"You are a fool, Warden. You may have seen me undressed, but you have never seen me naked, nor will you ever. Do not look at me as though I am some puzzle that you just solved."
Her words sounded harsh, but she made no effort to move away from him. She placed her hand upon his chest and stroked the warm skin there idly.
"I know very well just how inept I am at figuring you out, but that's the charm. What's love without a little challenge?" the words left his mouth before he could think to swallow them. He sealed his mouth shut immediately after.
The minute the "l" word left his lips, she huffed, turning away, cold air immediately taking her place by his side.
"Go to sleep, Warden."
Darrian sighed, rolling away from her and onto his back, figuring it was in his best interest to give her some space after he made the slip up. Not that he could ever deny loving Morrigan, but he knew better than to say it to her out loud. The rain pounding the tent filled the silence as he began to berate himself for not being more cognizant of what he knew she didn't want to hear.
"Do not stray too far. You were giving off such delightful body heat and I have no desire to become sick from being cold and wet because you insist on pouting."
And yet again she surprises him. She truly was like a puzzle. Perhaps, in time, he would find the missing pieces he needed to make the picture whole, to see her clearly.
Obediently, he burrowed closer to her, curling against the contours of her backside.
She smelled like rain and elfroot; he nuzzled into her neck where the comforting scent was strongest.
It wasn't long until her warmth and even breathing lulled him into a restful sleep, the best he'd had in a week.
He awoke the next morning to find Morrigan already up and redressing in her now dry clothes she had shed from the night before. He sat up, propping himself up with his elbows.
"G'morning." He greeted her as she finished adjusting her blouse.
"Sorry for waking you. I was hoping to be dressed and gone before you opened your eyes."
He became sullen at her words; the warm happiness that had enveloped him before he drifted off and while he dreamt seemed several leagues away from him now.
"What, gone without a word? Did I upset you last night?"
Morrigan sighed, kneeling beside the bedroll they had shared. "I already explained to you that this is the way it must be, should you decide not to release me from… this. As much as I know you enjoy an early morning tumble, I—"
"Maker, this isn't about big, bad Darrian wanting to paw at you! I just wanted you sleeping next to me to be the first thing I saw this morning."
"And I wanted a man that understood and adhered to the line I drew I the sand from the very first night you warmed my bedroll!"
Her mouth snapped shut after that, regret immediately flitting across her face. A silent moment passed between them.
"You knew what this was when it started," she rephrased, "but despite whatever else you believe to the contrary, there is obviously affection between us. You can end this at any time, preferably while that still remains true."
"So can you."
"Warden, we have already been through this," she hedged.
Of course. Her stance of being so eager for things between them to end, yet unwilling to end them herself confused him to no end.
Darrian stood, pulling on a pair of trousers. "I'm trying to get closer to you, not farther apart."
"Then tis in your best interest to cease the blather and just enjoy the time we spend together."
What could he say in the face of that?
Not a thing, and Morrigan left his tent without a backward look.
When Darrian finished dressing, he walked out of his lodgings, scanning camp to check the damage. Morrigan was an early riser, so everyone was still in their respective tents.
There were limbs, leaves, debris, and the ground around was soft and dewy from the harsh downpour, but their shelters looked none the worse for wear.
Remembrance hitting him, his eyes immediately flitted over to Morrigan's tent.
What he saw surprised him.
Not a thing was disturbed. The supports as well as the heavy, water proofed cloth remained in their proper places, as well as the reinforcing bindings he had railed into the ground for her last night.
Before he could stop himself, he was already heading towards her.
She was kneeling, gathering ingredients and vials of concoctions and loading them into her pack. The crunch of his boots against the storm's foliage must have caught her ear, because she turned to face him.
His expression of surprise must have been plain on his face, because she sighed and stood to her feet.
"Is there something you wish to say, Warden?"
He supposed he could inquire as to why she felt the need to lie about her reason for coming to his tent but decided against it in light of their earlier conversation.
Darrian shook his head in reply. "Only that you're especially beautiful this morning, and I'd like to go with you on your morning walk to pick herbs before we break camp. No long-winded talks, I promise."
She looked upon him with a surprised expression that she didn't even bother to hide. She collected herself in the next moment and sauntered over to him, a mischievous grin on her face. A slender, pale finger traced his jawline. "Decided to be content where we are, hmm?"
"That's the idea. Certainly not giving up."
"More storms are bound to happen, Warden." she warned him, voice quiet. "I do not like storms, nor do I think you shall."
She obviously wasn't speaking of rain.
He turned very serious, deliberately looking her in those liquid honey eyes while he captured the hand that was touching him, kissing the knuckle. "Then it'll do you good to remember I'll always be here to be what you need, no questions asked."
"You are a fool."
She hastily reclaimed her hand, using it to press the pouch she used to store her herbs in into his palm. The pleasant, earthy smell of elfroot and deathroot immediately hit him; it took him back to the fragrance that had adorned his bedroll after his first night with Morrigan.
A strong sensation of warmth and desire burrowed deep inside the rear of his skull and licked its way down as he remembered. He was sure about them, even if she wasn't. He would never want anyone else, and he quietly steeled his resolve to never let anyone tear them apart, least of all Morrigan herself.
She wanted this too; of that he no longer had any doubts.
"Come, Warden, before the others awaken." A ghost of a smile upturned the corner of her mouth.
Dangerous as it was determined, hope blossomed within Darrian as he followed dutifully behind his witch.