A/N: And here is my first DA:I themed story! It is an independent one-shot, and is not related to the From the Ashes universe. For those of you who follow FtA, I am working on Chapter 12, but give me some time - I am moving and adjusting to some other life events, and hope to have it out within the next month. Meanwhile, here is a Loghain fix for you all ;) This one is a birthday present for my pal Bushviper, who lamented that the Inquisitor couldn't flirt with Loghain in his Crestwood cave. This one's for you, pal, hope you enjoy!
NB: this is very, very, very NSFW. Be accordingly advised.
"So where exactly is this mysterious Warden of yours?"
Carianna Trevelyan wiped her brow irritably as she glared at Marian Hawke, who somehow seemed so much more at ease traipsing through the brambles and burrs that dotted the landscape in Crestwood than she did. In fact, Cari didn't think she'd ever seen a mage who seemed so at ease with cross-country hiking. Then again, Cari hadn't seen all that many mages in her life, at least prior to the bloody debacle that had been Redcliffe.
"He's exactly where he means to be – somewhere he can't be found," Hawke replied cryptically, a lopsided smile finding its way to her face, which somehow managed to irritate Cari even more.
"And yet you mean to find him." Cari tried but failed to keep the irritation from her voice as she splashed through another puddle hidden craftily amidst a thatch of bushes. Ugh. Ostwick might be small and relatively insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but at least it was a proper city, with paved roads and tidy little buildings and civilization all about. She had no idea why Inquisition business so often required her to explore every nook and cranny of every backwater Ferelden and Orlais had to offer.
"Hey, Shifty. You of all people ought to know that there's a difference between someone who doesn't want to be found at all, and someone who only wants to be found by the right person. I think Hawke's Warden falls into the latter category." Cari suppressed a sigh at Varric's wry aside, not least because of his infuriating insistence on using that absurd nickname. Just because she preferred subtlety and subterfuge as a conflict resolution strategy to brute force didn't make her 'shifty.' It sounded so… undignified. Like she was just another thuggish backalley cutpurse. She was secretly peeved that he hadn't chosen to give her a more appropriate nickname, like Blades. Or Stabby. Something dangerous. Something impressive. But no, she was stuck with Shifty, unless she complained, which she would never do, because then Varric would know she actually cared. Which she didn't, of course.
Varric and Hawke traded a look which suggested that they somehow knew exactly what she'd been thinking about, and their knowing smugness nettled her to no end. She'd suspected even before Hawke's arrival that there was more to their relationship than Varric had let on, and she'd started to believe that her suspicions were right on target. Varric had certainly been eager to volunteer his services on the excursion to Crestwood, and Cari knew that the dwarf no more enjoyed tramping about in the backcountry than she did. She suspected his decision to "cover Hawke's back," thus placing him in convenient view of Hawke's rather form-fitting robes, had less to do with tactics and more to do with optics.
"So tell me about him," Cari said, trying to keep her mind from straying to Varric's appreciation of Hawke's assets. "Loghain of Ferelden. He was the noble who staged a failed coup during the Blight, wasn't he?"
"That's our man," Varric affirmed.
"I suppose he was made to join the Grey Wardens afterwards?"
"I heard he was conscripted by the Hero of Ferelden, yes," Hawke cut in. "There was a drunkard who used to mope about at the Hanged Man in Kirkwall who claimed to be a Ferelden Grey Warden and who did nothing but rant about how the Hero had betrayed him and how Loghain should have hanged for his crimes. I felt sorry for him, the poor bugger. I wonder what ever became of him."
"Oh, the 'Prince of Ferelden.' I remember him." Varric sighed. "Poor thing wouldn't even let Isabela cheer him up. That was a first for the Hanged Man, let me tell you."
"You mean she offered?" Hawke sounded surprised and not a little miffed. "She told me she didn't take on charity cases."
"Hawke, come on. You really do need to get over that. I told you, she never made a pass at you because I told her you were, ah, already spoken for."
"You conveniently never bothered to tell me that. Maybe you might have done before I made an ass of myself."
"My dear, no dulcet words of mine could have stopped you from making an ass of yourself that night, after all those bottles of Tevinter wine. It was your idea to 'save it' from Fenris's house, remember?"
"Yes! Well!" Cari interjected loudly before Varric and Hawke decided to fill in the details of their night of wild debauchery. "I believe I was asking after Loghain, not your drunken Warden prince." She cast a sideways glance at Hawke, whose face bore no trace of embarrassment at the nature of her interrupted conversation. The woman was brazen, Cari would give her that much. "How is it you know Loghain, anyway?"
"That's an interesting tale," Hawke said, deftly hopping over a puddle of mud. "My… well, let's just say that I had more encounters with the Grey Wardens in Kirkwall than I would've liked." There was a tightness in Hawke's voice that hinted at a much deeper story, but Cari did not pry for details. "Eventually, my dealings with the Wardens led me to Loghain. I think he was a bit skeptical of me because of who I was." Cari frowned at Hawke's vague ambiguity, but the mage offered little elaboration. "I admit, I wasn't predisposed to trust him at all. I fled Ferelden during the Blight, and… well… there was history there. But after everything that had happened in Kirkwall, I realized that events, and people, are rarely what they seem to be on the surface."
Her voice was laced with a tinge of bitterness, and Cari knew the mage could only be referring to the destruction of Kirkwall's Chantry and the blizzard of rumors that had surrounded the apostate Champion in its wake. The popular rumor in Ostwick had been that Hawke and Anders, the terrorist mage who had destroyed the Chantry, had been lovers and co-conspirators, and that Hawke had framed and subsequently killed Anders to cover up her own role in the plot. Cari had never known what to believe, but she had no doubts now, after all of the vicious rumors and insinuations that had been heaped on her after being proclaimed the 'Herald of Andraste,' that perception and reality were often two entirely different creatures.
"You trust him, then?" Cari asked, as they ambled up a hill. Grey clouds scudded overhead, and Cari grimaced and suppressed a sigh. It looked like rain, and if there was anything that was more unpleasant than tromping through the Fereldan backcountry, it was tromping through the Fereldan backcountry during a downpour.
Hawke shrugged as they crested the hill. "I don't know him all that well, to own the truth, but yes, I trust him. He's been honest with me in every dealing I've had with him. He's delightfully without pretense, which is refreshing, and he has always given me the benefit of the doubt, which is more than I can say for most. Perhaps he knows how it feels to be accounted a villain when the truth is so very much more complicated."
"Hey, enough of that." Varric's voice was wry as always, but carried an undercurrent of warmth that Cari had never heard in his tone before. "You're starting to sound like Broody. Maybe too much time around crazy Tevinter magisters will do that to you."
Hawke laughed, and shook her head as if dispelling an aura. "It's good to know I can always count on a witty quip from you to keep me from feeling too sorry for myself."
The dwarf tossed his shoulders in a roguish shrug. "That's why you keep me around. For the witty quips. Oh, and the great sex."
"That certainly doesn't hurt either, come to think of it."
Cari gave a side-eyed glance at her companions. "Do you two need to get a room? Or a tent, I suppose?"
"Oh, we will," Hawke heartily agreed. "Especially since we're here, and Loghain wants to see you alone." She stopped in front of a rather gloomy looking cave set deep into a nondescript cliffside, and Cari frowned at Hawke in puzzlement.
"What do you mean he wants to see me alone? I thought you were his friend?" The hairs on the back of Cari's neck prickled up. She was relatively certain that neither Hawke nor Varric would knowingly lead her into an ambush, but Hawke had said nothing about the Warden wanting to see her alone. It stuck her as suspicious, especially if he knew and trusted Hawke.
Hawke, for her part, merely shrugged. "He said he wanted to get the measure of you, and he couldn't do that with me hovering over his shoulder like a schoolmarm. That's a direct quote, by the way."
"Charming." Cari heaved a sigh. She supposed meeting alone and face to face with a rogue Grey Warden was far from the most dangerous thing she'd done, after all. And if the rumors were to be believed, then this Warden was the only one out of the bunch who still had his wits about him. She thought back to Blackwall's odd reaction when she'd asked him to come along on the mission. He'd only said that he thought his presence, as a senior Warden, might "complicate" things, and that it would be best for her to go by herself. She desperately hoped she wasn't stumbling into a trap.
"There's nothing to worry about," Hawke assured her. "I'd trust Loghain as much as I trust anyone, with the possible exception of Varric." The dwarf responded with a wry scoff. "You won't be in any danger. He just wants to see what you're about. The way the Wardens have been acting lately, I can hardly blame him for being careful."
"So long as his definition of 'being careful' doesn't include running me through, I agree," Cari said, her fingers unconsciously brushing the twin blades sheathed at her hips. "Well, I'd better not waste any more time. Don't wait around for me – I can make my way back to the main roads myself."
"If you're sure," Varric said hesitantly. "I'm sure Hawke and I can find a way to pass the time on this lovely damp Fereldan day."
"I'm sure you can," she replied dryly. "And I'd frankly rather not think about you pitching a tent while you waited for me." Hawke snorted out loud and dissolved into a burst of giggles, and Cari rolled her eyes.
"Be careful, Shifty," Varric called after her as she headed into the cave. "It's probably best not to sneak up on a Grey Warden."
Cari entered the cave, and as she disappeared around the bend that hid the cave's interior from the sun, her world was plunged into darkness. A dim light pervaded the narrow, cramped confines, and as her eyes adjusted to the lack of sunlight, she began to notice signs of habitation. The pathway was tidy and clear, and as she cautiously followed the rocky path into the main hollow, the gentle glow of a well-tended fire once again forced her eyes to readjust to a change in the light. Peering around warily, she spied more evidence of a human presence – a neat bedroll situated near the fire, a small cast-iron pot bubbling over the fire, a simple wooden supply chest with a cloth draped over it, as if to create a makeshift table. The only thing missing was the cave's occupant.
Easing herself slowly into the main cave interior, Cari's fingers instinctively rested against the hilts of her daggers, her senses pricking into high alert. She opened her mouth, prepared to call out for the Warden, and just as she'd taken the breath to form the words –
"Don't move." The words, coming from the shadows behind her, were delivered in a smooth, rumbling baritone voice that was clearly used to giving orders and being obeyed. The mystery man's tone alone would have stilled her – but the blade that hovered at her throat put to rest any notions she might have had of taking any rash actions.
Swallowing hard and keeping herself motionless so as not to invite any retaliation from the unseen swordsman, Cari gently eased her hands away from the daggers at her side.
"Who are you?" she called out. "I mean you no harm." Whether her assailant was Loghain or someone else who had gotten to him first, she knew that an aggressive response would do no good. Best to find out who this man was and what he wanted.
"What a curious selection of words," the voice mused. "You demand to know my identity before issuing a hollow guarantee for my safety. I should presume that my identity has a rather significant bearing on whether or not you do, in fact, mean me harm."
"Perhaps so," she agreed. "Nevertheless, you have me at quite the disadvantage, ser, and so while I am still undecided whether or not I mean you harm, I am quite incapable of rendering it regardless." She paused, feeling the blade press ever so gently, almost experimentally, against the skin of her throat. "So perhaps it is you who should be asking after my identity. Then you will know whether or not I mean you harm."
"I know who you are, Inquisitor," the voice replied, and for the second time since entering the cave, the mysterious man had caught her off guard. "But what I don't know is why you are here, or what you want. Do you seek the rogue Grey Warden Loghain, who has betrayed his order and fallen in with the darkness?"
Cari pressed her lips together, her thoughts racing. "I do seek the Grey Warden Loghain, yes," she said, feeling the blade against her skin, not quite firm enough to bite – yet. "But I do not believe he has betrayed his order. I am told he alone among the Wardens knows the true nature of this darkness, and that he is hunted for trying to expose what other Wardens will not reveal."
The blade hovered for several long moments at her throat, and Cari began to fear that she'd wildly miscalculated – that the man who held her at swordpoint was, in fact, an enemy, and that she'd misplayed her hand. But then the sword fell away, and she heard a soft sigh behind her, and the sound of a blade sliding back into a leather sheath.
"Then perhaps we can indeed help each other, after all." Cari turned around, and out of the shadows a man slowly emerged. He was strikingly handsome – a rugged face, all planes and angles, was framed by shortish ink-black hair. He was an older man, but he wore his age well, his face lined but unmarred by many years of battle. A pair of intensely vivid blue eyes captured her gaze and held her pinned like a hawk's prey, and she felt rooted to the spot by their piercing clarity.
"You must be Loghain," she said, unable to remove her gaze from his. She was filled with the powerful but not uncomfortable sensation of being measured up by his unwavering eyes, her strengths and weaknesses probed in a silent assessment. She found herself hoping that he did not find her wanting.
"Indeed," was his only reply, his scrutiny leaving her face and traveling downwards to encompass her entire body. Despite being entirely armored in a supple drakeskin leather suit, she felt her cheeks grow hot as his disinterested gaze took her in, though she immediately chided herself for a fool – the wary Warden was merely assessing a potential threat. Nothing more.
He stepped fully out of the shadows and moved around her towards the fire, never moving his gaze from her all the while. "I admit, Inquisitor, that when word first reached me of your inspiring deeds, I was quite unsure what to think. Were you really as capable as the stories claimed, single-handedly closing breaches and banishing demons and heralding the grace of Andraste herself into the world? Or were you just another figurehead, a puppet pulled about on the strings of those who move in the shadows to a purpose quite their own? I did wonder."
Now that he stood next to the fire, she could see that he wore a suit of Grey Warden issued light armor that was tailored to the contours of his body, allowing her to fully appreciate his broad shoulders and muscular physique. He wore the mail with effortless ease, the mark of a man who had spent a life in armor – a warrior through and through. He reached down to tug off his gauntlets, placing them gently atop the wooden chest she'd noticed earlier. His gaze remained fixed on her the whole time, and she began to feel rather like a fieldmouse under the watchful eye of the circling hawk.
"I am neither," Cari responded truthfully, meeting Loghain's eyes with her own, refusing to allow the nervous percolation in her stomach to cow her into showing weakness before him. "I am just a woman who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I am no one special. I can close the Fade rifts, that much is true. But I have never claimed to speak with Andraste's blessing."
"And yet you have allowed your Inquisition to hold you up as the 'Herald of Andraste,'" Loghain said, folding his arms across his chest. "So perhaps you are indeed dancing to the whims of a puppeteer. To what purpose, I wonder?"
"I dance to no one's whims. The people need something to believe in during these dark times. If believing that I have been sent by Andraste to save us all gives them hope, then I am happy to indulge in the fantasy."
"And yet fantasies can be even more dangerous than the truth. I once believed that the Grey Wardens were nothing more than an elaborate fable, a heroic tale out of a children's book of brave knights riding into battle atop noble griffons and single-handedly destroying the Blight. I believed that such golden legends could only be a convenient cloak for a band of villains who would seek to undermine and destroy my homeland. I was wrong, and I nearly paid for that mistake with my life." Loghain tilted his head, as if to resume his appraisal of her. "Had I known the truth, I would have acted differently. But, in its own way, the myth served to conceal an even darker reality than even my mind could conjure. Would that the Grey Wardens were merely tools of the Orlesian Empire. What they have become is far worse – and far more dangerous. And no pretty fables of valiant griffon riders will save us if they succeed."
Cari stared at him, searching his face for any trace of embellishment or exaggeration, but he was as deadly serious as he had been when he'd held his blade to her throat.
"It can't be – what could they possibly be planning that could be that bad? Unless – you mean to say that they have allied themselves with Corypheus?" She shook her head in disbelief. "But he is a darkspawn! One of the original Tevinter magisters who corrupted the Golden City and caused the Blights to begin with! Why would the Grey Wardens ever ally with their mortal enemy?"
"They do not believe they are doing so," he said darkly. He broke her gaze for the first time, turning to stare into the flickering fire, his eyes distant and far-seeing. "Some weeks ago, I began to hear the Calling – the voice of the Archdemon – in my head. It is usually a precursor to the end of a Warden's life, and, as a senior Warden, I thought little of it. But then I discovered that I was not the only Warden who had begun hearing the Calling at the same time. I quickly discovered that all of my fellow Wardens were hearing it as well." He shook his head, and kicked the fire gently with the tip of his boot, sending a spray of embers into the air. "One of the… benefits… to being a Grey Warden is the ability to hear the darkspawn in our dreams. But… if they are strong enough that we can hear them in our waking thoughts, then it might mean that a Blight is imminent. That was the conclusion that Warden Commander Clarel drew when she summoned all the Wardens to a conclave. She was alarmed that a new Blight might be ready to begin so soon on the heels of the last one." He turned his head to look at her again, and she saw his eyes blazing with anger and disgust. "Warden Commander Clarel proposed that, in order to ensure that Thedas is kept safe from Blights forever, the Wardens raise an army of demons, bound by blood magic, and storm into the Deep Roads to root out and destroy all the remaining Archdemons before they can emerge. My fellow Grey Wardens, who have apparently taken all leave of sense, agreed that this was a worthy idea."
Cari felt her face go slack with shock as the import of Loghain's words began to sink in. "You're saying that the Grey Wardens want to… ally with demons? Using blood magic? And that this is somehow supposed to stop the Blight?" She blinked furiously as the dreadfulness of such a foolish plan began to fully sink in on her. "But that's mad!"
Loghain harrumphed, a loud snort of derision as he continued to poke at the embers with his foot. "That's exactly what I said. I was the only one of them willing to speak to sanity, and for my trouble, I was declared a traitor and an 'ally of the darkspawn' and cast into exile. But now, I don't believe that even exile is good enough for Clarel and her lackeys – they mean to kill me if they get the chance." He gave her a rueful smile, a wry twisting of his lips that sent a flutter through her belly. "Hence why you received a less than civil greeting. My apologies, Inquisitor. I had to be sure that you hadn't been taken in by Clarel's lies."
"No apologies necessary, Loghain." She'd be jumpy too if she were on the lam from a group of lunatics who actually thought that building a demon army using blood magic was a good idea. She frowned, remembering his earlier words. "But you said that you believed that the Wardens had allied with Corypheus. I agree that the idea of building a demon army is appalling and must be stopped, but… simply because the Warden Commander has gone mad doesn't mean she's working with Corypheus."
"She doesn't realize she is," he said. "After I was cast into exile, I contacted Hawke. I remembered an incident she'd related to me about her battle against an awakened Tevinter magister, an original darkspawn. What stood out in my recollections was her description of a band of Wardens who seemed compelled by Corypheus to serve his will, though they remained under the delusion that they were acting in the best interests of Thedas. The similarities were too disturbing to ignore, and so I began to investigate." Loghain turned to regard her with a solemn countenance. "After speaking with Hawke about the nature of the darkspawn she'd encountered, and conducting my own research in old Warden archives, I've come to believe that Corypheus has figured out how to mimic the Calling. There is no Archdemon and no Blight – only Corypheus. Through this deception he has managed to push the Wardens into adopting a terrible course of action, believing that they are fighting the darkspawn – when all the while they have been playing right into their enemy's hands, just as he'd known they would do." His voice was full of bitterness and disgust, and he unfolded his arms and regarded Cari once again with hawk-like intensity. "So you see, the Wardens are now the puppets of the very evil they swore their lives to defeat."
There was something in his inflection – a particularly biting venom – that made Cari think that not all of his anger was directed strictly at the Wardens. She recalled what she knew of Loghain's history – he had been a nobleman of Ferelden once, and its greatest general, when he had abandoned the king's army at a major battle against the darkspawn and subsequently assumed control of the throne. A civil war had broken out in Ferelden, with Loghain pitting himself against the Grey Wardens, and eventually he had been deposed by the Hero of Ferelden and conscripted into the very order he'd sworn to destroy. He'd disappeared from the history books after that, and Cari had never really stopped to think twice about the disgraced former teyrn of Ferelden turned Grey Warden – until Hawke had led her to this nondescript little cave in the middle of the Ferelden countryside.
"Perhaps they are only doing what they think is right," she suggested. "They believe that they must stop the Blight, no matter the cost. They are misled, but that does not make their motives insincere."
Loghain snorted derisively. "What in the Maker's name do their motives matter if they unleash a demon army on Thedas that will ultimately be sworn to the command of a darkspawn lord? Much evil has been done under the guise of good intentions. No one knows that better than I."
"Is that why you are so angry with them?" she asked. "Because their mistakes remind you of your own?"
He narrowed his eyes, and for a moment she saw true anger in his glare, and began to fear that she had stepped too far. But as soon as it had come, the moment had passed, and the anger left Loghain's countenance to be replaced by a regretful resignation.
"I truly believed at the time that what I was doing was the right thing to do. I believed I had to protect Ferelden from an Orlesian invasion, and that the Grey Wardens were a mere distraction, an Orlesian front who were unnecessary to defeat the Blight. Based on what I knew at the time, I had good reason for some of the things I believed, and did – some, but not all. But I allowed my pride and my suspicion to rule me, and my mistakes – my vanity – very nearly destroyed the homeland I love and had sworn to protect." He heaved a heavy sigh. "Yes, Inquisitor, it is true that I see much of my own downfall in the Wardens' current path. It is also true that without the Grey Wardens, Ferelden would have been ravaged beyond repair. But the ends can only justify the means to a certain point. If you must destroy a thing to save it, are you truly better than the enemy you are protecting it from? I learned that lesson the hard way – and it is a lesson I fear the Wardens have never learned. Now we all may be about to pay the price for their fanaticism."
She considered his words, considered the paths he'd taken that had provided him with such hard-earned wisdom. She thought of all the false rumors and invective that had swirled around Hawke, and now around her. History was written by the victors, and Loghain had indisputably lost. She imagined what they would say about her, should the Inquisition fail – that she had been a false prophet who'd led the people astray, whose arrogance and blasphemy had brought down the Maker's wrath upon them all. Perhaps there was more to Loghain than the victor's narrative, too.
"Well, for the record, I don't believe anything you did could have been as bad as summoning a demon army secretly bound to the will of a darkspawn magister," she offered. That earned her a grudging half-smile from the somber Warden, and she found herself thinking that he should smile more often, as it quite suited him.
"No, I suppose it wasn't, at that," he agreed. "But it was bad enough." He sighed, and paced around the perimeter of the fire. Cari's eyes followed his lithe movements, his steps sure and measured and graceful, like a wolf moving through the trees. He reached the far side of the fire, where he paused again, his eyes staring sightlessly into its depths as he relived old, unpleasant, faraway memories.
"My past is irrelevant," he said. "What's done is done, and I've accepted the consequences of my failure. But… ever since I discovered the depths of Clarel's insanity, it's occurred to me that perhaps I have been given a second chance. Maybe I was meant to be here, at this moment, as a Grey Warden, to expose their madness and stop them before they destroy us all. Just as perhaps you were sent by Andraste to close the hole in the sky." He gave her a wry grin, and she became firmly convinced that smiling did indeed suit him.
"I thought you didn't believe in divine intervention," she rejoined, returning his smile.
"I don't. At least, not the kind that involves any self-proclaimed heralds of the Maker's will." His smile faded, and he regarded her with a curious look. "But perhaps the Maker does indeed move in mysterious ways. Or maybe we all need to have a fantasy to believe in, every now and then."
His eyes met hers, and she felt an unmistakable thrum of desire coursing through her blood. He was nothing like she'd expected – and she realized she wanted to get to know him better. Much better.
A low rumble reverberated through the cave, and Cari's hands dropped instinctively to her daggers. Loghain swore, and moved past her, his movements brisk, until he disappeared around the bend towards the cave's entrance. She followed him cautiously, hands still on the hilts of her daggers, until a sweet, rich scent assaulted her nose, and she joined him at the mouth of the cave to observe a torrent of rain spilling in silvery sheets from a grey, bloated sky.
"Maker's breath," she cursed.
"It doesn't look like you'll be going anywhere anytime soon," he quipped. "I suppose there's nothing for it but to go back inside. You're more than welcome at the fire, Inquisitor. I'll put some stew on. We might as well be comfortable."
Cari settled herself before the fire while Loghain prepared the stew, its slowly wafting aroma lulling her into a contented state of relaxation, and she removed her socks and leather boots and uncurled her toes before the fire. His motions as he prepared the stew were precise and measured, and she found herself admiring his economy of movement. This was a man who wasted no energy, who did nothing without absolutely meaning to. Everything he did was deliberate, exact, purposeful: he did nothing by accident or half-measure. Her face grew hot as she began to imagine such a man as a lover; each caress would be exactly as rough or as tender as he meant it to be, every kiss as gentle or as plundering as he intended.
"Is there a problem, Inquisitor? You're staring at me rather intently. Do you need something from me?"
His rumbling voice – she briefly imagined him murmuring words of pleasure into her ear – crashed through her reverie and brought her tumbling back to earth. Her face burned scarlet as she forced herself to meet his gaze, hoping desperately he would notice nothing amiss.
"I – no. Of course not." Well, yes, I do need something from you, but I'm not quite that shameless. "I must have just been staring off into space. My apologies."
He looked at her for a long space, and she wondered if she seemed as transparent to him as she felt. It was as though he could look right through her, expose her and spill all of her secrets. She blushed even more furiously, and she was absolutely certain he knew that something was amiss – but he turned his attention back to the stew, and left his thoughts unvoiced. She could have sworn that she'd seen a ghost of a knowing smile across his lips.
Why was she reacting this way to him? She was a woman grown, not a young and lusty milkmaid who had never known the pleasures of a man. Yet something about him made her feel as she never had before. Most men she met were either fickle and simpering, and unable to act as a man should, or else pompous and blustering, full of false bravado but precious little competence. True, there were exceptions – Commander Cullen was an intriguing man, certainly – but for the most part, Cari went through her life caring little about the attentions of men. This man, however – this man was nothing like those other men.
"Inquisitor, if there is something you wish to ask, then I would far rather you ask it."
Cari started, and flushed even hotter. Maker, was it even possible to blush more than she already was? "I'm not –"
"Oh, for the Maker's sake. We are both adults, or so I presume. I would appreciate it if you did not lie to me." He glowered impatiently at her from behind the stew pot. "I suppose you have reservations about working with me, due to my checkered past? Or perhaps your curiosity is simply getting the better of you, and you're dying to hear the story of my ruin straight from the traitor's mouth? In either case, I would far rather you get it off your chest than continue to stare at me as though I am a demon that has tumbled out of one of your rifts."
Cari was wrong. Her face was indeed capable of flushing even hotter than before. "Is that what you think? That I am silently judging you?" She stood up and stalked over to the stew pot, barely mindful of her unsocked feet. "You think I, of all people, who knows what it is like to suffer the small-minded assumptions of others, don't realize that there is more to your story than what's been told? That I don't know what it's like to have utter and complete strangers impugn my character because it is easier for them to brand me a villain than to confront their own failings?"
She had gotten rather close to him – close enough to see his chest rising and falling with each agitated breath, and to see the furrowed lines between his eyes as he glowered at her in frustration and confusion. She longed to reach out and smooth them out, to stroke away all the tension from his face and take his lips, now pursed in consternation, between her own.
"Then what game are you playing, Inquisitor? What do you wish of me? I have no secrets to keep from you. But I cannot answer a question that has not been asked."
Cari drew in a shaky, shuddering breath, and a sudden, wild impulse seized her. How had this man, with his imperious blue eyes and his craggy face and his strong body, so completely overwhelmed her so suddenly? Throwing caution to the wind, she leaned in, threaded her hands through his soft black hair, and pulled his face to hers for a hard, passionate kiss.
He was startled at first, and she heard a muffled grunt of surprise as she assaulted him with her mouth, her lips working against his. After a moment, however, he began to respond, his lips moving tentatively against her eager mouth, and, encouraged, Cari flitted out her tongue to trace the passage between his lips, pleading for entrance. At last, he granted her request, and Cari's tongue plunged into his mouth, exploring eagerly, tangling against his tongue and tracing the roof of his mouth and the backs of his teeth until they pulled apart, chests heaving, gasping for breath.
"That was my question," she said, grinning as he stared at her in wild incredulity. "I apologize for not asking more directly before. I eagerly await your answer."
With a growl, Loghain grabbed her arms and spun her around, pushing her up hard against the wall of the cave as he crashed his lips into hers in a violent kiss. This time it was he who demanded entrance to her mouth, which she eagerly granted him as their tongues pressed against each other, dueling for supremacy. She felt a sharp pain as he raked his teeth across her bottom lip, and she threaded her hands into his hair and tugged him against her in response, feeling the full force of his weight flush against her, pinning her against the wall. A painful pressure poked into her belly, and she was nearly certain it was his sheathed sword – but the metaphor was not lost on her, and her hands slid down his armored back to grab his arse and pull him closer, wishing she could feel his manhood jabbing into her instead.
He grunted as she cupped his arse in her palms, and abruptly broke their kiss to trail his lips over to her temple. He panted desperately into her ear as he nipped and licked at her sensitive lobe, his ragged breaths sending her into a spiral of arousal that dimmed her vision. She moaned loudly as he tugged on her ear with his teeth, and, wild with lust, she reached over to bite his neck, causing him to growl in pain and desire.
"Inquisitor," he snarled, his mouth abandoning her ear lobe to ravage her neck as he trailed a series of nips and kisses down to her collarbone, just above the boundary of her drakeskin armor.
"No," she moaned, winding her hands through his silky hair and holding his face to her chest. "I want you to say my name."
"And what might that be? I confess I've forgotten." His voice was muffled against her skin, and she sighed in anticipation as his nimble fingers found the clasps of her armor. He released them swiftly and proceeded to peel the form-fitting drakeskin from her body, leaving her clad in only her linen undershirt. Tossing her armor aside, he resumed his exploration of her skin, descending lower until his lips pressed through the fabric to moisten the tops of her breasts.
"Carianna," she gasped as his mouth descended down her breast, his now-free hands beginning a rough, frantic exploration of her unencumbered chest. "My name is Carianna."
"Carianna. A lovely name." She'd never agreed, particularly – she'd always found it a bit too pretentious, a bit too much of a mouthful. But when he said it, in his low, deep rumble of a voice, it sounded like it came from the voice of the Maker Himself. She cried out in pleasure as he took a sensitive nipple in his mouth, sucking her through her shirt, and she wanted to hear him say her name, again and again and again.
Her hands slid up from his arse to trail across the Warden mail, and she grew exceedingly frustrated, as he teased and tortured her breasts, that she could not feel him as he could feel her. Sliding her hands down his sides, she deftly felt for the clasps of his armor. He seemed to anticipate her motion, for he pulled away from her suddenly, leaving her to whimper in distress.
He gave her a small smile – but this smile, unlike his previous wry half-smile, was arrogant and smug, the smile of a man who knew he was about to please a woman. His hands expertly found his armor clasps, and he unbuckled and tossed aside his Warden mail, leaving him clad only in his undershirt and smalls. Without hesitation, he reached up and tugged his shirt off, revealing his exquisitely strapping chest to Cari's hungry eyes. He was broad of shoulder and strong of frame, well-muscled but not bulky, and he sported a modest but respectable furring of coarse black hair that spread across his broad chest and down his belly, where it slipped, with tantalizing promise, into his smalls, which were prominently tented in evidence of his desire.
Drawing a shuddering breath, Cari reached down to the hem of her shirt and pulled it over her head, baring her chest for him. She watched as his eyes darkened with lust, and the shadow of his manhood seemed to strain even harder against the confines of his smalls. Moving away from the rocky cave wall, she sauntered up to him, and ran her hands down his gloriously masculine chest.
"I want you to say my name again," she said, her voice husky with desire. "And then I want you to fuck me." She reached down and untied his smalls, letting them drop to the ground. His cock was even bigger than she'd anticipated, and a jolt of molten lust throbbed through her core as she imagined taking him inside of her.
Loghain's chest heaved in ragged breaths, and Cari could not stop staring at his cock, so hard and heavy and ready for her. She reached out to take him in her hand, but his hand snapped out, with a swiftness that surprised her, and seized her wrist before she could touch him.
"Not if you don't want this to end before it's begun, Carianna." His voice was raspy and low and hoarse with desire, and hearing his name nearly brought her to climax right there. She moaned, and with her other hand, she loosened her own smalls, letting them drop to the ground beside his and revealing her to his hungry eyes. He hissed in approval, and she when she saw him slowly lick his lips in anticipation, she was nearly undone.
"Loghain," she pouted, struggling against his iron grip on her wrist.
"Patience, Carianna." He moved around behind her, circling around her, scrutinizing every inch of her for his satisfaction. He positioned himself behind her, and when his hand snaked around to cup against her belly, just above the center of her desire, she whimpered in longing.
"Do you want me to touch you?" he growled, his voice hot in her ear.
"Oh, Maker, Loghain, yes," she gasped, pushing her back against him, feeling the prickles of his chest hair against her back and the throbbing, painful pressure of his cock against her arse. He growled in lusty surprise, and seized her hip tight against him while his other hand slipped lower, his fingers tangling through her damp, tight curls until he found her slick folds. Cari cried out as he slipped two long fingers against her moist entrance, sliding them back and forth against her wet cunt while his thumb found her sensitive nub. Suddenly, he plunged his fingers deep inside her dripping canal, while his thumb pressed down hard on her nub. The resulting climax tore a scream of pleasure deep from Cari's throat as the shockwaves of pleasure bombarded her again and again, crashing over her and drowning her in an ecstatic agony. If not for Loghain's firm grip on her hips, she was certain she would have slumped bonelessly to the floor.
As she came back into herself, she felt her world gradually refocus, and the aftershocks of her climax continued to ripple out in sensual waves from her core, where Loghain's hand still teased gently around the perimeter of her womanhood.
"Was that what you wanted, Carianna?" Maker, he was going to say her name every time. She thought she might die of pleasure.
"No," she responded, and laughed when she felt him tense up in defensive apprehension. "It was the most wonderful thing I've ever felt, of course. But if you'll recall, I asked you to fuck me."
She could not see his face, but she felt Loghain's posture relax, and she both heard and felt the vibration of his chest as he uttered a low, rumbling chuckle. "Of course," he murmured into her ear. "I would never deny a woman's wishes, Carianna." Before she had time to respond, he wrapped his arms around her and grazed a rough, biting kiss to the back of her neck.
"Get down on your knees."
She obeyed him without a second thought, marveling at how the man could manage to sound both utterly commanding and utterly seductive at the same time. Her breath quickened in anticipation as she felt him come around behind her and lower himself to his knees, his hands taking hold of her hips as he positioned himself, the swollen head of his cock brushing against her thighs.
"Is this how you want me to fuck you?" he asked, his voice rough and ragged as he took his cock in his hand and guided it to her throbbing entrance.
"Maker, yes, Loghain, just do it," she begged. She had marveled earlier at how every action he took was measured, precise, and deliberate – Loghain neither wasted energy nor time. He wasted neither now as he thrust himself into her, filling her to the hilt, and Cari cried out in exquisite abandon as stars burst behind her eyes and she was lost to all sensation beyond the feeling of his huge, hard cock moving smoothly back and forth in her inner passage.
He established a steady pace, bringing her closer to a cresting wave of pleasure each time he pulled his cock nearly out, only to thrust it back in, seemingly deeper each time, until it seemed as though his manhood plundered the very heart of her desire. A blurry haze frayed the edges of her vision as his cock plunged into her center, stroking against a sweet spot deep inside her that no man had ever before reached. She felt his hands grip her hips harder, tighter, as he increased his pace, his cock pumping faster as his breathing grew ragged and sporadic, interrupted periodically by incoherent growls and muttered blasphemies. Her own pleasure mounted ever higher until, with one deep, triumphant stroke of his cock, Loghain sent her over the edge, her cries ringing out into the interior of the cave as her world crashed down upon her all over again. She felt him fucking her with wild abandon as the tremors of her climax echoed through her blood, until at last, his grip an iron vise on her hips, he clenched against her and slammed into her thighs with vigorous force as he spilled into her, crying out in a rough guttural expression of passion. He sagged against her, jerking into her once, then again, as his seed spurted inside her, his breath heaving and ragged as he slowly came down from the heights of his own desire.
They collapsed to the cave floor in a mutually sated, boneless heap, and Cari curled up against his damp, sweat-soaked skin, sighing contentedly as he wrapped an arm loosely around her. They lay there like that, satiated and incapable of speech, for several long minutes, before the smell of the stew, still bubbling away on the fire, pervaded their post-coital bliss and set hungry stomachs to rumbling.
Cari moaned in discontentment as Loghain disentangled himself from her and rose, naked, to go and check the stew. He ladled out two bowls, handing one to her and gesturing for her to join him on the other side of his makeshift table. She thought about at least putting on her shirt and smalls, but after their burst of wild and uncontrolled passion, it seemed like false modesty. Besides, she was in no hurry to deprive herself of the view of Loghain's masculine, well-built body.
A loud crash of thunder, following by a long, low rumble, caused Cari to jump and spill a spoonful of stew on the ground. Loghain smirked at her and offered her the sleeve of his discarded shirt to wipe her face.
"Maker, it's awful out there," she said. "I hope Hawke and Varric found somewhere to keep relatively dry." She snickered. "Then again, it's a good thing they insisted I come in alone, all things considered."
"Wait." Loghain's brows creased. "Hawke was with you? Where did she go?"
It was Cari's turn to frown in confusion. "She told me you wanted to meet with me alone," she said. "Something about you wanting to get the measure of me without her hovering like a schoolmarm."
Loghain stared at her, bewildered. "I said no such thing. In truth, I was wondering why you'd decided to come alone. It seemed singularly foolish for you to agree to meet a mysterious stranger without any allies on hand. I thought perhaps you were simply rash." He stared thoughtfully into his stew for a moment, before a wry grin found its way to his face. "Ah. I think I know what happened. This is just like Hawke."
"What's just like Hawke?" Cari was still entirely confused.
Loghain grinned at her, setting his stew down on the table and leaning back, giving her a delicious view of his ripple of chest hair. "Let's just say that I believe Hawke didn't intend for us to discuss the Grey Wardens. At least, not entirely."
Cari set her stew down beside Loghain's, still frowning. "You mean you think – but how could she – she actually thought I'd just have sex with you upon meeting you for the first time?"
His wry grin was once again suffused with that particularly infuriating manly smugness, and Cari wasn't sure if she wanted to slap him or kiss him. "And yet you did."
Cari stood up, and it was her turn to smile smugly as Loghain's eyes widened in appreciation for the view she now afforded him of her lithe, naked body. She glanced down at Loghain, laying sprawled out before her, and she noticed that his cock had begun to respond – already.
"So I guess it's true," she said, stretching in such a way that provided him with a lovely view of her tits.
"What's true?" She was impressed that he'd actually heard what she'd said, so intently was his gaze focused on her breasts. His cock was definitely beginning to respond. Impressive.
"That Grey Wardens possess extraordinary levels of stamina and vigor."
Now he grinned at her, and, twining his arms behind his head, he leaned back against the cave floor, his hardening cock all the answer she needed.
"I suppose you'll just have to see for yourself, Inquisitor." His smile twisted into a sardonic grin. "Pardon me. Carianna."
She could hardly resist such an invitation.