A/N: This is a series of fics that all tie together with the same characters. The stories aren't completely in chronological order since I really don't write them that way and may add more later as I fill in the gaps between them, but hopefully since each was written as a stand alone it will be easy to follow the threads between them.
Also, this was originally written for a LJ kink meme prompt, so it should probably go without saying that the fic earns its M rating and is NSFW.
Undone – Part One
Anora was deeply vexed despite the fact that she had every reason to be pleased.
For the first time in over a year, she was regaining the political footing she'd lost after Cailan's death. Despite the rocky start and a gross miscalculation of the Grey Warden's intelligence (which had led to the unfortunate series of events sending both the mage and Maric's bastard temporarily to Fort Drakon), she had a finally found an ally in her quest to secure her throne. Marcus Amell was everything she could have hoped for: intelligent, canny and ruthlessly practical, and had already declared his support her for claim when Landsmeet was assembled in a few weeks time.
And yet she found herself at her wits end, not so much by anything the man had done, but by her completely inconvenient attraction to him. Anora's desire had ambushed her; a nasty shock to a woman who had long thought herself past such trivial and frivolous whims. Nothing had prepared her for the way he had crept into her thoughts. Worse, she was completely certain the way she felt was completely and utterly one sided. He was all stoic politeness, which should have been a relief, but instead made her insides knot as though she was a foolish young maiden instead of a woman of three decades.
It simply would not do. She was a Queen, a woman of intellect and reason, and a Mac Tir. She would conquer her wayward thoughts, just as soon as she could bring herself to stop staring at Amell's callused, ink stained hands and wondering what they would feel like gliding over her bare skin.
"What do you think, Anora?" Eamon asked.
His words snapped her out of her thoughts. She blinked. "I… I'm sorry, what?"
Eamon's bushy brows rose in surprise at her uncharacteristic inattentiveness, but it was the mage sitting next to her that spoke. Marcus frowned at her, his brown eyes crinkling with concern. "Are you well, m'lady?"
"I'm fine!" she protested a bit too strongly, instantly regretting her sharp tone to a man who had been nothing but accommodating to her. She sighed and touched her temple with the tips of her fingers. "I just… I suppose I am a bit tired."
"We should break for the day then," Eamon said as he rose from the chair.
"No!" She swallowed and pushed the frustration from her voice, evening out her tone. "No. This is important-"
Eamon reached across the table to give her hand a fatherly pat that both of them knew he did not mean. It was everything she could do to keep him from jerking her hand back. "It is all right, Anora. It will be two more weeks before the Landsmeet will be able to assemble fully. We will have plenty of time to plan our strategy."
He stood and turned to face the Warden. "Of course this would be much easier if you would consider my proposal as… an alternative."
Anora's spine stiffened, but her face remained blank. She had not expected Eamon to desist his quest to put Maric's bastard on the throne, but she had not expected him to be so blatant either. That he was daring to do so in front of her, even in veiled terms, was a sign of just how precarious her position truly was.
"Perhaps you are right, Arl Eamon." The Grey Warden paused, and for a heartbeat Anora couldn't breathe. Eamon's eyes practically gleamed in triumph as the Warden rose from his seat. "I think now would be an excellent time to break for the day."
It took all of Anora's poise to keep the satisfaction from her face when Eamon's lips turned down as though he had swallowed something sour. He pinned the Grey Warden with something that was just short of a glare, before dropping a curt nod.
"Of course. Rest will do us all good and hopefully allow us to see the situation more clearly in the morning. Good evening." Eamon turned his gaze to her. "Anora," he said, her name dripping with all of his thwarted frustration.
They watched Eamon leave in silence. When the door closed behind the Arl, the Grey Warden frowned and sat down again. "He speaks highly of your abilities and yet takes every opportunity to undermine your authority."
That Marcus had seen through Eamon's constant attempts made her like him even more, but still she chose her words with care. "Eamon is a traditionalist. He wishes to see the Theirin bloodline on the throne and he is willing to do much to accomplish his goal."
Marcus's frown deepened. "Including pushing your husband to put you aside."
Anora's eyes widened. Her surprise was followed by the sting of failure that always followed when she thought about her marriage to Cailan. "How did you know?"
He turned his gaze to her. "We passed through Ostagar a few months back and found a letter from Eamon to the King."
"I see," she said softly. "He was close to doing it. He never talked about it to me, but I could tell." She looked down at her twisting hands in her lap, mortified that this man should be witness to such a personal shame. "They blamed me for the lack of children, you see."
Something dark and dangerous flashed across Amell's broad features as he spoke. It made her shiver until she realized it was not directed at her. "Of course they did. You were his lowborn wife."
"For all I know, they were right," she admitted. "Although as far as I could tell there were never any children from any of his dalliances." She'd kept track of as many as she could. Another humiliation, but a necessary task nonetheless.
Anora took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "But that is all in the past, and now I must work with Eamon the best that I can."
He looked at her with that unnerving thoughtful gaze and nodded his approval. With a start, she realized that Amell's opinion mattered to her. It was another vexing thought, somehow more disturbing than the physical attraction she felt.
"I am grateful that you haven't changed your mind," she added. "For a moment, I thought you had."
His tone grew rueful. "Sorry about that. I confess that I do not like the man. He has hurt people that I care about very much."
Anora knew that he must be speaking of Alistair. It had become obvious within moments of watching the men together that they were as close as brothers. Except that with the way he was looking at her so intently, it seemed like more. Like he meant her as well. But he couldn't mean that, so Anora shoved that ridiculous thought aside as the foolish product of wishful thinking.
"But I have given you my word that I will help you regain your throne," he continued. "I mean to stand by it."
"Thank you," she said, wondering if she could truly trust this man the way that she wanted to.
"You seem surprised. Is it that difficult to believe?" His lips twitched. "After all, you argued so vehemently for it, and made very compelling case. It would have been very convincing, if I hadn't already decided to support your claim even before we even met."
Once again, the mage had taken her completely by surprise. "You did?"
"M'lady, you did the hard work of ruling this nation for five years, while your husband rode about on his steed in his golden armor. Your reputation is well known and your skill is appreciated by people who are not fools."
She simply blinked at him and for the first time in years she could feel the heat of her cheeks staining pink. Overwhelmed, it took her a few seconds to put words into a coherent sentence. "It has been a long time since anyone has appreciated or recognized the work that I've done." She sighed softly. "Or actually listened to anything that I've said."
Marcus leaned toward her slightly, resting his elbow on the table. His large hand clenched into a fist. "I know," he said. "You deserve better than that."
Something deliciously warm spread through her belly, urging her to drift closer to him, but before she could decide what to do about it, the door opened.
Marcus shifted back in his seat as his assassin with the tattooed face came through the door, shaking his head.
"Marcus, my friend you are completely hopeless. We finally return to the capitol with all of its entertainment and amusements, and you end up in the library." The elf's brows lifted, and his grin doubled in size as he shifted his gaze to her. Zevran dropped into an elaborate bow. "Although perhaps not as hopeless as I thought if beautiful women are to be found in such dusty places as this. I must visit libraries more often, it seems."
The mage's tone was wry. "Was there something that you needed?"
"There are many things that I need. Women, wine, but mostly sovereigns, because as you know, the information you require for your Landsmeet does not come cheap."
Marcus reached into the folds of his long robes and withdrew a purse. The coins inside clinked as he tossed it to the elf. "Take Leliana with you and stay out of trouble. And Zev, The Pearl is not on the way to the Alienage."
The elf clasped a hand over his heart. "Marcus, you wound me. I would not be so derelict in my duty." He hefted an over dramatic sigh. "Although, Isabella's ship is in port…"
"Scout out the Alienage. Report to me in the morning, and let me know what you find."
"You are such a cruel task master, but I will do as you bid while you sit here in comfort and worship at the feet of a goddess."
Marcus's amusement was laced in his voice. "Good."
The elf turned to leave, but then reached into one of his pouches and handed the Warden something small that was wrapped in velvet cloth. "Oh, I almost forgot. These came from the Wonders of Thedas for you."
"Excellent. Thank you."
The mage unwrapped the small package as the assassin left, and pulled out the absolute last thing Anora would have expected. The spectacles were delicate and gold rimmed, and looked like they might break any second underneath his large hands.
Anora's brows lifted. "You wear spectacles?"
"I'm afraid so. All of the years in the tower reading books by candlelight has taken a toll it seems."
It should not have been easy to picture this man hunched over a pile of dusty tomes. Marcus was enormous, nearly as large as the Qunari he traveled with, and looked like he belonged on a farm pushing a plow. And yet she could see the image of it clearly in her mind, of this educated man with his ink stained hands frowning over an ancient book as he read late into the night, and it was completely and utterly endearing.
He picked up the spectacles and stood, moving over to one of the bookshelves. "Wynne insisted that I start wearing them to read after I nearly got everyone killed."
At her questioning look, he continued. "It was when the Circle was overrun by demons. When we went to face Uldred, there was a liturgy I needed to read to stop the abominations from coming, and I couldn't make out the words. It was Wynne who ended up doing the chant at the very last moment."
"Why haven't I seen you wear them before?"
His face remained blank but his tone turned wry. "Because they were broken when I was captured and taken to Fort Drakon."
"Oh." Chagrin washed over her as she remembered how she lied to Cauthrien after her presence had been revealed and the battle that had followed. She twisted her hands in her lap. "Once again, I am sorry for that. I should have trusted your motives."
This time she surprised herself by actually meaning the apology.
He shrugged. "Well, that was partially my fault," he said, as slipped the spectacles on.
She expected the spectacles to look ridiculous on the large mage with the broad shoulders and plain face, but they suited him. Reason and sense and prudence fled. Anora couldn't do anything but stare as the desire she had been trying to hold back washed over her unchecked.
Maker help her, but she wanted him.
"You asked me not to reveal your presence and I should have listened, but I was," he cleared his throat and turned to the books on the shelves, "distracted."
She stood and steadied herself with her hand on the table, intending to do the sensible thing and leave but unable to bring herself to do it. All she could see was the moment she met him and the dumbfounded way he'd stared at her when the door had opened. At the time, she had been confused by his reaction and dismissed him as a simpleton, which in hindsight was a huge mistake. Marcus had looked at her the exactly the same way that she was looking at him right now, and it finally occurred to her that it might be for the same reason.
"Distracted by what?" she breathed.
His broad shoulders tensed under the fabric of his robes. For a moment he just stood there, the flat of his hand resting against the spines of the books, and she thought he wasn't going to answer. But then he turned to face her, his intense gaze magnified by the spectacles he wore.
"By you," he said. "I was… distracted by you."
Anora blinked. Even though it was she'd hoped he'd say, even though the words spoke to the lonely ache that had been in her chest for years, she still cursed her own weakness and foolishness.
To dally with this man was beyond dangerous, both to her claim to the throne and her own personal safety. He was a mage, she was a Queen and they had a nation to save. And yet, she couldn't bring to her lips the necessary words to discourage him.
The best she could manage under the circumstances was a neutral, "I see."
The silence stretched as he continued to study her through his spectacles. "I have offended you," he said, as his jaw tightened.
It was a way out, one that if she were wise, she would take. But wisdom, it seemed, was in short supply. She could not allow him to believe that she thought ill of him.
"No," she said. "I am not offended, Marcus."
He blinked and his face softened into something that looked like wry chagrin. "No doubt the admiration of men is something you're used to."
"I have had my share of compliments from ambitious men since Cailan's death, yes."
Whispered words and false promises from men who thought she was fool enough to place them on the empty throne beside her. Men who thought to wait out her father's regency and be handed the reins of a nation because of some pretty words and sparkling baubles.
Marcus's face went blank and his voice did not rise, but nonetheless it was clear that she had wounded him. "I am not those men. I have no expectations or demands of you other than your help to end this blight."
"I didn't mean to imply that you did." She twisted her hands. "What I meant is that I am used to complements, but not sincerity. You leave me at a loss, Warden."
He moved toward her, stopping just short of her. His brows lifted over the golden frame of his spectacles. "I don't believe that. There must be many other men who have noticed how incredible you are."
Heat spread through her belly at his words. She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "I think I intimidate most men. I am certain that I intimidated even Calian at times, and he knew me my entire life."
Usually it worked to her advantage. There were times that she even found it useful. Anora would much rather be listened to than fawned over, but she had learned the hard way that it was not a reaction that she desired from the husband who, despite his glaring flaws, she had loved. She suspected that it was the reason he had sought the bed of others so often.
Marcus took her hand in his, engulfing her slender fingers in his large hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "Any man who cannot appreciate your intelligence as well as your beauty is unworthy of you."
Sparks of heat skittered across her skin. With the courtly gesture finished, he should have dropped her hand, but instead he turned it over and pressed his lips to her palm.
She was overwhelmed by the intimacy. Heat seared through her palm straight to her belly. Anora's knees threatened to buckle, but she didn't pull away, not even when he pressed his lips to the soft skin at the pulse point of her wrist.
Anora grazed his jaw with her slender fingers and pulled her hand back enough to brush her thumb across his lip. She wasn't certain whether she drew him down to her, or he closed the distance on his own but the next thing she knew his mouth was on hers.
His kiss was neither the tentative brush of lips she expected, nor the gentle and affectionate familiarity that her husband's had been. It was a hungry and intense demand as Marcus's quiet stoicism crumbled away. Anora responded to his passion in kind, kissing him back and curling her fingers into the fabric of his robes and pulling him closer. He wrapped his arms around her, until the length of his body was pressed against hers in a way that left no doubt of the strength of his desire.
She gasped as the cool metal of his spectacles brushed the tender skin under her ear as his lips swept to the column of her neck and to her earlobe. Pleasure warred with frustration. He was too tall for her to wind her arms around his neck the way that she wanted or to taste his skin. All she could do was breathe in the scent of clean male and autumn leaves until he claimed her lips again.
Finally Marcus pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. His brown eyes were hazy behind his spectacles. "We have to stop."
She knew he was right, but for the life of her she couldn't think why, so she pulled him back into another kiss. His hands slid up her sides, until his thumb brushed against the underside of her breast. She moaned and arched into his palm.
He pulled back again, this time placing his large hands on her shoulders and moving her back until her backside hit the table behind her. Marcus swallowed and then spoke in a hoarse voice. "Anora, if we don't stop, I'm going to take you right here on this table."
That he wanted her that badly brought a purely feminine curl of satisfaction to her belly, but it was tempered with the knowledge that anyone could walk in on them at any moment.
She nodded and moved back farther, cursing herself for her stupidity. "You're right, if Eamon found us…" Anora had no doubt that the Arl would have no scruples about using a lapse in chastity against her. For a King with a noble bloodline, dalliances were expected. For a commoner Queen, even a dowager one, dalliances were treason. But her disappointment was quite profound, and the lonely ache in her chest burned cold once again as she struggled to compose herself.
"But I…" She swallowed the rest of the words, knowing that it did not matter what she wished, the circumstances were what they were.
Marcus dropped his hands and rubbed his jaw. He looked at her with his intent gaze once again, and she could tell he was weighing something in his mind. "There is another way. Tonight, I can come to you."
She didn't know what to say. Whatever means of getting into her room that he could devise, no doubt magical, they were still under Eamon's roof. There would still be the chance of discovery, and thus the danger of losing everything. But maker preserve her, she wanted this man in her bed so badly that the thought of facing the night alone after what had just happened between them was unbearable.
He took her hand. "You are the one with the most to lose. This has to be your decision. If you decide that this is worth the risk, then leave your window open and I will come. If not, then I will understand and accept it." He set her hands free and nodded to the door. "You should go before anyone gets suspicious."
She nodded, and with one last look at the man that she wanted for a lover, she slipped through the door not knowing what her decision was going to be.