Sorry for the long wait, this is a LONG chapter, as is the next one. My poor Beta reader, I abuse so much T_T but your awesome! I hope you all enjoy, I LOVE the story Fav's & follows. Don't forget to review, it helps keep the juices flowing. Some DRAMA is coming soon, and a ****SMUT****WARNING***** later in this chapter.
**Yummy** ;P
as always I do NOT own any D.A or their charectors. I just love playing in their playground, (I bought Inquisition! so excited can't wait to play.)
"I thought I made it clear the last time, we just aren't ment to be. It's not me, it's you."
Ashaad looked annoyed and confused, He silently stared at the human.
"Why are you here, Ashaad? I thought we agreed, I would no longer darken your compound gate and you would stop requesting my help for every political spat there is!" Hawke fumed. She was beyond angry that the Arishok would send his Ashaad to come collect her, as if she were a piece of meat from a market. She had been in a meeting with the Captain of the Guard when the Qunari brethren came in, surrounding her and Aveline.
"The Arishok requests your presence, Basalit-an," one large, silver giant with short, blunt horns grunted out, looking displeased to be here gathering a Bas.
Hawke looked from him and his brethren to Aveline, then back to the Ashaad who had addressed her.
"I'm in the middle of something right now. You can tell your Arishok that I will think on his request and reply duly." She turned her attention back to Aveline.
"Duty requires that I bring you to him. I cannot return until I have fulfilled my duty," Ashaad stated as if explaining to a child.
"Hawke, we can finish another time," Aveline said. She kept looking around at the five Qunari dwarfing her office. "I think it would be best to answer them."
"No, we will not deal with this later!" Hawke yelled as she stood and faced the Qunari. She walked towards them, jabbing a finger into the closest one's stone-like chest to make her point. "I have done anything and everything you have asked of me, dealing with a dwarf, a crazed elf, radicals, missing Qunari, Saarebas, Tal-Vashoth – being bounced back and forth between him and the Viscount! I most definitely will not be ordered around like I'm his personal slave! If the Arishok wants me, he can come and get me!"
She walked out of the Guard Captain's office and out of the keep, heading to her own mansion. Considering it was at the foot of the stairs of the keep, she didn't have to go far.
Slamming the door, she stalked past Bodahn and Sandal. Orana met her at the top of the stairs, wringing her hands in fright. She heard the bedroom door get slammed by her mistress as well, and with speed she took after her. Knocking lightly, waiting for her mistress to bid entrance, Orana heard things being thrown around the room and glass shattering.
Oh dear, she thought, thinking of the mess she'd have to clean up later.
Bodahn surprised Orana by appearing next to her; she never heard him come up the stairs. He bowed his head to her and knocked loudly on the mistress's door. A second later it flung open to reveal a wild, enraged Hawke.
"What?" she yelled.
Orana ran and hid behind the nearest pillar. She remembered that when her old masters used to yell like that, someone was going to get punished. Mistress had never punished her before, but she knew Mistress was strong and she didn't want to be on the end of that whip … or worse.
"Your mother asks for your presence right away, Serah," Bodahn bravely responded. The only sign that he was frightened was the constant shifting of his feet.
"Not now –" Hawke said, just as her mother's voice carried up the stairs.
"Now, Elizabeth!" came the clear command.
It seemed she was a hot commodity today. She sighed deeply, then slowly descended the stairs. Leandra was sitting with her back straight, head held high. Hawke sat across from her. This was the first time since the death of her sister that her mother willingly saw her.
"It has come to my attention that a grave error has been made," Leandra started. Hope, however fleeting, sprung in Hawke; maybe her mother realized it wasn't her fault, that Bethany's death, though tragic, was an accident.
It didn't last long. Her hope died out with her mother's next words.
"You are getting along in years now. It is time you stopped traipsing about and picking fights. Playtime is over; you are nearing on twenty-two now, almost a spinster. It is time you settle down and marry."
"What?" Elizabeth squeaked. Shock, hurt and confused, where was this coming from?
"Come now, do not act so surprised. I had already had the twins by your age." Pain momentarily crossed Leandra's face. Hawke looked at her mother. She wasn't as young-looking as she should have been, and she was not that old. Years of hard labor and stress, constant worry and loss, had aged her quickly beyond her years.
"I'm sorry," Hawke whispered.
Leandra looked up for the first time at her eldest – her only child, she corrected herself. "Seneschal Bran is single. He is a powerful man and would make a fine husband. Viscount Dumar is hosting an evening of entertainment tomorrow night. Ser Bran will be your escort. As for tonight, he will be joining us for our evening meal. You will dress appropriately and act as an Amell lady should. Am I understood, Elizabeth?"
Hanging her head as a small child would, she uttered, "Yes, Ma'am."
"Good. Now go upstairs and bathe. Let Orana prepare you. I bought you a dress; I'll have it sent up."
Nodding her head, Hawke stood up and went to her room. She leaned against the door, quietly crying as Orana worked on preparing the bathwater. Her mother was all she had left anymore. She would do anything to have her look at her again and not cringe in pain or lash out in hate. If that meant, say, not correcting her mother when she claimed Hawke was the age Bethany would now be if she had lived, then so be it. What was three years younger, really?
And if she wanted her to flirt and play noble with Bran, she would.
"Mistress, it's ready," Orana called.
Wiping her eyes, she went to prepare.
Steam rose to the high ceiling. Elizabeth was submerged in the water, but her head rested on the lip of the tub. Over and over she replayed in her mind the last time she was at the compound. She had felt used, degraded. She didn't understand how people she had respected and thought respected her, with their strict rules and order, could do that. She had been ashamed at first – she had taken pleasure out of what he did to her, after all – but she refused to play victim anymore.
There was a soft creaking sound behind her, the door leading to her room.
Must be Orana, Hawke thought. "I'm not done. I'll come out when I'm ready, just put my towel over there." She pointed to a stool not too far from the tub. There was no scurrying or apologizing as Orana usually did. Frowning, Hawke turned her head to look behind her. Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes took in the Qunari standing in her bathroom, only a hand's reach away.
"It is irrelevant if you are ready or not. You will come, Basra; willingly, or by force."
"By force it is, then," Hawke answered. She jumped up, throwing water at the Qunari. She knew it wouldn't hurt him, just distract him, as she ran out of the bathroom butt naked to grab her duel swords. She made it through the door only to be roughly grabbed on the arm from her right by another Qunari. Reflexively she pivoted on the balls of her feet, swinging her knee up and hitting home on her attacker. He fell to his knees, one hand on his jewels, the other still holding her arm, but loosely. She pulled back her left hand, socking him in the nose and breaking it. He released her then, but she didn't stop; his fellow was almost on top of them. She placed one more kick on his head, effectively knocking him out.
Unfortunately, she had lost time. The first Qunari grabbed her from behind, wrapping his arms around hers so she couldn't move. He lifted her up so she couldn't use her legs, but sadly for him, he lifted her too far up: she swung her head back, cracking his nose. She heard him grunt in pain and smiled. His hold didn't falter, though. He squeezed her tighter, and it became harder to breathe. She felt like her ribs were about to break.
Doing the only thing left for her, she curled up her legs and kicked back, hitting him in the jewels as well. Then she threw her head back again to head-butt, only to momentarily be stunned by pain shooting through her head. He had expected another head-butt; he had moved the bases of his horns in the way so she hit solid, hardened bone. He did drop to his knees from her kick, however, and now with her feet on the ground she moved her right leg behind his. With all her might, she moved it from under him. He fell back on the floor with her on top.
"Bloody stubborn heathens!" she yelled, rolling her eyes.
Whether from all the noise or just her yell, she wasn't sure, but her mother barged into her room holding her father's (and Bethany's) staff, pointed at the Qunari, just as he rolled over on top of Hawke, squishing her between him and her cold, stone floor. He froze for a moment. Elizabeth looked up to see the sight, and then fear set in. Her mother was no Mage; the staff wouldn't work, but the Qunari didn't know that and would attack and kill her!
"Bas-Saarebas," he growled.
"Get off my daughter and leave this house at once!" Hawke's mother demanded in her nobility-voice.
The giant got off Hawke but began stalking towards her mother. Hawke moved without thinking: she jumped up from her position on the floor, jumped onto the Qunari's back, grabbed his head and twisted with all her strength. There was an answering cracking sound as the giant fell to the floor, lifeless eyes gazing hatred out at her mother still.
Breathing heavily, Elizabeth looked up at her mother; she looked pale but stood tall.
"Finish dressing for dinner. Ser Bran should be here any minute." With that, Leandra turned on her heels and left.
Uncomfortable with her reaction, Hawke walked over to the mirror. Even though she had broken the Qunari's noses, there was little to no blood shed. Sighing, she turned to do as her mother bid.
Dinner was mind-numbingly boring. Hawke was used to loud, obnoxious noises, rowdy gangs, dirty jokes, whores plying their trade in corners right there in front of everybody … tonight was none of that. She barely said five sentences; Mother carried the conversation, Bran picking it up here and there. Whenever Hawke said something she was getting scolded for being 'vulgar', or being told that 'a wife should not speak without her husband's permission'.
That one got an immediate response of, "I'm no man's wife yet, Ser Bran."
He and Mother acted as if it was a done deal, which truly frightened her. It wasn't that Bran was horrible or anything – he was just dull and proper. He cared what people thought. He collected things that others coveted to rub it in their faces, and she couldn't help but feel that she was one of them. He wasn't bad-looking: she liked older men, him being ten or so years her senior, and his face was pleasing to look at, minus his sneer as he looked down on people.
She knew of his 'other side', where he would patron whore houses and trudge with the lows in Lowtown. She knew he preferred men, but he would never let it be known, probably for fear of losing his station as Seneschal, or fear of what the other nobility would say or think. He knew she knew and didn't care. Thus, she believed she knew why he asked for a moment alone with her after dinner.
When they were alone, Hawke expected Bran to ream her out, belittle or even threaten her to keep her mouth shut about his private life. To her utter shock, he kissed her on the cheek and then kneeled down on one knee with a ring box, asking for her hand.
"I think you'd do quite nicely," he said. At least he didn't give false platitudes or declarations of love.
No matter how much she wanted a relationship with her mother again, Hawke couldn't force the response she knew Mother wanted. It was almost painful, the lump in her throat blocking speech. Luckily (or unluckily), Leandra mustn't have trusted her daughter not to mess this up, because she was standing on the other side of the door. When no response to Bran's question came, she rolled her eyes and came in, answering for her worthless child.
"Of course, Ser Bran, she will accept! Why, she is positively speechless with joy!" she gushed, smiling brightly at the redheaded man. He nodded, looking back up at Hawke, who was forcing a smile on her face, too, but it didn't reach her eyes. He slipped the ring on her finger and stood. Taking the hand he still held, he brought it to his lips and kissed it softly. Releasing her, he then bid her mother goodnight and left.
She was sure there was more that happened, but she couldn't remember …
Next thing she knew, she was running through the streets to the docks. She slammed through the compound gates as if the Archdemon was on her tail. She ran up the steps to the throne on which the Arishok normally sat. He wasn't here … she needed him to be here. She looked around and spotted a door cracked open. She walked to it and saw the Arishok inside, seated at a large, octagonal table, drinking something sweet and spicy-smelling.
She went up to him, grabbed his drink, and downed it in one gulp.
Slamming the cup down, she tried to order him to duel her, but a coughing fit took over her. The fire in her throat caught her off guard. "What the bloody hell is that, Gaatlok?" she managed to get out between coughs.
The Arishok didn't look happy with her. He poured more liquor into the cup she had taken, but as he put the bottle away she grabbed the cup again and chugged it. He made a growling sound at her.
She finally handed him the cup back, sitting down heavily in the seat next to him. "I killed one of your soldiers. I didn't pause to ask which one he was." She shrugged her shoulders. Her hands were on the table and she was playing with the ring Bran had given her.
"If anyone else were to say that, they would not breathe another breath, but you, Hawke, are different."
Silence ensued until she couldn't deal with it anymore. "Aren't you going to ask me why I killed him?"
"No."
"No?"
Sensing her question truly lay elsewhere, but that she would not get to it until much later, he sped up the process. "He was sent to bring you to me. Though he fell by your hands, he still succeeded, as you are here."
"But he is not why I am here."
"Then why are you here?" he asked with annoyance in his tone.
Silence reigned again, until finally she turned to him with desperation in her eyes. "Make me forget why I came, please," she begged.
The Arishok was shocked and confused by this request. She had not come here since that night, a night he regretted profoundly. She did not think as they did; she did not understand what he had done for her. He had hoped to teach her a lesson: when an Imekari, a child, had a hard time learning or understanding a lesson, they used situations or objects to help them understand. Hawke had blamed him, had played 'victim', a thing she was not. He had tried to show her how brave, strong and desirable she was, and also that she should not try to use others to elevate her fears or hurt. She had not understood the lesson, which was his failing. He had never failed before, and now she was still using others, a weakness that would get her killed.
He had tried verbal lessons, then an 'eye for an eye' lesson; he guessed all that was left was to see if giving her what she wanted would teach her … even if it worked more than she thought.
He grabbed his drink and downed it, then grabbed Hawke by the arm. He stood up and she followed suit, and her walked her out to his private rooms. Deep in the compound, he was not worried that she would see and notice most of what was going on, or how big it really was down here. It was dark to human eyes and she was busy squirming.
_Smut_
"Parshaara! Quit your squirming, woman," the Arishok growled as he threw her into the room, shutting the door behind him. She turned on him, swinging her arms and knees, trying to hit him, but he grabbed her arms and wrestled them behind her with one hand in his iron grip. With the other hand, he grabbed her face and shoved it up to his, crashing his lips on her. She continued fighting for a moment, then she pushed into the kiss more. Attacking his lips as he had hers, with just as much ferocity, she moaned and grinded herself against his hard, bare chest.
The Arishok grabbed the dress Hawke still wore from dinner and ripped it open, exposing her to him. He hooked his claws into the strings on her corset and pulled, popping them open. He yanked the dress and corset the rest of the way off her body. Then, though, he stared at her lower half, looking truly confused.
She had this black string around her sex; he had never seen anything like it before, but he strangely liked it.
Noticing his look, Hawke giggled – something that had never happened in his tents before. "It's called a thong. It's an undergarment." At his unbelieving look, she continued to explain. "Women wear them so as to not have lines showing up in their dresses … or to tease their lovers."
She winked at him.
He growled as he ripped the 'thong' from her, too. She was now blessedly bare before him. He sniffed and inhaled her scent. Her natural smell and her arousal were driving him wild. His beast was clawing to break free, but he clamped down on it. She might have fared very well with the other qunari toys, but he was very large; he could easily damage if not kill her were he to lose control. She started to unbuckle his pants, which he allowed for a time. She got his overskirt off, his boots – but when she came to pull on the leather pants he only allowed her to untie them. He remained in them, and picked her up and tossed her on the bed, where he climbed to hover over her.
Kissing was pleasurable and aroused her more. He grabbed and lightly twisted her nipples. Leaving the kiss, he licked down her neck to her breasts, giving them his full attention. She was arching her back, offering more of them to him. Her purrs and moans continued to get louder as he suddenly applied more pressure.
Hawke liked it rougher; she wanted to forget. Although gentle and sweet was great sometimes, right now was not one of those times. She craved being savaged, ravished. She pulled at his horns, growling when he didn't get the hint … oh, he got a little rougher, but that was it. Hawke felt like he thought she was a porcelain doll. She would have none of this.
"Harder," she commanded.
He increased it slightly, but not enough.
"Harder, damn it!" she growled again.
The Arishok looked up at her. "Hawke, I could damage you if I am too rough. I will not allow that."
She was momentarily shocked that he would worry about her safety. It was admirable, but unnecessary. She started to push him away, and he allowed it, until she said, "Fine, I'll go find another who can satisfy me."
That did it. The Arishok growled and threw her back, and he growled again before he took to biting and nipping at her. She almost peaked just from that. He licked a trail down her body, shoving her legs open to him, and pinned her hips down as he licked her clit. She climaxed almost immediately, and her screams for more pushed him on. He inched lower, shoving his long, thick tongue into her entrance, and he used a knuckle and claw to flick her clit instead. She twitched and bounced under him. He didn't relent. She clawed and screamed, pulled on his horns, but he didn't stop. Moving his tongue back on her clit again, he shoved two clawed fingers into her – and she broke. She bucked, cried and screamed for him, begged him to fuck her.
He was painfully hard, his pants restraining him as he moved up and down her body; his cock was getting the friction from both the pants and the bed rubbing him. He was dripping. He made her climax one more time before he leaned back, trying to pull the beast down before he truly lost control.
Hawke's eyes were almost black with lust. She begged and pleaded for more, for him, for his cock. He closed his eyes to fight for control, repeating Qun verses in his head, but it was all undone when she caressed him through his pants. He breathed deeply, purring. She took his momentary lapse and pulled his member free, and quick as a flash she brought him into her mouth. She only got a few licks before she was shoved away and flipped around onto her hands and knees. The Arishok came up behind her, leaning over her to whisper in her ear.
"You plead for forgetfulness. I shall oblige, Elizabeth," he growled as he slammed his full length into her from behind, his balls smacking her ass cheeks. Elizabeth cried out in pain and bliss. Finally, what she wanted, and it was more than she had hoped for.
Pounding into her, he lifted himself up to angle deeper, gripping her hips and slamming her back to meet his thrusts. The slapping sound of their joining could be heard from the hallway, her screams almost from out of the compound – but none would know what they did, and his men would not question him. He rammed her unmercifully, her ass red from his balls smacking her, her juices leaking on his bed. She had climaxed two more times since he'd been inside her, and he felt another coming on as his balls moved up; he was close as well. He angled deeper, hitting her spot, quickening his pace. He exploded as she, too, careened over the edge. His cock swelled and locked them in place as he continued to ejaculate in her.
She tried to collapse, only to feel a pulling, sharp pain down there. She gasped and looked back.
"What the –" she started to say before he interrupted her.
"I'm in rut, Hawke. That is why you were summoned, and why it is unimportant that you killed one of my Karasaad. I am an Alpha; I go into rut every few years. This was not planned or expected, but it is to be. You will stay with me for the next few days as the Qun demands. This requires a female, and you are that. There are no Qunari females with us, so you will do; you are Basalit-an, after all."
"Okay, I'm still lost. Why are you stuck inside m–"
The Arishok cut her off again, not wanting to hear her tirade of pointless questions. "When I am in rut, I swell to fit you so no seed escapes. It is to increase the chance of my seed taking root. Of the other plethora of questions I'm sure you have, it can wait."
"'Taking root'?" Her brain was working slowly to begin with, since that fireball drink earlier, and now with the tingling sensations in her nether regions it was extremely hard to think through things.
"Oh my Maker! Are you trying to get me pregnant? That's what you said, is it not?" Hawke was freaked out. She'd only just gotten engaged to the Seneschal! She had heard of nobles getting 'with child' from their lovers and passing it off as the spouse's, but she doubted that would work if it were a giant, grey-skinned, horned child.
"You should feel honored. Few ever get this privilege, even in Par Vollen, and I honor you, Hawke," the Arishok said as he thrust into her again. She felt that he was hard again, bigger too, and they were still locked together. She knew she should feel used, angry, and infuriated, even, but all she felt was a desire for more, more of the Arishok. All ideas and thoughts of protesting and parties, obligations and whatnot were the furthest things from her mind right now. She bucked and leaned her head down against the furs as her ass went higher into the air. It was a sign of submission, one the Arishok saw and reveled in: he had made the mighty, proud Hawke, Basalit-an, submit without demanding it or asking it. The beast roared to life, taking over.
They stayed in his chambers for eight days, eating little and sleeping only when exhaustion demanded it. He took her in every way possible, some she had never even heard of before. When it was finally over, she couldn't walk or talk. Her voice had left her after the first day of screaming. They lay together, the Arishok gathering her in his arms and spooning her from behind, and they slept another day.
By the time she awoke, the Arishok was gone. Next to her on the bed was a set of simple human clothing. She put it on; the garments were slightly too large for her but she'd make do. She walked out the door to be greeted by an Ashaad waiting for her; he nodded respectfully to her then walked her out of the compound. He offered her food before she left but she declined, not feeling right being here anymore.
She just wanted to bathe and sleep for another day or two. It took her an embarrassingly long time to climb the stairs from the docks to Lowtown, then from Lowtown to Hightown. By the time she finally reached Hightown she was all but weeping with desire to get home. She entered her house only to hear Uncle Gamlen yelling at Bodahn and Sandal about where her mother was.
"Leandra! Le-an-dra!"
"Enchantment?"
"Mistress left early this morning," Bodahn explained.
"Well, wherever she is, she never came to our meeting. It's so unlike her."
Bodahn considered. "With her suitor, perhaps?" he offered to Gamlen.
"Suitor? Leandra never mentioned a suitor before!"
"Well, these flowers came for her." He pointed to a beautiful vase of large, white lilies.
Hawke walked in, spotted the vase, and fear gripped her insides right away.
"I know something about that," she finally pushed out. Her voice was scratchy-sounding and it hurt to talk louder than a whisper, but she needed the others to hear her. Having just now noticed her, Bodahn scampered up to her, confused by her appearance. The clothes she wore were not hers, but a commoner's clothing and too large. She was missing the coat she had left with; no doubt that was what he had been coming to collect from her upon her entrance.
"And where in the bloody hell have you been, girl? You had your mother worried sick for days! She even requested the Viscount and your gang search for you!" Gamlen yelled.
"Out," was all the answer she gave him.
Seeming less pleased than usual, he nodded his head in the direction of the vase. "So you say you know something of this."
"A killer has been sending his victims white lilies just before he abducts them." Her voice was cold and lacking all feeling.
"No, not Leandra – you're wrong. I'll – I'll head back to the house. Maybe we just missed each other. Yeah, that's it."
"Denial will do us no good, Uncle. I'll go look for her. And I think I know where he may be."
She forced herself upstairs to change into her armor and retrieve her daggers. Great, more blasted stairs, she thought, though now they were easier to climb with adrenaline pumping through her veins.
The shock and disgust at seeing her beautiful mother butchered like that had bile rising up Hawke's already sore and burning throat. Quentin was a madman, a Blood Mage dabbling in the dark, forbidden arts to replace his late wife. Her mother's last words were how happy she was to leave her and finally be with the twins and Father again. Hawke was all alone. She burned the hideout, not wanting another bloodthirsty Mage to use Quentin's sick and twisted research. She left her companions without a 'see you later', or a wave, not even a second glance. She wanted to get home.
Later, as she was staring at the fire in her library, she didn't hear Gamlen come in and walk up behind her until he spoke up.
"Well, did you find her? Where is she?"
Hawke looked at him for a moment, then down at the fire, not wanting to see the disappointment and hatred on his face when she told him. "She's gone. He killed her."
"Wha- no, not Leandra, Maker! Why?" Tears fell down his face. She could hear the real pain of loss in his voice.
"Does it matter?"
"N-no. It will always be senseless. I hope you killed him, the bastard who did this."
"I did."
"Good."
An awkward silence filled the air. This would have been when he would say, 'I must inform the rest of the family', but there was none left. They were alone.
"Sleep, child. You look exhausted. I'll … make the arrangements." Gamlen turned and left.
Elizabeth went upstairs and slept for three days, only waking up on the fourth day for the funeral when Aveline sent a small patrol of guards to retrieve her. She got dressed in a black dress her mother had bought her after she had returned from the Deep Roads without Bethany. It was getting too much use.
