The Vigil
Delia's legs were leaden as she walked up the stairs to her bedroom. The last few days had been grueling, fighting bandits and scavengers in the Wending Woods. The finale to that was fighting a pair of vicious dragonlings the Architect had unleashed on them. They had been a silent, somber bunch on the way back to the keep. Delia was finally becoming the Warden-Commander she thought she should be, simply because she was too tired and busy to be distracted by other diversions. She had even left the mage alone... for now.
She threw down her backpack in a corner of her room.
"Where's my bath?" she shouted down the hall, hoping a servant would hear. Her voice was hoarse from exhaustion. She sat on the edge of her bed and began to peel off the weapons and armor. It wasn't long before an apologetic servant came in bearing heated water. Delia simply grunted a response, too tired to actually form words. Once the tub was filled she eased down into it slowly, letting the hot water settle into her bones and relieve her aches. When it had cooled some, she ducked her head under to wet her hair, then lathered it and rinsed. It was unsettling how much blood and dust had been lodged in her hair.
She let her head loll back against the side of the tub and she dozed off for awhile. Eventually the water was simply too cold to bear and she got out and dried off. She crawled into bed, naked, as was her wont, and sighed deeply as her head sank into the down pillow. She was asleep before she had drawn five more breaths.
...
Wolf had a name for Delia. He threw a cloth wrapped grappling hook over the edge of the balcony railing leading to her bedroom and easily scaled the wall. He slipped over the railing silently and picked the lock to her balcony door. He carefully opened the door, hoping it wouldn't squeak, and it didn't. But he only opened it as much as he had to slip inside, then closed it again, lest the breeze warn her.
The moonlight flooded her room, showing a still-life painted in washed out blue, gray, and black. The elf was sound asleep on her stomach, her arms splayed out around her and her blankets around her hips, as if she had been tussling in her dreams. Her long, black hair lay spread out over the pillow and her bare back, a piece of it moving rhythmically with her breath where it had fallen against her face. She looked to be sleeping the extremely deep sleep of an exhausted child.
Wolf knew the risks. If she was half as good as the stories, she could be awake now, just waiting for him to get close enough to plunge a dagger into his gut. She'd sleep with her daggers under her pillow, of course. Certainly the rhythmic breathing and slight snore could be a ruse. Even the pose with the bare expanse of back showing was probably contrived as well, designed to lure someone closer - perhaps to inspire desire and the mistakes one makes when one wants so badly to pull away that curtain of black hair and run their hand down the lithe torso of the elf. And yet he crossed the floor, his footsteps silent, and stood next to her bed.
She didn't spring up and attack him, so he carefully sat on the edge of her bed thinking the movement would surely awaken her. He was ready for it.
Nothing. There was no reaction from the elf. Wolf's brow furrowed. Some legend, he thought. He bent over her and pulled her hair away from her back. Still no response. A smile tugged at his lips. He could see her back now. It was sculpted with muscle and the perfectly shaped bones. He could just see where her back began to rise into her pert backside.
"Delia," he whispered softly. She didn't stir. He put his hand on her back and called her name again. This time she sighed in her sleep. Emboldened he pulled the hair away from her face and kissed her cheek.
Delia's eyes snapped open. She awoke to a man's face just inches away from her own. Her hands plunged under her pillow, looking for her daggers. They were missing! Then she remembered discarding her weapons before crawling into the tub. In her exhaustion she had forgotten to put them under her pillow. It didn't matter now, he was pinning her to the bed. His knee on her back and his hands trapping her wrists.
"Gethefuckoffme!" she yelled almost incoherently.
"Shush, Commander. I'm not here to hurt you. I just wanted to talk."
"Wolf?" she could only just see him. His dark mask was the most recognizable feature she could make out.
"Yes."
"Oh. Well, couldn't you have made an appointment?" She paused a moment. "No, I suppose not."
"Are we good?" he asked.
"We're good. Now get the fuck off me!" she enunciated more clearly this time.
He unpinned her but she didn't move. If she sat up or rolled over she'd expose her bare chest to him. He chuckled and pulled the blanket up to her neck.
"Thank you," she grumbled. She rolled over, clutching the blanket to her chest and then sat up.
"Your security is terrible," Wolf remarked. "It couldn't have been easier getting up here. The lock on your balcony door is flimsy and you need more guards patrolling the grounds."
Delia's dark eyebrows pulled down and her eyes narrowed. "What the..."
Wolf interrupted her. "And you... I would have thought you, of all people, would know the importance of sleeping armed and with one eye open. Yet you were sleeping like baby for the ten minutes I've been here."
Delia squeaked with sudden rage. "You!" she hissed, "You have no idea what I've been through the last few days. I'm utterly exhausted. And soldiers? You ignorant bastard, I don't have enough soldiers to go around to protect the people from darkspawn attacks. I can't spare any to guard the keep from common footpads!" She grabbed her pillow and hit Wolf with it.
Her blanket slipped down with Wolf caught an eyeful before she hugged the pillow to her chest.
"You should eat more," he told her. "You're looking rather scrawny for a wealthy Arlessa."
"Fuck you! Did you just come here to criticize me and poke your nose into things that have nothing to do with your job? Or was there a purpose to this visit?" Delia knew she was getting way too skinny. There just wasn't time to pay attention to eating properly and the physical demands had been immense. She sometimes thought she looked like a boy when she looked in the mirror. Her breasts which had been meager before were even less present now. It was a topic she was very sensitive about right now.
"I just want to make sure my partner will be competent when the time comes," he told her.
"Partner? That's overstating our agreement a bit don't you think?"
He shrugged, his mouth showed his amusement. Baiting her was rather fun, she was so defensive about almost everything. "The reason I'm here, however, is to give you a name. I've found one of the conspirators."
"Oh good. It's gratifying to see you're doing something other than poking your nose into business that does not concern you!"
"Ser Timothy is one you might want to get rid of. Not a major player, but he's definitely in on it. I'm not surprised, the man was one of Howe's toadies from way back."
"Thank you. I'll see to Ser Timothy as soon as I can. Are there others do you think?"
"Oh yes, quite a few if the rumors are true. You've made an impressive number of enemies. Be patient, I'll be back with more names soon."
"How are you going to do it?" he asked her. He didn't want to leave yet.
"How is that your business?" she replied gruffly.
"Just professional curiosity. If I might make a suggestion, the man takes a horse out every morning."
"Well, that is useful information. I suppose a poisoned darkspawn arrow might do."
She sat looking at him, wondering why he didn't seem to be leaving.
"Is there anything more?" she asked.
"No. Not really. Well, one more question."
"Very well," she replied wearily.
He leaned closer to her and sniffed sensually. "What is that fragrance?"
Delia's mouth dropped with disbelief. "It's just soap! Get out of here!" She was about to throw her pillow at him but remember it was covering her scant chest.
Wolf laughed. His dark eyes danced behind his mask. He got up and made a mocking bow to her. "Until next time, my lady." He left via her balcony.
Delia buried herself back into her bed. Maker, that man is damned infuriating! she thought. It was even more infuriating was how she couldn't get the thought of those mocking dark eyes out of her head, or the way his black hair curled where his strong neck met his shoulders, or the graceful strength in his hands. She remembered his words and got up and grabbed her daggers and put them in their usual spot, under her pillow.