"So you know, I had wanted to tell you this before everything that happened our last night in Haven, but you were usually off saving the world." He lightly grins at that, making the fluttering feeling in my stomach double its pace. "Point is, I think you're a beautiful lady, and I've really liked your personality from the few chances we've had to be around each other. I know you've got a full plate leading the Inquisition, but if you'd like to, I would love to spend more time together."
It takes me a few seconds to regain control of my suddenly frozen body, but when I do, my lips curl up into quite possibly the biggest smile I've ever given. "I'd love to, Krem."
With apologies for keeping everyone waiting so long, here it is:
Aqun-Athlok
By: Eva Grimm
Chapter Seven: Way of the Knight-Enchanter (AKA How I Got into Krem's Bed for the First Time)
"You going to whip that thing out or what?"
Chapter Summary: Hamasha begins her first lessons in making and wielding a sword made of magic, and the lesson takes a turn for the interesting when Bull is conscripted to teach her in combat. Afterwards, Krem takes her to bed and makes her moan (no, not like that).
I've made grammatical corrections and a *few* minor edits to the initial six chapters, so even if the long wait wasn't reason enough, it's probably a good idea to reread the first six chapters.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Dragon Age: Inquisition or any other BioWare intellectual property. Aqun-Athlok is a fan-based work and not sold for profit.
***WARNING: PAST ABUSE is heavily hinted at and at some points outright mentioned. Reader be advised.
***SPOILER ALERT: Spoilers for any Dragon Age game; they're going to happen. You've been warned.
"Eeep!" I squeak in surprise as I finally get my magic to materialize from the spirit blade hilt I crafted for our training. Just as quickly as the solid magic materialized, it vanishes back into the Beyond as my concentration is shattered by said surprise. That was short lived.
"Well, you had it, though you'll obviously need to work on maintaining the form," Commander Helaine dryly remarks. The words elicits a chuckle from Krem nearby before he's cut off by Bull bashing him off his feet with a quick backhand blow from a shield. I can't hold back a wince as I see Krem painfully crash to the dirt of the training ground.
"Eyes on me, Recruit," my trainer remarks with no small amount of resignment. I whip back to face her, properly abashed. "Now: Until you've committed the shape of this blade to memory, you must maintain focus to keep the magic stable. Otherwise, you'll be using a training hilt forever. Eventually, you won't need one at all."
"Yes, Commander," I quickly reply. "I'm sorry. I was caught off guard. I've... Well, I've only held a sword once before, and this one was made from magic. I'll do better." I think I see a brief look of... surprise? flit over Commander's face, but I blink and her countenance is once again the same stern expression she always has. Probably just imagined it.
"Well, try again," she responds, a hint of impatience in her voice.
My eyes briefly flit over to Bull and Krem, who have begun their training in shield... bushing...? I think Bull called it that. Why Shems would name a weapon skill that is beyond me though, as most Shem naming conventions are, but I've mostly learned to ignore that sort of thing now, so my eyes slide back down to the hilt I hold in my right hand. Carefully aiming the hilt away from myself, I once more focus energy from Beyond into the object and manage to keep myself composed this time as a blade bursts into existence.
While carefully maintaining my focus, I give the blade a few experimental swings. This really is quite light! Hm... Lighter than my staff, actually, so I suppose real swords can't possibly weigh as little as this with all that metal. Well, that just makes my life easier, really. I've got enough to worry about with keeping the blade active and, you know, not cutting myself in half or something else equally terrible. Like cutting someone else in half.
I pale at the image of Krem's bloody, bottomless torso lying on the ground that my mind's eye helpfully provides, and the blade's edges begin to wobble ominously for a moment before I bring my focus to bear once more and soothe them out. I glance up at Commander, who is watching me with a calculating look, and I ask, "Okay, what do I do now?"
A mirthless smile crosses her face that makes my ears twitch at the sight of it. "Now you practice using it while maintaining it. Making a Spirit Blade will do you no good if it vanishes the moment you swing it."
She glances over at the pair nearby as Krem is once more knocked to his ass by Bull's Shield Bush (Such a stupid name.). "The Iron Bull, was it?" she asks, drawing his attention. "While I would ordinarily be the one to spar with my recruit, it seems she has only eyes for you two, and I am given to understand that you are the leader of the mercenary group that has fought beside her before. I therefore ask of you your services in training her in the art of the blade and correcting any combat deficiencies you may have taken note of prior to now."
"Well, that's certainly a wordy way to say you want to take a break," Bull responds with a hearty laugh as Krem pulls himself to his feet.
"Certainly not," Commander disagrees without hesitation and a minor hint of disdain at the accusation. "I am merely acknowledging that while I am aptly suited to training the Inquisitor in the art of Knight-Enchanter magicks, you are better positioned to train her in the martial use of said magic than I, though I am nevertheless suited to the task, if you feel you are not up to taking over for the time being?"
"Hn," Bull grunts. "S'fine. She's gonna need all the help she can with fighting like a warrior. Krem and I can handle it."
I do my best to fight down a blush at that, though he is right. As you can imagine, the fact my induction as Inquisitor was the first time I've held a sword before ought to be proof enough I don't know the first thing about hitting anyone with anything other than a spell, and I'm not particularly good at that either. Well, damaging spells anyway. I'm more of a healer than... Okay, now I'm just pointlessly rehashing. I mean, Creators, it's not like it's been that long since—
I shout in surprise, as Bull shield bushes my hand, causing the blade to vanish as I drop the hilt. Without missing a beat, he rears back and smashes his foot forward into my gut hard enough to knock me backwards a full meter, where I painfully crash ass first into the ground. Before I can even remotely begin to process what just happened, Bull is straddling me and pinning my wrists to the ground. "Lesson number one. You gotta get out of your own head, or you're gonna lose it one of these days."
"Oi, that's a bit much, ain't it, Chief?" Krem remarks harshly as he strides over towards us and Commander turns to walk away, a smile on her face. A smile!
Embarrassment swiftly mingles with the literal pain in my ass (I only make the distinction since, as I've learned from Bull's swearing lessons, "pain in the ass" is apparently how Shemlen say "dhava 'ma masa" ("Kiss my ass"). Or something like that, anyway.) as well as, to my surprise and further embarrassment, my arousal. I'm not sure if it's the being pinned down, having my faults brought up publicly in front of Krem, the pain itself, or some Creator forsaken mix of the three, but a feeling of exhilaration washes over me, leaving my face flushed. Bull gives me a look I haven't seen from him before, and it takes me a second to realize why before all the color in my face washes away, leaving me pale in fear.
"Say nothing," I hoarsely whisper as Bull pulls himself off me and I roll over onto my side and curl up into a ball to obscure my nethers until I've calmed down. Fenedhis! Of all the times to have this happen, it's in the middle of the training yard? In front of Krem and literally on Bull? I would have thought my acceptance of Krem's esalath ("courtship") and my own developing isalathe ("desire, infatuation") for him would have muted my body's reactions to Bull. Apparently I would be mistaken.
"Hey, are you alright?" Krem says, kneeling beside me and laying a gentle hand on my arm, unwittingly making the problem worse. Okay, yes, it seems embarrassment is definitely part of the arousal. Which is just embarrassing, which is just making the problem worse, and—
"Hamasha," he firmly states, gently tilting my face up to meet his. I keep my eyes carefully averted to the side. The dirt of the training ground is very interesting, after all. "What's wrong? I can't make it better if you don't tell me."
I melt a bit at the care in his voice and the tenderness of his touch. "Ah. I, ah... Well, you see, I..." Okay. Off to a great start. Steeling myself as much as I can, I try again. "When... When Bull was on me, my uh... not edhis ("penis"), I can't remember the Shem word... He made me feel... things..." I trail off somewhat lamely while warring with myself over whether to glance into his golden brown eyes. I don't want to see the disappointment he will undoubtedly have for my unintentional betrayal, but simultaneously, I need to know just how badly disappointed he is.
"Oh?" Krem remarks as if we were just talking about the weather, "is that all? Yeah, Chief can have that effect on people."
Okay, I've clearly not explained this properly. There can be no other explanation for his casual reaction. "Am I saying it wrong?" I ask, tentatively meeting his own eyes, the warmth in them catching me off guard. "I'm saying I... ah..."
"You're saying he turned you on, yeah?" he softly and carefully asks. I wince (I remember the expression from Sera, of all people.), but he soldiers on. "Listen, I dunno how the Dalish do things, but I know most consider it... not traditional for you to be pining after two people."
"'Pining?'" I blurt out, unable to help myself. "What do trees have to do with...?"
Krem snorts, and the indelicate act is just so him that I can't help a small smile, even if I really don't understand what trees have to do with what we're talking about. "Not... okay, 'pining' means to care about someone in, uh, that way. What was that word you used... issul, no, isalathe?" At the look of understanding entering my eyes, he flashes me a grin and continues, "But yeah, just because most people view that sort of thing as bad, doesn't mean we—Bull and me, I mean—do." He glances over at Bull, whose posture indicates impatience, but the feeling really doesn't seem to reach his eye. "Look, I promise this isn't as big a deal as you think it is, so if you're, err, all set downstairs, then let's talk about this later, yeah? If we keep Chief waiting any longer, I think we'll both be in trouble."
"Don't pretend you don't like being in trouble with me, Krem," Bull remarks idly, and to my surprise, a hint of redness tinges Krem's cheeks as he rises and offers me his hand. I still feel a bit, well, obvious down there, but I accept his assistance anyway, and he pulls me to my feet.
"Back to the point, if we're ready to resume," Bull grunts as he tosses me my hilt, having retrieved it at some I scramble to catch it, he continues. "So as I was saying: You're gonna get yourself killed if you aren't paying attention. That's true in any fight, but doubly so if you're going to be hanging out with us on the front lines, got that?"
"Y-yes," I answer, my voice somewhat unsteady but my eyes locked onto him. "I understand."
"Not yet, you don't," Bull remarks, "but you will. From now on, I'm going to punish any inattention, got it?"
I flush a bit at the notion of him punishing me, but I do my best to stay calm. The word 'inattention' catches me off guard at first, but after giving it a moment's thought... How about that, I'm starting to get better at figuring things out from context. "No more... daydreaming? That's the word, right?"
"Aye, that's right, Boss. Now Krem! That form of hers isn't going to cut it. Show her how it's done, so we can run some drills."
"You got it, Chief," Krem quips before sidling up behind me and reaching around me to grasp at my forearms. Surprised, I sit there dumbly for a moment before he adds, "You going to whip that thing out or what?"
For once, the double meaning is not lost on me, and my cheeks flush red in full from the close contact and the innuendo as I grab the hilt (The spirit blade hilt, not that!) with both hands and will energy from the Beyond into it. The blade comes out much... longer than before, but other than a smirk from Bull and a dry chuckle from Krem, neither remark on it.
A few hours later, Bull finally calls an end to the training session, which is good because I'm fairly certain I'm about to collapse. As it turns out, I failed at constantly paying attention several more times, and Bull made good on his promise to punish me each time I did, typically choosing to make the real consequences of losing focus on the battlefield by hitting me like an enemy would (Thankfully with less maiming and other, more permanent forms of injury!). Between that and the actual practice of sword form drills with the brutal taskmaster known otherwise as The Iron Bull, it is truly a wonder I'm still able to sta— wait, no, I taste dirt. Did I fall? When did I fall? It really seems like I ought to have noticed this happening? But... So tired...
"Looks like someone's going to need some help," I hear Krem remark, the lilt of his words lightly tinged with laughter.
I still have enough of my wits about me to mutter, "N-no, I got this," in what I hope is a convincing tone as I try to push myself up onto my knees, but my arms are like... Oh, what was that phrase Blackwall used... Ugh, can't focus... Whatever. I have lav'limanen ("liquid arms") (I'll have to ask him what the saying is later), and they refuse to hold me upright at all, resulting in me flopping back to the ground bonelessly.
"Still got it handled, Hamasha?" Okay yes, that's definitely the sound of barely restrained laughter standing over me.
Something about the pain suffusing my body, being on the ground, and someone standing over me all but laughing hits me hard in a way that hasn't happened for months now, and before I know it, I'm on the verge of tears. "S-Sathan samahlas em din..." ("P-Please don't laugh at me...")
Someone scoops me up a moment later, and the faint scent of an unfamiliar wood enters my nose. "I'm going to guess by the teary eyes and muttering in Elvhen that I hit a sore spot. Didn't mean to, sorry." Somewhat grounded again, I open my mouth to reply it's okay, but my words catch in my throat, so I just curl deeper into his chest and hope my meaning comes across clear enough.
Much sooner than I would've expected considering how far away my room in Skyhold is located, I'm laid down upon my bed and I open my eyes. I look at my surroundings, close my eyes again, then open them once more to make sure my eyes aren't lying to me. Ah... I wasn't wrong.
This is not my bed.
"K-Krem?" I ask, half panicked at the implications of why I'm here. I try to push myself upright, but my arms are still more or less unresponsive, so I'm barely able to prop myself up at all.
"Right here," he says from off to the side, drawing my eyes over to him. His eyes aren't on me but rather engrossed in a small satchel of jars on a table off to the side. "I swear it's in here, so where is... Ah ha!" He turns my way and holds up a slightly more than half full jar of a substance I don't recognize. "This is an ointment Stitches gave me a while back for soothing aches. Should be perfect."
My face might literally be on fire, so hot is my embarrassment. "But I'm not ready for that!"
He stares at me with a look of complete bewilderment on his face. "Not ready for... ointment?"
"What? No! For sex!"
Now he's the one whose face is flushed. "I-I mean, this could be used for sex, but—"
"This is not my bed!"
"Well, n-no, it's mine, but—"
"And I'm not ready!"
He gapes at me for a moment, his tanned face still flushed, before abruptly bursting into hysterical laughter and collapsing into the chair next to the table where the satchel is.
I... I don't understand. Why is he laughing? This isn't funny! Is jumping straight to sex within a week of agreeing to spend more time together normal for Shemlen?
"Hamasha," Krem finally manages to say once his fit of laughter was over, "this is just for the soreness from practice!"
"Ah." I flop back onto the bed entirely. "That, ah... Makes... much more sense." Creators help me...
"That being said," the Tevinter huskily murmurs, "I was wondering if you'd like some help applying it to your back. By the time I'm done, I promise I'll make you feel better."
Not helping, Creators! Not helping! I'd have to take off my shirt and bra for Krem to do that, and even if he's okay with staying turned around until I'm laying down on the bed...
He smiles weakly. "I'm guessing by the look on your face that's a no then?" I wince and avert my eyes. "Right, yeah. Didn't mean to go too quickly for you. Feel free to rest up here until you're ready to move on your own, okay?"
He stands and starts to walk away. "No, wait," I blurt out, causing him to stop. It's hard to say this, but if I can't tell him, ara esalathes ("my courter"), then would it ever work out between us? "I... I have scars... And I just... I've never shown them to anyone. Anyone." Without quite meaning to, I lock eyes with him. There's compassion and understanding there, the kind only someone like him, a fellow aqun-athlok could hope to have. "I'm anxious, but... I, ah... Would you please p-put the ointment on my back?"
Krem smiles softly, and just the sight of it makes my stomach flip flop. "I'd love to. Do you need help with taking off your shirt?"
I experimentally lift my arms. They're still pretty lifeless, but I do have some feeling to them. "I think I can manage. Would you, ah, mind stepping out for a sec?"
A few minutes later, I'm practically melting underneath his expert ministrations. "Ooooo, Creators... Mythal enaste, nuvas ema ir'enastela ("Mythal bless you, thank you so very much")."
He chuckles at that while simultaneously eliciting a pleased groan from me as he hits another knot in my back in just the right way. "I'll take it all that meant something like 'Why yes Krem, keeping doing that, you handsome beast.'"
I can't help a giggle at that. "Definitely," I reply before taking in a deep whiff of Krem's pillow and noticing the same smell of wood from earlier. "Mmm, scent... Pine?"
"Absolutely. It's only fitting, since I'm pining after you." I groan once more, and I can hear the smile in Krem's voice as he asks, "Hey now, did I hit another knot, or is my humor failing to win you over?"
"Yes," I can't help but reply while shooting him a mischievous look over my shoulder, earning a laugh for my efforts.
Laying my head back down on his pillow, I breathe in deeply once more and bask in the aroma of pine while he continues to massage the ointment into my arms and back. All too often, I feel his calloused fingers brush over one of my scars (It's impossible for him not to, since I have more than I care to count.), but I find I don't mind his firm touch on them as much as I had feared. Which is to say, there's definitely some discomfort, but it's not blessedly not drawing me out of 'ma'sil'an (literally "my mind place"; a person's headspace) at all. For the first time in longer than I can remember, a sense of atish ("peace") wraps my mind up in warmth, and the rapid tempo of my thoughts slows to a more relaxed pace.
Krem, 'Ma'aenadahl ("My pine tree"), truly you are en'an'sal ("a blessing").
"Da'rahn (Informal; "No problem")?"
"Hm?" I murmur at his words, still firmly planted in 'ma'sil'an. "Ahn da'rahn? ("What's no problem?")"
"Sorry, I might not be remembering that one all that well. Or mangling the pronunciation, just as like. I think Dalish said it's the easy way to say, 'My pleasure'? I couldn't manage the wordier version."
I toss him a look over my shoulder, my eyelids resting heavy over my vision such that I can only just barely focus on his face. "It does, but... I was asking why were you saying it at all?"
"Right, well," he starts as he stops rubbing my shoulder blades and takes a seat on the bed next to me. "I couldn't understand what you were calling me, but it definitely sounded like a compliment. I mean, your voice sounded all... breathy."
"Ah." Oof, thank the Creators I'm lying down... Feeling a bit woozy from getting out of 'ma'sil'an so quickly. Or maybe that's just the blood rushing to my face? Could be either or both, honestly. "I, ah... Didn't think I'd said any of that aloud?"
"You're usually one to get quietly lost in your head, but I could see it," he replies with a fond grin that makes my insides dance again. "But since we're already on the topic: What did all that mean? You've gotta keep in mind I basically only know the phrase you just heard. Well, and how to ask for a beer."
"More than I know of... Tevene?" At his acknowledging nod, I press on while hoping he doesn't ask me about the first word I said. "Right. So, ah... I said you're en'an'sal. It means you're a... gift? No, wait, that's close but... A blessing? Yes, that's it."
"En'an'sal," he repeats, his Tevinter accent giving the word an odd cadence. Then, not to be distracted, he asks, "And the first one? 'Ma eynadall' or something like that?"
Of course he noticed I didn't mention that one. Why would he fail to notice that word of all words? I'm so embarrassed that I'm no doubt a mere step away from spontaneously catching on fire, but he's already admitted to learning some Elvhen from Dalish, the Chargers' 'backup archer,' and if he's going to hear it from somewhere... "I, ah... Called you 'Ma'aenadahl," I softly whisper, my eyes taking up a sudden interest in the floorboards of Krem's room. "It... it means, 'my pine tree.'"
A brief silence follows, where I swear I can hear my heartbeat thumping louder than the dulled bustle of the inn below. "Sorry, it's—"
"—nice," Krem cuts in, causing me to snap my eyes to him in shock. "It's... really nice, actually." He glances away for a moment, a shadow coming over his expression. "Right, you shared some of what your old clan did, so it's only fair I share some too." Did he mean to imply I wouldn't be returning to Clan Lavellan? I've already decided the Inquisition is my new clan, but does my choice really show in my actions so clearly?
"You don't have to," I murmur, laying my hand over his and giving it a tentative squeeze. "You know I will understand if it hurts too much to think about."
The shadow passes, and he turns back to me with a soft smile. "You're right I don't 'have to' do anything. But I choose to." He pauses to take what seems to be a fortifying breath, then continues. "I figured it out real early, right? When my father shaved, I would join him at the mirror and pretend to shave just like him. And every day I put on a dress, I would look at myself in his mirror after and just... hate myself. A lot happened between then and now, a bit much to get into all of it at once, but what I'm wanting share is about my father. He never said anything, but I think he knew. Whenever I joined him at his mirror all those times, he would angle it down for me to use too, and he would call me his 'somnatus,' his little dreamer. I miss that, you know?"
Krem releases a sigh, the complicated sort that's full of feelings impossible to put to words. "Chief calls me joke names like Krem de la Crème, but they're just that—jokes to make us all laugh. It's not the same." He flips his hand underneath my own so that we're holding hands and interlaces his fingers with mine. "So I think... I'd like it if you called me 'Ma'aenadahl."
I smile, enjoying the warmth of his hand and the feelings welling up in me. "Okay. I'd like that too," I reply before teasingly adding, "but only if you agree to never say it yourself. Your accent is cute but atrocious."
The heavy air settled over him is entirely dispelled by the laugh my ribbing earns me. "Fair enough. I'll stick with what I'm good at." He smirks. "Which apparently includes massages that make you moan."
Remember when I said earlier that I might spontaneously catch on fire? Why isn't this bed a smoldering pile of ashes? My humiliation thankfully ebbs away in short order after he returns to applying the ointment because by the Creators, as embarrassing as the sounds he's eliciting from me are, I just can't help how good it feels!
Silence descends on us for a while, punctuated only by my enthusiastic responses to the magic Krem is working on me, but eventually he breaks it. "What happened at the end of training? You seemed pretty bothered by something."
"S'fine now," I mumble, my words coming out somewhat slurred from being thoroughly in 'ma'sil'an once more. "On the ground, in pain, being laughed at... Just reminded me of them..."
His hands pauses for only the briefest of moments before resuming. "Figured it was something like that," he murmurs. "Sorry, Hamasha. Won't happen again."
"S'okay, 'Ma'aenadahl..."
"Hamasha?"
Mmm?
"Hamasha, you've got to wake up. I can't carry you to your bed like this—you're half naked!"
"Ame souveri, 'Ma'aenadahl ("I'm tired, my pine tree")... Stayin' here..."
"Hamasha..."
"'Ma'aenadaaaaaahl..."
"Ah hell... Okay, yeah. Let me find you a spare blanket, since you're laying on top of the bloody sheets..."
With few sources to rely on for Tevene, I've taken the liberty of making the word 'somnatus' ("little dreamer") from amatus (Tevene term of endearment that we don't know the actual meaning of, since Dorian never expounds upon its meaning) and somniari ("dreamer," a word used to describe a mage who can shape the Fade in DA2).
Also, since I *apparently* never actually credited my source for Elvhen (I seriously have no idea why... These are the kinds of things you notice after coming back from a 3+ year hiatus), all of the Elvhen is based off of FenxShiral's Project Elvhen, which can be found on this site as well as their Tumblr. Some of the words are crafted instead of directly lifted ('Ma'aenadahl and 'ma'sil'an, for example), but even those are crafted using FenxShiral's work. It's amazing, and I cannot thank them enough and apologize enough for not providing credit all this time.
