Chapter Nine – Dragon Dances
Someone pounding on his door dragged Varric from sleep. He looked around, an eighth glass passing before the thick, heavy blanket of his dream drew back enough for his surroundings to register. He sat up, the tattered canopy and bed curtains flickering oddly in the low, red glow of the coals in the fireplace. Trying to make the room line up with the one in his dream broke the spell.
He was in Hawke's mansion in Kirkwall, not that seedy inn. He flopped back over onto the clean, chantry approved bed sheets and tugged the blanket over his small clothes. He'd learned his lesson the first day when the Seeker burst into the room to find him sleeping in all his glory. He couldn't have cared less, but he was pretty sure she would pop something important inside her head before she stopped stumbling over herself and left.
Letting out a long huff of air, he closed his eyes. His dream had been a particularly vivid and unpleasant one, so he supposed he should be grateful for the wake up. Nothing like the impossible traps of the past to give a dwarf nightmares. He rolled over, staring at Bianca sitting in the place of honour over the fireplace. The Seeker had given her back when he didn't attempt to bolt the day before.
"You're in good company hanging up there," he said and let out a long sigh. Might as well get up. As the days dragged on, making the Seeker crazy lost its appeal. He just wanted to get out of there and go find his people. A lopsided grin tilted across his face. Funny how before Hawke and all her craziness entered his life, home was a place. Now home was the strangest group of people anyone could hope to find anywhere.
And an excruciatingly precocious six year old.
"I take it you are protesting again this morning?" the Seeker called through the door.
"Not this morning, Seeker. I'm up and will be down for breakfast in less than a quarter-glass." He grinned at the stunned silence, then gathered up his clothes. Hopefully the water closet was free. Twenty people and one toilet did not make for peaceful relations.
A half-glass later, he and the Seeker sat in their usual spots, yawning at a bright, new fire while they ate porridge with apples and spices cooked into it. They really did eat well for a portable prison.
"Think we can get this wrapped up today, Seeker?" he asked, casting a sideways glance at her. "Most of what happened over the next few months, I can't help you with. As close as Hawke and I were, she didn't bring me into intimate matters."
The Seeker choked on her porridge, getting an impressive spray radius. "Intimate matters?" She mopped her face and the front of her armour with a napkin. "You're telling me that Hawke and the Arishok were intimately involved?"
He shrugged and dug back into his breakfast. "I thought I already had."
She sputtered long enough that someone came to the door to make sure she was okay. She waved them off with an impatient, "Yes. Yes." When the coughing spasms eased, she shook her head. "Qunari do not fall in love and have … relations." She shrugged, but he thought he saw a shudder slip beneath it. "Those who do are re-educated."
He shrugged. "It's good to be the Arishok?" She shot him a glare so pointed, it could have drawn blood. Grinning, he just spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "What can I tell you, Seeker? Hawke fell in love with that giant wall of frowning muscle. She just didn't invite me into the bedroom. Sorry. If I could have gotten some illustrations, I would have." He popped one shoulder. "They'd be worth a fortune in the right circles."
The Seeker took a deep breath, giving the impression of bracing herself for what was to come, then nodded. "Go ahead, tell me the parts you know."
Hawke paused at the edge of the cliff and looked out to sea. Drawing in a deep breath of the salty, hot air, she let her shoulders drop. The Arishok's presence warmed her back, a comforting wall of strength. After nearly two months of learning from him, training with him, and of course, their adventures killing Tal Vashoth, raiders, giant spiders, and the odd wraiths and demons … all the respect and awe she felt for him in the beginning remained, even a little of the fear, but so many dimensions she never expected had evolved.
She smiled to herself as the word crossed her mind. Love. Who would have thought that she would grow to feel love for a man so inscrutable, unyielding, and downright impossible? Worse, she knew that a time would come when the world would punish her for that love. There seemed no way to avoid the fact that someday soon, things were going to go to hell, and they would end up on opposite sides of the battlefield. On that day … well, she didn't like to think about that day.
A large hand brushed her shoulder, the touch firm but gentle. She glanced back at him, smiling as he flicked a wasp over the edge of the cliff.
"Thank you."
He nodded and stepped a little closer, looking out to sea with that tight-jawed longing that he tried very hard to keep hidden. She suspected he would have already attempted to take Kirkwall by the sword if it hadn't been for their sojourns to the coast. Every day, she felt him edge closer and closer to his breaking point. She just prayed they could stave off disaster a little longer.
"A courtesy, Hawke. It was half your size."
She smiled up at him. She knew that he found how slight she was as intriguing as she found his bulk. Some days it was all she could do to hold her hand back from pressing against the massive expanse of his chest. Another unintended side effect of her weeks of tuition. She was after all, a woman and he ... he was a most impressive specimen of a man. Of course, to him, she might as well have been male. Female soldiers did not exist under the Qun. She just happened to have female bits that he couldn't care less about.
"Come." He nodded down the path and then set out, his stride long and confident. And why shouldn't it be? Personal female human bodyguards … everyone should have one. Get yours today. She did all the fighting. He just stood back and grunted approval if she took them out artfully enough. Otherwise, he just kept walking. Not that she minded. Each battle amounted to a vote of confidence, a chance for her to embrace her purpose, to gain skill and strength.
She suspected that was when she started to love him … that day after she took the wound. Making no effort to argue or convince her otherwise, and without a single word, he'd said … this is what I know you can do. I know you are strong enough to do this. It settled the broken, floating pieces of her that her mother's death set loose. It warmed her, a fire that smoldered deep in her gut, flaring up when she needed it.
And sometimes when it was really, damned inconvenient. A heavy blush crawled up her neck even as she dragged her mind away from the way that particular fire burned. One day the Arishok would witness one of those less desirable flare ups and probably refuse to teach her any longer since sending her to the Ben-Hassrath for reeducation wasn't an option. She didn't know how or even if she would deal with that. Cracking her neck and rolling her shoulders, she shoved that thought aside. She just needed to keep it locked down and hidden away.
Focusing on her purpose, she watched the trail for signs of recent travel and possible ambushes while she wondered what he intended for that day's lesson. Just as the sun peeked above the horizon, she'd met him at the compound gate and they'd left Kirkwall behind, slipping out through the tunnels and sewers to the coast. Something about the look in his eyes that morning led her to believe that raiders and Tal Vashoth didn't enter into his plans. When he stopped at the mouth of a cave carved into the cliffs just above the sea, she knew she'd been right.
She turned a slow circle, eyes checking the small, private cove while the rest of her senses stood on guard for anything coming up from inside the cave. Only a thin bar of sand kept the waves from lapping in through the crack in the stone and the cave entrance couldn't be seen from the road at any angle. The perfect place for such a prize to hide itself away. A crooked smile tugged at one corner of her mouth as she spotted two solid tracks in the sand against the cliff. When she looked up, meeting his eyes, her stare and smile bordered on teasing. He simply gestured for her to enter first.
She did as he commanded, waiting several feet into the crack while he worked to get his considerably larger bulk through the narrow crevice. Once he closed on her from behind, she set out again, every sense stretched out ahead, searching for the magical little fellow who had left those wonderful prints. She'd killed dragons before, but always with her people and not since she'd begun to learn how to soar. Heart hammering, palms sweating a little, she ran her tongue around inside her mouth and swallowed to ease the sudden dryness.
A firm hand pressed down on her shoulder. A silent warning to stay calm. She nodded, closing her eyes as she used that solid, comforting presence to anchor herself. Anything. She knew she could accomplish absolutely anything thanks to the powerful, grounded connection that tied her to the man standing behind her. She remained still, eyes closed as long as his hand lingered. When it lifted, she took a deep breath, nodded again, and set out.
Hawke ventured down the path. Like most of the caves in the area, tevinter ruins made up most of its walls, patchy stairs leading down into the main chamber. She descended the stairs, moving silently, knees bent, boots just clearing the stone. Taking a deep breath through her nose told her everything she needed to know about the cave. A dragon definitely lived there.
She glanced toward its pile of kills, judging its size by what it hunted. Not an overly large one nor fully mature, but a dragon nonetheless. Her hands twitched at her sides, longing to reach up and pull the cleavers from her back, but she controlled the urge. The Arishok approved of restraint, of not engaging until she had assessed the situation completely.
She skirted the edge of the chamber, eyes up, checking the nooks and crannies along the ceiling as she moved toward the creature's nest. Bones and half-eaten corpses lay piled along the wall. Closest to the nest, Hawke spied red markings on grey skin. A qunari. Now she knew why the Arishok had brought her there. A soft smile warmed her face even as she looked back to the dim, shadowed roof of the cave. He protected his people.
With a blood chilling screech, the dragon dropped down on her, but Hawke was ready, the twins sweeping down off her back and, with a roll of her wrists, up into a graceful but crippling arc into the dragon's wing, severing the joint so the appendage hung uselessly at its side. Hawke landed light and already moving, slipping sideways, her eyes remaining on the creature even as she gave herself a little more fighting room. It had dropped down with her pressed into a corner, the sign of a crafty predator, but she pulled the fight to the center of the chamber where she could avoid its flame.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Arishok standing back, his gigantic axe held casually across his shoulder. She knew he would not step in, not even to save her. The only time his axe would taste dragon blood was if she failed and fell to the beast. A wild grin spread across her face. He believed her capable of fighting a dragon single handedly, and even better … she knew he was right.
Hawke rolled out of the way of a blast of fire, a heady sort of howl singing from deep in her chest as the fire traced searing fingers down the back of one thigh. The pain stoked the fire within her belly, and set her heart racing. Every inch of her skin tingled, so gloriously alive that it ached. She ran to the stairs, climbing two before leaping back into battle, spinning as her blades swept up. Flipping them in her hands, she brought them down into the dragon's back. They sank into the tough scales, but came free as she rolled beneath the creature's neck. Her weapons formed part of her arms and nothing could separate them. She struck like lightning, each step quick and sure as she revelled in her body, soaring through the dance.
The beast swung at her with its claws, flapping its one good wing, trying to pull her in close, but she danced aside. She spun to avoid the knives on its feet, an almost prescient awareness of the creature bringing her blade around with the spin, arcing down into the hard ridge of scale at the crest of the creature's head.
Dying, fighting against the inevitable, shrieking denial, the dragon reared up and struck out. Hawke rolled out of the way, but the tip of the dragon's tail clipped her just hard enough to knock her off balance. She stumbled, turning to catch herself against the wall, only to end up with her face an inch from the Arishok's chest, her hands pressed against the solid expanse of muscle.
Stunned, she just stared up into his eyes for the space of five, frantic heartbeats, the entirely wrong fire flaring up. Maker's breath, he was warm.
At the end of those heartbeats, he grasped her shoulders, turning her back toward the dragon, and gave her a push, propelling her back into the fight.
Still disoriented, more from contact with her mentor than the smack from the dragon's tail, Hawke severed the dragon's head with a solid, but graceless blow then stepped back, allowing the body to realize its death without knocking her for a loop again.
When she was sure the dragon had no more surprises in it, she glanced over her shoulder. The Arishok nodded his approval. Still, she cursed herself for not being ready for the creature's tail.
Next time.
Letting out a ringing laugh, she wiped the splashed blood from her lips. A wide, joyful smile broke across her face as she returned his nod. Life—dirty and bloody and beautiful and horrible and amazing—flowed through her. She hung her cleavers between her shoulder blades and turned to the exit.
"Do you not wish to plunder the creature's riches?" he asked, his voice unusually soft.
Hawke turned back, having not even thought about what loot might be hoarded in such a place. She chuckled softly, popping a careless shrug. "Didn't even occur to me. I'll have residents from the houses come and pick it up. It can go into the foundation." She turned back to the path out.
She made it halfway to the door before she heard him following at a distance. Letting out a soft sigh at the warmth those footsteps engendered, she shook her head, reminding herself that sooner or later … disaster. When she emerged back into the sun, she scanned her surroundings for signs of any threat. Finding none, she crouched down in the sand to wash the blood from the Shank and Revenge, then her hands and face. The cold water nipped at her skin, a vigorous tingle setting in as she splashed and scrubbed, her movements bright and quick, the song of battle still singing through her blood.
She felt the Arishok charge up behind her and jumped to her feet. Spinning around to meet the attack, she stepped back into the surf, flinching away as he appeared before her. Her perplexed scowl asked silent questions as he reached out to grasp one of her wrists. He offered no answers, instead turning her hand in his. He laid it in the palm of his other hand as if comparing the two, hers appearing deceptively tiny and fragile. A raw, almost savage energy radiated from him, heavy waves of something she'd never felt battering against her. The strength of it left her breathless and wondering whether she should pull away and draw her weapons or step into him, laying her hands on him as she had in the cave.
He solved her dilemma by pressing her palm against his stomach, trapping it there beneath both of his. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she looked up into those dark, impossible to read eyes. What was it she saw there? Could it be an echo of the fire that had settled into a delicious ache low in her belly?
The Arishok's eyes never left hers, not even to blink, and Hawke felt his breathing speed up. She frowned, as she realized what it meant. The Arishok wanted her. Her scowl deepened as confusion gripped her with an odd sort of lightheadedness. The Arishok wanted her? Thoughts stuttering and fumbling over how it could even be possible, she just stared back. No. Regardless of whether or not he wanted her, she needed to pull her hand back and step away. Giving in to the desire trying to override her good sense amounted to the worst sort of madness … the sort that brought about complete disaster.
Taking a deep, noisy breath, he broke through the storm inside her head. "Show yourself to me," he said, his tone commanding, but lacking the edge that nudged it up to a demand. Oh, Maker … he wanted to see her, wanted to go further than that hand pressed against his skin. Still, if she refused, she knew he would accept her answer. They'd move on, no doubt both of them attributing it to poor judgement brought on by the heated blood of a good fight.
She tried to ignore her hand's demand to slide over smooth ripples of muscle, to travel along the scars that crisscrossed his skin … . Maker's breath … . No. She needed to fortify her resolve, to refuse. Neither would mention the moment, their relationship remaining mentor and student. And when the world threw them against one another, her heart would break only a little.
That thought echoed hollow and dry inside her chest. Her eyes narrowed as they stared up into the wide planes and stern features of his face. Her heart would break. She pressed her lips together to still them, not wanting him to see the truth of how much she cared. An answering frown deepened the lines around his eyes, the thunderclouds in that stare softening ever so slightly, asking a question that completely shattered the fragile wall she'd built.
Did she want him too?
Void take her … she did. And if another break lie ahead … if the world needed to shatter her again … the man warming her hand had given her what she needed to survive it. So yes, if she needed to break again, she'd suffer it ... but not for falling off a table. If she was going to shatter when she hit, she might as well jump off the highest cliff she could find.
Hawke pulled her hand from his grip and stepped back. Eyes never breaking contact with his, she shrugged her cleavers from between her shoulders. Placing them tip to hilt, she held them out on open palms.
He hesitated, but just as he'd waited for her, Hawke allowed him to decide whether to accept what she offered. She knew he understood her terms more profoundly than anyone else could. If they went ahead, it changed everything. She stood before him, not as his student but as a woman, placing her body and soul in his safekeeping. Although things could grow from there, they could never go backwards.
For long moments, she thought he would refuse, and she would accept it as readily as he. Sex and affection had their places under the Qun, but they didn't overlap. Then his body softened a little, and he lifted the cleavers from her hands. Chest rising and falling with deep, rapid breaths, he stared at them for a moment, then lowered his hand to his side.
Letting out a soft, tremulous sigh, Hawke reached up for the buckles on her armour, her hands shaking so hard that she fumbled, unable to thread the leather through the metal. Covering the best she could, she pulled in long, deep breaths to keep the lightheadedness at bay. Madness. Breaking down the one barrier that kept her at arm's length from a man she could never have amounted to complete madness. Her hands stalled as they lowered her breastplate.
The Arishok moved, drawing her eyes back to his face. She couldn't put a name to what she saw there, but it pulled her lips into a wistful smile. Her hands steadied and her shoulders squared. She'd spent her life holding the people who mattered most at arm's length, terrified that they'd be snatched away. And they had. Life had stolen her entire family, leaving her with so much regret. So many moments and so much love wasted.
During her weeks of tuition, somehow the Arishok had guided her to the truth that, like the tide, people came and people left. One day he would leave her. Whether he left her regretting never taking the leap or with memories to fill the void remained up to her. Her smile spread and warmed.
Too late to back pedal; she'd jumped and was on her way down. Time to fly.
His head dipped in a slow nod as if he understood everything that had flashed through her mind in those seconds. She looked down at the cleavers in his hand. Maybe he did.
Sword harness, utility belt, boots, surcoat, and greaves joined her breastplate in a pile at the base of the cliff. She unbuckled the stays down the center of her jerkin, the heavy material falling open to reveal the thin blouse beneath. Funny, she'd never been quite as aware of how many layers she wore. She shrugged it off her shoulders, feeling his eyes moving over her, torrid and intense, the rays of a summer sun at midday. She folded the long leather vest and set it on the pile, her skin prickling, warning her that she'd reached the end of modesty.
She'd never stood naked before a lover. She and Fenris had been getting there—kissing, his hands under her clothes—but he bolted before her blouse had come off. She'd never given her body much thought in regards to it being pleasing to someone else. It had always been a weapon that stayed honed by doing what she did … running around the countryside and killing things.
She unlaced her trousers, trying not to wonder if her kneecaps were oddly bony and uneven compared to other women he'd seen, or if the difference in size between her breasts really was normal as her mother had told her. She hesitated a moment before pushing the trousers down, a panicked sort of laugh bubbling in her throat at all the craziness swirling around in her head. She'd never over-thought anything in her life, but as she stepped out of her trousers and let them fall atop the pile, her eyes returned to the Arishok's patient gaze, and she knew why.
Everything … her entire life stood poised on the cusp of changing forever. No pressure.
It took a bit to untie the laces at the neck of her blouse, but after a moment of wrestling with the knot, she pulled the loose tunic over her head and set it down. Straightening, she shivered as the breeze blew in off the sea, curling around her naked limbs to remind her how exposed they were. She glanced up at the road, invisible from there, but feeling altogether too close.
Stomach quivering so hard she wasn't sure if she would embarrass herself by throwing up, she lifted her hands to untie the front of the harness holding her breasts. Before she could, he stepped forward, taking her hands in his. When had he put her cleavers down? He placed her hands on his hips, then reached out with a single, glove-covered finger to trace the curve of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, and along her collarbone.
Her skin rose in gooseflesh at his touch, the leather of his glove slick, oily, and detached, but her trembling eased a little, eliciting a soft grunt of approval. He pulled off his gloves and tucked them in his sash before slipping his hands up her arms to her shoulders. His thumbs played over the joint for a moment, before his fingertips followed the four long, pale marks across her chest. Self-conscious, she collapsed around his hand, her arms lifting to cover them.
"Bear?" he asked, his voice low and coloured with what sounded a little like awe. His tone squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. He didn't find them ugly. His touch surprised her with its gentleness as his talons traced the ancient scars. "A big one."
Hawke looked down, laying her hand over his fingers to touch the marks herself. "Yes, it seemed massive at the time, although not as big as these make it look. It happened a very long time ago. They should have killed me, but, instead, they grew with me."
Her gaze returned to study his face as he brushed his thumb along the marks, his manner almost reverent as if blessing them. She smiled, her fingers exploring the back of his hand, tracing the bones and softer trails of veins to his wrist, pausing at a short, wide ridge of scar tissue. The skin felt like silk under her fingers, an entrancing contrast to the weather-hardened texture of the rest of his hand. "Life's little momentos."
He murmured what sounded like agreement, the sound breathy. The back of one finger brushed the swell of her breast. The soft friction set her skin aflame, and she closed her eyes, obeying her body's demand that she focus on that single, sensual point of contact. When it vanished, the absence pulled a soft, "Oh," from her lips. She opened her eyes at the rasp and slight tug of leather lacing sliding against itself and looked down, watching a single talon pull the lace free of her harness.
She stiffened a little as he laid the material open and took half a step back. Intense, almost predatory, his stare stalked down her body, raising a fiery blush in its wake. For a second, she thought he didn't like what he saw, but then his calloused palm returned to wrap around the curve of her ribs. As his thumb swept along the underside of her left breast, Hawke's eyes closed once again, obeying her body's demand that she give his touch her complete attention. Happily, she dove into the sensations, submerging herself in their thick, honey-sweet depths.
Sliding his hand up, he cupped her breast in his palm. His thumb teased her nipple, the touch slow and firm as if savouring the softness of the skin, the transition between supple breast and taut center. A gasp of pleasure and need escaped her as the sensitive flesh pulled in hard and eager, striking a spark that burned along her limbs and into her belly like a rush lamp.
His other hand slipped around her neck, tilting her head back. "Look at me."
Reluctantly, worried that letting the world back in would break the moment, Hawke did as the Arishok asked. His steady, unwavering regard drew her in, binding her in shackles forged from the fire that smoldered in her belly.
He bent down until the warmth of his breath against her mouth stole the air from her lungs, and then asked, "You desire this? You are not simply obeying?"
She nodded, just a slight tilt of her head that brushed her bottom lip against his, her tongue almost escaping to wet her lips before she caught it behind her teeth. "Yes, I want this." Her voice came out in a low, raspy whisper, her vocal chords pulled tight with the sudden need to feel those lips moving over hers.
Instead, he straightened. "Strength draws itself tall before strength as surely as weakness kneels at its feet." He stepped closer until he filled her vision, a wall of skin, muscle and sinew. The warm, earthy male smell of him set her head spinning, her lightheadedness complicated by the heat radiating from his skin. He was so warm … the energy coming off him beckoning … the sun and breeze combining to tease her nerve endings raw. Her entire body tingled with the bite of nettle stings, painfully sensitive and insisting that his hands provided the only cure for its torment.
The large hand gripping the back of her neck kneaded muscles she hadn't realized were strung tighter than lute strings, coaxing them to submit and relax. A soft susurrus of felicity whispered from her throat as Hawke leaned back, lolling in his grip. Damn, apparently all it took to bring the fearsome Hawke to heel was a few talented neck squeezes. Her body relaxing into the Arishok's hands, she reached out with all her other senses, able to see him more clearly without her eyes to fool her.
The perpetual scowl turned to cautious wonder as he bent down. His lips brushed her neck, firm kisses leaving a cool, moist trail from her shoulder to her ear. When his teeth raked the tender skin under her ear none too gently, a shudder raced down her spine, ice-cold one second and scalding the next. She let out a fluttering moan and allowed her hands to wander from his hips. Pressing her palms against the solid expanse of his chest, she stood on her toes and tilted her head back, opening her neck to him.
"I thought you didn't have knowledge of their intimacies," the Seeker said, yanking Varric from the flow of his narrative.
He blinked, orienting himself as she ripped away the warm sun and the soothing rush of waves against rock. Andraste's tits! He'd been on a roll.
"I have my sources," he said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. It burned, and not many things did, not after watching Kirkwall consumed in flames. "I can stop here if it suits you, Your Holy Seekerness."
Cassandra scowled, and for a moment their frowns dueled, Varric's winning as the Seeker broke off. She shook her head, her voice barely audible as she said, "Go on."
A-N: Sorry I've been a little erratic posting this story. Hope you enjoy now as things get more and more intense.
