Warnings: smut, smut, smutty smut smut. On a mostly unrelated note, trigger warnings for implied rape and unscrupulous uses for the enslaved

Next chapter might be a little while coming because I have a lot I want to cover, so uh...savor this one!

Special thanks go to Kukapetal and dA user Rhax for their help, ideas, and criticisms :) love you ladies!

CHAPTER TWELVE - FIRSTS

It wasn't too long after dawn when the sun came rising above the shadow of the mountain.

Althaea woke and stretched as best as she could. At least the ground was soft. The fire had burned down to coals hours ago and the morning was cold, but her cloak had been as warm as she'd hoped it'd be and the only parts of her that had been nipped by the night air were her nose and ears.

Fenris was nowhere to be found. She scanned the camp for him - it appeared everyone else had retreated to their aravels for the night - but there was no sign of him. Deciding that he'd likely just gone to relieve himself, she reached for her day pack and pulled her boots back on.

This strap goes here, and this one here...I think. How did I let myself get talked into this?

Simple, really. She'd seen how he'd smiled when she'd first put it on, and that had clinched it for her. Ordinarily she'd have resented what she perceived as being coddled - it reminded her too much of Sebastian, though he really only did have her best interests in mind - but Fenris had proven his expertise a number of times, and frankly...coddling was not in his repertoire.

She thought about the number of times he'd managed to see past her attempts to keep her composure, and how swiftly he'd addressed it, usually with the phrase "you're uneasy, tell me why." Brusque? Yes. But somehow his no-nonsense attitude was comforting, and something she found herself aspiring to, especially after exposure to years' worth of the affected gestures prevalent among the Tevinter nobility, and even in the Chantry.

The last person who understood her that way was Marius. There really was no wondering, then, why she seemed to be falling for him. She smiled, shook her head, and got up to have a look around the camp.

She found him at the entrance, sitting on a rock, wearing his cloak, pack, and sword. "You're awake," he said, with some surprise.

"Yes. It was a little cold."

"Should we be on our way, then?" Oh, Maker, that smile.

"It might be rude if I don't take my leave," she said. "It seems that everyone is beginning to wake up."

"Do what you need to, then," he said. "I'll be waiting here."


Fenris had forgotten how much easier the walk down Sundermount was than the walk up, but by the time they had cleared the mountain path and Kirkwall was in view again, the sun had begun to beat down with the proper heat of summer.

He wasn't ever sure he'd get used to the climate of this place relative to Tevinter, though no one would ever catch him complaining. He often caught himself basking in the heat of Kirkwall's high summer, and loathed the approach of winter. It never snowed in Minrathous. "Winter" was little more than a prolonged rainy season, with the occasional overnight frost.

When the sun came out at last, they'd both removed their cloaks and broke their fast on bread, nuts and cheese Althaea had the presence of mind to pack. A light traveler she was not, but right now he was glad she'd included something in her pack for eating at all. They had only originally planned to spend the day at the camp and return home. He watched from the corner of his eye as she got up and arranged the skirts of her new armor set, checking her rear end as best she could and pulling the whole thing down on the off chance it might cover a bit more of her legs.

The outfit did show a lot more than she was probably used to, at least in public anyway. The shortest skirts he'd ever seen her wear had ended at her knees, and these were quite a bit higher than that. He knew the presence of calf-length boots, greaves, and elbow guards made the appearance of the armored skirt a little less ridiculous, but he still had to admit that the overall effect was…rather fetching.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

In response, she turned bright red. "I feel naked."

He chuckled. "Of all the times in which the word could apply to you, now is the time it makes you blush?" She never seemed to take issue with stripping down when she was in Val Royeaux, and it was more than once he'd had to look away or abruptly change direction. She'd even managed to embarrass Hawke yesterday morning by diving behind a changing screen to change into her traveling leathers, rather than asking everyone to leave the room.

"That was in private. I've never worn anything so short…is this really necessary?"

No, he thought, but what he said was: "It will help you move more quietly, and that can't hurt anything."

She made a thoughtful noise and sighed a little. "Well, at least the thing has a set of bloomers attached." He couldn't tell if she'd seen through his lie or not.

They continued to walk. "Did the Keeper have any last words for you?" he asked.

"She did, but I don't know what they mean. She said they'd make sense to me when they were meant to." She sighed. "I'm not sure if I like them. The Dalish, I mean."

"How so?"

"I can't put my finger on it," she said. "Most of the time I was there I felt like an interloper, and they seemed to dismiss you out of hand. Do they do that to all city elves?"

"Just the ones who choose to continue living among humans. They'd welcome me with open arms the second I chose to join them."

"Did you ever think about it?"

"No."

"Do you ever…not feel like an elf?"

He thought about that for a short time. He certainly didn't identify with any of the mewling, pitiful beings living in squalor in the alienage, but not a day went by where he didn't get glares or utterances of the slur 'knife-ear', usually when he dared to venture out in full armor and weaponry. Althaea would never see those things, because her presence added legitimacy to his travels in Hightown. Whether he was in full harness or not, most assumed she was noble-born, and he, her servant.

That bothered him greatly, but knowing that she never thought of him that way helped a little. Even when he was under contract, she'd taken great pains to ensure that she treated him like…well…a person.

"I think I might forget, if people didn't continuously remind me." It came out more gruffly than he'd intended.

"I meant no offense."

"I took none." He took care to show her a smile. "I simply meant to say that the people of Hightown make my race apparent on a daily basis. Some of them make it quite clear that the mansion would be torched if I weren't a friend of Hawke's."

"That's…barbaric."

"It is the way of things." He almost said says the Magister's daughter, but that would have been far more uncharitable of him than necessary. She'd already proven time and again that she was cut from a different cloth than most of her station.

She didn't speak again, and they walked in silence for a long while. Angry storm clouds were beginning to gather in the distance. It will rain today, but we will be long home before it happens, I'm sure of it. He quickened his pace anyway, and found that Althaea was still able to keep up.

She laughed. "If I continue traipsing about with you, I'll need to tailor my entire wardrobe before long. You walk so fast!"

"Perhaps it's because my legs are so long, and yours, so short," he teased. She directed a mock punch at his shoulder and took a few long strides so as to get ahead of him. He matched her pace with a raised eyebrow.

"I'd ask you to race me, but it'd hardly be a competition."

"Hardly." He could keep up a light jog for days if he had to, and while he hadn't timed a sprint recently, he was sure he was still quite capable of outrunning a human in similar physical shape. Althaea on the other hand…well, she should just be glad she kept to her books.

He stopped abruptly, hearing a noise that made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. There was trouble ahead.

"What is it?" Althaea asked, but he shushed her. String up and go hide, he mouthed. She obeyed with no objections, and he was glad for it.

A small group of thugs walked up along the path, talking loudly, stopping when they saw Fenris in their path. By giving her the order to hide, he'd sacrificed his own ability to do so. Four on one. If they choose to fight, the odds are still in my favor.

"What have we here?" asked the loudest and biggest of the men in front of him. "Lone knife-ear on the road."

"Nice armor, he has, Big Boy," said one of the littler ones. "Probably worth a lot."

"I suggest you move on," said Fenris. "It isn't worth your lives."

"Four on one, kids," said Big Boy. "Think we can take him?"

Fenris lit up his markings and unsheathed his sword. Perhaps that display might convince them otherwise.

Sadly, it didn't. He waited until they were nearly upon him, felt deep inside and tapped the part of him he knew would help him out, sending a blast of energy that bowled the men over. Then he eliminated the smallest one, the one who looked as if he was recovering the fastest. By this time the other three men were up and surrounding him, and he took his sword in a giant swing, seriously injuring another.

One of them tried to come up to flank him, and he was out of Fenris's range of motion, so he took the one called Big Boy in a rush and attempted to impale him on his sword. It would have worked if the flanking man hadn't managed to nick him and change his trajectory.

He managed to hold the two of them off for a short time, but wasn't making too much progress. He'd be able to take them eventually, but the effort would make him too tired to get home quickly. "A little help here, please," he called. He was fairly sure she was safe at this point, and he could use her.

She obliged by popping up over a ridge and loosing an arrow at the smaller, faster man, nailing him in the unprotected flesh between the two halves of his cuirass. The man fell down, screaming in agony, and Fenris now had the ability to take the last man on. While he duelled with Big Boy, another arrow flew through the air and the smaller man's screams stopped.

He was able to disarm the large man, and was about to reach through him and end his existence, but heard the sound of retching behind the ridge and thought better of it. He dropped his sword, knocked the man out, and snapped his neck, then did the same to the one he had injured earlier. He took a brief moment to empty the men's purses. Not bad, he thought as he pocketed their coin.

"You can come out," he called, and she did. She didn't bother to retrieve her arrows.

As they continued down the path, Fenris struggled to remember his first kill, but couldn't. Had he experienced any feelings like Althaea had? If he had, he'd always been able to shove them into the back of his mind. Violence and gore had never been an issue for him. They were just an assumed and necessary part of his lifestyle. It would be different for her, surely.

He sighed, stopped, and held her by the shoulder. "When you fight, Althaea, take care that you always make the kill shot."

She couldn't maintain eye contact with him. "It was too hard…I hesitated." And then she'd gotten him directly in the kidney and had subjected him to more agony than would have been humane even for the worst murderer in the history of Thedas.

"You take no qualms about doing so on an animal." He'd seen the neat hole in the pig she'd brought back to camp weeks ago; it had suffered little.

"Of course not. It's an animal."

"Those men we fought today…I gave them the option to walk away. Their choice makes them little better than animals, and they deserve no less."

"I understand. Hopefully I won't have to any time soon." He seriously doubted that. Despite her insistence on staying out of fights, she'd been dragged into them more often than she seemed comfortable with. The faster she learned to distance herself to things like this, the better off she'd be.

He cupped her chin in his hand and kissed her forehead. "It gets easier, I swear it. Come; let's hurry back to Kirkwall and clean the both of us up. You can't show up at the chantry looking like that."


Monsoon season in Kirkwall always proved to be miserable.

It was easily as bad as the typhoon season that hit Marnus Pell during Solis and Matrinalis. In Marnus Pell, though, she'd lived in the equivalent of Hightown; there, the drainage had been excellent, and inches of rain hardly ever meant flooding in the streets. Here, the exact opposite was true.

Days like this made Althaea glad she could up and decide to take a day off. So long as the work put in front of her got done, she received her salary and she was rarely bothered; now that she was finally caught up on the pile of work left from her trip to Orlais, she was free to return to a much lighter schedule, one that allowed time for her to read for pleasure and cook to her heart's content.

Those things were what were happening at this very moment. It was cool enough outside to allow for a large fire in the hearth, so she had taken advantage of that and baked meat pies. They'd keep for ages, even in the heat of summer, and they were delicious to boot. Everything had been cleaned, and she snuggled up with a book borrowed from the Chantry library – a book with stories of the ancient dwarven Paragons.

It had been a rather uneventful few weeks. She'd spent nearly all her time in the basement, working on catching up. Fenris had joined her most days, except for when his services were required by Hawke. He had moved past the basics at this point and was reading small words, and was making attempts at reading the signs of market stalls and street signs during their evening walks. He seemed to have dropped his defensive pretenses and was no longer afraid to make mistakes, which pleased her; as soon as that had happened, his rate of progress had increased exponentially and he'd actually started to enjoy lessons. He'd proven a quick study, and she decided he'd prove a voracious reader once he knew what he was doing.

In exchange, he'd insisted on showing her some basic dagger work, using the giant foyer of his mansion as a practice space. She couldn't decide whether the results had been hilarious, tragic, or some combination thereof, and it wasn't long before she'd thought about giving that particular venture up. Fenris had laughed a little at how pathetic her attempts had been, but every once in a while they tried again. She could tell that he enjoyed teaching her the basic concepts even though she wasn't exactly taking well to them, so she continued to try and learn what she could.

His half-exasperated, half-amused voice rang in her head as she enlarged the flame of the lantern she was reading by: It's a parry, Althaea, not a pirouette. Try again.

Once, in response to that mantra, she'd launched herself into a series of out-of-practice tours jeté across the long hall. She'd failed to stick the last landing, and had fallen to the floor. Fenris had rushed to her side, but by the time he'd reached her, she had descended into a fit of giggles, and he had laughed, shaking his head and sitting next to her.

That had been the first time she'd ever heard him laugh so hard. It had started as a rumble, deep in his chest, and had burst out of him, almost unbidden. That had set her off and they'd sat, laughing, for what seemed like ages. It had been a moment of welcome levity, and he'd brought her in for a sweet kiss that had gotten more than a little heated.

All that, though, and he still hadn't gone any farther. She didn't want to push, though, lest she create an awkward moment that might separate them for days. That just wouldn't do; she enjoyed his presence too much to miss it. And the laughter. If she could squeeze another belly laugh out of the man, it would be bliss.

She closed the book and turned the lantern off, and dozed while she listened to the rain. While the flooding in the streets that followed wasn't all that great to deal with, she found she did enjoy the sound of it. It had a way of washing all the worries out of her mind, and she always slept better when it was raining out.

She had actually fallen asleep when the door knocked softly, waking her. She padded lightly to it and asked, "Who is it?"

"It's me." Fenris's voice came muffled across the wood of the door. She made sure her dressing gown was shut tightly and opened the door.

He looked like a drowned rat. A muddy, bloody drowned rat. She knew he'd been off working today, but figured he'd have just headed home. She wasn't sure if she should laugh or cry, because he looked ridiculous but he was also tracking mud all over. "The study finally started leaking," he said as he made to take another few steps inside.

"Stay there just a second," she said, and fetched a towel for him. "You need to get out of those clothes, and clean up a bit."

"I figured as much." He didn't keep any clothing at her place, so she went rummaging through a pile for something that might fit. If he had been human, it would have been more trouble, but even as a rather big elf, he was rather narrow of waist. She figured one of her bigger pairs of trousers might fit him.

She found the pair and tossed it at him, then threw a soft cotton shirt in his direction. "There's clean water for washing in the basin, and you can see if those will fit," she said, and she turned around and read her book for a spell. She remained that way until the sounds of rustling and splashing stopped.

"Are you decent?"

"The shirt doesn't fit."

"That was the biggest one I had."

"I'll make do."

"No, I don't want you to be uncomfortable. Hold on a second." She fetched a change of clothes for herself, went behind the changing screen, and changed out of the dressing robe, throwing it at him. "Try that."

It was nearly a full minute before the rustling stopped again. "It will suffice." She stepped out.

The trousers fit, but only just. He'd had to keep the waistband unlaced, his thighs stretched out the fabric of the legs, and what were ankle-length on her stopped just below his knee. He couldn't close the robe because his shoulders were too wide.

She knew she was blushing to the top of her head. It should have looked awkward, perhaps even funny, but it wasn't. Instead, it was rather alluring.

Fenris cocked a smile and gave the robe up as a bad job, tossing it back onto the bed where she sat. "I'd hate to rip that, it's quite fine. Where did you get it?"

"Nicked it from your place." She'd found it in one of Danarius's many trunks-full of fine clothing, a good portion of which must have been designed for a well-dressed female slave. Fenris had let her take a good portion of it home, shrugging.

He breathed in the smell of the meat pies and gravitated in their direction, not bothering to ask if it was okay to eat; it was something of an unwritten permission by this point. Althaea made to stoke the hearth as he did so.

She knew she was ogling, but she couldn't help it. The last time she'd seen him in this state of undress, it had been in near darkness and she'd been trying her best not to look, anyway; now he actually seemed to be parading around in front of her. The damnable man knew exactly how appealing he looked right now, all lean, wiry muscle and swirling lyrium.

He sat at the table with the meat pie. Althaea sat across from him. "So...the study was leaking?"

He mumbled a yes through a mouthful of pie. "Also, I haven't seen you in two days." It was his turn to blush now. "I thought I might ask if I could borrow your floor."

"If all you wanted was a floor, Fenris, you had your choice of any of your downstairs rooms."

"Yes, but then I'd have to haul wood for a fire. I knew you'd already have one going."

She reached a hand out across the small table to him. "You know you never need an excuse to come over," she said. "Or even to spend the night."

His eyebrows began to crawl up his face, just like they had on Sundermount when she'd suggested they become the scandal of Hightown. We never did make good on it, she thought. We ought to correct that.

Maker help her, she was going to be forward, this time without the help of half a bottle of wine. She got up and poured him a tumbler of water, but lingered behind him and placed her hands gently on his shoulders.

Though he lit up, there was no sign that he was uncomfortable. She gently kneaded at his neck and shoulders, watching the markings sputter out where she touched; eventually they all dimmed and he relaxed heavily into the chair, reaching a drowsy arm up to touch her.

"Come on then," she said in response to the sleepy gesture. "It's late and we should get some rest."

He allowed her to take him by the hand and led him to her bed. It was nowhere near as large as his big, fluffy one - which she'd only been able to commandeer once - in fact, it was tiny in comparison, and only large enough to accommodate them both if they lay very close together.

Whatever fatigue had set in under her ministrations went away quickly as she settled in to face him and pulled a sheet over them; he smiled at her and ran a finger across her lips, then cupped her cheek in his hand. The heat in his eyes was unmistakable, and she leaned in to kiss him sweetly.

He would have none of that. He crushed her to him, running a possessive hand up and down the length of her back as he kissed her. She reciprocated, pressing her fingers into him and feeling the ridges of the scars where lyrium had been laid down, and wondering how the results of a ritual so barbaric could be so beautiful.

The rain pounded down outside, but in her little nest it was warm, dry, and cozy. All thoughts of sleep had fled at this point and Althaea was simply enjoying the feel of Fenris beside her, kissing and running his hands up and down. The little moans of pleasure he made as he did so only emboldened her to touch him more. She reached a hand into his trousers to dig her fingers into his backside; the motion made him gasp, and he took the gesture to mean he was welcome to reach under the shirt she was wearing and bring his fingers against her bare flesh.

He was beginning to glow again, very dimly. She never thought she'd get used to the feel of him when that happened, but rather enjoyed it. It was gentle, like the static electricity that sometimes built up when she rubbed the fabric of her skirts together; it made the small hairs where he touched stand on end.

She tried to ignore the insistent bulge that had manifested itself, pressing against the length of her thigh, but couldn't. She reached a hand down to address it. The motion drew a strangled moan from Fenris - from pain or pleasure she didn't know - so she made to pull the offending hand away and toward places she knew he found pleasurable instead. His eyes opened and stared directly into her, blazing; he took her hand and placed it back.

This was the farthest she'd ever gotten with him, and the farthest she'd been of her own accord since Marius, but she'd had plenty of experience since then. Memories tried to flood her mind, but she pushed them away, stripping them down to simply become this is what makes a man feel good and I belong to me and no one else, I do what I choose and I choose this. She reached into the trousers easily - they were unlaced, for that was the only way they'd fit him - and brushed an exploratory finger against the bare skin of him. She watched the way his brows knitted together and how he threw his head back, forgetting his own attentions, and felt a drop of his seed leak from him. Spreading it gently against his head elicited another of those strangled moans - those were new, but apparently not bad - and she smiled a bit into the flesh of his neck, bringing her tongue against one of the markings there as she wrapped her fingers around him and pumped him once, twice.

He bit his lip and gasped - the fingers rested on her back curled, digging into her, and he brought his lips down to hers for a fierce kiss.

"Please," he whispered as he tugged insistently at the hem of her shirt. She sat up enough to remove it, then sank back down. His fingers traced a line down her sternum, and back up to her collarbone. For the first time tonight, his hands felt inexperienced, green...unsure. He reached back to her shoulder, and she closed his eyes in dismay as he touched the scar of her brand and pulled away with one prim kiss on her forehead.

She sighed and she tried not to seem disappointed at the new development. They lay together a little while before she tried to initiate again, with no response.

"If there's something I've done wrong, Fenris, please tell me," she said as she carded her fingers through his silky white hair.

He kept his eyes shut, and shook his head. "I'm sorry," was all he said.

"Sorry for what? Please tell me. I don't know how much longer I can stand this."

He sat up, and she followed suit, forcing him to make eye contact with her. He sighed again, apparently trying to collect the words. "I feel that brand, and I think of all the things they've ever done to you, and I can't bear the thought of doing the same..." He buried his head in one hand. "I can't. I just...can't."

Her heart felt like it might burst. As much as she'd tried to rid herself of the legacy attached to that brand, it seemed to be stuck with her as surely as the scar. And now it seemed to have repulsed the only person who might have understood her enough to get past it...

She lay a kiss against his shoulder, causing the corner of his mouth to turn up. "You needn't worry about me, Fenris. I remember what it was like, before. I remember how it's supposed to feel, and how it isn't...and trust me when I say this doesn't feel wrong."

But the concern in his voice, that was something she hadn't heard in an age. There was no pity, no sanctimonious outpouring of love, just a stark sort of empathy. Almost as if...

Oh, no.

She raised a hand up against her mouth to stem back the tide of bile that threatened to make its presence known. Her breathing sped up as the realization hit her and she was only able to utter one word: "Danarius."

In response, he tucked his head farther into his hands, nearly touching his forehead to his knees. She reached around him and laid kisses on his shoulders and back, rubbing gently as the man in front of her came undone and sobs racked his body. She murmured soft endearments, scratching at the nape of his neck, until he finally settled in her arms.

"Tell me what it is you want from me, Fenris," she whispered as she continued to drag a consoling hand up and down his spine. "Tell me, and I swear that if it's in my power, I'll give it to you."

He was quiet for a long while, the occasional hiccup erupting from him as he accepted her affections. She could barely reconcile this man in her bed with the one she'd seen months ago aboard the Lifestyle or even weeks ago on the way back down Sundermount. How long had he buried these feelings, and how had she managed to pull the strings so surely to tear him to pieces?

He seemed to be getting his composure back. He sat up and looked down at her with a certain something, she couldn't place it. Admiration? Gratitude? Desire? Perhaps it was a mix of all three.

He brushed the back of his hand against her cheek, pinning her gaze with his. "I want you, Althaea. More than I've wanted almost anything...I just...I don't know how." He touched his forehead to hers, causing her to smile. "I've grown to crave your touch, your affection...everything. It terrifies me."

The utter honesty in his voice shook her to the core. Oh, Maker, please keep me from becoming a spineless heap on the ground, she prayed.

"They're yours," she said, and hugged him closely. It took a second, but he returned it, squeezing her as he did. His embrace was warm. Everything was warm. "We can move at whatever pace you want. You can push yourself, or not...it's up to you. I'm not going anywhere."

"This is...acceptable to you?" He seemed surprised by that.

"Of course it is. I value you too much to lose you to something so simple as a need for sex." She chuckled. "Great as it is right now, given your...ample charms."

He laughed at her obvious frustration, another of those great, rare chortles. She didn't imagine she'd ever get tired of that laugh. "Yours are rather plentiful as well, I must say."

He drew her in for a kiss, nuzzling her neck and giving a little nip that surprised her. "Are you sure you will be all right?"

"You are not Septimus." She forced certainty into her voice as she said it.

"Not in the least."

"Then yes, I will be fine, but let's make a promise to one another."

"I'm listening."

"Let's make sure we say something if one of us moves too far, or too fast."

"I can work with that," he said with a wide grin; it turned into a yawn. "But we should get to bed. It's rather late, and I'm rather tired."

She was inclined to agree, but got up and removed the trousers she was wearing before she lay back down next to a bemused Fenris. A minute or two later, he shimmied out of the too-tight borrowed pair of pants. "I wasn't very comfortable in them anyway," he rumbled as he spooned himself against her."You'll forgive me if I...uh..." He stopped.

Funnily enough, suave was not something he seemed to be able to pull off consciously, but she understood what he was trying to get at, and laughed at the awkward way he'd brought it up. "I'll resist all temptation until I have express permission from you to do anything about it."

"It's hardly something I can control, especially with someone as beautiful as you so close to me."

She blushed, but he couldn't see it. She'd never thought of herself that way, small and boyish as she he seemed to think so made her almost unbearably happy.

She let Fenris scoop her up into one arm, and made a pillow out of the other; bringing the sheet back up over them, she fell asleep to the sound of his breath against her ear and the rain beating outside the shuttered window. Tomorrow morning there'd be hell to pay, mud in the streets and all over her entryway, but tonight she'd just enjoy the slice of peace she never thought she'd get again.


Warmth was the first sensation Fenris was aware of as he woke; he was still wrapped around Althaea. They were both still naked as the Maker made them, and she still had her fingers threaded in the hand he'd wrapped around her when they'd first bedded down. He removed that hand now to tuck an errant lock of hair behind her ear; she mumbled and snuggled a little closer, but didn't wake.

The fire in the hearth had died out, but the coals were still red and provided just enough light for him to make the lines of her out. At first, the position had reminded him dimly of other, less pleasurable things, but he was able to push those thoughts away. They were naked, true, but he was holding her, she was much smaller than he, and she hadn't pressed him to perform any acts of service, the likes of which would have earned him the privilege of a bed in the first place. For the first time in his life, this intimacy was a gift freely given, and the thought of that was liberating to say the least.

He stroked her hair as he lay beside her. It wasn't quite all the way down, but tied back in a simple braid that seemed to be working its way loose as they slept. It was such a rare thing to see her out of the usual complicated coiffure; in fact, he thought he might have been the only person in years to see her hair in its natural, unstyled state. He had convinced her, once, to leave it mostly down for the day. The results had been astounding; her silky black tresses had hung all the way down to her waist. He had a curious urge to run his fingers through it, play with it and braid it, perhaps even help her wash it.

Now, there was a thought, and one he'd have to gather up the courage for, but definitely ripe for the asking. She'd eschewed the bathhouse long ago and insisted on commandeering his bath, often taking long soaks that seemed to last for hours. These events were usually preceded by a gift of wine or cheese, or both, but he'd have let her use it but for the asking. A small pile of toiletries had appeared on the table next to the gigantic bath, testament to the care she took in this particular task: candles, bath oils, delicately scented soaps, and big fluffy towels had wormed their way into the formerly stark chamber. He didn't mind, too much, and occasionally found himself sniffing at the soap while he performed his own washings.

He inhaled the lingering scent in her hair, now. He was familiar with it - she'd been wearing it since Val Royeaux - but it wasn't often that he could allow himself to catch anything more than a hint of it. He found it a comforting, floral scent, with just the hint of her underneath it that made it that much more real. He sat up a little on his elbow and she rolled onto her back with a grumble.

He was still a little surprised she'd chosen to allow him in her bed tonight. He'd have been happy on the floor, so long as he was close to her, but she wouldn't have any of it. He smiled at that. Her affections were so easily obtained - he'd even caught her squeezing the shoulder of Isabela, who had been jockeying for him and never seemed too happy about her ouster at Althaea's hands - but whenever she directed them toward him, he felt uncomfortable, unworthy. It had taken a while for him to understand them, and even longer to return them, albeit in his awkward, green way. He'd need to work on that, for sure. It was just that...touch...was never something he'd associated with anything but pain. Now that he was starting to find it pleasurable, he wasn't sure he could turn around. He'd lived in a desert of touch, and she was the oasis; he'd start drinking of her like a man dying of thirst, and he hoped the well of her affections was as deep as it looked.

He traced his fingers along the lines of her body. It was much easier to do when she was in this vulnerable state, and he had time to admire her at his leisure. She hadn't cast any illusions about having the kind of assets other women did; her breasts and hips were quite small, and she had a softness to her physique he doubted he'd ever find on Isabela, who was well-conditioned to a life of dueling and sailing. No, her body was far, far more beautiful in its working grace than it would ever be in its composition.

If she could just apply a tenth of that to her dagger skills, she'd be poetry in motion on the field. She'd proven that when, in response to his gentle teasing at her unnecessary flourishes during his weapons lessons, she'd leaped across the length of his foyer. She'd crumbled in the last landing, but other than that, they'd seemed practically effortless, if a little out of practice. For a moment he regretted that she'd finished out too short for anything but an amateur career in dance, but he supposed he'd never have met her if she'd gone on to something like that. Her life would certainly have been easier. She'd have been shipped off to Orlais for professional training and none of the terrible things that'd been foisted on her would have ever happened. Septimus would never have taken that skill and warped it to his own base desires.

He was all too familiar with what slave dancing looked like, having seen plenty of it while standing impassive at Danarius's side. She'd have been bound and dressed in golden chains and ornate jewelry, wearing almost nothing other than that; some of the dancers he'd seen were made to toss veils or shake their hips so skirts and belts of coins jingled and jangled in time with the music being played. The only lucky thing about any of it was that slaves of this type were almost never considered whippable. Defacing their bodies would only devalue them, and she'd have been a talented dancer indeed. Septimus would never have risked the investment value of his 'gift'.

The joy in her face as she took those leaps had relieved him. Whatever she'd been made to do, she could still find some saving grace in the dance. Perhaps she'd teach him a trick or two; some of the jumps he'd seen the corps in Val Royeaux perform could potentially serve him well in battle.

He brought his hand down along the line of her hip. She chose that moment to arch herself into a languid stretch, jostling his hand and causing it to rest next to the thatch of hair above her sex; he removed it quickly, but she was thankfully still asleep. That moment was exciting, though it was far from forbidden, and he felt his desire blooming in response to the thought. He knew she wanted him that way, but he didn't know when he could work himself up to it. He was inexperienced at being on this end of the sexual equation and while he was familiar with the basics, he found himself fearing what seemed like an inevitable rebuff.

Who was he kidding? Protect her, hold her, carry things up and down stairs for her - these were things he could do, but would he ever really be able to open up and share in something so intimate? He knew it would be different than anything he'd ever experienced. Even what he'd had with her so far had felt damn near sacred, and it was something he didn't want to muck up any further than necessary. Perhaps he should just go to Isabela and get the crash course out of the way, just so he wouldn't seem a bumbling idiot when the time came. She'd only be too happy to oblige.

No. She wouldn't mind his inexperience - he was sure of that - and she certainly wouldn't appreciate him bedding the pirate before she even got her chance at the proverbial apple. In recent days she'd made absolutely no bones about her attraction to him, and tonight when he'd worn her clothes to hilariously awkward end, the heat in her stare had been absolutely unmistakable, so much so that he'd sat as quickly as he could to hide his response. She'd likely just treat his inexperience with the quiet dignity she'd used when she'd first started teaching him to read, and gently guide him in the right direction, likely to their mutual pleasure. He thought of the way she'd wrapped her hand around him as they'd kissed earlier, and bit his lip as he felt himself swell even more; he was fully erect now, and wasn't sure if he should act on it.

She turned once more in her sleep to face him, and buried her head in his chest. Her leg pressed up against his length and the sensation was almost too much to bear; his markings flared at the overwhelming, sudden pleasure. Venhedis, he thought, taking deep breaths to control the light that pulsed from him.

Too late. Her eyes flew open just as he'd willed them into silence, and she said, cautiously, into the newfound darkness: "Fenris?"

"I'm here. Be still; there's nothing to be concerned about." He held her close, as if she might run away from fear any second.

"You lit up...it was so bright."

"I know. You...you touched me, my...in your sleep. I lost control. I'm sorry."

She knew his markings often reacted when he felt strong emotion. Which one would she associate this with?

"Are you sure everything's okay?" she asked him.

"I'm positive," he said. "Be still." He tucked that rogue curl of hair back behind her ear as she nuzzled up into his chest. That action brought his flagging erection back to life, and she whispered an almost silent oh as she realized just what she'd done to merit his sudden flareup.

Maker help him, he was not going to let this opportunity pass him by. He'd promised himself he'd become the men he envied or die trying; now was as a good a time as any to make good on it.

He kissed the top of her head gently. She hadn't actually fallen asleep, and so she opened her eyes and smiled groggily up at him. He wasn't sure how to ask, but remembered how she'd looked at him when he'd placed her hand just where he'd wanted it; he did just that, and watched the comprehension blooming in her face.

"I want to try," he whispered into her ear. She nodded, and wrapped her hand around him as she had before, repositioning herself to kiss him deeply as she moved her hand up and down his length.

It felt nothing at all like his own touches, which were perfunctory almost to the point of being brutal - he could take care of his own needs, and did so on a regular basis, but the ritual had always lacked finesse. Her touch was firm, but still slow and sensual.

It would prove to be too much and he didn't want to lose his nerve to go all the way, so he removed her hand again. He placed her hand on his and moved to the junction between her legs. If her soft sighs and moans were any indication, she didn't mind one bit, but he didn't know where to go from there, so he settled his hand on the soft mound of her and gathered up the temerity to ask for help.

"I want to touch you, but...I don't know how." That admission was almost too hard to utter, but she smiled up at him and guided his hand into the moist folds of her, directing a finger to swirl around a hardening pearl of flesh hidden there. When she removed her hand and he continued, her brows knitted together and she shuddered, digging her nails into his shoulders as he continued to bring his fingers around in the pattern she'd showed him.

He kissed her as he continued to explore, feeling how the moisture of her began to accumulate around his questing fingers. He tried to listen to the sounds of her, to try and see if there was something she liked, specifically, but the pounding of his blood in his ears made everything else too quiet to hear.

If he didn't do this now, he'd never do it, he was sure of it. He pressed all his lingering doubt and worry to the back of his mind and rotated her onto her back, continuing to lay kisses on her neck and collarbone. If he could just get past this, there'd be plenty of time for lazier exploration.

"Are you sure?" she asked him, raising a hand up to his cheek, and brushing gently around the long line of his ear, a motion that made him quiver with pleasure.

"Yes," he breathed. "Venhedis, Althaea, I want this more than anything."

She gazed deeply into his eyes as she moved her legs to either side of him and took his length in hand, guiding him toward her entrance. His hands tangled up in the sheets as he pressed into her.

It was nothing like he'd thought it might be, not the way his hands or hers felt, and definitely not the way it had been when she'd ridden him in his dream. He sank as deeply into her as he could, gasping for air and closing his eyes tightly. He was already so close, and he didn't want it to be over yet, didn't want it to be over, ever; he pulled away and thrust again as soon as he realized she wasn't scared, wasn't in pain. Everything was as it should be, and Maker help him, she was smiling, she was asking for more -

He was falling apart. She was so soft, everything about her was soft, and she burned at the core where he continued to bury himself, gritting his teeth against the inevitable rush that signaled his oncoming orgasm. Then she arched her back and started to meet his thrusts with her own movements. When she hooked her legs around the small of his back, deepening his entry, he couldn't hold it any longer and had to let go.

It was bliss, perfection, a cloud behind his eyes, and he spilled into her with a shudder and a curse in Arcanum. He continued to follow through until he settled into her chest, gasping like he might drown. She was breathing heavily too, murmuring his name, and he could feel her heart beating insistently against her chest as she carded her fingers through his hair and scratched his back gently.

"Oh, Maker," was all she said as he rolled off her and she curled up against him, drawing lazy swirls against his chest markings. At some point they'd begun to shine again - he hadn't even realized it - but they quieted at her touch. It felt like water, warm and soothing against his scarred skin, and he reveled in the feeling of it.

"Well?" she asked as she lay next to him. He chuckled.

"It was..." he sighed and fumbled for the words. "It was better than anything I could have dreamed."

"Mmm." Her happy little murmur echoed against him as he drew her close, smiling into her hair.

"Thank you," he said, and stole her words. Maker knew they were appropriate. "That was a gift I'll treasure."

He kissed her forehead as he curled around her again and finally started drifting to sleep. The storm outside continued to pour down in sheets, but in this little home of hers, he was warm and dry.

Here in her arms, he was safe. If he did nothing else, he'd make sure she always felt the same way.