For a long time, Elya didn't move. When the spirit had left them in the dark and the Chevaliers had departed, she had relaxed with a great rush of relief. But that relief was now jittering through her body, making her shake uncontrollably. Her hands were still fisted in Cullen's shirt, feeling like claws that she could not unbend. She was dizzy and out of sorts, her thoughts disjointed as they jumped from what if to what if. What if the spirit had not warned them, or helped them? What if the soldiers decided to come back? What if next time they were not so lucky?
The only thing keeping her grounded was Cullen. Her face was pressed into his neck, his arms still around her, although not nearly as tightly as they had been. He smelled good, his natural scent mixed with that of the shampoo she had washed his hair with. She could feel the elevated rate of his heartbeat against her shoulder, the slight movement of his heavy muscles in his body as he cradled her, her legs tucked crossways over his lap.
It felt like… home.
Maker, she had been so scared. Ever since her parents' deaths and their disgrace, Elya had been alone. She had been through some difficult and frightening periods, but nothing like the last hour. Nothing had come nearly as close. If they had been discovered, Cullen would have been executed. No trial, nothing. Just murdered, while she fought uselessly to save him.
Sudden tears rushed into her eyes, and she choked on a sob. Maker, he had to leave, didn't he? Elya had known that he would, but to suddenly have it thrust upon her like this was unbearable. She couldn't protect him and he didn't have the tools to protect himself here. Sooner or later the Chevaliers would be back, or someone would discover him. He had to leave.
"Elya?" Cullen's voice was low, concerned, a whisper in the dark. His hands ran up from her waist to her shoulders, light and gentle as she shuddered again. "What is it?"
She couldn't answer; her throat burned and was too tight to allow for speech. She just shook her head, feeling the catch of her hair along his stubble. After tonight she wouldn't see him again; she knew he would leave immediately, as soon as he was able to. For her protection, for her safety. Her tears broke, wetting his skin.
Cullen curled around her once more, holding her tighter, but this time there was a soft gentleness too. Instead of the fierce embrace during their ordeal, this one was comforting and soothing. He dropped his head over hers, his mouth closer to her ear. "You are safe now, Elya. I won't let anything happen to you."
His words made her cry harder, still unable to speak as she clutched onto him tighter. She shook her head; he didn't understand. That wasn't what she was worried about. She didn't care about her own safety, she was scared for his. Scared about the terrible emptiness she felt at the thought of losing him.
"Please don't cry." His voice was achingly soft, and he gently pulled her shoulders back. In the dark, she strained to see his face, but the curtains kept out the meager moonlight, concealing him from her. Her tears, now unobstructed, rolled down her cheeks. She swallowed hard and sniffed, trying to stop herself and find the composure that had been drilled into her in her youth. She took a shuddering breath, remembering his instructions to her during their ordeal. Breathe.
Cullen's hands skimmed up to her cheeks, cupping her face. His thumbs moved softly, catching the wetness lingering there and brushing it away. "That's my girl," he breathed into the stillness.
Elya could hear the soft smile she knew he wore, could feel the strength he leant her. She took another deep gulp, this one only quivering slightly. She sat up more fully and released her hold on his shirt. With Cullen cradling her face still, she wrapped her hands around his wrists. Even in so innocuous a place, she could feel the power of him, knew the warrior strength of him. She turned her cheek into his palm and closed her eyes. "Thank you, Cullen." She hesitated, trying to master her emotions. She swallowed hard, then whispered out, "I will miss you."
Cullen stilled; Elya couldn't even hear his breathing. The words hung in the air, tense between them. She knew then that it was as she thought: he had made up his mind to leave. Another wave of sorrow rolled through her, dampening her eyes again. She pressed her lips together, feeling them tremble. So this was it. This was their goodbye.
Her hands tightened around his wrists before slowly dropping away to fall into her lap, limp and useless. She bowed her head and leaned back against the wall, Cullen's fingers sliding against her skin as she pulled away.
"No." Cullen said it so softly, she almost missed it. But then his hands were back on her shoulders, gripping her tightly. She gasped, eyes wide at the sudden change in him. Gone was the melancholy air around him, replaced by a fierce tension, one that sent her pulse racing. "No." He repeated, much more firmly.
Then his lips were on hers, and her confusion flew away, all rational thought quickly following.
His kiss was soft, his lips almost not touching hers. Gently, Cullen brushed back and forth, sensations tingling in his wake. Elya's didn't breathe, shock keeping her motionless, her eyes wide. She wished desperately that she could see him, see what he was feeling. The barely-there touches suffused her with a longing, a restlessness that she didn't understand.
Still keeping things light, Cullen moved his lips more firmly. He teased along the curve of her upper lip and she shuddered, a rush of warmth spreading through her fast. Oh, she dazedly realized, so that was what people spoke of when they spoke of kisses. So this was desire.
She had been kissed a few times before, back before her life had fallen apart. Quick, uninteresting presses of lips by over-excited puppies of men, boys pretending to be worldly. Uncaring that they could be discovered and that Elya's reputation would have been shattered and she would have been disgraced or betrothed to whoever would take her. Uncaring if she had wanted to be kissed, or even if she had been frightened by the sudden onslaught of lips.
Cullen, though. She knew that he would never hurt her, no matter what. Not once since she had seen him collapsed in her garden had she ever been frightened of him. Were she to ask him to stop, he would, instantly. Not that she wanted to. For the first time, she actually wanted to be kissed. The shock melted away, and as it did, she melted as well. Her form went pliant and she focused on the coaxing motion of Cullen's velvety soft lips. Ever so gentle, ever so wonderful.
Elya closed her eyes and lost herself in the moment, on the heat that was spreading through her veins and replacing the icy sadness. She grasped this chance, perhaps forever her last, and she parted her lips and moved her own against his in a dance she didn't know, but she could feel down to her soul.
Cullen groaned, his hands squeezing her shoulders harder before he forcibly loosened his fingers. With a deepening, Cullen kept their kiss slow as she began to kiss him back, feeling that languid heat slipping through her limbs. The firmer pressure was even more evocative, instead of teasing it now gave. She felt the rasp of his lengthening stubble against her skin, a prickling that contrasted with the softness of his firm lips. His nose brushed against hers before he moved to one corner of her mouth, then smoothed across her bottom lip to the other. He lavished her lips, making her feel as if there was nothing beyond this, nothing beyond them.
Elya opened her lips fully, realizing she hadn't been breathing, and unsteadily drew in a lungful. She jumped in surprise when she felt Cullen lick her lips, then dip briefly inside her mouth. A strong spark of heat shot through her and curled in her belly, and she moaned, adrift in the heady feeling. She instantly flushed, embarrassed that she could make such a wanton sound, but Cullen seemed to delight in it. He groaned, his hands moving from her shoulders to her hair, pulling her in closer.
She leaned in instantly, her hands which had been clenched in her lap now tentatively reaching out and settling on his chest between them. He felt so strong, warm and solid. After looking at his bare torso for so long, Elya wished that she was touching the muscles she had seen, feel his battle-scarred skin with her palms. She felt her fingers curl, tug slightly on the fabric before smoothing again to press her palms flush. Cullen dipped inside her mouth once more, this time curling around her tongue. That spark from earlier repeated, and she gasped, her hands grasping and feeling the thundering race of Cullen's heart. Oh Maker, if what she had felt at the beginning was desire, what was this intense heat and mindlessness?
Her heavy brown hair, always eager to part from her pins, fell down happily with Cullen's fingers combing through it. He angled her, pulling her closer and she mewled. Her hands slipped up to his shoulders, curling around his neck and toying with the silken curls her fingertips found. He groaned as her breasts pressed against him, and she felt the sound through her own, beading her nipples. Another surprising feeling of heat glimmered from her breasts, and she wished for more. Elya gasped slightly, distantly thinking that she should be shocked at her own behavior, but she couldn't care. She felt too wonderful; too entranced by the heat and intimacy she was sharing with Cullen.
All thought of propriety left Elya's mind, and she met him kiss for kiss. She tasted him as he had tasted her, delighting in the feel of his lips, of his hands and his skin. She gently kissed the cut on his lip, knowing that the scar it would leave behind would be dashing. A fitting tribute to the man. Cullen pulled her in further, tightening one hand in her hair to tilt her head further back, bestowing deep, penetrating kisses upon her eager mouth as the other arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her closer into his body so that she sat across his lap.
She felt that heat coil inside her tighter, a strange ache building between her legs. She throbbed as well, a promise of something building. She felt almost wet, instinctively knew that if they continued the sensations would grow, and Cullen could help her reach for what she wanted. She shifted her hips restlessly, pressing her breasts against Cullen more firmly, arching her back as their tongues danced together. A sound escaped her as she rolled her hips again and brushed across his lap, a question and demand all wrapped in one.
Cullen hissed, his body growing startlingly still after all of their movements. He strangled out a noise and dropped his head to her throat, pressing his lips against her pulse. She felt the erratic measure of his breaths, how tensely he held himself. She swallowed hard as she regained some of her consciousness; he was trying to control himself.
His lips burned against her skin and the brush of his heavy breathing sent little shivers racing down her spine. After long moments when both their heartbeats slowed, Cullen lifted his head. He carefully slipped his hand from her hair, the other from around her waist. A wave of grief roared through her at the loss. That had been the kiss that would have to last her a lifetime. A true taste of what desire could be like, something she would always want but never be able to feel again.
Then Cullen's arms were back, and she gasped as he deftly lifted her off his lap and settled her length wise against his side. She was still on the wall side, but he kept her close, her thigh alongside his, their arms against each other. Not as it had been, but they were still connected. Cullen linked their hands, twining their fingers together. She felt the desire between them lingering, felt it in the heat as they pressed against each other, but the intensity of before had changed to something else.
"Come with me." Cullen's voice was deep, sounded rougher than it had before. It seemed to slip beneath her skin, shaking her deliciously. Then she realized what he said. "Come with me. To Ferelden."
She stopped breathing for a moment, stunned. Travel to Ferelden? Go with Cullen? An instant yearning filled her; she wouldn't have to part with him. The first real friend she had ever had would not disappear from her sight.
She could help him. True she was no great traveler or some sort of fighter, but she was not being hunted as he was. She could help Cullen navigate to the coast, could help him find a ship home. Her meager magic skills could perhaps also be of aid in his journey, and she could also make sure his injuries continued to heal. Fleeing would no doubt not be the best thing for his recovery, but she could help smooth over the issues.
Travel to Ferelden though? Did she dare? Perhaps enough time had passed that no one would recall her parents, or Elya's remarkable similarity to her mother. Perhaps with her status as a member of the lower class, she would be overlooked. Besides, it was unlikely that she would meet who she had been acquainted with.
Cullen had a very specific quest he needed to complete, and a vital one at that. If she could help him in any way, she would. Once that was done, she could always return.
The memory of the children laughing at her ruined spencer rose up in her mind, twisting her stomach. Would she be allowed to return? Her position as the village witch had always lent her a lonely but stable life, but something had changed. And if she just left in the middle of the night, would her cottage remain as it was? It seemed unlikely. She considered her belongings, and was surprised when she discovered she was unconcerned about leaving most of it behind. If giving up her cottage and what was in it meant she could spend more time with Cullen, she would leave with him.
Heat rose up in her cheeks as she realized what traveling with him would mean. She and Cullen were obviously not related and they were unmarried. Everyone would assume that she was… that she was his mistress.
Elya waited for the horror of that revelation to hit her, but it never came. Instead, a shadow of the heat of Cullen's kiss crept through her, bringing that ache and unsteady breathe back. Andraste forgive her, it did not frighten her. She actually felt excitement and anticipation at the idea. If being Cullen's mistress meant more kisses, more of those feelings, would she agree to it?
She licked her lips and shook herself; he had not asked her for that. No, he had just asked her to go with him. Cullen thought of her as a friend, this kiss notwithstanding. He had probably just been as overcome with their ordeal as she had, seeking some sort of outlet for the danger and adrenaline rushing through his body. For a man, a kiss did not mean much; she had been told this so many times during her upbringing. Cullen did not mean anything by his kisses and he was not asking her to be his mistress.
She ruthlessly pushed aside a shocking pang of disappointment and pulled herself from her thoughts. She was just making herself dizzy; she already knew what her instincts were telling her. She straightened her spine, adopting her comfortable composure. "Yes. Yes, I will go with you."