Author's Notes: A short chapter, but I'm a little busy today! Hopefully will crack out another medium length one tomorrow! :3
Warnings: SPOILERS FOR INQUISITION
Lucretia's attacker drove them deep into the castle with fast, unrelenting steps. Though he said little, save for a few agitated mutters, Lucretia discerned a few key points about his character.
Tall and broad-chested, there was no doubt in her mind he was a military man; physically hardened by years of combat, most likely with a sword and shield. In his arms, a struggle was futile. Nevertheless, there was something about his mannerism that was gentle, and despite her instinctive worrying, she was at ease in his embrace.
His clothes, dark and simple, were also well made; the glove over her mouth soft and supple. He smelt faintly of rosewater and sweat. Whoever he was, Lucretia reasoned he was foreign and rich enough to afford good clothing. What she couldn't determine was why kidnapping her was imperative. There was umpteen reasons for harassing an Inquisitor, but far better ways and places to do so than in her own fortress. Who would be so self-assured of their skills – or position – to take such a risk? She weighed the possibilities, but all potential for thought was lost. In the end, they always led to Cullen.
Her Commander was surprised—Eleni's return was unplanned, that was for sure, but the why and how were unknown to Lucretia. She had only just come to terms with Cullen's bildungsroman story. Throwing this elusive event into the mix was tarnishing the fragile, hard-won security she had built up for herself over the last few months. Mulling over the matter gave no answer, and simply depressed her further.
They stopped outside a small, candlelit room. Lucretia recognized it as a small magical equipment chamber by its distinctive, oval windows. With a grunt, her captor shouldered the door open further, lugged her inside and pushed the door shut behind him. She felt the muscles in his arm flex as he lowered her to the ground. His heart throbbed against her back—Lucretia couldn't tell if he was excited or fatigued.
"I think we're here," he said, his warm breath pooling next to her ear. She shivered and gave a tentative wiggle. His arms were unyielding, still.
"I am going to let you go, but I need you promise that you won't hex me the moment I lower my hand, all right?"
The voice was curiously familiar. If he had caught her at a better time Lucretia was certain she'd have the mind to ascertain who it was. Dishevelled and depressed, she was in no position to do so. After a moment, she nodded. The attacker's hand slipped with a rustle from her lips.
Lucretia sprung to the wall at the end of the room. Though she kept her magic at bay, her glib tongue was free to do as it pleased.
"Who the hell do you think you are," she hissed, eyes narrowed as they adjusted to the dim room.
The assailant stepped into silver light, hands slowly raised beside his head while he approached. The audible gasp from Lucretia shuddered down the quaint room.
Alistair gave a wry smile at her expression and shrugged his shoulders.
"Please don't turn me into anything… unnatural. The ladies of Fereldan will weep if they lose this dashing face."