Despite Lysander's warnings, Arya continued to bottle up almost all of her emotions. She spent a nice hour with him, curled up on the bed watching Netflix, and then, after fixing her hair and making sure she looked presentable, the two of them headed down to dinner. She'd have never made it if she hadn't followed him, and when they got there, Anora and Cailan were already there, at the head of the table. Lysander and Arya took their seats next to them, Cailan reaching out and squeezing her hand. She flashes him a smile as a plate is laid out in front of her.
"Eldris and the others will be joining us in the morning. We needed time to get their rooms ready," he informs her. A servant fills a wine glass as she shifts in her seat, picking up her fork and twirling it around in her hands.
"Do they have any idea where they want to go next?" she asks.
"I'm not sure. I plan on recommending Orzammar, though," he tells her.
"Why's that?" she asks.
"It'll give us enough time to get things settled here. I'm going to be in meetings all day tomorrow, thanks to my extended absence. Not that I regret anything, mind you," he says, giving her a smile. She grins back and takes a sip of the wine. The food was standard Fereldan fare- roast meat and stewed vegetables. Unfortunately, it was incredibly bland. She was going to have to venture into the kitchens herself later at night and make something with more flavor- or any flavor at all.
"So, what time will they arrive?" she asks, making a face at the vegetables on her plate.
"Early. Likely right after dawn. Would you like to join us in the war room?" he asks.
"I'm going to regret being woken up that early, but yes. If they're going to Orzammar I need to be there. I've got information they need to know, especially when they decide who's going to go," she says.
"All right, I'll make sure to notify someone. Would you like to stay with me? I can send word to Anaba so she can lay out an outfit and everything. The meeting with the Wardens would be the first of the day," he asks, and Arya very pointedly ignores the lewd look Lysander is sending her.
"Yeah, that'd be nice. I was going to try and find someone to bunk with anyway," she says, rubbing at her wrist nervously.
"Are the nightmares bad?" Cailan asks, his voice soft.
She nods. "Worse than I was expecting," she admits, finally picking at her food.
"Well, with three of us, surely there's someone you can always bunk with," he says, almost cheerfully. Arya rolls her eyes.
"He is right. If this arrangement works, Lysander and I would also be available. If sleeping alone is a problem for you, we can make sure it never has to happen," Anora chimes in.
"I'd appreciate that. They're worse when I'm alone," she says softly, and Lysander grins at her across the table.
"We can't have that, kitten. We'll make sure someone's always with you," he promises. There is a lapse in conversation then, as Cailan calls over a servant to send a message to Anaba. They fall into an easy silence, broken by light conversation, until they part ways after supper, Lysander and Anora going to their separate rooms. Arya follows Cailan up the stairs, her arm linked through his.
"Would you like a bath before bed?" he asks, navigating through the corridors with ease.
"When don't I want a bath before bed?" she answers, teasingly. He laughs, leaning over and pressing a quick kiss to her temple.
"I don't think I'll ever understand why you're so…clean," he says, his nose wrinkling fondly.
"Well, there are different hygiene standards in my world. A bath a day is customary. Although I have some ideas. Maybe we could use fire runes in a showerhead to keep the water warm. There'd have to be an elaborate as hell pipe system, but maybe someone would be able to do it," she says.
"What in the Maker's name is a showerhead?" he asks, perplexed.
"It's the part of the shower that the water comes out of," she responds.
"And what's a shower?"
She grins. "It's like…a miniature waterfall inside. It's a bath, but standing up. It's so much quicker and so much nicer," she says.
"That definitely sounds like something to look into. It'll probably be expensive, but if we can build a prototype that works, perhaps the trend would catch on," he says.
"I would literally sell my soul to the devil if we could make showers popular in Thedas. We also need some sort of water purification system. It'll cut down on water-borne illnesses, and it's better for us in general," she says.
"With your help, we could likely get a lot more inventions in Thedas," he tells her, as they reach his rooms. Anaba is stepping out as they approach.
"Mistress, I've laid out outfits for in the morning and to sleep in tonight. Is there anything else I can do for you?" Anaba asks.
"No, thank you, Anaba. We're going to head to the baths though, so if you could send word to have them filled, that would be wonderful," Cailan says. Anaba narrows her eyes, glancing at Arya.
"Very well, Your Majesty," she says, ducking away and hurrying off down the corridor.
"She seems very wary of us all," Cailan remarks.
"I don't blame her. She was in the dungeon for killing a noble man," Arya says.
"I…was unaware of that. I'm sure Anora will brief me in the morning," he says, and Arya nods, unwilling to say anything else. Anaba's story is her own to tell; she's not going to spread it around.
After gathering up their clothes and heading towards the bathing chambers, it's entirely deserted aside from a single servant preparing the baths. "Greetings, Your Majesty. The water should be ready now," he says, bowing politely.
"Thank you. We may be a while- do you think you could keep others out?" he asks.
"Of course," the servant replies, nodding again before making a hasty retreat towards the door, letting it shut behind them.
"Cailan! You didn't have to kick everyone else out. I've gotten over a lot of my modesty traveling with everyone else," Arya says, but there is a faint smile on her face as Cailan drops their pajamas on a shelf near the bath before pushing her against the wall, his arms on either side of her.
"Maybe I just don't want to share you right now," he says, pressing a kiss to her lips before pressing another to her throat.
"I…oh," she says, her hands gripping the loose cloth of his tunic. He chuckles against her neck, pulling back enough to rest his forehead against hers.
"That is, if you want to," he says. She bites her lip.
"There's something else I want to try," she says. He furrows his brow.
"Be my guest. If I don't like it, I'll stop you," he promises. She grins at him and kneels down, her fingers inching towards the waistband on his trousers.
"If I'm not completely terrible at this, I think you'll like it," she says, her eyes twinkling as she tugs them down. He's already half hard, his hands braced against the walls.
"You don't have to," he tells her, gasping as she leans forward and runs her tongue along his length.
"Darling, I don't have to do anything. I want to do this. With you," she says, and when she takes him into her mouth his hand comes down and tangles itself in her hair.
"Maker, I love you," he says. She stops for a moment, her lips curved up in a grin.
"I love you too," she murmurs, before her head dips down again.
An elven girl with dark hair and bright eyes runs through the dirty streets of an alienage, an elven boy on her heels. "You won't catch me, Lan," she calls out, laughing, nearly tripping over her skirts. Adults watch from their doors or their clotheslines, faint smiles on their faces as the children run and play. Life wasn't easy in the alienage, but nothing worth doing was.
A year later, the same elven girl and the same elven boy run through the streets together. The atmosphere is heavier, this time, and the boy is keeping pace with the girl. "We have to tell Papa!" the boy calls out, and the girl skids to a stop in front of their house, wrenching the door open far harder than necessary in her panic.
"Papa! The humans are coming!" she calls out. An elven man leans down in front of her and pushes her hair out of her face. It is only then that she realizes it had come undone from the bun she usually wore it in.
"Take your brother and get in the cellar," he tells her, pressing a dagger into her hand. She nods firmly, still out of breath, but she ushers the boy into the cellar and climbs down after him. The door locks above them, and she can hear her father pulling the rug over the door. "Don't come out until I tell you it's safe," he says, his voice sharp with fear and anger before she can hear his steps leading away, towards the door. She ushers her brother deeper into the cellar and stands in front of him, the knife clutched in her hands. That is the last time she ever sees her father alive.
Three years later, the elven girl has been sold into slavery. A young nobleman bought her from the slavers that killed her father, and there are days when she shivers with the anger of it all, her throat tight with it. They'd found her pressed into the corner of the cellar, her brother behind her and her face smeared with mud and tears as she faced them down. She fought, of course, she always would, there was no changing that, but the humans took her so easily, and she had been separated from her brother. Her new master had no need for a boy, he said, but a pretty girl like her would make a nice addition to his home.
The other slaves were kind. They were elven, too, more girls than boys, and they assured her that her brother had gone to a good master. They knew what it was like to be new, and angry and scared and lost all at once. She was far angrier than she was scared, and one day when another girl asked her how she'd gotten captured, she turned around and punched the wall, the rough stone scraping the skin off her knuckles.
She had been hauled to her master's study and dumped in front of him. "What do you have to say for yourself, Bella?" he asks, his voice cold and controlled. Her lips turn up in a snarl.
"It was the wall or the girl. I thought you'd take less offense to the wall, but I can always go after the girl," she answers.
"You cannot keep acting like this. It doesn't suit your pretty face," he says, and she bites back an insult. There is nothing she can do with a broken hand and bloodied knuckles, so she lets the slave master lead her away.
The first time her master hit her, she tasted blood for a week afterwards. She did nothing to cover up the bruise, defiantly angry even after others questioned her. The anger boiled just underneath her skin, white-hot and blinding at times. The other slaves avoid her, as do the servants, and she does her job only as much as she must.
One night he gets drunk and he hits her again before he kisses her rough, his fingers digging into the soft tissue of her breast. She exploded with magic she didn't know she possessed, leaving a dark scorch mark on the floor. She stole his money and ran, never looking back.
Arya wakes with a soft gasp, sitting up in the bed. Dawn is breaking across the horizon, and it is likely only a few minutes before servants would wake them for the day. There is a moment in between breaths when she does not know who she is, where she doesn't recognize herself or the man lying next to her, and her heart hammers wildly in her chest. By her next breath, she remembers, everything coming back to her so suddenly it leaves her breathless. Cailan shifts beside her, the covers falling away as he brushes his hair out of her face.
"What's the matter?" he asks. "Dreams?"
She nods, her hand pressed to her stomach as it rolls uneasily. "Yeah. Worse than I expected. It's nothing unusual, though," she says. He lets out a muffled noise and pulls her closer, his arm wrapped around her waist. She smiles despite herself, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
"The servants will be by to wake us soon," she murmurs, running her fingers through his hair.
"That'll be later," he says, shifting deeper into the sheets. She smiles and lets out a quiet purr, settling down with him.
