Chapter Four
Neria rubbed her eyes with a groan as she strode into her room and then kicked the door closed behind her. She shoved off her clothes – mage robe, smalls, and all – and flung them atop a chair in a far corner, trading them for the simple, ankle-length robe left neatly folded atop a side-table by the door. She threw the garment on, frowning when she had to wrap the breadth of it around herself nearly twice over before tying it closed. Stupid shem-sized clothing, she inwardly grumbled.
Finally, she sighed, her shoulders drooping, and pressed a weary hand to her face.
It'd been another long, unproductive evening spent quarreling with Arl Eamon. An evening she could've spent much more pleasantly with a certain other Grey Warden. One who had likely long since retired to bed, as any sane person would at this hour. Instead, her mind filled with sour thoughts towards the arl.
Some part of her knew she shouldn't have been surprised, in fact should've expected it. Ever since they'd revived the arl, he'd been after them – hounding them, practically – on Alistair's lineage. "Prince Alistair" this, "Prince Alistair" that. It'd started subtly, a few slips of wording she chose to ignore, then pointed reminders of "responsibilities" and "expectations," then suggesting plans to present Alistair's legitimacy as king over simply ousting Loghain. But after gaining the last of the allies promised by the Grey Warden treaties and with the Landsmeet looming, it grew worse, turning to outright arguments.
To Neria, the matter was clear. Alistair hadn't been raised to rule, nor did he want to. Besides, Ferelden already had a perfectly able queen; a certain someone just had to move his over-paranoid ass out of the throne for her first. Or have it forcibly removed.
She knew she shouldn't have felt so disappointed, and yet she was. And sickened as well.
Nor was she the only one, she could tell. Several times in the past week alone she'd spotted Arl Eamon attempting to hold a secret meeting with Alistair, and not more than a minute or two later, the younger man would storm out, fuming as hot as a kettle.
To be honest, she felt as heated herself about the entire thing. As an elf, the human court might not even listen to her anyway. But, perhaps the threat of a fireball could help her to persuade…
No, no, that wasn't how diplomacy worked, she reminded herself.
Damn it all, she seethed. Magic and battle were her forte, not politics.
Even so, she didn't entirely trust the arl. As much as Alistair had tried to downplay his past, she hadn't forgotten the same man had left him in the kennels with the dogs as a child. A child! Even with the mended amulet, she wasn't sure the man saw Alistair as anything beyond a bargaining chip for the throne.
Just like every other power-hungry noble out there, she fumed bitterly.
She glanced about her bedroom. Hoping to distract herself, or hoping to find a vase to break to ease her outrage, she wasn't sure which.
It was a pleasant enough space, she distantly acknowledged. The quarters were separated into two rooms, the first a study with a bookshelf that ran the length of one wall, a large desk set in the center of the room, and a few rigid chairs around. In the latter, a large canopy bed with soft sheets and silk curtains dominated the space, with a matching armoire opposite and a nightstand with a jug of water and a washbasin tucked neatly in the corner. A tapestry and several paintings adorned the walls, and a fireplace in the study blazed with a warm, low fire that warded off the chill of the open window in the bedroom. It was nicer than anything she'd had in the past months, likely her whole life, the Circle included even with all its false comforts.
But it was empty, devoid of the one person who could have made it truly so.
Since their return, Arl Eamon had assigned Alistair and her separate rooms on far sides of the castle – of course, she mused – and between planning for the Landsmeet and arguing about it, she'd been too tired to sneak all the way over to his at night. They'd only managed to steal a few words, a squeeze of hands, and a quick kiss in an alcove in the past several days. She was already irritated by the arl's scheming, and now she was sexually frustrated, to boot.
If this didn't let up soon, she swore she'd show up to the Landsmeet with a scowl that could kill.
A sudden, quick series of knocks on the door startled her.
With a sigh, she strode over to the door. Undoubtedly, Arl Eamon would be standing on the other side, demanding an audience with her on some matter or another that could surely wait till morning. Perhaps he had decided if he couldn't persuade her, he'd make her agree through sheer exhaustion. She took hold of the handle, sucked in a breath to tell the man to just go to sleep already, and flung open the door—
Only to sputter in shock.
"A-Alistair?" she gasped. "What in the Flames are you doing up this late? And all the way over here? I thought you'd gone to bed already!"
"Shh, not so loud!" he hissed.
He wore only his breeches and a linen shirt that hung a little too large on his frame. His hair was mussed, and his eyes were tight with dread. She raised a brow at his lack of footwear, but he ignored it, slipping inside and gently shutting the door behind himself. He pressed an ear against the wood, listening intently for several long moments, before his shoulders sagged in relief.
He leaned back against the door with a sigh. "Thank the Maker."
Neria inquiringly tilted her head at him. She could hardly guess as to why he had come to her room now of all times, and in such a worrisome state. Had some drastic news of the Landsmeet reached him, or had the army's scouts spotted the archdemon, or something else? Her heart began to race.
The real reason turned out to be a bit less dramatic.
"I was coming back from the larder," Alistair explained at last, "and I just saw Arl Eamon hanging around the door outside my room, probably wanting to talk. Again." He ran a hand through his hair with a groan. "Maker's breath, I can't take this much longer. I tell you, one more lecture on kingly duties, and I'll… I'll…"
The tension swept from her, even as she found herself both amused by and sympathetic to his plight. "You'll… lock yourself in the pantry and eat all the cheese?" she finished with an arch smile.
He let out a startled chuckle. "Hm. You know, that's not a bad idea," he replied. Then, with a nervous glance back at the door, he added, "Really, though, do you think you could – I don't know – hide me here for the night? I swear I won't snore. Well, very loudly, at any rate."
She laughed. "Oh, Alistair, you're always welcome to come sleep with me. Why would you think otherwise?"
He fidgeted with his thumbs, uncertain. "I just thought… Well, since we'd been apart these past days…"
Right. Itching powder in Arl Eamon's clothes. She just had to bribe a maid or two.
Neria wrapped her arms around Alistair's waist, resting her head against his chest as she held him close. "The separate rooms were the arl's idea, not mine," she soothed. "If I'd had my way, we would've never been apart to begin with."
He smiled, and a warmth grew in his eyes as he returned the embrace. "That's… That's good. I'm glad."
She reached up, running her hands over the back of his neck and then threading her fingers through his hair, urging him down. "Now, come here. I've missed you," she said and leaned up to kiss him.
Then another round of knocks sounded at the door.
"Warden, are you still awake?" came Arl Eamon's voice. "I apologize for disturbing you at such an hour, but there is an important matter we must discuss."
Alistair bit his lip to stifle a curse, and Neria struggled for a response. Did she truly dare to outright deny the arl? She was depending on him for his soldiers and to at least bring her through the Landsmeet in one piece. What if she pretended to be asleep instead? She could probably fake a snore through her door. Sort of.
The latch turned and the door began to slide open, and Alistair quickly leaned back to shut it.
Well, no way she could feign sleep now. "I… er…" She looked to Alistair for some hint as to what to say, but he only shook his head at her with wide eyes. "Just… one moment! Don't come in!"
She spun around, her eyes darting left and right and then back again, as she searched for some hiding place for the man beside her. Her gaze alighted upon the armoire one second, only to dismiss it the next; a little too thin, and much too full of clothes. She thought of the bed, then scratched that off as well; the curtains too sheer to secret someone within, and the mattress too low to the floor to fit his muscular bulk underneath.
For a moment she wished she was back in the Circle Tower, with nearly too many decorative alcoves and spacious crannies to count. There were reasons why the mages there were known for their dalliances.
Then her eyes fell upon the desk. The huge, mahogany wood desk that sat in the middle of the study, its heavy weight supported by two thick rows of drawers along the sides and a wall across the front, leaving just the back and center where one sat down open. Open and large enough to fit a grown man, and perfectly spaced for her to sit down and cover up said man. Well, with any luck, she hoped.
She looked to Alistair, found his gaze, and flicked her own to the desk, once, twice, three times. By the start of the third, he was already moving, slinking across the floor on bare feet and slipping under the desk without a sound.
It nearly made her laugh. Before then, she could hardly have imagined him and sneaking in the same sentence, what with his plate armor and clanking across all of Ferelden.
But she stifled it, as who was fast becoming one of the most annoying men in all Thedas waited on the other side of the door. None-too-patiently, she added. "Warden?" the arl called, rapping his knuckles on the door again. "May I come in now? Is something the matter?"
She glanced back at the desk, ascertaining Alistair was indeed out of sight, before turning and throwing the doors open. Arl Eamon stood as expected, his eyes round in surprise and his fist still raised, about to knock yet again. He was dressed the same as she'd last seen him, save for the addition of an evening jacket, and his clothing was as immaculate as always, not even a wrinkle. With a cough, his expression flattened into a more composed state, and he lowered his hand to pick at an imagined thread on his shirt.
"I'm sorry for the wait, Your Grace," Neria said, forcing a smile as she pretended to tighten the tie on her robe. "I was in the midst of getting ready for bed."
He cleared his throat again with a nod. "Ah. Then it is I who should apologize." Even so, he still stepped inside without waiting for an invitation and shut the door behind himself. "I hate to intrude upon you at such an hour, Warden, but our conversation earlier…"
She didn't miss the way in which his eyes purposefully scanned the room, and she stifled a groan. As experienced as the man was in politics, she doubted he could win a game of cards. "Your Grace, it's very late," she said, affecting a weary note in her voice – which wasn't all that difficult, considering she was quite tired. "Could we perhaps discuss this tomorrow?"
He took another several steps inside, and she matched him, keeping herself between him and the desk at all times. "I know," he replied, "and I apologize for the hour, really I do, but you must understand how important this is. The Landsmeet draws ever nearer, and we must prepare as best we can." He looked to her, catching and holding her gaze for several long seconds. "I am sure you understand the direness of the situation."
Another few steps inside, and now he was almost at the point he could look back and see into the desk. She quickly slid into the chair, surreptitiously throwing her legs over Alistair's shoulders to fit inside and then spreading out the skirt of her robe to cover up the gap.
A whisper of embarrassment tinged her cheeks at the sight she undoubtedly presented to the concealed Grey Warden, but not as much as it might've once. After all, it wasn't anything he hadn't already seen before. But, the thought of tricking the arl made her feel giddy, like she was a child hiding forbidden coins and toys from the Tower templars once more, and she had to force down the nervous smile tugging at her lips.
"Of course I understand, Your Grace," she said, waving at the chairs opposite of her. "Please, take a seat, and we can talk about whatever's on your mind."
A hand splayed across her naked knee, but she ignored it. Instead, she kept her hands politely resting atop the desk as the arl took up her offer and sat down in the chair directly opposite to her.
"Warden," Arl Eamon began, his eyes darting about again for a split moment, "you must know our power and influence at the Landsmeet will be limited." She nodded, and another hand wrapped itself around her other knee. "For almost the entire past year, Loghain has done his utmost to gather his supporters and quiet any dissenters." The fingers of one hand drummed themselves along the bend of her joint, and she resisted the urge to squirm. "We must make our arguments absolutely foolproof. We cannot open ourselves to any weakness."
The hand began to draw up her thigh, tapping lightly – one, two, one, two – all the while. Oh, he'd better not, Neria groaned inwardly. She could suppress some reactions; she didn't think an orgasm was one.
"I understand all of that, Your Grace," she replied. "We've already discussed this."
"Yes, I know," Arl Eamon said as he folded his hands in his lap. Meanwhile, Neria could feel a certain other pair of hands creeping up to hers. "And I still strongly believe that Alistair's lineage as a Theirin would bolster our claim to the throne and win us the Landsmeet."
The hands froze.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I still believe that's completely unnecessary," Neria replied.
The hands started up again, sliding the rest of the way up her thighs until the thumbs pressed into the creases between her legs and groin, then softly stroked the skin there. She tried to furtively scoot back into the chair and away from the touch, but they followed. She wouldn't have been surprised to lift up her robe to find Alistair smirking underneath.
"We, uh—We already have a queen – Anora. She's experienced and loved by the people," she continued, suppressing a shiver. "Once we explain to the nobles that we're only there to resolve the Blight, they may come to our side."
The arl frowned at her stutter but made no comment on it. "We cannot rest on such uncertainties, Warden. They may yet decide to support Loghain, if they have not decided such already."
"I think—" A warm breath ghosted across her privates, and she lost her line of thought. "I think," she began again, struggling for what she'd been thinking at all, "you underestimate how dissatisfied they are with the regent. Give me a chance, and I can convince them."
"I assume you have something in mind?"
Another puff of air, and then Alistair's tongue was suddenly pressing into her slit and sweeping up, up, and— "Yes!" she gasped, her eyes slipping shut.
She felt herself getting wet, her core growing hot, as his mouth quickly set to work on her, his lips teasing her folds as his tongue lapped at her clit, then slipped down to her entrance, dipping in briefly before running back up and starting anew. Pleasure raced up her nerves, shaking her legs and clenching her hands into the hard wood of the desk. She nearly threw her head back with a heavy moan.
Only to snap her eyes open with a fierce blush as she remembered who else was in front of her.
"Warden?" the arl asked, his brow rising. "Are you well?"
"Y-Yes, of course," she panted. Alistair ran his tongue against her again, more strongly this time, and she hurriedly amended, "No, I'm not! I'm… I'm very ill, I think." Another stroke, and then he was thrusting it inside of her, and she had to fight not to whimper. "I-I think I caught – ah – something on the way here—"
"But you've been here a week already," the arl pointed out. "Surely it would've passed by now?"
"Then o-outside somewhere!" she gritted out. Maker, if only Alistair would stop for five seconds so she could manage a convincing excuse. "P-Please, Your Grace, I really – mm – must retire to bed immediately."
"Shall I send for a healer?"
"N-No!" she cried. The bridge of Alistair's nose was against her now, running across her swollen nub the same way he'd done so the time he'd held her up against the tree, then so many more times after that. "I-I'm sure it's temporary. It'll – uhn – pass."
The arl's brow remained raised, but he nonetheless nodded. "Very well. We will continue our discussion tomorrow."
She nodded quickly, perhaps a little too quickly, as the arl's eyes narrowed. "Yes, yes, t-tomorrow then." Her hips twitched as Alistair drove his tongue into her particularly firmly. "G-Good evening, Your Grace."
"Good evening, Warden."
She watched as the arl rose from his seat and left, shutting the door behind himself as he did. Only once his steps had faded did she let her head fall back and her hands drop below to find and grasp the hair of the man's head at her groin.
"Y-You are a horrible, wicked man," she nearly growled.
Alistair pulled back with a chuckle. "It got him to leave, didn't it?"
Neria opened her mouth, about to retort that there were other ways to get someone to leave, but then he was running his tongue against her again. Her toes curled as he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, and she shuddered when he slipped one, then two fingers inside of her and curled them so perfectly, white-hot, delicious pleasure melting through her nerves, pooling in her hips. This time she gave in, letting out a loud moan as he stroked her, again, and again, and—
She came, clenching hard around his still-curling fingers with a wail. It'd been long, too long, since they'd last been together, and her breath came in stuttering gasps and moans at the intensity of the sensation. She tried to push away, but he prevented her escape with a hand at her thigh as he relentlessly kept on.
In little time, another orgasm rushed over her.
"Ah! Alistair!" she cried out.
It was too much, far too much, the pleasure of it searing her mind blank till she could hardly recall her own name. She shakily pushed at him again, once she remembered how to work her hands at all, and this time he finally let up with a laugh.
"Liked that, did you?" he said, grinning.
She fell back against the chair with a groan, blushing and embarrassed but happier than she'd been in days. "Do you even need to ask?" she replied, unable to help but smile.
"Not really, I suppose," he said, "but I like to hear it." He looked up at her, taking in the sight of her, and his grin widened. "One way or another."
Then he was scooting forward again, eyeing the space between her thighs and pushing her robe apart with eager hands. She gasped and jerked back, almost overturning the chair in her haste. "Oh, no, ser, we are taking this to the bed before it goes any further," she said, flushed and near laughter herself.
"As you wish, my lady," he replied.
Before she could rise from the chair, he slipped out from underneath the desk and swept her up into his arms. She squeaked in surprise, but then an instant later, his lips were against hers, at first light and playful, but then deep and soulful. His tongue brushed against her lower lip, then slid past and met her own, and she moaned at the taste of herself and threw her arms around his shoulders.
What hardly felt like a few seconds later, however, and they fell back onto the bed, her first, then him as he caught himself on his arms above her, each of them laughing with the thrill of it all.
Then, there, they suddenly quieted. They lingered, caught in one another's gazes, as if memorizing this moment for the last time – or experiencing it all again anew. Finally, she reached out, breaking the spell, and drew him close for a deep kiss. He sighed against her lips, and again, she tasted herself upon him, reminding him of all he'd done to her but a few scant minutes before. She flushed all over again with arousal.
She tugged impatiently at his shirt. "Off. Now."
He chuckled, but he did as she demanded, then divested himself of his breeches and smallclothes as well. She in turn undid the tie to her robe and easily shrugged it off. Then he was upon her, raining kisses down her jaw, her neck, her collar, and finally to her chest where he sucked a pert nipple into his mouth. With a moan, she carded her fingers through his hair as he licked and teased at her.
But Neria couldn't stand it for long. It'd been a week – a tortuous week of loneliness, doubt, and frustration – and she needed to feel him, against her, in her, everywhere.
She reached down and dragged Alistair up by the shoulders and kissed him again. She arched up against him, throwing a leg over his thigh to encourage him down against her in a silent plea. He groaned against her, understanding without words her need. Supporting himself with one arm, he reached down with his other and guided himself into her. Then, with one firm yet gentle push, he slid inside, going deeper and deeper until she almost began to doubt he would ever end, and then his hips were at last flush against hers. They moaned together at the wonderful intimacy of it.
From there, it was all sweet, slick movements, his hips rocking against hers in a steady, slow rhythm as their lips met and melded before parting for air, then desperately joining again. He reached over, taking one of her hands in his and clasping it tightly, and she threw her other arm around him, holding him as close as she could and even then feeling it could never be close enough.
Soon, all too soon, the pleasure began to burn too intense, the need for air too great. Alistair drew away from the kiss and rested his forehead against Neria's, and they traded hot breaths between them.
"M-Maker, I love you, Neria," he groaned. "So much."
"Love y-you, too, Alistair," she gasped. "Now and forever."
His hips jerked against hers, and his eyes fluttered shut with a moan. "Forever," he echoed.
"Yes, yes," she cried, her orgasm nearing. "Forever and ever and ever."
At that, he groaned deeply and increased his pace, driving into her so hard the bed shook and creaked with the force. She wrapped her legs around him, at once spurring him on further and thrusting back as much as she could. His head dropped against her shoulder, next to her ear, and in breathy moans, words of, "I love you, I love you, I love you," spilled out from his lips over and over again.
That proved Neria's undoing, and she came around him with a cry, ecstasy bursting bright and hot through every inch of her. Alistair followed shortly after with a low, stuttering moan. They pressed against each other for some long moments after, with gasping sobs and sighing groans, until finally they stilled, and he withdrew and rolled to his side next to her. Wordlessly, she reached down and held his hand in hers with a gentle squeeze. He returned the touch with a contented smile.
They lay like that for a time, each quiet and at peace with the world in the warm afterglow, letting their slowing breaths measure out the moments.
Then, Alistair said, "So, do you think Arl Eamon knew?"
She laughed. "Oh, undoubtedly."
A chuckle of his own escaped him. "We're in for it tomorrow, aren't we?"
"Bet on it."
"Well," he said, tightening his hand around hers, "as long as we're together, I don't think I'll mind."
She turned her head and smiled widely at him. "Together from here on out, then?"
"Forever," he promised, returning the smile in equal measure.
"Forever," she agreed.
And, as far as anyone knew in the coming years, they were.