It's just them in the war room for once. Lelianna and Josephine are both busy; Lelianna is somewhere in the Storm Coast, and Josephine is dancing attendance on some important noble considering donating money and men to the Inquisition. Normally when they're the only ones in Haven, they communicate almost entirely by messenger.
She's been trying that for days. She sends requests and he denies every one of them, refusing to even consider her suggestions. She'd set the last refusal on fire, wishing she could do the same to him, and conscripted Mother Giselle into fetching him to the war room, claiming urgent business.
He'd responded to her summons, though he was clearly unhappy about it. They faced off against each other with the table dividing them, though it seemed like worlds separated them.
The Commander is in full armour. Evelyn decides it wouldn't surprise her to find out that he slept in it, as she had never seen him dressed in anything else. In preparation, unwilling to feel like the templar had any advantage over her, she has dressed in full battle dress as well. It's fitting, since this is far more challenging a fight than most she faces in the field. There's a lot less metalwork involved in hers – only in vital places, chestplate, bracers, greaves – but the cloth of the garment hums with magic, spelled to resist damage. She knows his templar abilities will make him constantly aware of it and she hopes, spitefully, that it gives him a headache. To complete the picture she even has her staff strapped to her back and it makes her feel invincible.
Unfortunately, the Commander does not seem intimidated. He explains everything again, slowly, like she is a child, telling her why her ideas are unfeasible. Even with no audience he does not stoop to insults, keeping the words – if not their tone – entirely civil.
"But we need those watch towers! Master Dennet will not release the horses without them." She's already spent time scouting out suitable locations for them; she will not let her efforts go to waste.
"I will not waste time and resources constructing watch towers so a few farmers can feel safe! Find some other way to convince him, Herald."
Evelyn slams her hands down on the table and hates herself for losing her temper in front of him. She is sacrificing everything – her time, her freedom, hell, probably even her life – to close the damn breach and he fights her at every turn.
She does not know how to convince him to change his mind. She is used to relying on Lelianna and Josephine to over-rule him, as it seems he respects both of them enough to comply with their wishes when he is clearly outnumbered. Without them here, he is free to dismiss her out of hand, refusing to even listen to her reasoning, and there is not a blasted thing she can do about it. It makes her feel powerless, and she hates it.
"What am I supposed to do, serrah? Lure him into my bed while his wife watches? String him up and torture him with magic until he begs to give in?"
If it had been desperate enough, she would have tried either.
She turns away from him and folds her arms across her chest, realising the futility of trying to make him see reason. She is unsure whether he delights in denying her or is just too inflexible to see beyond the end of his own nose.
She snorts, a sharp, disgusted noise, something she has picked up from Cassandra. "Fine. Let your soldiers rut in the fields while others sacrifice their lives for the cause."
She moves to leave but his footsteps stop her. He is on her before she realises what is happening, bulk pinning her to the table, hands gripping her wrists to stop her from struggling. The force of his breastplate against hers crushes the breath from her lungs and she knows she'll have bruises where his fingers are pushing into the fleshy underside of her wrists, but she will not give him the pleasure of seeing her squirm.
He crashes his lips against hers, harsh and messy. In retaliation she bites his lower lip, darkly satisfied when she tastes the metallic tang of blood on her tongue. He does not seem put off by the pain and forces his tongue into her mouth instead, battling for dominance, and she finds herself kissing back just as savagely. She is surprised to feel his erection jutting against her stomach; she'd thought him incapable of losing control like this. It is satisfying to know that he is as human as all of them under all that devout goodness.
He pulls back eventually and just watches her for a moment. His eyes are dark, ringed with the slightest halo of gold, and the blood smeared across his lips makes him look the part of some dangerous predator. Maker help her, she likes it. He licks the blood from round his mouth and then pushes himself away from her suddenly, as if she was something distasteful to be rid of.
She wonders if he'll apologise for forcing himself on her, or curse her for making him do it. She decides that she'd like either, as he would be admitting she held some sort of power over him either way. It's frustrating when she realises he is just going to leave without saying anything at all.
"Is that all you've got, Chantry boy?"
His eyes flick from the floor to her face with the challenge. She bares her teeth and smiles, tilts her head back and exposes her neck to him as she settles herself to lounge more comfortably against the table. As if she is simply amused by his previous outburst, laughing at him while he runs away with his tail between his legs.
He snarls and shoves her up against the table again. His hands go to the waistband of her trousers and rip the cloth apart, tearing them down to her thighs. One finger rubs her clit forcefully as his other hand unbuckles his belt and pulls his breeches down far enough to free his erection.
She tilts her hips against his hand, seeking more stimulation. The movement makes him stop touching her entirely and she bites back on the mewl that threatens to escape her. He's got no right to be good at this.
His hands settle on the outside of her thighs instead as he positions himself against her entrance, pulling her legs up as he enters her in one smooth movement. He gives her precious little time to adjust to the intrusion before he's pulling back out again and forcing himself back in, quickly settling into a sharp, brutal rhythm.
It's all she can do to keep herself upright, hands splayed on the table behind her, elbows locked, as she arches her back and meets every thrust. There's pain, but there's pleasure too, and she feels herself start to climb towards orgasm. It all feels so deliciously forbidden, a taste of the fruit she'd considered impossible to reach.
He comes without warning, thrusting erratically as he reaches his peak. It's as close as she's seen him come to losing it, though his face is still irritatingly blank as he spills himself inside her. It makes her wonder what it'll take to tear his barriers down completely, rip away everything he's hiding behind and leave every thought and emotion bared for inspection. It's a heady prospect, one that she desperately wants to make a reality.
Instead he pulls out and tucks himself back in his breeches, cool and distant, as if he wasn't fucking her into the table a few moments ago. She's left aroused and wanting as he leaves the room without a word, and for once she's too off-balance to do anything but watch, mute. She burns with shame as her fingers slip into her folds and teases herself to orgasm, imagining it's him instead, allowing herself a moment to imagine what his tongue would feel like. She's close enough that it doesn't take long.
Afterwards, she refuses to overthink it. She is not naïve enough to think that it will change anything about their working relationship, or that it will happen again. Once she gets over the disbelief, she finds herself nursing sharp resentment that he had simply taken what he wanted and then left her there, unsatisfied. It's so at odds with the templar's usually exemplar behaviour that she vaguely entertains ideas of demonic possession.
He continues to refuse her the watchtowers. She finds a religious cult squirreled away in the hills in the Hinterlands and they fall over themselves to do it for her instead.