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The high sandstone cliffs glow pink and orange, an earthen sunset. A soft desert wind bounces and echoes off the rocks, ruffling the treetops, and the spring gently burbles against its shore. A beautiful oasis, made for meditation, or romance.
Or it would be, were it not for the split bones and half-chewed carcasses strewn at Léa’s feet, for the thick blood splattered in more places than she can count, the brown slime that stings her arms and neck.
When she joined Knight-Captain Rylen to inspect the newly acquired oasis, they were both assured it was clear. She had asked more than once. But there was one varghest left, a young one left behind, not quite out of the nest. One they could handle—if barely—together. What she had thought to be a quick afternoon trip from camp, while her party scouted for resources elsewhere, turned into a skirmish, and left them both filthy.
“If I may say,” Rylen begins, wrenching his shortsword loose from the varghest’s dark, knotted hide, “you’re quite impressive with that mace.”
“This old thing?” She lifts the mace and wipes one of its hard pink spikes, dripping with blood. "I just take this on constitutionals. You should see me with a real weapon.“
His eyebrows raised, he nods admiringly.
She plucks at the soaked fabric of her clothes with disgust. Had she any idea she’d be fighting the slimy local wildlife, she’d have worn something thick, or waterproofed. And brought a bigger mace. "Knight-Captain,” she says, “might it be possible to clean ourselves of this… foul matter here in the oasis, before it burns through our skin?”
Rylen shakes his gloved hands, flings the thick slime onto the sand before him, a grimace curling the dark lines tattooed at his nose and mouth. "Well, Inquisitor, I’m not keen to wash that into our new drinking water,“ he says.
Léa scowls at him. Charm and an enticing accent are not quite enough to make this bearable just now.
He scans the horizon above the cliff, sighing, and turns to her with a weary smile. "There’s a spring, just north. Don’t think it feeds into the oasis at all. A bit sulphurous for drinking, but it’ll get us clean. Hopefully that will suffice, my lady.” He picks up his weapons, and heads further into the cliff divide, then turns to walk backwards, his dark stubbled face wearing a roguish smirk. "If we’re lucky, it may be a hot spring.“
Handsome, too, but her skin, which felt like it was melting, was a greater distraction. "It had better be,” she mutters.
The promised spring is a collection of rocky pools, with water more blue than the sky, dotted with tufts of bright watergrass and dark blood lotus. The water is hot, as Léa tests it with a stroke across the surface, and the pool looks deep enough to sit in. So they were lucky after all. And the sulphur smell is not very strong, thank the Maker.
Léa drops her weapon and pack on the sand and shrugs off her wet jacket, crouching near the edge, and begins to splash her arms and neck to wipe off the stinging slime.
When she looks up, Rylen has taken off his gloves and helmet, and runs a hand through the shaggy auburn hair that skirts his ears. The color sets off his eyes, an aqua-tinged blue that nearly matches the spring. He catches her eye and smiles. "Something the matter?“ he asks. He’s caught her staring.
Flushing, Léa purses her lips and washes faster. "Not at all,” she says. "I’ve just… never seen you out of that helmet. I was wondering if it was growing out of your head.“
He laughs softly. "Well, my mother always said better safe than sorry. So I wear it.”
“Do you sleep in it?” she teases. "Afraid pieces of Griffon Wing will fall on your head at night?“
“No, my lady,” he says with a shy smile, bending toward the pool. Just what do you sleep in? she wonders, cupping water to wash her neck.
A few splashes are not enough to rid Léa of the muck. The blood is one thing—she’s worn enough blood across Ferelden and Orlais at this point that no one should be shocked to see her covered in it. But the slime is sticky, and sliding under her clothes. Her skin is itching like mad.
“Knight-Captain,” she calls, and he looks up from his own splashing at her. His eyes are so piercing, an aqua ring around ice, like polished silverite, but for all that they are still warm when he looks at her.
“Unfortunately, I think I need a proper bath. This stuff is all over me.” She takes her hands from the water. "And you as well. These varghests are poisonous, you know.“
He regards her for a moment, thinking, then stands. "Then, please—you first. I’ll keep watch until you are finished.”
She laughs. "Come now, Knight-Captain, we’re not children. You’ll wash now.“
With a faint smile, he nods deferentially. "At your order, Your Worship.”
“Just… turn around while I get into the water, and I’ll do the same for you,” she says. He turns to face the scrubby grass and rock face of the north cliffs.
She removes her clothes quickly and eases into the water, it comes up to her shoulder with room to move and she sits comfortably against the warm rocks. It’s hot and bubbly, like an Orlesian spa. If this were not the absolute armpit of Thedas, she’d be back with cheese wheels. She turns her back to Rylen and calls over her shoulder, “You may proceed, Knight-Captain.”
He drops his armor, she can hear, with a few metal thuds upon the sand, and he splashes the water as he steps into the pool behind her. It’s a captivating visual, in her mind. "May I turn around now?“
"You may do what you please, Inquisitor.”
She turns. He’s taller than her, in the water, washing his arms and shoulders, the thick sinew and muscle moving slowly, a dusting of hair at his chest.
“Well.” She splashes her own arms. "This is nicer than I expected.“
"I’ve got to agree with you there. It’s… lovely,” he says with a smile. "You could charge for this.“
"For what, bathing with the Inquisitor?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. "Not what I meant, but if you were willing, I bet you’d make fair coin at it. Uh, respectfully speaking, of course.“
She can’t help teasing him. "Does that make you my first customer, then?”
“Just name your price.” He smirked, scrubbing his arms.
They don’t look at each other for a moment, don’t speak, washing quietly. When you’re naked in water with someone else, things can go one of two ways: very awkward, or very intimate. She was not yet sure which way this was going.
The warm water eases her muscles, the bubbles tickle her skin, and the stinging ebbs. She cups the water and lazily pours it over her shoulders, washing her arms, watching him. He splashes the water over the tight muscles of his shoulders and upper back, massaging them, his eyes careful to stay above the clear water, she notices. When they do drift in her direction, they linger a moment, and he turns away with a faint smile.
The Inquisition hasn’t provided much opportunity for relaxation. A few nights of drinking here and there that she can barely remember, a day or two of uninterrupted rest that quickly turns to boredom. Friendly chats with her companions, of course, nothing further. She has a lot of men under her, but none quite so literally as she wanted…
Leopoldine Gavina Trevelyan is a rich woman through a simple accident of birth, confident, strong, attractive, and now—the leader of the Inquisition, a chosen champion of Andraste. Most men were intimidated by her, either cowed by her power, afraid to pursue, or they went too far in the opposite direction. They had to prove they were bigger, prove that she needed them to be stronger than her. They puffed themselves up and strutted like fussy little birds.
It was all so very predictable.
Knight-Captain Rylen is different. Perhaps she is imagining it, seeing what she wants to see, but he isn’t cowed by her, nor does he make himself bigger than he is. She likes the way he yields to her. It is another captivating idea. One she might indulge in, given the opportunity.
“Well,” she says, “I’m sure we’ve got clean of this slime by now, yes?”
Rubbing water from his eyes, he smiles. "True enough.“ Then his gaze drifts across her face. "Ah,” he says, and points to his ear. "You’ve got a… something. There.“
Scratching at her ear, she tries to find it, but he shakes his head and drifts closer. "May I?” He gently touches her head just above her ear, and she watches him, the rise and fall of his breath, that he licks his full lips. He pulls his hand away, a bit of green between his fingers. "Just a wee plant of some kind,“ he says, his voice low.
"Thank you.” She looks up at him, his light eyes set against his sun-weathered skin. "You’ve got one, too, I think,“ she says, but there’s nothing there. A white lie never hurt anyone. She reaches up to brush a lock of wet hair behind his ear.
"There,” she says, but her hand still grazes his neck, stroking his wet skin. A decision presents itself, a fork in the path. She could pull her hand away, smile, and move on. Or…
Her fingers curl around his neck and she draws him close, and catches his warm, wet lips in a kiss. He leans in, but his kiss is tentative, his arms at his sides. When she pulls away, his jaw is set tight in thought. "Are you sure about this, my lady?“ he whispers.
She nods. "I know what I want.”
He looks at her for a moment. "And I serve at the pleasure of the Inquisitor.“
He takes her into his arms, kissing her deeply, a hand at her neck, an arm around her waist. She strokes around his ears, down his chest as she tastes him: sun and sand and sweat. They drift toward the bank and he leans into her, crushing his hard body against hers. Her hands search his sides, and stomach, caress up to his shoulders.
She pushes him down, breaking the kiss, so that he is lower than her, and she straightens, the water just above her waist, her breasts exposed to the desert air. His eyes search her face, almost reverent, and she brushes her hand against his cheek. He leans his head against her breast, caressing her legs and her ass beneath the water, and dots her chest with soft kisses, licks at a nipple bobbling above the water. She grunts, and he looks up her as if to gauge her response, to ask for permission, so she strokes his hair and nods. He continues, lavishes wet kisses and licks upon each breast, each hard nipple, his hands gripping and kneading her ass. She moans and claws at his shoulders, the taut muscles of his back.
Then she pushes him away from her, looks into his eyes, and drags his hand between her legs, rubbing his fingers against her throbbing cunt. He straightens to lean into her again with his whole body, sighing heavily, and he works his fingers into her, thrusting, rolling his thumb against her clit. He pants against her throat, kissing and licking. "Is this good, lass?” he whispers, his breath hot against her ear.
Her laugh is low and throaty, and she strokes his thigh, grazing her hand between his legs. He gasps when she cups his balls in her hand, stroking a fingernail along the tender skin. She looks into his eyes and smiles wickedly. "I am not your lass.“
Worry briefly flashes in his eyes, but she takes his hard length in her hand, stroking and squeezing, and he sighs in loud, pleasurable relief. Each touching the other, making the other squirm and pant and grunt, they grind their bodies together in a rhythm, the water lapping at the rocks as they move.
"Rylen,” she says, and his cloudy eyes try to focus on her. "Take me out of the water.“
He briefly scans their surroundings, then nods and hops out of the pool, dripping. Holding out a hand to her, he pulls her up, and then hugs her to him, their wet bodies sliding against each other as his hands glide over her. He leads her to a little patch of soft grass, laying her down gently and joining her on the ground.
"This is a fine spot,” she says, sitting back on her elbows. "One begins to wonder whether you planned this.“
He laughs and brushes his wet hair from his face. "I’m not half that clever, my lady. Just observant.”
She strokes her hand through the drying curls on his chest. "Have you observed anything else?“
"Yes,” he says with a smile, taking her hand in his. "You’d like me to fuck you.“
She frees her hand from his to caress his cheek. "Very astute,” she says tenderly. "So fuck me.“
He doesn’t hesitate. He rolls onto her, grabs her thigh and opens her legs in one smooth motion. His body shudders as he enters her, his breath hissing, and she feels him fill and stretch her, one hand at the low of his back, the other caressing his straining, veined neck.
When he is settled deep within her, he sighs, but she does not let him rest. She smiles at him and grinds against him, and he follows her lead. He fucks her into the ground, kneading the flesh of her thigh as he meets her thrusts. Then he focuses his eyes on hers, and stops, slipping out of her with a groan.
"What are you—” she begins to ask. But he moves down her body, dragging his spiky stubble across her stomach, panting and sniffing when he reaches the hair at her mound. Then he slips his open mouth lower, to lick and suck at her.
Her head falls back against the soft grass and she moans with abandon, her fingers entwined in his auburn hair. Her own voice fades behind the sounds of him lapping his tongue against her dripping cunt, the sounds he makes—soft little grunts of drunk disbelief, and the sweet stirring ache building in her.
Then he works at her clit again, circling and pulling, sucking it into his mouth like a ripe fruit.
She breaks then, a sudden sharp tremble that shudders her legs around his head. He enters her as the last of the shocks are ebbing, and they both moan deeply. He leans into her, whispering against her throat and wetly kissing her cheek as he fucks her again. After a few frantic thrusts, he stiffens and cries out, holding her legs around him, his head falling onto her collarbone, breathing into the shallow of her neck.
They catch their breath together until he moves off her, sidling up to her tentatively. "Could I hold you a moment, my lady?“ he asks with a smile, his eyes glittering.
She pulls him closer to her and holds his hand against her chest. "Léa,” she says. "My name is Léa.“
He grins, and pulls her hand toward his mouth. "I know, my lady,” he says, and kisses her hand. He would not yield to her in everything, she thought. She wondered where, and when. Another captivating thought to indulge in.