Chapter 167: *Inbound

I visited Dera the next day. After much discussion with Aedan and Alistair, we’d decided not to confront the elf about being a spy. I wasn’t sure I trusted myself to be able to discern the truth – and, as Zevran had asserted, if she was a spy, better the spy we knew than throwing her out and risking another, unknown spy being sent instead. I didn’t tell Avanna – though I knew she’d be upset if she found out, I didn’t want Dera’s direct superior judging her harshly for something I couldn’t prove in case Flemeth had been lying. I did, however, inform Faren of the possibility so that he could help me keep an eye on the elf. I knew once they were back, Aedan and Zevran would be watching her obsessively.

The elf was awake, but looked like hell. Her complexion looked sallow, her eyes sunken with dark, bruised circles underneath, and her skin looked almost translucent, the blue veins standing out starkly. Her hair hung listlessly, greasy clumps stuck to her sweaty forehead. She’d been unconscious only a few hours, but yet somehow she looked emaciated, like she’d lost twenty pounds she didn’t have to spare. She was lying in bed looking fragile, but when she saw me come through the door, she still tried to get up, and only my hand firmly on her shoulder stopped her.

I pulled the nearby chair closer to the side of the bed and sat down. “How are you feeling?” I asked.

She looked down, flushing slightly – it looked ghastly on her almost-skeletal face. “I’m fine, your Highness.”

I swallowed my cringe at the honorific. I hated that title, but it was sometimes useful. “You disobeyed a direct order, guardswoman.” She opened her mouth to object, but I held up one finger sternly, and she closed it again. “You followed me despite me ordering you to stay in the hallway. Do you deny it?” She shook her head sulkily. “In doing so, you put yourself – and me – in danger. A dangerous magical artifact nearly killed you – and could have harmed me and everyone else in the Keep, because you decided you know better than me.” I wasn’t telling the soldiers and guards what I’d seen in that room, never mind a woman who could very well be a spy.

She nodded again, eyed my finger – still extended in a gesture that universally said ‘shut up’ – and sighed.

“I am trained and specially qualified to deal with magical issues. Are you?”

“No, your Highness.”

“And are you a mage or scholar with expertise in magical items? Is this a skill you failed to mention when we interviewed you?”

“No, your Highness.”

“So when I told you to stay put, and that it was a magical item, why did you disobey and follow me?”

“I am sworn to protect you! I can’t do that from outside the door.”

I wondered if she meant it – there was nothing to say she couldn’t guard me and spy on me at the same time. Still...

I hardened my gaze, steeling myself for what I needed to say. I caught movement in my peripheral vision, and I knew Avanna was there listening. Good.

“And a marvellous job you did of it from inside the door, yes?” She cringed, almost shrinking in place. “Yes?”

She nodded unhappily.

“Instead I ended up defending you against magic you had no chance against, endangering myself in the process.” Not technically entirely true, but close enough – and it would ensure I got no further stupid heroics from my other guards, or the spy.

“I am sorry, your Highness.”

“Apology accepted.” She relaxed, shoulders slumping in relief. I continued, “However, there will still be consequences. You will spend a week in bed, resting and recovering, following Enchanter Wynne’s orders to the letter.” She grimaced and nodded. “I am docking your pay for two weeks. And if we ever have to have this discussion again – if you ignore direct orders again – you will face Teyrn Fergus for trial, and I very much doubt he will be as forgiving as me.”

It was a calculated risk. If she was Fergus’ spy, he wouldn’t be able to show her clemency or the ruse would be exposed. If I took her to Highever for trial, her punishment was likely to be severe to avoid any suspicion, and I assumed she would be able to figure that out for herself. The threat wouldn’t stop her from spying – but at least she might also follow orders while doing so, and hopefully not put herself or anyone else in harm’s way while she was at it. And if she wasn’t Fergus’ spy, hopefully it would just keep her from doing something stupid in the name of ‘proving herself.’

She curled in on herself and nodded, still refusing to make eye contact.

“Dera?” I waited until she looked at me, and then I spoke very quietly. “Thank you for trying to protect me.” I got a small smile, returned it, and then excused myself and slipped out to let her rest.

I went to Wynne next; she was resting in her own room, just down the hall.

“What happened, my dear?” she asked. “Your answers before were rather vague.”

“I can’t tell you the specifics, Wynne. It might not be safe.” Maker only knew what Flemeth would do to someone who knew too much about her. “But what’s wrong with Dera?”

The healer sighed. “I don’t know. If I hadn’t been outside the room, I’d have thought she’d been in there, unconscious, for days, not hours. Or minutes, as it seemed to you. You said it was a magical artifact?”

“Yes. An ancient Elven one, actually. There was some sort of magical ... I don’t know. Pressure wave. It didn’t hurt me, but it threw Dera into the door, and she passed out.”

“Whatever it was, it’s like it ... fed off of the girl. I think, with rest and food, that she will recover, but it took a lot out of her.”

I rubbed my forehead irritably with one hand. “Fantastic. A vampiric magical artifact. Just what we needed.” I exchanged frustrated, frightened looks with the healer, then excused myself to carry on with my day.

The next two weeks were frustrating. Alistair and Fergus managed to fight their way well into the Deep Roads, finding an ancient dwarven port on the Waking Sea in the cliffside of the Storm Coast. They collapsed the tunnels leading deeper into the Deep Roads, cleared out a motley collection of smugglers and bandits, and secured the port for Highever – all with minimal casualties. Alistair was on his way back to the Keep. Relations between my husband and Fergus – my brother and liege lord – had never been good; Fergus didn’t embrace me with open arms, and Alistair didn’t approve of the way he treated me. They’d been worse since Alistair had found out Fergus had placed a spy in our midst to keep an eye on me. Fergus was evidently puzzled, but things had remained civil, thank goodness.

Aedan was getting closer to being home as well, though they’d stopped to map out several side tunnels which slowed them down. The Warden recruits had performed well, all of them proving rather stoic about the darkspawn and the time stuck underground. They expected to be back within a couple of weeks to perferm the Joining.

And me? I had done nothing.

Well, not really nothing. I’d done paperwork and mediated some minor disputes amongst the staff; I’d patrolled the Keep to check for darkspawn or other security threats; I’d worked to get to know the cook and chamberlain, the servants and soldiers who remained at the Peak; I’d welcomed a crowd of surface dwarves to begin mining the tunnels that led to the Peak. The Eluvian had stayed quiescent, the Deep Roads entrance devoid of darkspawn, and the Architect asleep. I spoke to Alistair and Aedan every day, and slept alone, shivering, every night.

In short, I was lonely.

There wasn’t much to be done about it. Despite my best effort, I wasn’t a Warden – or at least, we couldn’t admit that I was. I wasn’t the best fighter, or the best navigator, or the best strategist. The Wardens had all of those positions filled. And none of them could run the Keep the way I could. The satisfaction I had been feeling at a job well done just wasn’t enough when I was alone. It wasn’t that I hated my work – I just hated being left behind, separated from friends and family, alone. My work, while vital, was invisible. I wanted to feel like I was pulling my weight – and paperwork just didn’t feel all that impressive. Since when is fighting the only way to contribute? Snap out of it, Sierra. You wanted peace, and now you have it. Enough whining. But the enjoyment I found in doing my job clearly paled when I was left behind.

And so it was I found myself standing in the courtyard of the Keep on the evening I expected Alistair home, wearing my new cloak for warmth but just hovering around with nothing to do, waiting for the Wardens to arrive. Levi teased me gently, as did Avanna, but when I barely seemed to notice they gave it up as a bad job. I carried on a half-hearted conversation with Mikhael when he and his family came by on their way to dinner at the Keep. The gruff blacksmith had settled in well, and had brought his wife and two daughters to live there as well. They had rooms above the smithy, and his daughters doubled as apprentices, though both were still in their early teens. Mikhael’s wife, a mousy woman named Daphne, realised I was completely distracted, smiled sympathetically at me and dragged her husband away mid-conversation.

Finally there was movement at the mouth of the tunnel leading into the mines. I turned that way, now standing alone, waiting with butterflies in my stomach like some love-sick teenager. I was embarrassed – but not enough to make me go inside. And when Alistair strode out of the tunnel, leading the group, a hopeful look on his face, I gave up on dignity altogether. His eyes sought me out, and his brisk walk became a run; I smiled wide and bolted in his direction, my feet slipping on the icy ground.

At the last moment, my balance shot by the ice, I leaped, trusting him. He scooped me out of the air with his strong arms, holding me to his chest until my bones creaked. I clung to the front of his armour, ignoring the dirt and sweat smudged on his handsome face, and yanked his head down with a handful of hair until he was kissing me. He tasted divine, somehow like strength and spice and home, and I gasped as his tongue grazed mine hungrily. I could hear him almost growling as he claimed me, and I squirmed, trying to get closer, silently cursing his bulky armour.

When someone thumped his shoulder roughly, he released my mouth with a frown. I looked over – still clinging to Alistair like a limpet – to see Sigrun with a tolerant smile on her face.

“What’s that thing you always used to say to Anders and Solona?” The cheerful Legionnaire thought for a moment. “Oh, yeah. Get a room.”

I giggled and tried to detach myself, my face flushed as I considered the spectacle I’d made of myself.

Alistair just gripped me tighter, grinned at Sigrun, and replied ‘That’s a fantastic idea.” And then he locked his arms – not quite groping my ass, but the difference was largely academic – and strode through the massive steel doors, leaving the rest of the Wardens howling behind us as I sputtered.

Despite my objections, he didn’t put me down the entire way to our quarters; mindful of our guards trailing behind him, he didn’t stop either, otherwise I was sure he’d have pushed me up against a wall in some empty hallway to kiss me senseless. The guard standing outside our door opened it for us, a look of shock on his face; I slammed the door behind me as Alistair strode through. I was right – the moment we were alone, he had me pinned, his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth. I moaned and returned the kiss enthusiatically, not stopping until I had to come up for air.

“Bedroom,” I gasped, and then poked at the unforgiving metal of his breastplate. “Naked,” I amended.

We were both giggling as he stumbled into our room, finally putting me down to scramble out of his armour. It wasn’t a fast process; I had stripped off cloak, dress, and smalls before he even got the buckles undone, and I rushed over to help him. Between us we made short work of it, and soon he was gloriously nude, with piles of armour scattered around at his feet. Our room was well-lit with candles, the hearth almost roaring, and the flickering light reflected off his skin, almost looking like he’d been oiled up like some body builder on Earth. My breath caught in my throat, and I stepped towards him almost involuntarily.

He stopped me with one hand raised, his handsome smile making my heart skip a beat. “I need a shower first.”

I growled. “Later.” And then I leapt again, and he caught me, as always. I stroked my fingers into his hair, pulling him down for another kiss.

He resisted, trying one more time. “You sure? Because I probably stink. I haven’t had a bath since we left Highever.”

I sniffed pointedly. He smelled like sweat – but it was somehow masculine and compelling instead of acrid. I leaned in and licked the side of his neck. “I’ll survive – unless you put this off another minute, in which case I’ll probably spontaneously explode.”

He snorted and lowered me onto the bed, climbing up beside me and leaning down to capture my lips again. His hands began to roam, stroking and massaging everything he could reach, from my shoulders to my neck, my hips to my stomach, avoiding the obvious places but leaving me gasping all the same. I returned the favour, savouring the feel of his hard muscles under my fingers as I slid my hands over his strong back. Our tongues dueled, and I could hear myself mewling into his mouth, desperate for more – more contact, more heat, more pleasure.

I whined when his lips left mine, then called out when they surrounded my nipple instead, sending a flash of searing heat to my core. “Please!” I begged, and felt him finally slide between my thighs, his length teasing against me. I wrapped my legs around his hips and pulled, and he slid into me, even as he gently bit down on my sensitive peak, his back arched to make up for my shorter stature. I shrieked as my nipple popped out of his mouth with an audible smacking noise, and then he was kissing me again, driving into me slowly and relentlessly, and my world narrowed down until all I could feel was his weight over me and his length inside me. I couldn’t catch my breath, couldn’t stop grinding up against him as he filled me again and again, and he swallowed my howl as I flew over the edge and plummeted into the abyss.

When my body finally relaxed, I found myself spooned in front of him, clutching his arm like I’d never let go while he gently stroked my back and shoulder with a calloused fingertip, tracing patterns into my skin. I took a shaky breath and melted, rolling half onto my stomach to give him better access. His hands on me felt wonderful, warm and sweet, just this side of tickling. He kissed the back of my head, and I hummed happily.

“Sierra? Can I ask you something?”

I was curious what would cause the odd tone in his voice when he said my name, but too content to move. I hummed again, eyes closed; if I could, I’d have been purring like a cat.

He took it as the permission it was. “I don’t want you to think I’m complaining, because I’m really, really not. But I am curious...” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully.

I made an encouraging noise, and could almost hear him smile behind me.