This is my collection of comics and writing that I've either commissioned or made myself for my fan OC, Aireesse Lavellan - a dragon Age Inquisitor. Credit goes to the original creators.
Content:
Post 1) Weak // Solas and Airee fiction // written by AurinJade
Post 2) Night chatter // Solas and Airee short comic // drawn and written by AphroditesChild
Post 3) And that's why Iron Bull was always seen with the Inquisitor // Iron Bull and Airee short comic // drawn and written by AphroditesChild
Post 4) Snow Angels // Iron Bull and Airee fiction // written by AurinJade
Post 5) Confessions of an Inquisitor // Krem, Sera and Airee short comic // drawn and written by AphroditesChild
Post 6) Aireepunzel // Cole and Airee short comic // drawn and written by AphroditesChild
Post 7) A bad hand // Iron Bull, Varric, Sera and Airee fiction // written by Harmlessflower
Post 8) Dreamscape // Solas and Airee fiction // written by AurinJade
Post 9) From brother to sister // Orrian and Airee letters // written by ninthcompanion
Post 10) Schnockered // Iron Bull and Airee fiction, Bull romance AU // written by AurinJade
Post 11) With the Dawn // Iron Bull and Airee fiction, Bull romance AU // written by AurinJade
Post 12) Bathbomb // Iron Bull and Airee animatic, Bull romance AU // drawn and edited by AphroditesChild
Post 13: Lazy day // Iron Bull and Airee fiction, Bull romance AU // written by Why_Is_All_The_Rum_Gone
Posted: Mon May 08, 2017 5:06 pm
Weak/// written by AurinJade
Moonlight played off of the soft curve of her spine. She lay on her side, curled away from him, her skin tantalizingly smooth. He ached to touch it, to trace the groove and gentle ridges of each vertebra, but he still could not admit to himself that she was his to caress on a whim. He sat against the headboard, content to watch her in stillness, allowing his mind and body a moment of solitude. No dreams, no worries, no secrets.
The gossamer sheet covering them draped just over her hip, barely covering her from the waist down. It teased him, hiding her lean, supple curves while simultaneously outlining them. The view was perfect. A beautiful moment of peace in a world gone mad. A world made mad, a part of which he had no small role.
If only she knew.
Before his mind could venture down that dark and twisted path, he noticed a dark spot on the jut of her hip. A small movement tugged the sheet down a fraction of an inch, revealing the top of a large, purple bruise. It took all of his strength not to snort. Why hadn’t she said something? Likely, she had forgotten about it. She was tough, despite how little she knew it. So much tougher than he could have ever imagined when she first breezed into his life in a shower of glitter and smiles.
Hovering a hand over the hip, he lifted the bruise away easily, a soft, green glow flaring briefly before dissolving back into darkness. Beneath her skin, broken capillaries knit and the contusion flushed away. Normally, he would have tied the spell to her energy, but she needn’t be disturbed and the cost was little, so he bore it himself.
The light shifted, a cloud slipping over the moon. He could no longer make out the details of her spine. Forced to rely on his other sense, he listened to her breathe and inhaled her heady scent. Settled in her bed, it surrounded him, intoxicating him. He couldn’t recall a single other person in his lifetime with such an exhilarating scent. Like warm honeysuckle on a summer’s day. It reminded him, inexplicably, of home, although he could trace no memory to understand where the association came from.
He recalled the disappointment that came from kissing her in the Fade where his physical senses were diminished and small details slipped away, and the thrill when she kissed him for real on her balcony, and he finally permitted himself to stand close enough to revel in her toxic pheromones.
The cloud moved past the moon, once more illuminating the gentle panes of her back.
If he wanted, he could traced a finger down it. It was doubtful she would stir, but he wished it would. She might roll toward him, and open her arms and legs to him with a sleepy curl to her lips. He would, in turn, bury himself in her scent, in her body.
Predictable. Sometimes he wondered where his control has gone.
It had to end.
He told himself the same thing daily. It had become a familiar friend. Pain stabbed at him as he imagined her face. Every time he thought he was strong enough to deliver the blow, the words choked in his throat.
He loved her.
But love wasn’t enough.
Eventually, circumstance would drive them apart. She would defeat Corypheus. Of that, he had no doubt. She was strong, his vhenan, and so incredibly clever. Strength alone would not overpower the magister, but she had so much more in her arsenal. When they met, she was a sheltered little Dalish elf from the woods, but she had a thirst for knowledge. She had educated herself on everything she could get her hands on. Now, she danced through court politics and underworld dealings. Others perceived her as vapid, but he knew the mind behind those deceptive doe eyes. He wondered if she comprehended her own cunning, or if she was so used to others telling her she was a silly, flippant girl that she actually believed it.
But he digressed, as was easy to do when he thought about her virtues.
She would defeat Corypheus, and he would reclaim the orb. From there, it was a matter of finding a way back into the Fade.
If he asked, would she simply open a rift for him to step through? Could he do that? Trick her? Deceive her? Claim her love and trust to further his agenda?
He wondered at the texture of her skin. It had been several hours since he touched her. Memory did him no justice. Was her back as soft as it appeared?
Before he could stop himself, he traced his fingertips down the line between her shoulder blades, over each little ridge of bone in the column of her spine. Flower petals. She felt as soft as flower petals.
For a moment, he thought he had gotten away with the small indiscretion, but for the first night in her life, Airee slept slightly. He had witness bears tear apart their camp before she rose to the occasion before, but this time, one little touch caused her to stir. First, her breathing changed, then she rolled, seeking him in the darkness with a blind hand.
He caught the hand, noting the little glow from her palm. The anchor. He brought it to his lips, but did not kiss it, instead inhaling her heady scent and skimming his nose along the underside of her wrist.
“Shouldn’t you sleep?” she murmured, rolling fully toward him. “Go prance through the Fade? Glean the secrets of the ages?”
But how did the past compare to the present? Echoes of memory, compared to petal-soft skin beneath his hands.
Gods, how was she such a distraction?
He had to end it.
A little, sleepy smile peaked the corners of her full lips and she made no effort to cover her breasts. Her pale nipples were drawn to points in the crisp air. Skyhold was rarely warm, and their fire had died to embers long ago.
“I slept for long enough,” he demurred at last, brushing a strand of golden hair off her cheek.
She extended her arms to him.
He rolled into them, burying his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling deeply.
“I did not mean to disturb you.” He pulled back, smoothing errant strands of hair out of her face.
Moonlight played off of her vallaslin, but he focused on her eyes. If he looked at her tattoos, he inevitably wanted to cringe or sneer at them. He doubted she would appreciate that reaction to her face. Why did her vallaslin have to be Mythal’s? Of all markings she could have chosen, why those? After she awoke from the explosion when they first met, he found himself unable to tolerate the taint of the vallaslin, so he fixed on her eyes. It might have been the even bigger mistake. Such blue eyes. He often found himself lost in them.
Her vallaslin were no small markings either. They scrawled over her face from nose to forehead, from ear to ear. They were deep blue, the color naturally chosen to complement her eyes. She was vain to the core. A flaw he never knew he could abide until it came wrapped in the gift that was Airee.
A flush of anger gnawed at him as his eyes strayed back to the vallaslin. If he could, he would rip those gods damned tattooes from her face. The Dalish were such fools. After everything he had done to free them from those marks, and now his beloved cherished her unwitting slave marks.
“What? You have quite the serious look,” she murmured, smiling shyly.
“How is that unusual?”
The smile turned into a beam. “Ah, quite right, although you tend to look less dour when we’re alone.” She trailed her slender fingertips down his arm.
He wondered if he could construct an argument convincing enough that she would let him remove the vallaslin.
Her smile faded slightly when he didn’t reply immediately. “Solas?”
“Ir abelas, ma vhenan.” He nudged his forehead against hers. “I should not have woken you. Tonight has been one of introspection for me.”
“Far be it from me to interrupt.” She claimed a quick kiss and retreated to her side of the bed. “Let me know if you need a distraction from your mind.”
He felt the loss of her embrace to his soul, his arms suddenly cold and empty.
This had to end.
It was irrational to feel abandoned when she simply rolled away to sleep. More, it was insane. He feared the person he had become since he sat next to her studying the anchor. He hadn’t felt an inch of regret over tearing this world down, felt nothing for the ants that occupied it. Then she swept in, all vibrant color against a gray backdrop. She was too real, and if she was real, so were the rest of them.
It had to end.
Before it ended him.
“Airee.”
She peeked an incredible blue eye at him. “Hmm?”
He opened his mouth to deliver the blow. To free himself of the chains circling his heart. Timing be damned, he had to do it. Neither of them could be what they were meant to be while this persisted.
Instead of forcing out the words that would have ended their relationship, he reached out to cup her cheek. “I’m going to go walk the battlements. Sleep well.” His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone. So soft, even as he expected to cut his skin on her vallaslin.
“Don’t think too hard, my love. Leave some for tomorrow.” She turned her face into his hand to kiss his palm.
Solas dressed and left, heart pounding as he cursed himself a coward. The lie continued another day in exchange for comfort. What would she say, he wondered, if he revealed his identity? His nature? His intentions? His involvement?
He crossed Skyhold at a brisk pace. True to his declaration, he mounted the battlements for solitude and fresh air, avoiding the guards standing watch for a corner undefended by eyes and ears. He stood in the brisk wind and gentle snowfall, hoping the sharpness of the night would clear his head. The memory of Airee’s scent dissolved away, leaving him with nothing but the memory.
When he joined the Inquisition, he had hoped to stay quiet and unnoticed, out of the way except when they needed something specific. He had never intended to become a central member. Never meant to be lured into friendship with anyone, or even pretend at it. He had resolved to be unassuming and invisible.
Why had she taken to him? Early on, she often consulted him. She had been ravenous for knowledge, something she found in him. He offered her books. Stories. Anecdotes. Most of what he passed on he had scarcely learned in the year since awakening from his slumber. Back then, while he appreciated and identified with her insatiable curiosity, he thought them entirely unsuited. He considered her to be flippant and dim, too distractible, too giddy. But she hounded him, finding an advisor and tutor in him.
And then she had sought him in the Fade one night. Suddenly her lips were upon his. His loneliness shattered around him. He expected to pull back. Instead he leaned forward. Craved more. Even after she pulled away, he called her back, suddenly ravenous. It proved not to be enough. They were recreations of themselves in the Fade. She felt real...and unreal. A reflection of herself, but the image she had created was incomplete. Scent. Taste. Present, but dulled almost to non-existance.
He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply.
The breath cleared no cobwebs of memory, dulled no pangs of longing.
He could just tell her the truth.
Perhaps she wouldn’t hate him. She might even forgive him.
He found himself halfway back to her quarters before he even realized he had moved, as if compelled by a geas. He stopped, smiling downward and shaking his head. What a fool, like a lovesick child.
He continued his path, resigned, for tonight, to finish what he started. He did not bother to let himself in quietly. Doing do was a fool’s errand. She slept too lightly. Back in her room, he divested himself of clothes. She sat up in bed, hair mussed, smile playing on her lips.
“Quick walk,” she murmured.
“I’m weak to my whims.” He claimed her arms and settled in with her.
Snow drifted lazily from the heavens, blanketing the world in sparkling diamonds that glittered under stray streamers of sun. Airee lay on her back, arms and legs outstretched. She smiled as the snow tickled her nose and eyelashes where it fell.
“What are you doing?”
She twisted her head to see behind her, smile broadening. “Snow angel.”
The ground shook as the Iron Bull toppled down next to her, mimicking her position. “I think my horns will make mine more of a snow devil.”
“Oh. Yes. Maybe you’re a reformed devil. Thus, the horns and the wings.”
“Or maybe I’m a corrupted angel. I liked to smash things too much, so they kicked me out of angel academy.”
“Do angels have academies?”
“I don’t know. It’s not really my area of expertise.”
He stood up to survey his work, snow clinging to his broad back. He extended down one of his huge hands to also pull her to her feet. Airee pouted at it. The Iron Bull had asked her out here for a training exercise. That meant work. Sweat. Boring things she didn’t really want to do. The snow was pretty, but they weren’t going to sit and admire it.
“Airee…” he warned.
She took the hand. It dwarfed her own by nearly double. He extracted her from her snow angel imprint like she was as light as silk, popping her up to her feet so she could get a look at them. Hers was dainty and perfect, next to one that was huge and distinctly menacing. Maybe it was the horns. Fallen angel, indeed. Nevertheless, they had their own charm.
“So, are you ready?” he clapped his hands together, the same glint to his eye right before he hit something really hard.
Airee shrank. “Um…”
“Come on. I want to show you the set up.”
Taking her shoulders, he steered her further into the woods. They had gone outside of Skyhold for this little training excursion. It was safer for all involved, and it wasn't often she got to stroll leisurely through the glittering snow. They so often marched out with no time to appreciate the beauty of their surroundings.
She didn't feel the bite of the cold though her fennec lined cloak, giving her ample time to peer around at the icy wonderland they traversed into. She fell behind Bull’s long strides, to busy absorbing the landscape.
Finally, they emerged into a clearing where he had erected targets, most of them crafted from makeshift, burlap sacks. Several were propped on poles, others hung from trees. At the edge, he brought with him a small armory. The makeshift weapons rack carried smaller, hand-held weapons.
“All right, Airee. We're going to work on your aim today,” the Iron Bull declared, plucking a band of throwing knives up first and presenting them to her grandly.
She hesitated, twisting her fingers together. A bow was one thing, but throwing things was another altogether. She always thought she could avoid it, but last week proved that she needed a better plan.
“Last time didn't go so well,” she reminded him.
He grinned, one eye gleaming. “No people around to hurt. Just me, and I'd like to see you try.”
“But...but…” He took her shoulders again, pointing her toward the first target. “Boring looking bag, isn't it?’
“It could use some ruffles…”
“What if I told you that it's filled with glitter?”
Her eyes widened, but when he turned, he held up a simple, silver link bracelet. It was very plain.
“And for every bullseye you get, you get a charm for this.” He took her wrist in his huge hands and clasped the bracelet around it. “Miss, and it stays boring.”
Her jaw set with determination and she turned back to the targets.
“Go nuts,” Bull encouraged.
She took one of the throwing knives into her hand, twisting her wrist and trying to get a feel for it's balance. The cold metal just felt wrong, like it was missing something. Maybe some mother-of-pearl inlays…
She focused on the bag again. Stupid, ugly bag. She could do this.
Her first throw missed everything. No glitter. No charm. She was an abject failure at hand-eye coordination.
“Hmm,” Bull rumbled. “Your stance is crap. Here.” He stood in front of her and kicked her feet apart. “Shoulder width. Now, you're using too much arm. It's a wrist flick.” He grabbed said arm and jostled it until she relaxed her muscles. “You're too tense. This is a finesse move. You can't strongarm it into accuracy.”
“You probably do,” she muttered, lower lip thrust out.
“You're not me.”
Hands arranging her like a life-sized marionette, he worked her through the motion he wanted her to try, and then had her practice independently for a few minutes.
Finally, he handed the knives back to her and cut her loose. Nodding to herself, bucking up her courage, she set her feet like how he wanted, angled her body, and took another toss. This one only flew a few inches wide of what she aimed at.
“I did it! I almost did it! It almost hit! See, Bull, see?”
He patted her head. “Next time, look at the target as you throw, not at the knife.”
“Right. The target. Got it.”
Her aim improved steadily over the next hour. Some of the knives thunked the target end-first. Iron Bull had to go collect them after a while, digging around in the snow until he found most of them. Then she tried again. The first time her knife hit the target tip-first she squealed and jumped up and down, but she hadn’t thrown it with enough force to actually puncture the burlap.
Finally, after she was sweaty and tired and her arm ached, she finally hit a single knife into the target where it jutted out proudly. By then, she was too worn out to give a proper celebration, but Bull clapped her hard enough on the back nearly to buckle her knees.
“But...there’s no glitter,” she said, dejected.
“Sure there is.” Striding to the target, he didn’t just pluck the knife out, but took it, twisted it, and ripped it downward to disembowel the sack. Sparkly, red dust exploded from its center, vaguely reminiscent of blood. Pretty, glittery blood. If only everybody bled like that, the world might be a nicer place.
Airee sighed as she looked around the clearing at the other suspended targets. “So do we start on the others now?” She wanted to glitterfy everything.
“Oh, I think we’re done for the day. Your arm is going to be dead for a few days with how hard you worked. But I’m proud of you, little Flairee. You earned this.” He dug around until he came up with a little charm to hook to her bracelet.
It was a little gemstone cut in the shape of a unicorn. It caught and refracted light at all angles, glittering against the dazzling, snowy backdrop. She instantly loved it, but wanted to pack about fifty more in different colors onto the bracelet. How soon before she could smash through all the targets to get them?
Iron Bull slung an arm around her shoulders as they left the clearing. “Even after one day, I feel better about your aim, buttercup.”
“I want more charms,” she whined.
“Figures you do, but not until you earn them.”
She huffed and reluctantly let him tow her away. “How soon can we come back?”
“As soon as your arm feels up to it,” he promised, sounding deeply pleased with himself. Under his breath, he muttered, “Should have tried this ages ago.”
They passed their snow angels and finally hit the main trail back to Skyhold. Airee wondered if she could sneak out to practice on her own. Those targets were going down.
Posted: Mon May 15, 2017 3:16 pm
Confessions of an Inquisitor /// drawn by AphroditesChild
The amber hues of the setting sun filtered into the main hall of Skyhold. Aireesse sat atop the inquisitor’s throne. The Golden Inquisitor’s posture was impeccable and she almost appeared to perch over her audience. Her gown of pearlescent rose white silk poured down past her ankles which were cross daintily to the side. Her delicate hand, adorned with rainbow quartz rings and baubles, pushed back her luxurious blonde ringlets of hair. She had been making judgments and proclamations all day. Her decisions were fair but it was stressful weighing out every option and word before reaching the conclusion.
Josephine Montilyet approached the throne carefully. She had caramel skin and dark brown hair typical to Antivan women. She wore a purple tunic wrapped at the waist with a golden sash. Her golden puffed sleeves extending from the tunic gave her an added presence of nobility. She scribbled the last of Aireesse’s notes down onto her writing board. She turned to look up at the inquisitor, her pale hazel eyes awash in the fading light of the sun.
“That appears to be all of your appointments for today inquisitor” announced Josephine.
Before Aireesse could reply, Varric, Iron Bull, and Sera approached from one of the tables where they had been chatting and drinking while Aireesse had been working. She enjoyed the companionship of her friends and was glad that they finally had time to enjoy some of the simpler things in life. Varric seemed to be leading the group.
“Well you heard Ruffles, you’re off the clock now. Care for a game of Wicked Grace?” asked Varric.
“I really don’t know…” replied Aireesse.
She had some experience with cards and it would be a fun way to wind down after a long day. Varric was a veteran player and would surely win. She looked over at Sera and Iron Bull trying to consider if them playing would change the outcome.
“Oh c’mon! Don’t be a frightened mabari!” chimed in Sera. Sera was a spirited Dalish girl. She had cropped blonde hair and a penchant for leaving those who argue with her full of arrow holes. She was a good ally, if not a vocal one, to the inquisitor.
“Alright. I will join you” decided Aireesse.
“Have fun inquisitor” smiled Josephine as she headed away to her office.
“Let’s head back to the tavern” said Iron Bull.
The four left the main hall of Sky Hold and walked down to the tavern in the courtyard. Inside at the bar were several men enjoying their evening. A bard was singing songs by the fireplace for the guests of the tavern. Dagna and Cole were sitting at the counter when the inquisitor’s party entered.
When the party entered, Dagna hopped down from the counter. She was short and stocky, like most dwarves, with ruddy brown hair and a big smile. Cole, a thin young man with messy blond hair followed behind her.
“Sera told us you were going to play Wicked Grace. I was so hoping I could play with you” said Dagna.
“Wishing. Playful. For an even number of players I could play too” added Cole. He seemed to be looking at Dagna, or through her. Aireesse couldn’t tell.
“If there’s no objections from the inquisitor I say the more the merrier” said Varric.
“That will be no trouble” smiled Aireesse.
The six of them went upstairs to a private room and sat around a long wooden table. The room was well lit, for a room in a pub, by a fireplace and several torches. Aireesse sat in the middle of one side of the table with Sera to her left and Iron Bull to her right. On the other side of table sat Cole, Varric, and Dagna.
Varric was a stout and rugged dwarf with dark blonde hair that was pulled back into a short pony tail and a thin scar over the bridge of his nose. He whipped out his deck of cards and started shuffling them. He shuffled down and then back up into bridge and slide them across for Aireesse to cut the deck. Her cerulean blue eyes locked with Varric’s gaze and without looking away from his honey brown eyes she split the deck of cards almost perfectly in half. Varric picked up the cards and started dealing out five cards to each player.
Aireesse looked down at her cards. She had a good hand. A couple of her cards were already matching. It would be easy to discard the bad cards and gain the upper hand.
“Alright let’s place our bets” lead Varric.
The table went around and placed their bets. Aireesse decided that with a good hand she could bet high. They took turns discarding and placing cards on the table. After several rounds Aireesse was sure she was going to win. Finally the Angel of Death appeared in Iron Bull’s hand, ending the round. Cole peeked at his cards and then looked down at the table.
“Looks like you won this round” said Varric, winking to the players across the table. He slid a pile of of coins over to Cole.
“Copper, silver, hands making promises” muttered Cole as he looked at the money in front of him.
They played several more hands. Aireesse wasn’t doing well and had ran out of money.
“I think this is where I call it a night. I’m out of coins” said Aireesse with a shrug.
“What about that big horse you have in the stables?” asked Iron Bull.
Iron Bull was a large man, even by Qunari standards. He had great horns, and his skin had the faint shimmer of gold in it. When he looked down at Aireesse, it was with only one eye, as the other had been lost in combat.
“Nonsense! What’s the use in betting if you don’t go big?” cheered Iron Bull.
“Here, I’ll match your steed and win or lose I’ll buy the next round of drinks” offered Varric.
“Who couldn’t use another drink?” asked Sera, having to throw in her two cents . “I… Okay I am in” she said, her cheeks turning pink as she blushed. She didn’t think it was good idea to keep playing but wanted to avoid confrontation with her friends.
The table cheered and this time Sera dealt them in. Her fingers were nimble and she had quickly distributed the cards. Aireesse looked at her cards. She had another decent hand. This entire time she had been getting good hands but for some reason someone at the table always seemed to have that one card that bested her. Everyone went around the table playing their cards and drawing new ones. Several minutes later Varric drew the Angel of Death and another round came to an end. Aireesse had lost again.
“I really do not have anything left to bet” said Aireesse, almost pleading to get out of the game.
“We can always make the bets interesting, play for the clothes on our backs” said Varric.
“I have not been doing very well though” reasoned Aireesse.
“Ah! You’re doing fine, you’ll have me down to nothing but my horns in no time!” chuckled Iron Bull.
“I like your horns The Iron Bull. But they’re dragon horns, not bull horns. You could have named yourself The Iron Dragon” said Cole.
“Oh… s**t. That would have been better” said Iron Bull.
“I think I’m going to call it a night here. Cole you should probably go too” said Dagna as she grabbed her friend by the shoulder.
“Well screw that, I’m in” said Sera.
“Well what do you say Lavellan?” asked Varric.
“Ok I will do it” affirmed Aireesse.
Varric ordered them all another round of drinks and then came back and dealt everyone in. It was Varric and Sera on one side of the table with Iron Bull and Aireesse on the other. They played several hands. Aireesse lost turn after turn. She had been dealt bad hand after bad hand. Everyone was sitting around in various stages of undress but it seemed like Iron Bull and Varric were stringing them along.
Aireesse had a gold lined, white corset, pushing up her ample breasts and a pair of matching gold panties with white lace. Sera sat across from Aireesse and seemed to enjoy watching her curvaceous inquisitor strip. Even though she was enjoying the view, Sera had caught on to what was happening and decided it was time to change things around.
Sera reached out for her mug of ale but instead slapped it down. The ale splattered across the edge of the table and all over Aireesse. The inquisitor scooted her seat back and looked down at her cleavage, ale dripping down her breasts and her lap. Sera pretended it was just a drunken fumble, but it was part of her plan.
“Let’s take five. I’ll help dry off our friend here and then we can get back to the game” said Sera as she stood up and helped Aireesse to her feet. Taking Aireesse by the hand, Sera pulled her over to a nook in the corner of the room where a wash basin was kept likely as a serving station for larger dinners held in the tavern.
Sera dried off Aireesse, running the towel over Aireesse’s alabaster skin.
“What are you doing Sera?” asked Aireesse.
“Listen, these boys are out here cheatin’. I saw Iron Bull tapping to Varric when he plans on throwing in his cards and I think Varric has been slipping extra cards into his hand” explained Sera.
“I thought one was expected to cheat in Wicked Grace?” questioned Aireesse.
“Yeah but that means we need to cheat too. Here. Play like you’re wiping the ale off the table and slip this card into your hand.” said Sera as she passed Aireesse the rag with the card in it.
“Looks like the girls are back” said Iron Bull.
“You know Lavellan, you didn’t look half bad wet” joked Varric.
“Let us just play the game” said Aireesse, her expression unchanging.
As Sera shuffled and dealt out the cards, Aireesse wiped up the remainder of the ale spill on the table. Expertly, she slipped the card onto the top of her pile that Sera had dealt to her. Aireesse rose to her feet and gingerly tossed the rag back to the wash basin before returning to the table.
Everyone placed their final bets. Varric only had his under shorts left and both Sera and Iron Bull weren’t faring much better. They played their cards, no one giving any indication as to who might win. The card Sera had secretly given to Aireesse was the angel of death, which meant she was in control of the game. After several rounds of drawing, discarding, and playing cards, Aireesse had the perfect hand. She played her final card, ending the match and laying out her hand.
Varric was the only one who had lost.
His eyes got big.
“What happened?” he asked incredulously.
“It looks like yer losin’ yer knickers” cackled Sera.
“It would appear so” said Aireesse, turning her head down demurely.
“Well I’ll be a nug’s uncle” grimaced Iron Bull.
“Fair is fair I suppose” said Varric as he stood up.
He dropped his gray linen under shorts and kicked them off. Sera stuck out her tongue and Iron Bull chortled at his comrade’s nude form. Varric turn around to leave. Aireesse dared to glance up, seeing the muscular shape of his posterior.
“I’m going to head back to my room before I lose my dignity AND my clothes” said Varric as he walked out. Iron Bull got up and left with him.
Sera leaned over and slapped his backside on his way out.
Aireesse stood up and Sera jumped across the table to hug her.
Airee often dreamed of splendor. Parlors made of gems and gold, silk beds, beaded gowns, and lavish, and porcelain baths. Her dreams had always come with a comforting reflection of reality, a manifestation of all the things she adored. Lately, however, ever since losing her arms, sticky shadows, dust, and cobwebs layered and consumed her palaces of wonder. More often than not, she found herself alone in the woods. Woods were never scary in real life. She liked trees and flowers and birds, but these forests created labyrinths to which there was no escape.
She wasn't good as breaking free of of dreams, of recognizing the landscapes of the Fade and exerting control over them, but on the rare occasion, she snapped into lucidity and saw her dreams for what they were.
She acquired the skill most often when the wolf arrived.
This dream was a mix of her two worlds. She had a lavish tea set with delicate, hand painted porcelain, but it was set in the middle of a murky forest dripping with lichen and cobwebs. She had just poured the tea when the wolf appeared.
He only ever appeared in her dreams. This, therefore, must be one.
She turned, her skirts rustling. Before, she had both arms intact, but as soon as the wolf appeared, her left arm turned into a stump at the elbow, covered in a silk sheath not unlike the glove she wore on the other hand.
Airee dared not move, an ache filling her chest and taking up every inch of space in her body. She missed the security of his arm, the wise gaze of his calm, gray eyes, and the low drum of his heartbeat against her skin when they lay next to each other.
“I miss you,” she whispered.
At least fifty meters sat between them, but she was certain he heard her.
It may not even be him. Her whole body ached, her desire burning her alive. She wanted it to be him, but this was just a dream, and it was just as likely that he was a manifestation of her yearning as it was that he sought her through the Fade.
Tears glistened in her eyes. If she stood and walked to him, he would retreat, but she wanted him near. Wanted him in her arms, what little was left of them.
“I hope,” she began, gulping back her grief, “that it doesn't hurt as much for you as it does for me. I wouldn't wish this on anybody.” The feeling like somebody carved out her insides, like she was missing an entire chunk of her soul. She would give her other arm to see him again, to reassure him that he need not destroy the world as it was to find what he was looking for.
As usual, the wolf watched on without moving.
Was his life pain? Maybe it was arrogant to hope she meant as much to him as he did to her.
Airee squared herself as much as she could, lip trembling. “I will find you. Before this is over, we will speak again.”
The wolf slowly climbed to his feet.
“Don't go yet,” she begged, panic spearing her. She wasn't ready.
Somewhere, in the background of the dream, images of their last meeting manifested. A longing kiss. Solas pulling out of her arms. Turning his back. Disappearing through the eluvian and leaving her a shattered husk of her former self.
“Please. I hate it. I hate it when you leave. Don't make me watch you go again.” Tears cut down her cheeks as she scrambled to her feet.
The wolf tensed, preparing to flee.
“I'll go first this time. Please.” Her chest ached more than she could bear. How could she miss someone so much?
Setting her jaw as bravely as she could, Airee turned her back on the Dread Wolf. Her wounds bled, carving deeper, making her want to fold up into herself.
She forced herself to walk away. Each step dug the trenches in her heart even deeper, but she soldiered on. She hoped he got what he needed in seeing her finally be the one to walk away.
A twig snapped directly behind her.
Airee whirled, but even as she turned something lurched deep in her gut and she hurtled through darkness to thrash awake in her bed.
Satin sheets twisted around her body. She gasped, untangling herself and finally falling flat against the mattress.
Another damn wolf dream.
Rolling onto her side, she grabbed a pillow to hug close to her body. Old aches felt fresh as ever. She closed her eyes, pretending without success that she didn't miss him and that the nights weren't long and that her dreams didn't leave her as hollow as they did.
Posted: Mon Jun 12, 2017 11:29 am
From brother to sister/// written by ninthcompanion
Dearest Orrian,
I pray that you are well, and that this letter finds you safely. My thoughts are with you and our family always, far apart though we may be.
I’m sure news of the siege at Haven has reached you by now; please, do not worry for me. My companions and I managed to escape, and have found a new home nestled in the mountains; I wish only that you were here to share it with me, though I’m not certain you would enjoy the chilly air. I do think, though, that you would have fun sparring with some of my new friends.
Hawks fly here often; when I see them build nests on high among the twisted branches, I remember the day we found those shattered eggs in the woods. I remember how I cried and cried, but you knelt down, scooped the pieces back into the toppled nest, and gathered sticks to build a tiny grave. You were so young, but that day as the sun set on those little twigs and straws, you carried a wisdom well beyond your years. It was comforting to be with you then. Still I am ashamed, I suppose, for not being a stronger older sister for you in those days… do you spite me for it? I would not blame you.
Is your training going well? How soon will you earn your vallaslin, do you think? I wish you good luck. I know that you are capable, and you will overcome any trials set before you. Stay in good health for when I return, won’t you?
May your hand always be steady, Orrian, and Andruil’s blessing guide your arrows.
Dareth shiral, Airee
-----------------------
Airee,
Things are fine. I’m glad to hear you’re alive out there. Just focus on looking after yourself, and don’t spend so much time fretting over me. And must you start these letters with “dearest”? It’s embarrassing. You can address me by name.
We did hear about what happened in Haven, yes. You say you “escaped”, but we hear tell the city was buried under a wall of rock. If that was your doing, you should think more carefully about your survival tactics -- they’ll need to do plenty of repairs on your behalf, and there’s no guarantee you won’t be crushed the next time you attempt something so reckless.
I am glad you’re safe. Between my Keeper’s instructing and practicing for the hunt, I have no room for spite in my mind or heart. I’m no longer a child, Airee, nor am I your responsibility. Don’t waste your energy on foolish thoughts like that.
It’s funny you mention the hawk’s nest. I was passing the place we buried the eggs just the other day, and you wouldn’t believe what I saw: a new nest sat atop the grave we cobbled together. The eggs are light brown, and speckled with red. If I’m not mistaken, they belong to a red-shouldered hawk… do those fly up in the mountains?
Anyway, take care of yourself. I expect I’ll hear from you again soon.
Dareth shiral, Orrian
Also: if things continue as planned, I will be earning my vallaslin within the next fortnight. I will be ready soon. Training goes well.
-----------------------
Dearest And Most Precious Baby Brother Orrian,
I hope my new greeting is satisfactory, and that you are well.
It is true that our escape was rather… complicated. Forgive me for simplifying things; I would rather not worry you. But if you say that you are fine, I will try to trust your judgment; that said, I pray you will trust mine, too. Nothing along this journey has been easy, but I assure you, it has all been necessary.
When you get your vallaslin, you must remember not to make a sound. You could try to hold your breath as long as you can, or perhaps count up and down from ten until it’s over -- when it was my turn, I looked up into the sky and watched the birds fly. I thought of how free they were, how they had grown and earned their right to soar despite the trials they faced. Maybe you will find comfort in them, too.
Whatever you do, know that I am proud of you. I know you will make a fine huntsman one day.
I’m so happy new birds came to nest on that grave! How wonderful! It is reassuring, I suppose, that new life finds a path through the valley of death. One day, I pray all of Thedas will know the peace and joy of rebirth after great struggle. I fight each day with this hope in my heart.
If you see the mother hawk and her children, will you look after them for me when you can? Thank you.
Dareth shiral, Airee
-----------------------
My Wicked And Terrible Older Sister Airee,
I am doing well.
Tomorrow by light of dawn, I will undergo the ritual. I have long looked forward to it, and I am ready. I will try to remember your story about watching the birds, though I can’t make any promises. However, holding my breath seems unwise, so I will not be taking that piece of advice. Counting may or may not work. I am undecided on that point. But ideally, I will be able to earn my vallaslin with a perfectly clear mind.
Your goal is a noble one. I’m proud of you, too, for seeing it through. I know you must be fighting hard out there. You, like the hawks, have earned your right to soar. I hope I’ll get the chance to join you up there one day, where the mountains touch the skies.
The mother hawk stopped by her nest around noontime. I saw her feed the children worms. It was a little disgusting, honestly. They were covered in dirt. It’s one thing to roast a worm with spices, and another to eat it raw. I couldn’t imagine it, and frankly, I don’t want to. Please tell me you’re eating well where you are, and not foraging for scraps. You’re a capable archer, so I expect you to use your skills.
When next you hear from me, I will be a man. I will not be the young boy you knew, scooping eggshells into nests. I will be striking down the hawks themselves, having truly earned the right to let my arrows fly among them.
I hope you’re ready for the day I catch up to you, Airee. Stay alive until then.
When the Chargers celebrated, they Celebrated hard. Airee watched in amusement from a distance, sticking to a lighter ale with fruity undertones that most hard drinkers passed up. It was fairly benign, usually taking several cups to make her fizzy. The mercenary company sang bawdy tunes in Krem’s honor for his birthday, wrestled, hit each other on the backs hard enough to bruise their lungs, and drank whatever swill Cabot pulled from the cupboards.
The songs got louder, the words more slurred, the drinks poured even freer. Airee loved the finer things in life, but even she could admit when a show was good. She found herself utterly charmed when the Iron Bull began a loud rendition of what he called a “love song” in Qunlat. Considering the Qun’s stance on love and family, she could only begin to imagine what the song was actually about.
She would interrogate him on it further when he was sober. Maybe she could get him to sing it to her again. Or teach it to her.
As the night waned, the Chargers staggered out one and two at at a time until their numbers dwindled. When they ran dry of coin, Cabot began kicking them out so he could close up and get some sleep.
“Somebody’s got to take him!” the barkeep bellowed impatiently as the Iron Bull called for another round. “I can’t bloody well clean up with him taking up half the floor space.”
Airee popped up from her corner where she finished the last of her ale. “I’ll get him, Cabot.”
He eyed her skeptically. “You? No, call his men back here. They’ll haul him out and have him sleep it off outside. No way you’re going to get him up to his room.”
She puffed up her chest self-righteously, perhaps a smidge emboldened by the drink in her belly. “I am the Inquisitor, am I not? I’ll do as I please.”
If only because he told her she couldn’t.
Crossing the cluttered room--the Chargers had made quite a mess!--she made her way to the Iron Bull’s side. He sang another song in Qunlat, but faded out mid-verse when she patted him on the arm to get his attention. His unfocused eye settled on her and he leaned toward her with a leer.
“You look like a girl I know,” he whispered loudly. “She’s the Inquisitor. Very pretty. Very...supple. Great tits. Beautiful hair. Did you know your hair looks just like hers?”
A blush crept its way to her cheeks. “Look again. I am Airee.”
“Airee! That’s her name! How did you know?”
“Bull.” She bent down so that their faces were level. “I am Airee. It’s me.”
“It’s you!” He grabbed a chipped tankard. “Let’s toast to that!” He attempted to drink, but found the cup lacking. “Eh! Who stole my drink? Was it you, Air--hic!--ee?”
She debated telling him that it was, to try to goad him into chasing her, but she was afraid to find out what happened if he actually caught her.
“You drank it all, sweetling. Cabot wants to close up now. I think maybe we ought to get you to your bed, hmm?” she suggested temptingly.
He squinted at her suspiciously. “Are you propositioning me, bunny ears?”
Bunny ears. Her face flamed right back up. Usually, when somebody referenced her ears, it was a slur. Knife ear. Rabbit. Iron Bull somehow made it sound like an affection and a suggestion all wrapped into one. Then, once she’d overcome the shock of the nickname, she had to deal with the fact that he thought she was suggesting they go canoodle somewhere. Airee admitted to a certain extent of curiosity, but no more. They had only academic conversations about intimacy thus far, and tonight was not the night to take it beyond that.
“No!” she cried.
“That’s a pity. You’re very soft looking. I like you when you look soft at me. Makes me...tingly.”
Before things could get out of hand, she remembered her determination to get him up to his own bed.
“Know what else is soft? Your bed. I won’t stay with you in it, but I can at least get you there. How does that sound? Would you please, pretty please, follow me?” she simpered, laying the sugar on thick.
“How could I refuse that face?”
She maneuvered under one of his huge arms. He slumped out of his chair onto her, nearly flattening her to the floor. She spread her legs and braced herself under his considerable mass, helping him steer the other direction to find his balance. His bad ankle nearly buckled under him. With a groan of effort, she got him precariously upright, arms around his middle.
They took a few unsteady steps toward the stairs. The Iron Bull used furniture and support beams to help maintain his upright status. She began to sweat under the exertion--on Antivan cashmere, no less!--and they hadn’t even made it to the foot of the stairs. Cabot guffawed as he watched the struggle.
“Let me know when you give up!”
“Certainly,” she chimed, tightening her grip around Bull’s waist.
Heaving valiantly, she got him moving the right direction. He staggered and swayed and made dangerous rotations until they got to the stairs. As they shuffled their way up, his hands began roaming over her. Waist. Shoulders. Back. And finally, one of his big paws groped for a breast.
“Bull!” She shoved him off.
He pressed his face against her hair, grinning and breathing in deeply. “So soft. Smells so nice.” He nuzzled against her, almost throwing them backwards down the stairs and erasing their hard-earned progress.
“Yes, I know. I bathed today, unlike you. Come on, forward march!” she quipped, battling his pawing hands and earnest incapacity to focus.
Dipping a shoulder, gritting her teeth, she shoved hard to get him going again. He tripped on a few of the steps, and then began nuzzling again. She let him nuzzle, not only because it felt nice, but because he was content to put one foot above the other and master the stairs while he did so. He snuffled against her scalp and behind her ears.
“You smell like sunshine. It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he slurred.
“Oh, indeed.” She gave off vague affirmatives, willing to agree to just about anything to keep him moving.
“Do you like me, Inquisitor?”
“Usually. When you’re not putting a crick in my spine,” she huffed, finally getting him all the way to the first landing.
“I’d like to put a proper crick in your spine.” He doubled over laughing.
“Very charming,” she drawled sarcastically, cheeks burning.
He slumped to the floor, dragging her down with him and hugging her to his broad chest, eye drifting shut. She fought against his iron grip, amazed at his strength, despite his level of inebriation. She whined as he cuddled her close.
“This is far enough,” he yawned.
“It most certainly is not! Let me up, Bull! Let me up this instant!”
He drew back, loosening his arms just enough for her to scramble free. Grabbing hold of one of his huge hands to haul back to his feet. Her feet scrambled against the floor as he acted as a solid counterweight. He even giggled a bit at her effort, and a giggling Bull was not something she really thought she’d ever see.
Huffing, throwing her golden hair out of her face, she dropped his hand and stood back, hands planted on her hips, toe tapping the floor impatiently. “Iron Bull, stand up this instant!”
“I like it when you give me orders, bunny ears.” He rolled around ineffectively for a minute before finally crawling to his feet. He swayed, grinning at her. “Give me some more orders.”
“Climb the stairs. It’s time for bed.”
“Only if you’re in it,” he leered.
She promised him nothing, but motioned him on. He collapsed back against her on the stairwell using her as a crutch on one side. She nearly buckled under the weight. With another heave, she got him the next few steps.
“How do you keep your hair so shiny?” He stuck a hand into it, tangling it hopelessly and pulling at her roots.
“Ouch! Bull!”
He set to nuzzling the side of her face again with a chuckle. “Sorry, bunny ears.”
“Would you just keep climbing the steps?” she huffed.
“Do I get a reward if I make it to the top?”
“A nice bed to sleep on instead of the floor?”
Groaning, he resumed course. This time, he didn’t stop until they reached the guard tower at the top, which Bull had converted into a sort of living space. A large bed frame with a handaxe embedded into the foot dominated most of the room, as did weapons propped in corners and armor hung up on makeshift racks. She heaved him the last final steps until he fell face-first onto the bed with a resounding groan, both from him and the abused bed.
“Thanks ‘Ree. Couldn’t’ve done it without you,” he mumbled, nestling down into the mattress.
Sighing, doubled over to catch her breath, she resigned herself to a job not yet finished. First, she unlatched his ankle brace to pry free. The contraption was metal and leather and couldn’t possibly be comfortable to sleep in. Then, she twisted his feet as best she could to unlace his gigantic boots.
“Don’t you know what they say about men with big feet?” she’d once overheard her cousins twittering, eavesdropping on them instead of working.
Unfortunately, Airee never did find out what anyone said about men with big feet, but she was certain that Iron Bull qualified.
With a valid round of yanking and tugging, the first boot popped free and sent her cartwheeling through the room. She landed hard hat bottom, which sure leave a bruise. Huffing indignantly, she brushed her skirts down and patted her hair and dove back in for the other boot while Bull snored thunderously. Each inhale threatened to tear down all of Skyhold to its very foundation.
When she finally got the other boot off, managing not to injure herself further in the process, she spent a moment tidying up and sighing over how much the room could use some proper hangings and a coat of paint. “Rustic” was not her favorite aesthetic.
She rounded the large bed to perch on its side for a moment, stealing a touch of the Bull's impressive horns. They were rough under her smooth palm. Could use people gilding. She'd seen plenty of horn ornamentation on some of the traders her family dealt with growing up. She wondered if he would let her design anything…
“If you're going to cop a feel, I'd rather you let me be awake for it,” he suddenly rumbled.
Airee squeaked and flew backward off the bed.
He cracked his eye at her and grinned. “We'll pick this up again later, bunny ears.” He flopped onto his back and resumed snoring.
“Goodnight,” she whispered, entire face ablaze as she quietly died at being caught feeling up his horns.
She fled to her room in the keep, stylishly decked in elegant drapery and hangings. A bit big and lonely, though. Her bed was more than up for the task of accommodating more than herself. An overly large qunari, perhaps. She honestly didn't know what she preferred--that tomorrow he remember how she helped him into bed, or that he didn't.
She blushed furiously at her own thoughts. “Oh, go to sleep,” she scolded herself, pushing aside the tightness in her belly. Her curiosity was purely academic. That was all.
Posted: Mon Dec 04, 2017 3:24 pm
With the Dawn/// written by AurinJade
Horses stamped in the pre-dawn chill, mist huffing from their noses while servants loaded them with gear and the party assembled. Dorian, sleepy-eyed, but impeccably dressed, slouched up last, toting a mug of warm tea in one hand, adjusting his hair with the other. He shivered, pulling a fur trimmed coat tighter around his shoulders.
“Bloody freezing. I thought spring was supposed to bring warmth and flowers and all that nonsense.”
“We’re in the big hills, Sparkler. Spring lasts a week, summer about a day, and the rest is just winter. Don't you like ice?” Varric chuckled.
“Do I look like I like ice? Where is our esteemed leader? The sooner we trot on, the sooner we can get far enough down hill to unthaw.”
They both turned to the Iron Bull where he rearranged the saddlebags on his hart. He appreciated the servant’s efforts, but they didn't know how to organize his gear to save their lives. He didn't like to be finicky, but if they got caught in an ambush, he wanted to actually be able to reach his extra axes.
“I can't keep track of her.” He quietly checked for dabbles of glitter on his armor. They hadn't spent the night together, but that didn't mean he hadn't carried any away on him from one of their midday romps.
“If we must wait any longer, I'm going back to the keep where it is warm!” Dorian declared.
Varric struck a defiant pose. “I'm not going to check on her. The last time I woke her up she somehow managed to make me sit while she braided flowers into my hair. Don't ask me how. Witchy little pixie anyway.”
They turned expectantly toward Iron Bull. He leered suggestively. “I have a rule. I only drag her into bed, not out of it.”
“Well, then, I'm going back to bed as well.” Dorian turned on his heel and began marching toward the keep.
Huffing out a billow of mist, Iron Bull sighed. If they didn't leave soon, they wouldn't make it their first stop by sundown. They would end up trekking half through the night and put themselves in positions of limited visibility and vulnerability. Somebody had to wake his kadan up, or he would end up paranoid and twitchy watching all of their backs while she gazed dreamily at the moon, Varric complained about saddle-weariness, and Dorian dozed in his seat.
“Dorian, stay. I'll go get her.”
“You have five minutes then I'm leaving,” he warned.
Bull sighed and trudged up to the stairs, mentally preparing. With any luck, she would already be dressed. She would be tending the last few details, probably fussing over her boots or her hair, but capable of being hustled along. If Dorian went back to bed and Varric slipped off to the pub, it would be noon before he got them organized again--like herding a bunch of ******** nugs.
The only others awake at this hour were the Skyhold staff, prodding coals in the braziers and scuttling about to tend their first tasks. Dishes had been brought into the main hall, laid about the tables for important guests. He threaded through the bustle, leaving habit to note faces and postures and weed out potential threats while he continued to talk himself up to insisting a sense of timeliness for Airee.
Through the back of the hall, up the northwest stairwell, to the warm, gently decorated abode the Inquisitor called her own. Lush drapery of colorful silks insulated and provided a softness to the otherwise harsh room. A servant had already been in to stoke the fire into a roar and warm it up, as well as light candles, which gave the room a dreamlike glow. In the middle of the large, four-poster bed, he spotted a curled lump surrounded by long, lustrous hair. <******** a nug,” he grumbled to himself, squashing down the swelling of fondness in his chest. “Airee,” he barked.
The lump on the bed quivered a bit.
“Airee, it's almost dawn. Are you packed?”
He stomped over to her piles of gear, groaning when he saw about twenty-five fully packed saddle bags that would take a small army of soldiers to haul. He got into them and started weeding things out, since she wasn't awake enough to protest. She would gripe at his interference of her incomprehensible “system” later, but he might get them out the door, and that was what mattered.
When he got it all pared down to a manageable stack, he stumped over to the bed, pulling aside hangings and reaching down to shake the Inquisitor awake. She made a sleepy grumble. He stuck a knee on the plush, giving mattress and leaned over her, dragging blankets back and robbing her of her warm cocoon. He realized his mistake too late. The flimsy piece of material she had worn to bed was entirely sheer and left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Of course, at that point, she cracked a luminous blue eye and her full, rosy lips perked in a dreamy smile. Long, sinuous limbs snaked out and wrapped around him, her face lifting to nuzzle in the crook of his neck.
“Good morning, my beautiful canvas. I was just having the best dream about you.”
He did his best to pull away. “Better get up, Kadan. You're going to be late.”
“No I'm not. I said we'd leave at dawn.”
“Which means,” he ground out patiently, ignoring her playful nibbles on his neck, “that we all assembled before dawn so we could leave at dawn. Better hurry. Dorian and Varric are cold and whiny.”
Her slender, nimble fingers plucked at his belt. “But it’s warm and comfortable and going to be a marvelous day. Let's start it right.”
He leaned instinctively into her, but pulled back with a frantic grasp toward sanity. “They won't wait, and we have a long…”
“Long indeed,” she purred, hand in his pants.
“Hey, hey!” he barked, reaching down to redirect her wrist.
She thrust her lower lip out in a pout, head falling back against her pillow, haloed in gold. This was half the reason he tied her up so much.
“Airee.” He sterned his face. “Get out of bed, get dressed, and get your cute little a** down to the gate so we can leave on time.”
Sitting up, sheer fabric clinging to her generous curves in the most distracting ways, she tossed her gilded waves over one shoulder and flicked the end of his nose.
“Fine, but only because I like it when you get bossy. Now where is your vitaar?”
“No, no more delays. I'll put it on on the road.”
“Go sit in the chair. I'll get my paints.”
Airee loved painting on his Viraar. Admittedly, he also loved it. He should have known better than to cut corners getting ready. Dorian had undoubtedly fled the frigid grounds for warmth and Varric had likely followed him into mutiny. At least they would all have a better morning for it. Dorian was better company when well-rested and Varric after a drink.
Bull retreated to the massive armchair Airee had installed specifically to fit his dimensions, a little, disobedient smile worming its way to his face. The elf darted around, assembling her vitaar-specific paints he taught her how to make and her brushes and setting them up on the carved end-table next to his chair. She climbed into his lap, kneeling on him to boost high enough to his face, still wearing the flimsy nightgown that offered a glimpse of a little bit of everything.
He wanted to pull it off with his teeth.
“Focus,” she admonished, giving his cheek a little slap and redirecting his eyes. “And hold still.”
He shifted his weight one last time to get comfortable and leaned back as she used a tab if charcoal to sketch out lines. He didn't bother asking what she planned on doing to him. She knew the strengths and weaknesses of each vitaar better than he did these days.
When she leaned close and all he could focus on was the sweet spice of her scent, he aimed for a quick taste of her lips, but she set and hand on the center of his chest and shoved him back.
“If you don't sit still, I'll blur the lines. And what good is a blurry vitaar?”
It wouldn't be the first vitaar they had to redo because one or both of them got distracted or handsy.
But, somewhere in the back of his mind, he recalled they still wanted to leave early so as not to have to travel deep into the night, so he gripped the arms of the chair and relented to her precise stripes of paint. She focused, the tip of her pink tongue pinned between her teeth.
“Blue?” he guessed idly, thumbs warming circles on her hips.
“Mmhmm.”
She usually painted his face in blues to match her Vallaslin, which, in turn, matched her eyes. His tenure with the Inquisition taught him the lengths the intrepid Inquisitor was willing to go for color coordination. Even his armor had begun taking on hues she could easily match with at any given time.
“Okay. Let that dry while I dress.”
He got the pleasure of eyeing her while she stripped and began pulling on her robes. He gave serious consideration to letting her dress fully before throwing her on the bed and peeling her back out of them.
“You resorted my bags, didn't you?”
“You don't need all of that crap. We'd have to add an extra two mounts just to carry it all.”
“But…”
He grinned as she bit her knuckle, blue eyes awash with conflict. Hauling out of his chair, he grabbed her favorite staff and the bags he deemed necessary off the floor.
“I'll meet you downstairs in ten minutes. If you aren't there…”
He honestly didn't have a suitable threat. Airee held all the leverage, whether she knew it or not. Letting the unfinished ultimatum hang ominously between them, he fled down the stairs to at least get Airee’s red hart prepared, still smiling to himself.
Dammit but that little pixie had him wrapped around her dainty little finger.
The mounts stood in the cold, frost-laden yard next to the gate, saddled and packed. The servants had better things to do than wait in the cold for the Inquisitor’s party to figure their s**t out. Dorian and Varric, predictably, had cleared out to seek warmer shores.
A half an hour later, Airee frolicked out of her keep in a swirls of furs and rhinestones.
“Where are the others?” she chirped, inhaling a crisp breath and gazing about with her usual wide-eyed optimism. Her hair had been braided and pinned and dazzled with sapphire-encrusted combs.
“No idea.”
“You want to go fetch them? Then we can be off!”
“Nope.”
A little frown burrowed its way to her lips. “No?”
“They were here on time and left because you are…” He eyed the skyline. “Almost an hour late.”
Her lower lip puckered.
“I'll wait while you go grab them.”
Spinning in a slow circle, she asked, “Where did they end up?”
“Dorian mentioned going back to bed. Varric didn't say.”
“Well,” she huffed. “Hold down the fort. I'll be back in a jiff!”
She bobbed off, bidding a passing group of mages a perky good morning. Grinning, the Iron Bull waited until she was out of sight, then headed up to the Herald’s Rest for a drink.
Flecks of dust danced in the sunbeams pouring through the open windows, the sunlight, which Bull said dulled in comparison to her hair, warmed the skin on her back. They had busied themselves easily this morning, playing a game of cards that had landed bull without his socks, while Airee was left in the light linen shift she beneath her dresses, which Bull had only rid her of later after a toe curling tumble among the bedclothes. They doze here and there, the warmth of the other a comfort among much needed rest.
Life had been grueling as of late with missions up and down the winding roads, and both had leapt at the change to avoid any responsibility on a quiet day, both pulling coin together to procure a room at one of the local inns, the first night filled with nothing but sleep. Not that the inquisitor would say this out loud of course, Bull’s ego was big enough, but it had been harder to fall asleep among the soft mattress, the heat of the male behind her riling her up until she was pressing her thighs together for some sort of relief before exhaustion finally stilled her.
She’s not been awake long from a muzzy feeling nap in the soft sun when Airee feels the tickling rasp of facial hair between her shoulder blades before the kiss itself, chaste against her fair skin before a coolness dances across her spine. She just barely keeps from jerking up in reaction, though a small noise does leave her as she scrambles keep her hold on the pewter goblet of wine she had procured a moment earlier from the bedside table, the drink bright and crisp on her tongue as it chases away the taste of sleep.
“Watch yourself pet. Don’t want to soil the bedclothes, though I’m more worried about you wasting the drink.”
She tries to turn to give him a look, but is stopped by the firm placement of his large hand at the back of her skull.
“Nice try, but not until I’m done with you. No peeking.”
There’s a delicious drag of calloused fingers at her lower back, a slickness against her skin confusing her before she hears the faint rattle of clay. The paint. They had browsed the markets after they had woken up that morning, procuring breads and cheeses to go with the wine they had brought with them the previous night. They were making a second lap, a luxury for Airee to take in any shiny bits, as Bull referred to them, they had missed on their search of breakfast. The small clay pots had passed under her gaze without notice, the fired clay plain and unmarked save for a smattering of spots on their lids. Her hulking companion had waved a hand at her, sending her enough of a message to say she could go search for something that stuck her fancy in the next stall.
He had joined her a few moments later, a small tray of the ordinary things under his muscled arm. Bull had evaded any and all questions, ignoring her pouts and even going so far as to point out anything with as much as a glint in the sunlight before they made it back to their room. Her grumbling stomach had taken things from there.
The touch is sensual, different than that of their love making, while that is teasing and fleeting, this is direct with a purpose, each stroke calculated before the first is finished. His large hands seem to be everywhere, worshiping.
“My kadan.”
The voice is a lust filled rasp beside her ear that causes the cartilage to twitch in response, a heady rush filling her as she feels his large hand grip the back of her neck, full of the message his voice was sending her. His hands leave her, and the bed moves with the shift of his weight. Taking that as permission to finally rise and see what had been made of the blank canvas of her back. There’s a sting on her rear as she scrambles to slide off of the bed admire his work, a slap on her a** meant to hasten her steps in the direction of the mirror in the corner.
“Be quick about it. I’m growing cold already.”
She debates sticking her tongue out, but the excitement of seeing Airee had seen standard war paint of course, and the Vitaar, but nothing like this. The lines were bold and striking in black, being echoed by warmer browns to deep earthen ochres before a crisp white moved in to lighten the strokes.
She’s forced to crane her head to an awkward angle, but when she sees the extent of the work on her back, it draws a gasp from her lungs, the surprise evident.
“I may be a hulking brute, but I know a thing or two about war paint.”
There’s a warmth in her chest as she takes in the art on her back. Unlike some of the Vitaar she had seen, her back lacks a backing of color, the earthen tones instead curling about her body, highlighting the features of strength and muscle, while some lines curled up the back of her ribs as if they were on a journey to cup her breasts like Bull’s hands had been earlier in the morning.
“Later I’ll help you get those hard to reach spots in the bath, but we’ll wait until it dries. Wouldn’t want to ruin your pretty clothes hmm?”
Ah, there was the Bull she knew.
“I-I think it should be my turn now.”
His brow raises in surprise, and he goes to move onto his back before she stops him, her small hand on his massive shoulder.
“Can I do the front?”
Her teeth sink into her pink lower lip, and he seems to debate it before a shrug rolls across his shoulders and he flops onto his back with enough force for it to rattle the wood of the bed frame. Airee debates this for a moment before she lines the pots along his side, pulling up her linen skirt enough to clamber up to straddle on his abdomen, the muscle firm between her thighs. Her brow crinkles in thought as she surveys her canvas, a blank expanse of pale skin.
She starts with small lines, drawing around scars and muscle before filling in the spaces between with dots, and eventually other shapes, her canvas soon coming to some sort of abstract, a mix of various designs she had seen over her travels.
“You’ve got the nicest tits, you know that?”
“I think I have heard that. From a few people.”
The look that passes over his face draws a laugh from her, and she can only shriek as he pulls her down to him, sending the pots flying with out a care as he flips her onto the mattress. Intent on finding out just who she had been talking to.
Later.
After a bit of exploration outside the village, they had managed to stumble, near literally on Airee’s part into a small cluster of springs. Clothes were shed, still air and bright sun keeping them warm enough before they could make it into the water as clear as crystals. They had brought a small cake of soap in case their fortunes were good, and Airee quickly braided her hair so it was more or less out of the way. There was a bit of remorse in that she would no longer carry the paint of her other half, but she brushed the thought away as strong hands worked over her back, kneading in just the right spots.
“I’m afraid we might have found ourselves a spot of trouble Kadan.”
She’s barely listening, the feeling of large hands rubbing at a persistent knot below her right shoulder taking most of her attention. The knot releases with a cringe worthy glide across her shoulder blade, and she sighs in relief. Some of her hair has come undone, and she is brushing the errant waves away before turning with a smile to her Qunari.
“Sorry, I wasn’t exactly paying attention.”
“I was saying we might be in trouble. Myself in particular.”
“Why’s that?”
She takes the cake of soap from him and sets to work on his massive chest, the muscles jumping under her small hands. It takes a hand full of water for the realization to hit her, and she turns, trying to take in her back, though she knows she won’t be able to see it.
“You should be happy I didn’t paint something obscene, though I am a bit put out by that.”
Deep breath Airee. Her daily clothing would cover it for the most part, that is, aside from the massive handprint left from where he had gripped the nape of her neck with a paint smeared hand. A flush rose to her cheeks, and she blew out a slow breath, slightly self conscious about the canvas that would now be walking around with her.
“N-Nothing to be done about it I suppose. Maybe I’ll just start telling people it’s my own version of the Vitaar?”
