There and Back Again Ch. 047-048

Chapter Forty-Seven: Panic and Planning

We finally, reluctantly climbed out of the now-cool water and got dressed, teasing each other and laughing the whole time. When we finally made it out of the bathing room, a passing servant pointed us to a small private dining room that Aedan had apparently rented after the brawl fiasco from the night before. Everyone had cleaned up, and we had a wonderful dinner just talking and laughing. Everyone avoided talking business, and it felt like a wonderful preview of what it might be like when the blight was over.

Back in our room, Alistair swallowed the noxious pinch of powder from the vial Zevran had given me; we knew that having a child would be difficult, given my possible birth control and his being a Grey Warden, but we decided that caution was probably for the best. It still seemed weird to me that birth control was something you gave to a man, not a woman. To my surprise, Alistair expressed incredible longing to have a family of his own, some day; I supposed, given his upbringing, it wasn't so strange. Growing up without one made the urge to have a family that much greater, as I could testify to from personal experience.

We made slow sweet love again before passing out, limbs intertwined; somehow I thought that having been with him my desire would be less immediate, less desperate, but if anything I wanted him more than I had before. We woke in the night and reached for each other again; my last thought before sleep claimed me the second time was that I was going to have to get good at making healing potions if we kept up at the same rate much longer.

I woke early in the morning, to find Alistair still deeply asleep, his beautiful face relaxed as he snored softly. I was starving; I slid out of bed, carefully and as quietly as I could manage, and slipped on a loose-fitting linen dress from the pile of clothes in the corner. I went down to the main room to find us something for breakfast. My hair was tousled, my dress wrinkled from hours on the cold stone floor, but I was too sleepy to care, and it was early enough that I might not run into anyone, anyway. I crept into the kitchen, loading up a tray with bread, cheese, and dried fruit, tossing a couple of strips of jerky on top for Alistair. I giggled as I remembered him declaring, at supper the night before, that he wanted 'meat with every meal'. Zevran made a smart comment about offering him some meat, and everyone howled as he blushed scarlet and stammered. I finally distracted the poor boy with a kiss, earning a grin from Aedan, and a wink from Zevran. The memory made me smile.

I passed Leliana in the hall on the way back to the room I shared with Alistair, and she teased me about my hair, making me stop long enough for her to halfway tame it to lay straight down my back, and then I hustled along, chilly in the cold morning air, until I reached the door. I balanced the tray with one hand, awkwardly, almost dropping it as I grabbed for the door handle. Pushing my way inside, I stabilised the tray and deposited it on a table just inside the door, twisting to pull the door shut and lock it.

As I turned back, I gasped as Alistair (who I expected to still be in bed, snoring peacefully) grabbed my arms, pulling me to him, crushing me into his embrace. And suddenly, his hands were in my hair, his lips bruising mine, his tongue in my mouth, and I was breathless in surprise. I could feel passion radiating off him in waves, and it was all I could do to fist my hands in the cotton of his tunic, holding on for dear life. The hair Leliana had carefully arranged was destroyed beyond repair as he tangled his strong fingers into it.

He leaned into me, and I took an involuntary step back under his weight. He pressed again, and I was backed up against the door, our bodies clasped tightly together. His passion was infectious, and I was suddenly desperate to be closer to him. I could feel his muscles contracting under my fingers, and needed to lay my hands on his skin. Releasing his shirt, I slid my arms around his slim waist, slipping down beneath the edge of his tunic and back up to splay my hands against his lower back. His groan was feral, and I was actually frightened for a fraction of a second as my primitive brain responded to the much larger predator it suddenly realised was about to devour me. And I felt devoured; his mouth on mine was savage and demanding, his teeth nipping at my lips, his tongue dueling with mine. A shot of adrenaline coursed through me like fire, and a submissive moan was all I managed in response.

His knee pressed between my legs, and mine separated to allow access. The sounds I could hear were exhilarating and confusing; I was so wrapped up in him I didn't even recognise my own voice. A moan as his thigh pressed against my sex; a sigh as his lips left mine; a gasp as he instead tilted my head and latched onto my neck; a growl as I felt his hardness on my hip. I needed him more than I needed air, and I started scrabbling at the buttons on his tunic, barely managing to disentangle his arms long enough to shove it down to the floor. One of his arms slipped around my waist, giving me an opening to run my fingers through his hair on their way down to stroke across his broad, muscular shoulders. His skin was hot to the touch, a striking contrast to the cold air, and I shuddered in response.

Releasing me again, he reached down to grab at the fabric of my dress, trying to pull it up and get access to my own skin. The voluminous skirts thwarted him, tumbling down around his hands, and finally I pushed him away an inch, grabbed the hem, and lifted my arms, pulling the dress off over my head and tossing it to the floor. I hadn't bothered with bra or underwear for a quick run to the kitchen, and this left me naked. He let out a possessive growl as he raked over me with his eyes, and I flushed, pink traveling from my cheeks, to the tips of my ears, to the tops of my breasts, and I saw his eyes darken with appreciation. Despite the horror-movie hair I knew I must be sporting, I'd never felt so beautiful in my life.

He returned to me then, hands suddenly everywhere, lips glued to my neck, providing both literal and figurative warmth to fight the chill in the air. His thigh returned to its place between my legs, and I could feel the rough linen of his trousers rubbing across my lower lips. I wondered if I'd leave a stain, and decided I didn't care. His hands roamed, from my neck, to cup my breasts, grip my ass and pull me tighter against him, tickle across my abdomen and tease my navel. Each new touch dragged another sound from my lips. He knelt in front of me, sucking each of my small breasts into his mouth in turn, hands still exploring me, and I grabbed a handful of his hair to hold his head in place while shudders ran through me. I felt like molten lava ran through my veins, not blood, and each place he touched was its own miniature volcano. Despite everything, I'd never truly felt feeble before, but in the face of his passion I was weak as a kitten.

When he stood up, I couldn't take it any longer and fumbled at the waist of his trousers. He pushed my hands away, finally ripping the knotted cord that held them up, and kicked them off. I stared at him, my own perfect Adonis, his muscles rippling in time to his panting breaths, and he let me look, a knowing smile playing across his flushed face. My gaze travelled further down and I saw that he was hard, head purple and slightly leaking, reaching up towards me, and I needed him. I almost sobbed with need, hands reaching out for him. He waited another heartbeat, and then two, and I finally found my voice and whispered out a stuttered "Pl...please, Alistair."

The last syllable rose to a cry as he rushed back to me, arms around me, lifting, pressing, and suddenly he had my legs wrapped around his waist, his hands on my ass, and he was lowering me onto him. I tilted my hips slightly as I felt his tip brush over my sex, capturing him and holding the right angle as he filled me. He pressed my back against the door, holding himself still and letting me adjust to his size. I wasn't having that, my need was too great, and I awkwardly tried to thrust my hips against his, scraping my nails across his back. Getting the picture, he buried his face in my neck again and lifted with his arms, sliding me up his cock before mercilessly dropping me back down. I hissed in pleasure, urging him to do it again, and he complied, setting up a rhythm, pounding into me, demanding surrender, and I cried out wantonly.

I heard myself babbling, and as embarrassed as I was, I couldn't seem to stop. As he relentlessly thrust into me, a steady stream of endearments poured from my lips.

"Only for you, Alistair. It was always and only you. I've never wanted anyone else, forever just for you."

I peaked quickly, the lava boiling now, but he was relentless and kept going, kept demanding, and my whispers gave way to a rising keen as my temperature kept increasing, and I wondered if sex could actually make someone's head explode, and then I couldn't think as I came again, hips wriggling uselessly.

Before I even had a chance to draw a breath, he lifted me up and off him, setting my feet shakily on the floor, and I moaned in despair as I was suddenly empty. I didn't have much time to think, however; he turned me, taking my hands and bracing them on the door where my back had been, reached around in front of me to run his fingers through my sodden lips, bent down a bit awkwardly, and suddenly I was filled again from behind.

I bowed my head, resting it against my arms on the door, enjoying the aftershocks of my last orgasm as my walls squeezed him within me. He groaned again, and hunched over me, one hand reaching around to cup a small breast, his thumb flicking across my nipple, while the other steadied my hip. It was his turn to babble, and I heard him breathlessly whispering a mantra of possession and passion.

"You are mine, I'll never let you go. So beautiful! Maker's Breath, I love you, Sierra."

His thrusts increased in tempo again, and realising I was adequately stabilised, his hand followed the line of my hip, down in front, where his deft fingers found my button. Already over stimulated, I thrashed and shrieked, and with a roar his rhythm faltered and I felt him pulse inside me. Shuddering together, his hands finally stilled and slid away from my oversensitive parts, at the same time that he softened and slipped out of me. I turned and threw my arms around his neck, and he chuckled and wrapped his own around me. We clung together as we caught our breath, and then I felt his knees buckle. We collapsed to the ground in slow motion, managing only to turn so I landed in a pile of quilts, that he'd kicked away before bed, instead of on the stone floor. He ended up lying across me, his head pillowed on my breast, his belly pressed against my sex, his hips between my knees, while I lay on my back with my arms around his shoulders. I could feel our mixed secretions seeping out, probably soaking his belly and pooling in the blankets under me, but neither of us cared enough to do anything about it.

I repositioned some of the quilts to provide myself a makeshift pillow, then returned to running my fingers through his hair and stroking his soft skin. It was an interesting contrast between the smooth skin and the hard muscle underneath, and I enjoyed the goosebumps I elicited as I played.

"So...what brought that on, love?" I finally asked, curious.

His voice was muffled as he nuzzled my breast, but I could have sworn he sounded embarrassed.

"I woke up, and you weren't here. I thought...I thought you were gone. Back to your world. That I might never see you again. I jumped up and got dressed, planning to search the place. When you opened the door, I was so relieved, I just...lost control."

"If this is my reward, I'm going to bring you breakfast in bed more often, I think." I grinned and he blushed. "Maybe not for a few days, though. I'm going to need some recovery time."

"Oh, Maker, did I hurt you? I was so frantic..."

"Hurt? No. Never. Wear out? Maybe a little bit." He lifted his head and grinned up at me, face smug. I playfully slapped his shoulder.

"But, Alistair..." I pointed out the amulet that hung around my neck, the only thing I wore besides a satiated templar. "You could have just checked the bedpost. You saw me take this off last night..."

His smugness turned into sheepishness. "I didn't even think to look. I just...panicked." I snickered again.

"Well I'm not complaining." His smug smile resurfaced, and I grinned in return, at the same time that my mind worried. What will happen the next time I actually disappear? I had tried to avoid Alistair for just this reason, but I was too weak...had I doomed him to panic every time I was out of his line of sight for five minutes?

We fell asleep like that, on the floor, his body heat preventing me from getting cold. What finally woke us again was his stomach growling, and we laughed and crawled into the bed, naked, feeding each other playfully. We finally took turns washing up at the washstand and dressing before wandering down to the private dining room Aedan had rented. I was stiff, again, and wondered if I'd get the chance to drag Zev aside and ask if that ever got better, if you could get used to it. And to get a recipe for making those little healing bottles...

We had planned a quiet day, overall; the three rogues were going to do some more recon on Marjolaine's place, and the rest of us were just going to relax. In the dining room, Zev slipped me another healing bottle and then he left with Leli and Aedan, each of them giving me a hug on their way out. It occurred to me that I'd probably not had as many hugs in my entire life prior to Thedas as I had in the couple of months since. I'd begun to take it for granted, even, which was an amazing thought.

Wynne decided to go to the market, and after some assurances from me, Alistair agreed to accompany her; I decided I'd stay at the Pearl and write some letters. He made me promise not to leave without him, and as sweet as it was, it irritated me a little. When I sniped at him and called him 'father', he backed off and apologised for being condescending. I forgave him immediately -- those damn puppy dog eyes! -- but decided to milk it a little first. I grumbled some more, until he volunteered some payback.

"If you'll forgive me, I promise I will do anything you ask for the rest of the day after I get back."

I grinned, mind spinning. "Anything?"

He actually looked a little bit frightened, but nodded anyway. I grinned lasciviously. "Done." I leaned in to kiss him softly. "Hurry back."

I winked and he blanched before hurrying off to meet Wynne.

I wandered down to the main room of the Pearl and found Sanga, as always, standing near the bar. I had to say she looked like the least likely Madam I could imagine -- clean, neatly dressed, and just a little bit matronly. She was probably five years older than me. I tried to imagine her as a prostitute and just couldn't do it. I figured it would be rude to ask, so I just tried not to think about it anymore.

I bought some parchment and a quill pen and ink, and when I told her I'd never used a quill pen, she gave me a strange look but also gifted me some parchment scraps to practice writing on and some blotting sand in a little bag, which was apparently to keep the ink from smudging. I also got some sealing wax. I took my finds back to the private dining room and began to practice what was essentially calligraphy. It wasn't going to be neat -- I kept accidentally turning the quill, making the tip vary in width so my letters looked like they were scrawled by a drunk third grader, but it was legible. I figured out the sand -- sprinkle it on the words, then roll the parchment and pour the sand back into the bag -- and the sealing wax was easy, though I didn't have a ring or anything with which to make an impression.

The first letter flowed fairly easily.

My Lord Nathaniel Howe,

I don't know if this letter will reach you in time, but I hold out hope. You don't know me, though I know much about you. I know you're an honourable man, which is the most important thing for my purposes.

I can't word it any better; your father has gone mad. He is power-hungry and ruthless. You may have heard that he took Highever Castle; the part you won't have heard is that his excuse for doing so, the supposed treachery of the Couslands, was invented by him to justify his actions to the Landsmeet. There is no proof, as there couldn't be; the Couslands were no traitors. You probably also did not hear how he had everyone in the castle slaughtered, including defenseless children and servants, because he could not allow anyone to survive and be questioned.

He has also imprisoned and tortured nobles and Templars alike, and has even set up his new Denerim Estate bedroom with a private entrance to the dungeon so he can be more intimately...involved...with the torture. He now claims the titles not only to his Arling, but also Teyrn of Highever and Arl of Denerim. No one man should have so many noble titles; you know this, I think.

I know you have no reason to believe me, and I don't require you to; all I ask is that you come and see for yourself. I am hopeful that you can help to resolve this, and perhaps even keep your family name from being completely blackened. Please, come and see what he has done, what he has become. Then you can decide what is right.

Maker watch over you,

Sierra Jones

I re-read the letter multiple times, and then put it aside to show Alistair (and Aedan, if he would read it). The next letter required a bit more thought. I knew I couldn't save everyone, but I had to try.

Dear Varric,

You don't know me, and we will probably never meet, though I could wish it were otherwise. I am writing to you with a rather unbelievable story, but I am hoping that I can somehow make you believe it. The lives and happiness of several people you will come to meet and care about depend on it.

I am something of a seer, and I have seen some aspects of the future involving yourself and those around you. I do not know why, all I can do is try to prevent some of the tragedy I have foreseen.

I know that you are planning a Deep Roads Expedition with your brother, Bartrand. I would try to discourage it, but I know it is unlikely you will listen. I hope, then, that I can convince you to at least take some precautions when you do.

The first is: do not touch the red Lyrium, and especially not the idol you will find. And definitely do not allow Bartrand to touch it. Red Lyrium causes insanity, and that idol will cause the death of many, many people. Bartrand will go mad, and in his madness, will try to trap you in the Deep Roads so he does not have to share his treasure. Search your heart; you know he's capable of doing it.

The second is: do not go on the expedition without the Grey Warden mage who will provide the maps you need. There are darkspawn in the Deep Roads, and if someone becomes tainted, he is their only hope for a cure.

You will meet someone, in a year or so, who will agree to be part of the expedition. Her name is Hawke. She will have a startling menagerie of companions, and you will become one as well. I do not know if either of her siblings survived to arrive in Kirkwall. If they did, I beg you to have her send them, and her mother Leandra, away. Anywhere other than Kirkwall will do. If they stay, she will lose everyone. Kirkwall will need Hawke, but if her family stays, there will be only tragedy. Her siblings, if they have survived this far, will either die, end up as Grey Wardens, or end up in the Circle as either Templar or mage; and her mother will be targeted by an insane blood mage and killed. The only way I know for her to keep them safe is to send them far away. Show her this letter, if you think it will help. Her family can return to Ferelden, and if they seek out the Grey Wardens here, I will attempt to ensure they receive whatever aid they require.