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peopleofthedas2011-06-06 01:47 pm
I Want You to Show Me (Menage 8)
Title: I Want You To Show Me (Menage 8)
Words: 3352
Rating: R for dubcon!fail
Characters: Alistair/f!Surana (Philoméne) and Zevran, featuring Nathaniel, Oghren, Anders, and a side of Delilah
Summary: Amaranthine brings a number of unpleasant realizations to the surface.
<- Previous: As Girls Go
Philoméne decided not to take the main road up to Amaranthine, instead following the trail that led up the coastline. She was coming to like rocky ground and the smell and coolness of being by the sea. She was a storm-lover, and the spirits of storm were delightfully near in this place.
Also, it allowed her to address a feverish plea for help she’d received as she was just leaving the gates of the Keep. The camp the kidnappers were using was not far off the trail, and they were making no especial effort to hide: they’d been expecting Lord Bensley to come himself to ransom back his daughter, not go running to the Wardens for protection. It was quick work dealing with them, but she did get a chance to see how good Nathaniel was with a bow.
“Did you know the girl?” she asked him after the lord’s daughter had run off home.
“Not well. But I think she and Delilah used to – stop that,” he scowled.
“Stop what?”
“Acting like you’re a friend of mine. Acting interested in me and my family. You destroyed my family.”
“I killed a man who was trying to kill me. You’re the one who keeps saying it was a war, aren’t you? I wasn’t out to hurt your whole family. I was trying to stop the Blight.”
“And he looked like a hurlock, I suppose.”
“Oh, don’t leave that big an opening,” Anders interjected. “If she doesn’t take it, I will.”
Nathaniel turned his glare toward Anders. “I don’t recall that either of us was speaking to you.”
“I don’t recall you going off out of earshot, either. Anyway, we’re your family now, eh? Happy Wardens together! Be a sport about it.”
Any slight progress they were making down the trail stopped entirely, and Nathaniel was crossing over from resentment to bewilderment. “Be a sport about it? Are you both completely mad?”
“Of course! Have you not heard of apostates before? Mad, the lot of us.”
Philoméne sighed and crossed her arms. “Ah, this. I didn’t miss this. Please stop fighting.”
They hardly seemed to notice her. “Anyway,” Anders went on, growing steadily louder, “she saved your life, and you’re being an ingrate!”
“Saved my – fine.” Nathaniel turned on his heel back toward Philoméne, stepped close enough to breathe the same air, and glowered down at her. “Thank you for not wiping out quite all of my lineage,” he growled. “Thank you for being either inefficient or cruel enough to leave at least one of us alive to see everything we built over centuries crumble to dust. Thank you.”
Philoméne nodded as if oblivious to his sarcasm. “You’re welcome.”
That rendered him nearly livid, but Oghren was apparently done with the conversation. “Walking!” he snorted. “Isn’t that what those long legs are supposed to be good for? Walking? Get your asses moving, soldiers!”
They were startled enough to comply, dropping the argument and moving down the trail. Philoméne slouched in relief as she and Oghren took up the rear. “Thank you, Oghren. Something you’ve done before, I take it?”
“Smack new recruits into line? Sure. Used to be my favorite part of the job, after killing things. Which of them d’you think gets killed first?”
“Give them some credit. I know Anders is a talented mage, and Nathaniel seems formidable. We’re not going to lose them the first time we go into battle.”
Oghren snickered. “Naw, Warden. When Alistair and Zevran get here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they’re both so keen to get down your mine shaft you’d think it was full of lyrium! You suppose your boys are going to take kindly to claim jumpers?” He shook his head, scowling abruptly. “Shit, I just hope they don’t decide it was my job to kill the nugheads. The elf gets nasty when he’s mad.”
“I... still don’t know what you’re saying. Do I want to?”
Oghren laughed at her instead of answering. “Ah, you’re clueless, woman. Just fry darkspawn heads, and I’ll watch your back.”
That didn’t keep her from continuing to wonder, but once they reached the city there were other things to worry about. Right away, some fellow on the street recognized that they must be an adventuring party, and asked her to help unblock a trade passage that was supposed to open out at the local tavern. She’d just been talking to Mistress Woolsey about making sure trade flowed freely in Amaranthine, so it seemed like a good enough idea. All it even took was a short chat with a barkeep – but then the city guard caught wind of it, and it made them distinctly unfriendly toward her. Constable Aidan muttered under his breath every time she came near the city gate.
She tried to make up the lost ground with other quick bits of aid, tracking down maleficarum and dangerous thugs who were making trouble, but those things only won over the Templars, not the guardsmen. Meanwhile, the missing Warden Varel had thought might still be in Amaranthine was gone; he’d only left a few personal effects and scribbled notes about tracking intelligent darkspawn into a cheery-sounding place called Blackmarsh. She’d also heard from a local that there were darkspawn to be had in Knotwood Hills. They were sodding everywhere, and the Blight was over.
At least Kristoff’s room was paid up through the rest of the month, so she only had to pay for one. She put the men in Kristoff’s, which seemed to be the larger, and took the smaller for herself. She could hear them bickering through the wall as she drifted off to sleep.
In the morning they found Delilah in the marketplace. She didn’t carry herself especially like a former noblewoman; she seemed quite comfortable in her merchant-class frock and humble surroundings. The resemblance was clear, though, in their coloring and features.
After a few moments of blustering and embraces, Nathaniel recollected his wits enough to be coherent. “You don’t have to stay here like this. I’ll help you find a place to stay. I don’t – I don’t suppose we still own the place in Denerim, do we? But – ”
Delilah had a low, easy laugh. “I’m where I want to be, Nate. With my husband.”
“You married a commoner? Is that what you’ve been reduced to?”
She folded her arms at him. “It isn’t what I’m reduced to, it’s what I chose. I love him. And anyway, I just... couldn’t stand it any more. The things Father was doing by the end.”
“There was a war. I’m sure everyone did regrettable things.”
His sister shook her head vigorously. “You don’t understand. I know you always believed in him, growing up, but – I’m sorry.” She turned to face Philoméne and the others. “Do you have other errands you could attend to and come back for my brother later, sers? These are family matters, of a sort I am not keen to discuss in front of strangers.”
Nathaniel was already preparing his complaint when Philoméne agreed. Stopped short, he gave his sister a bewildered nod and followed her away.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Anders asked. “He might run off.”
“Unlike you?”
“Hey,” he smiled. “I haven’t run away from you once, so far.”
“He won’t either. At best, he’ll stay because he feels responsibility to the Wardens, and at worst, he’ll stay to get another chance at revenge. Meanwhile, let’s shop or something.”
That was dull, because she’d already committed most of her purse to repairs and munitions. It was interesting that the “grocer” had staves behind a flap in his tent, but they were too expensive. Other than that, the main point of interest was the easy availability of poisons, which seemed to be everywhere.
Giving up on shops and wandering the rest of town proved more intriguing, in that they ended up running into an old acquaintance of Anders’. And by “old acquaintance,” it quickly became clear that he meant “one-time bedmate,” although Philoméne found it hard to imagine the man who’d turned all heads in the Tower having to settle for a woman who looked like she was made out of Dalish leather. She tried so hard not to look as though she was thinking something so insulting that she almost missed the fact that they were talking about a cache of phylacteries.
Right here in Amaranthine. After the disaster when she’d tried to help Jowan destroy his phylactery, she’d never thought about trying again, even though the whole idea of what they were still rankled. But if they were right here....
She stayed politely silent until the woman left them and Anders turned to face her, trying in vain to control his look of excitement. “Can we?” he asked like a child wanting a treat.
“Do you... think mine might be there?”
“I knew you’d understand. I honestly don’t know, but it’s worth a look, right?”
“Yes.” She paused, wondering whether she wanted to say the rest of what she was thinking. “You and that woman, really? You can do better.”
“Just the once.” He smirked. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but not everyone out here in the world thinks that mages are sexy.” At that he laughed a little, and brushed Philoméne’s chin with his thumb. “Of course you haven’t noticed.”
“I notice things!” she protested.
“Right,” Oghren muttered to himself. “It’ll be Anders, then.”
The building in which the phylacteries were supposedly being kept was unassuming and unguarded. At first they thought that might itself be a sign of secrecy, but as they searched it they realized that it was also nearly bare. And then, when they did find the back room, there was the locking of the door behind them and the sardonic voice saying, “Here you are, Anders! I was really starting to think you wouldn’t take the bait.”
Rylock. Of course Rylock. Why would she let the mere rule of law stop her?
Anders was so distressed as to be oddly petulant. “Oh, come on! The Queen told you to let me go!”
“The Templars overrule the Crown in this kind of matter,” Rylock said, in almost perfect imitation of what she’d said last time.
Philoméne lifted a hand to unstrap her staff, watching the several Templars watch her as she did. It would be dangerous to cross them, but this really could not be tolerated. “And mine overrides yours, as I have told you before,” she frowned. “Perhaps you need someone to explain to you what conscription means.”
“Hardly surprising that another apostate would try to defend him,” Rylock answered blandly. “I would be doing Ferelden a favor by dealing with you both.”
Philoméne did not answer immediately, because she was almost blind with rage, and it was a new feeling she was unsure how to handle. Oghren helped her by hefting his axe and snarling. “You want me to open this tin can for you, Commander?”
She took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
With more speed than she would have given him credit for, Oghren charged between Rylock and the mages, bellowing and swinging. Unfortunately that left three other Templars unchallenged and only somewhat disoriented by a berserker amongst the mages. The first one off the mark wasn’t experienced enough to nullify both her and Anders, so arcs of lightning leapt from him across to the other two, which in turn gave Anders an opening for a fireball.
That was the end of that run of luck, though: Rylock kept her head even when injured, and she did know how to ruin a whole room for spells. While Philoméne watched her own fire sputter and die, the man furthest right realized that Oghren had become the most dangerous target, and moved toward his exposed flank. She cried out to him, already figuring it useless –
Only to find it pointless when Anders swung his staff like a club, clocking the Templar up the side of the head with it.
She’d never thought of that. Now that she had, it allowed her to lift the butt of her staff in time to intersect with the stomach of the one advancing on her. That did as much to throw her backward as to stop his advance, but during the confusion she felt Rylock’s hold on the room slip, and she used the moment to hurl a ball of lightning at the leader’s head.
It was enough to put her down, and with that, the tide turned back in their favor. Still, it was a good thing that Anders had a talent for healing, because none of them were at their best by the time it was all over.
“Thank you,” Anders said quietly to both of them, his hands on the front and back of Philoméne’s wrenched shoulder. “No one’s ever... stood behind me like that.”
“Don’t mention it, blondie,” Oghren groaned. “Just fix my foot and then buy me a couple of kegs of ale.”
“I’m sorry about the phylacteries, Phi.”
“It was worth a try. All in all, this still wasn’t as bad as the last time I went on a phylactery raid.”
Anders grinned. “Well! Let’s do it again sometime, then!”
“Hurgh,” Oghren frowned. “Hands off the Commander, kid. She’s healed plenty. My foot ain’t!”
When they emerged, evening was coming on, and Nathaniel was still nowhere to be found. Philoméne shushed away both of her companions’ mutterings and suggested going back to the inn. He might be there, after all; and even if he wasn’t, they may as well rest the night before looking for him in the morning.
He was not in the tavern area, at least. Oghren and Anders quickly gave up the meager pleasures of saying they’d suspected as much in favor of the greater ones of eating and drinking. By the time Philoméne had finished pecking idly at her food, they were both pleasantly flushed and cackling like a pair of hens. Nice that they were getting along, but she wasn’t in the mood for the kind of juvenile humor a few rounds of ale seemed to inspire in them. She decided to go to bed early.
She had already closed the door behind her when she heard breathing in the still-darkened room. She sent just enough power through her staff to make the tip glow, and in its faint blue light she saw Nathaniel sitting on the edge of her bed. He didn’t move, but he looked up at her glumly, the anger she was used to mixed with a desolation she was not.
“Nathaniel?” she whispered. “Did you want to talk to me?”
For such a simple question, it seemed to make things worse. He winced at her. “Delilah told me everything. I honestly had no idea. Maker help me, I thought you were just trying to justify yourself after the fact.”
“I understand.”
“No you don’t,” he growled, rising to his feet. “How can you when I don’t? I don’t understand anything.” He stepped in close, and instinctively she fell back a step. So much anger. She never seemed to know what to do with so much anger.
“I would have murdered you,” he hissed.
“You didn’t. You’re not your father.”
“No?” He grabbed her by the shoulders and stepped forward again, backing her against the wall. “I worshipped the ground he walked on all my life. I tried to be everything I thought he was. And he was a monster.” With a lifeless chuckle, he pressed close to her. “Isn’t it possible I’m a monster?”
She didn’t want to hurt him. She didn’t want to start wondering whether he could hurt her. “I don’t think you are.”
“No. I understand you least of all.” Suddenly his lips were pressed hard against hers, forcing them to open to him. In shock she let go of her staff and it clattered to the floor, its light sputtering out. All she could see was his dark shape looming over her as his hands slid down toward her wrists. She twisted, trying to avoid the danger of having her hands restricted, but his arms were much stronger, and forced hers down to her sides. She moaned a little, and he moaned back, his tongue invading her mouth and his body starting to slide against hers, demanding.
She managed to break free of the kiss, which only encouraged him to bite at her neck. “Stop this,” she rasped. “It isn’t what you want to do.”
“Isn’t it?” he grinned, slapping both of her wrists up above her head so he could pin them both with one hand and free his other to explore her breasts. “It feels like the smartest thing I’ve done in weeks.”
“It isn’t what you want to be.”
He shut her up with another kiss, so she tested his control of her hands. He was strong enough to keep her still with one hand, plus the way he leaned into her. Perhaps she would be able to wrest one hand free for just long enough to cast something, but she would have to dedicate herself very firmly to beating him... and that was something she was not sure she had the will to do. The certainty and insistence of his touch threw her into confusion; her aching nipples and the wetness between her thighs said it might not really be time for him to stop, yet. What would it be like? Would it be different?
But the very fact that she had stopped struggling made him falter. His kiss went suddenly gentle for a moment, and then he nipped angrily at her bottom lip, once and then again, the second time underscoring his frustration by banging her wrists loudly against the wall and leaning into her so hard she could barely breathe.
“Nathaniel,” she whispered.
He pulled back, bringing her off the wall with him, only to throw her at it. “Maker’s breath, woman!” he roared. “What kind of witch are you?”
There wasn’t an answer she thought would help, so for a moment they both stood facing each other in the dark, not moving, listening to each other’s ragged breath.
Then came the banging on the door. “Commander?” cried Anders’ voice. “Are you all right in there?”
“I’m fine,” she heard herself say, but the voice wasn’t quite normal.
“Sod it,” Oghren said, and she jumped at the noise as her door was kicked in. Light from the hall flooded into the room, haloing the anxious-looking mage and dwarf. Nathaniel looked back and forth between them and Philoméne, looking as bewildered and lost as she felt. She wrapped her arms around herself as far as they would go.
“Oh, look!” Anders snarled. “It’s mister ‘You destroyed my family and I will avenge them,’ sneaking into the Commander’s room and making dangerous banging sounds! That’s not suspicious.” The tip of his staff started to glow.
“Stop it!” she cried. “I’m fine!” She raised a hand to make sure Anders didn’t fire. “Look, Anders. He never drew a weapon. We were talking.”
Anders’ eyes narrowed. “In the dark. With banging noises.” Slowly, some of the tension eased, replaced with a faint smirk. “Were you doing that kind of talking?”
“No!” Philoméne and Nathaniel both said together.
Oghren scowled. “Changing my bet. It’s Nathaniel.”
Her cheeks were hot. “Everyone out,” she snapped. “My room. I’m going to sleep.” She waved her arms frantically at them.
When they’d all shuffled out and she was alone, sitting on her bed as she tried to sort herself out, she finally realized what Oghren’s “bet” actually was and wished she hadn’t.
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And Oghren, what a charmer. :D
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So much win in this with Oghren's betting, but I have to say my favorite line was from Anders...
Very funny!
I have to work most of the day, but I really want to get some story written for Cuchullain and Mojito before I spend more time in the bar and put myself further behind in conversation/storyline.
Hmmm, maybe we can write some Fade Bar stuff together later. That could be a blast, you think?