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Cassandra’s heavy, metal-plated boots rang against the stone floor of the White Spire, echoing off of the high ceilings. As she walked, mages and Templars alike gave her a wide berth—mages, with their eyes betraying quiet interest and, perhaps, affection, and Templars with poorly-veiled anger shining out from the slits in their helmets.
“I am honored to be chosen to accompany you, Seeker Pentaghast,” said the tall, robe-clad man beside her. “It is a true gift to be by your side once more.”
“You have proven yourself useful before, mage,” Cassandra said back as she pushed open the door to the White Spire, letting a flood of late summer sunlight wash over them both. “Let us hope your time as a Senior Enchanter has not dulled your skills.”
“My name isn’t mage,” he said, voice a low, teasing whisper. “It’s Galyan.”
Cassandra, now free of the eyes lining the halls, pressed her lips together in an attempt to hide an almost girlish smile. “And I prefer Cassandra to Seeker Pentaghast,” she said. They still weren’t yet out of sight. “So I suggest you watch your tongue, mage.”
“Of course, Seeker Pentaghast,” Galyan smiled. “Seeker Pentaghast, Savior of Divine Beatrix the Third, Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine.”
Cassandra let out a small disgusted noise. She counted off on her fingers. Sixteen words. “Somehow,” she said, “you managed to string together something almost three times longer than Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast. It would almost be impressive. If it weren’t so insolent.”
Galyan chuckled, nodding. “Of course, Seeker Cassandra Allegra Portia Calogera Filomena Pentaghast, Savior of Divine Beatrix the Third-”
Cassandra groaned.
“Hero of Orlais, Right Hand of the Divine, personal escort to-”
“Maker’s breath, will you cease this-?”
“Regalyan D’Marcall, Senior Enchanter of the White Spire of Orlais.” He grinned at her.
“Are you done yet?”
“But my friends just call me Galyan.”
“I could kill you, mage.”
“Quite aware, Seeker Cassandra All-”
Cassandra elbowed the mage in the side, causing him to let out a small oof, even if he refused to lose the smile. “Cassandra is fine,” she said out of the corner of her mouth. By now, they had all but reached the last stairs leading away from the White Spire. Located a few miles outside of the heart of Val Royeaux, it was forever strange how quickly the grand, glittering towers of the Circle gave way to what was all but forested peasant country. “And I shall call you Galyan,” she added as soon as her boots made contact with the cobblestone road.
He nodded to her. “I think I can accept that.”
Together, they stepped off the main road and onto a well-worn footpath. Reports told of an enclave of blood mages that had begun to form only a few miles from the White Spire. The demon-consorting, wicked-hearted maleficars were not discouraged by Frenic’s defeat mere months ago, and it was put upon Cassandra to do as she had proven herself most capable of and defeat them.
Cassandra had spent many a night praying for the Maker and Andraste to forgive such a deception.
The silence grew between them. Cassandra felt her heart race. She hadn’t been around Galyan in so many months, and yet the ache in her chest refused to grow any more tolerable. So often, she was plagued by dreams of him, by the phantom feeling of his magic on her inner thigh. She longed to speak to him, to ask about every single thing that had gone on in the Circle, to inquire after Avexis’ health, but sending a letter without any cause to do so would only incur suspicion. At this rate, she knew, she would never be able to spend weeks, if not months, in vigil. The Right Hand of the Divine, unable to focus her mind on faith for a mere month. A mere day. It was truly shameful. More drastic measures were necessary.
Under the shade of the foliage, Cassandra felt a tentative hand brush against her own. Her heart leapt into her throat and she hardly spared a glance at her surroundings before she allowed her sword hand to become preoccupied. Even through her thick gauntlets, Galyan’s hand seemed to radiate warmth.
“So,” he began, breaking the silence between them, “about these blood mages…”
“There are reports of a base of operations in an old outpost,” Cassandra said. She had stumbled upon the old fur-trapper’s cabin two weeks prior on one of her growingly frequent rides through the countryside. Dust covered every inch like thick snow, but, after the initial coughing fit left her red-faced, she had spent an hour cleaning. It became meditative after a while. The back and forth motion of the broom replaced the beads of a rosary, each whack of a stick against a blanket serving to hone her swordsmanship. The cabin was a confessional with no sharp-eared sister waiting on the other side. “I wish not to idle about in these woods.” Her tongue felt thick in her mouth. Sweat pooled between the skin of her palm and the leather of her gloves. Maker’s breath, she thought. Why? Why am I such a terrible liar? She didn’t dare glance up at Galyan for fear that her resolve would crumble. She had been so brave when she kissed him chastely on the cheek before the rug had been so suddenly pulled from beneath her. Right Hand of the Divine. The Seeker’s secrecy did her no favors. Beatrix had no idea that she was hardly out of training. That her attempts at a vigil were failing at every possible moment.
Galyan’s hand squeezed hers. “The world is lucky to have you, Cassandra,” he said. “Brave as you are, facing such… wicked magic.”
The low, knowing tone of his voice made Cassandra’s ears burn scarlet. “Wicked, indeed!” She stepped away, but her hand remained firmly locked with Galyan’s as if their fingers were wrought iron links. “Ugh,” she huffed. “Do you doubt my reports, mage?”
“Only on a few details,” he said, peering down his nose at her.
“And those are?” She said, stubbornly marching on through the foliage. Birds chirped as if they were laughing at her. She wanted to run them through, but her damned sword hand was still enchained.
“Oh, no, forget I said a thing,” Galyan said, feigning regret. “It’s hardly my place to question a Seeker, after all.”
She huffed and walked faster, dragging him along the growingly grassy pathway. She ignored his calls to slow down, caring not for the fact that his soft shoes and long robe were far from adequate attire for a hike in the woods.
“I’m a mage, not some leashed dog!” Galyan called out, his over-large, Circle-dressed legs struggling against the pace.
“Correct!” Cassandra called back, matching his volume despite being still interconnected at the palms. “I’ve never known a dog to be so insolent, but you certainly match it in your ability to yap!” She looked back at him, at his pink face, at his stupid facial hair, at his stubborn smile, at his beautiful green-blue eyes. Her two months of pining had turned her into a pudding-brained, lovestruck fool.
“You could at least put me in your satchel if I’m to be a dog!” Galyan panted, doing his best to run alongside her. “Maker’s breath, Cassandra, I’m going to be dead on my feet before we even encounter these blood mages!”
“You waste your breath with your whining,” she huffed, forcing herself to adopt a steady jog. “Consider this much-needed exercise.”
“Have I grown fat since I last saw you, Cassandra?”
I have yet to see beneath your robes, so how should I know? Her face burned at the thought, and her mouth spoke while her brain attempted to slow the internal bleeding. “Yes!”
Galyan laughed—a low, resonant sound like a Chantry bell. By the grace of Andraste, she would not turn around and tackle him to the ground and press her lips against his and let all the pent-up frustrations and desires drown him in a wave of ill-advised lust.
She would wait until they found a place with slightly more privacy.
Back and forth they bickered, Cassandra refusing to slow her pace for more than a few dozen yards, regardless of how winded the mage grew behind her. A man of the Circle needed the exercise, anyway. Eventually, they reached a bend in the trail. At the curve sat a cabin, old but more than serviceable.
“And this-” Galyan attempted to whisper, even if his panting was desperately loud. “Andraste have mercy, I think I can taste blood.”
Cassandra looked down at Galyan, doubled over beside her. “Are you a mage or an actor? You certainly have a flair for the dramatic.”
“Thank you,” Galyan wheezed. “I do try my best.” He slowly stood back up, wobbling slightly. “This is the blood mages’ humble abode, is it?”
Cassandra glared at him.
“Sorry, sorry, their most wicked abode. Their deathly cruel and quite quaint little abode.”
“You waste your breath,” Cassandra said, pulling her sweat-soaked hand away from Galyan’s in order to maneuver the few small bags clipped to her belt. “Recover, and let us continue.” She pulled a small potion bottle from one, uncorked it, and handed it to Galyan.
He let out a quiet thanks and drank from the bottle, cringing slightly at the strange, mushroom-like taste. After taking half the bottle, he passed it back to Cassandra. She took it and drank, as well, the sudden rush of relief to her muscles shedding light on how much she’d pushed herself. Ever since the events that got her branded as the Hero of Orlais, she’d hardly done more than train by herself and twiddle her thumbs.
“Alright,” Galyan said, standing to his full height. “Shall we, Seeker?” He pulled his staff from where it was attached to his back, holding it at the ready.
She nodded and stepped forward, taking the lead. Alright, she told herself. Either the reports were wrong, or they fled long enough ago for the fire to be ice-cold. She repeated the lines over and over in her mind as she walked up the small, grassy pathway to the door. Her shield up and her sword drawn, she carefully looped a finger around the unlocked door handle. Galyan stood a few feet back, giving off a slightly nervous air. Good. It was proof that she was selling the seriousness of the whole affair. A small part of her could hear Anthony in the back of her mind teasing her for her abhorrent skills in lying. No matter how long it had been, she still felt the urge to turn and smile and say I told you so. She resolved to pray later, to ask Andraste to deliver the message to her brother on her behalf.
She swung the door open and brought with it a rush of wind and a rush of fur. A small creature, perhaps a foot in length, rushed out between her legs. She whipped around, sword glinting in the afternoon sunlight, as Galyan yelped and stumbled backwards. The stoat, in its rush to escape, all but flew directly into the hem of his robe, tangling itself slightly and tipping the oversized mage off-balance. Small sparks of greenish magic burst from his hands, shooting up into the sky and breaking loose a few leaves from the canopy above them. Frantic paws left dusty tracks all over Galyan’s black robes, adding to the mess of the dust kicked up by his fall.
Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh. She doubled over as the tiny, furred terror left scratches along Galyan’s face as it sprung off and dashed toward the trees. Perhaps it wasn’t very Andraste-like to laugh at the suffering of another, but, as her sides began to cramp, Cassandra realized that she had hardly even smiled since she saw Galyan last, let alone laughed.
“You are the most-” Galyan sat up and pointed at her accusingly. “Unempathetic woman I’ve ever met.” He was smiling. “You’re a right Templar, you are, laughing at a poor mage’s suffering like that.”
Cassandra sheathed her sword and pulled off a gauntlet to wipe the tears from her face. “When a mage that helped kill a Pride demon ten times his size is defeated by a stoat, I think it is hardly a terrible thing to laugh.” She offered her hand to Galyan.
“Fifteen,” he said, accepting her hand. “At least fifteen times bigger.”
Such a man, she thought. Exaggerating the size of things. She was glad for the laughter having already turned her skin a warm red. His robes left far too much to the imagination, and she hardly saw a glimpse of anything those months ago when they first met. She swallowed and cleared her throat. “I- I suggest we look inside,” she said, trying to sound resolute.
“For blood mages?”
“Yes. For blood mages.” She turned on her heel and walked inside. “Or,” she added, “more stoats. A foe far more equipped to defeat you, it seems.”
“I’ll never live this down, will I?”
“I will let time be the judge of that,” she said. She stopped a few paces into the tiny cabin. With Galyan’s large frame towering behind her, it quite suddenly felt far… cozier than it had the last time she stepped foot in it.
“Hello?” Galyan called out to the tiny cabin. “Any mages in here?” Just as she was about to chide him, he gasped and clung to her shoulders. “There!” He cried. “Stay where you are!”
Cassandra felt her blood run cold. “What? Where? Galyan!” She reached for the sword at her hip.
“Right there!” Galyan pointed straight ahead. “Look!”
Cassandra’s eyes instantly whipped to where Galyan’s finger pointed. Staring back at her, framed in old wood, was a window. In it was her own reflection and Galyan’s, whose lips were pressed together, whose eyes, even at this distance, clearly displayed a boyish joy. With her non-gauntleted hand, she whipped around and smacked him.
He recoiled, pressing a hand to his cheek. “Ow!” He winced. “I should have remembered that you have a… very good arm on you, Cassandra.”
“That was-!” She let out a frustrated cry through her teeth. “Oh, you blighted mage!” She flexed the muscles on her stinging hand. “There,” she huffed. “Now we’re even. I’ve had my fun, and you’ve had yours.”
“And they both ended with something happening to my face,” he added. “What shall I tell the Circle? That the blood mages decided to forgo all blood magic and settled, instead, on using tiny little claws and one Cassandra-sized palm?”
“Of all the mages in the Circle, I just had to bring you along.”
“Mhmm.” Galyan removed his hand from his cheek and leaned against the still open doorway. “Bring me along, you did.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “There weren’t ever any blood mages, were there?”
She felt her heart begin to race. “I told you, there were reports-”
“From whom?”
“What?”
“Who reported this, Seeker Pentaghast? Surely, as someone traveling with you to hunt down these maleficars, I should be privy to this information.”
Quick! Her brain started to sputter out. Think of something! Concerned peasants? Templar patrols?
“Hmm?”
Oh! A Chantry sister! She heard them chanting in the moonlight, and she- “I have my sources,” she said, tongue failing to do anything her mind commanded of it. “And I do not appreciate this- this insubordination.”
Galyan turned and closed the door behind him, shutting out much of the natural light. “I’ve missed you, too, Cassandra,” he said, his voice a low, shockingly sweet whisper. “It’s just us.” He drew the curtains closed on the western-facing window.
“This was a foolish idea,” she whispered back. As he passed by her on the way to the other window, she turned her head away from him. Her metal-plated arms clinked against her breastplate as she hugged herself. “Our mission, it-” She tried to steady herself. “The blood mages fled. They must have heard tell that we were coming. We’ve no leads. It was a fool’s errand that we were on.”
“This isn’t a fool’s errand.” The other curtains were drawn, and the room fell into darkness. “I don’t think it is, at least.”
Cassandra turned toward the sound of Galyan’s gentle voice.
“Let there be light,” he whispered. Slowly, his face was illuminated in a warm orange glow as the fire, stocked with fresh wood she had collected, started to awaken. The entire cabin was soon coated in the soft orange hue. Galyan’s brown hair took on a rich, coppery shimmer, and his skin lost some of its paleness. Small claw marks and the outline of her hand were softened somewhat in the light. He turned to look at her. “Cassandra?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes. She looked toward the curtains, and a part of her grew tense. At any moment, the thin line of daylight could be disrupted by a fellow Seeker, come to track her down. A man, clad in black armor, ready to burst down the door, to let the all-seeing eye witness her bare flesh and broken Vows. Oh, Maker, what have I done?
“Come now,” Galyan said, standing and approaching her. “What happened to the Cassandra that-?”
“Whatever you are about to say,” she said, cutting him off, “this is-” She looked up, meeting his eyes for a moment before she looked away. “What we did, saving the Divine, defeating Frenic, saving Avexis…” She swallowed. “Those things were holy. They were good.”
Galyan’s hand came to rest on the warm metal of her armored shoulder. “I can’t say that what we’re doing is exactly ordained by the Maker Himself…” He smiled. “Or, at least, what I believe we’re soon to be doing…”
“Galyan, please.”
“But I know this, Cassandra.” His hand cupped her jaw, forcing her to look up at him. “For the last two months, I have thought of little more than you.”
Her eyes went wide. Her heart slammed against the back of the all-seeing eye on her chest. She felt so warm. So deeply, irreparably warm.
“I meant it when I told you that you were the bravest person I had ever met. And the most beautiful.” His thumb traced gentle circles on her cheek. The outline of her palm was still visible on his. “Your absence has not lessened what I feel for you.” He took a deep breath. “Andraste have mercy, Cassandra, words cannot express how elated I was to see your signature requesting my temporary leave of the Circle.”
Temporary. “Galyan, this isn’t right.” She brought her own hand up to press against Galyan’s. Soft, masculine hair tickled her palm.
His eyebrows furrowed.
Her heart insisted that she do anything to smooth them.
“Cassandra, if you do not feel the same, then why-?”
“I do,” she confessed. “Maker’s breath, Galyan, I cannot think of a single thing that has brought me joy since I last saw you.” She felt her eyes begin to burn, but she willed her tears not to fall. “Each night, I attempt to start my vigil-” The Seeker’s vows of secrecy meant nothing. Galyan had to know. To know just as much as she did, however scant. “To resolve my mind to think of nothing but my faith.” She took a quivering breath. “But, each night, I think of you. I long for you.” So many sleepless nights, lying awake in her stiff bed, tracing the half-healed scar on her inner thigh in an attempt to conjure up the feeling of Galyan’s palm, of his magic. Her linens would grow damp and she would quickly draw her hand away, but the damage had been done. The Fade thought it amusing, it seemed, to fill whatever sleep she managed to get with visions of Galyan’s large, masculine body, the low, warm sound of his laughter, the memory of his touches, however brief, that left her waking up in a pool of sweat and soiled underthings.
“If you wish, we can do nothing but sit and talk,” he said. “But…” He raised his unoccupied hand and a small surge of magic left it. There was the sound of the door’s latch falling into place. “Not that I think there are many ne’er-do-wells in these woods.”
“Perhaps not,” Cassandra sighed. “Just us.” A small smile crept onto her face, even if the nerves still bubbled in her stomach. “And a very cross stoat.”
He smiled back at her. “And a very cross stoat, yes.” He drew in a long breath, held it for a moment, and sighed. “If nothing else, Cassandra, would you permit this mage to foolishly step beyond his station and kiss you?”
She couldn’t think of a single clever thing to say back. In an instant, she threw her arms around him, pulling him down to crash their lips together. She hadn’t the faintest idea what she was doing, but it only took Galyan a moment to seemingly regain his sense and start kissing her in return. His eyes closed, and hers soon followed suit. His other hand cupped the yet-touched side of her jaw, forbidding her escape. His lips parted, allowing for her bottom lip to slot perfectly between them. With a soft moan, he bit down, ever so gently, on her tender flesh.
“Cassandra,” he breathed, just barely pulling away. His large, handsome nose still dug slightly into her cheek, and his breath was warm against her skin. “Sweet Andraste, Cassandra, I-”
Her eyes fluttered open and met his. “This armor, it’s-” Her breathing was labored. “It’s so-” She was burning up. “Galyan, I’ve never-” Never kissed. Never made love. Never thought I would. Not until I met you. “I know we shouldn’t, but-”
“I have,” he whispered, shifting slightly to press a kiss to her cheek. “I’m hardly a rake, but I know how to go about these things.” His hands left her face and found the buckles on her armor with ease.
“I never thought you were.”
“Should I be flattered or offended?” He hummed.
“Oh, hush.” She let out a sigh of relief as her chest plate loosened. “I am sorry, I must-” She pulled away, even if her arms ached as they unwound from the back of Galyan’s neck. Thankfully, the interlocking plates of her armor didn’t snag on his beautiful brown hair. She threw her remaining gauntlet to the floor and, working alongside Galyan’s, her hands began to undo her heavy metal shell.
Neither of them spoke as they slowly removed their outer layers. Armor fell to the floor with slight clatters, and the few layers of Galyan’s robe were quick to come undone. She did her best to will her hands to cease their shaking, but she was largely unsuccessful. Through his thin linen tunic, Cassandra could see the dark shadows of his chest hair against his pale skin.
“Shall we?” He asked, eyes flickering toward the bed.
Cassandra took a deep breath, held it for a moment, released it, and nodded.
He put a hand on her hip and, slowly, guided her to the bed. Their stockinged feet padded softly along the old and slightly damp wooden floorboards. “Any interest in the top?” He asked, his voice a playful whisper. “I’ve been led to believe that you quite enjoy it.”
Her face flushed red as she thought back to their first encounter, the feeling of her thighs spread to either side of his hips, the way his hair had grown messy with running and falling and tumbling on the ground. The feeling of backhanding him across the face with wrought iron on her wrists. “Perhaps another time,” she whispered.
“You make bold promises, Cassandra,” he said, crawling onto the bed on top of her. “I like it.” He touched the hem at the bottom of her loose tunic. “May I?”
Her heart raced, threatening to eject itself through her throat. “You first. Let me-” She stumbled over her words. “I wish to make an informed decision.”
Galyan chuckled, sitting back. He towered above her and the fire lit him from the side, basking half of his face in a warm orange light and leaving the other in deep, dark shadow. Had she not adored him so deeply, she would have been terrified. He began to remove his tunic.
Oh, Maker, you know that I am terrified, she thought, eyes going wide as Galyan revealed his bare chest. There was no use in deceiving herself. She was frightened—not for her life, no, but for her chastity, whatever was left of it. Her eyes drank in the sight of his skin, studying the way that his hair formed a thicker triangle that trailed off toward the waistband of his loose breeches. The shadows cast by the shifting firelight only made the silhouetted manhood appear all the larger.
“Like what you see, eh, Cassandra?” He asked, raising a thick eyebrow.
“I-” She pulled her eyes away from the tent between his legs. “I assume that it is not- that it’s not terrible,” she said. “But I have little to compare it to. It could be terrible, for all I know.”
“You wound me, Seeker Pentaghast,” he sighed, pressing a hand to that broad, masculine chest of his. She couldn’t help but notice that his nipples were pink. It was odd—she’d only ever seen such a thing in paintings. “You wound me deeply.”
“Oh, hush,” she huffed. “Just-” She sat up slightly, pulling at her tunic. With little ceremony, she pulled it up and over her head, exposing her breasts. Without the tightness of her plate armor, her breasts weighed heavy on her chest. Unstiffened by nervous muscle, they moved freely as she threw her shirt to the ground, and she couldn’t help but feel embarrassed by their so flagrant motion.
Galyan’s eyes quickly took in the sight of her bare flesh, and she resisted the urge to hold her chest in her arms like some shrinking maiden. It mattered not if she was naked—both of them were equal, after all, at least in terms of their exposed skin. Before he moved to remove her leggings or his own breeches, Galyan leaned down, pressing a hand into the old mattress as he pressed a kiss to her cheek. She let out a soft gasp at the tenderness of it, nearly pushing him away. Instead, she brought a hand to the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his heavy, dark hair and slowly guiding his lips to her neck.
Following her guidance, Galyan pressed tender, almost chaste kisses to her neck and shoulders, sending shiver after shiver down her spine despite the warmth of the cabin. She could tell that his lips wouldn’t leave any tell-tale bruises come morning if he kept up such gentleness, and for that she was grateful. She inhaled sharply when a large, somewhat rough hand reached up to cup her breast, giving it a gentle squeeze. Her hand tangled further in his hair, causing him to let out a soft moan against the underside of her jaw. His hand slowly trailed down her stomach, leaving her muscles spasming slightly in the wake of his fingers. It did not take long for her to hear the sound of his breeches being pushed down, to feel the bed shift as he rid himself of the last remaining fabric on his body.
Cassandra couldn’t help but squeeze her eyes shut. She could taste her heart in her throat. The Canticle of Trials came to her mind, and she felt herself mouthing it to herself as Galyan’s hand began to tease at the waist of her leggings. I am not alone, she thought, lips forming the shape of the words. Even as I stumble on the path with my eyes closed, yet I see-
“You remembered leggings this time, did you?”
Her eyes shot open as she heard Galyan’s gentle laugh. The Light is here. He had pulled back from her skin, but he was still so impossibly close, his hair still tangled around her fingers. He was beautiful. She hadn’t any idea how she ever thought that her Vows would hold strong in the face of his handsome visage. Damn it! She had half a mind to accuse him of enchanting her, the damned mage. “And I see that you still forgot your mustache,” she said.
He laughed, properly laughed, and sat up fully, causing her hands to untangle from his hair. “Should I grow a full beard, Cassandra?” He asked, still smiling as he hooked his hands at her waistband. “Is that what all the young Seekers are seeking in a proper mage nowadays?”
She ignored the softer parts of her that clamored for her to say something about how she adored him just as he was—a sentiment she was certain to butcher as soon as she tried to speak it. “I can think of just one,” she said.
“Then,” he smiled, beginning to pull at her leggings, “I look forward to showing it off at our next meeting.”
“Do-” She couldn’t stop herself from speaking. “Do you think it will be so long until we see each other again?”
He raised an eyebrow as he continued to pull her leggings off, folding her legs upward as if she were a ragdoll. “I see,” he said, smirking. “These woods are positively swarming with blood mages.”
“Yes,” she breathed. She swallowed hard. Somewhere, distantly, there was the sound of her clothing falling to the floor. She was naked as she lay before him, exposed like she’d never been before. Only now did she glance down at his anatomy. Her eyes grew wide at the sight of the manhood between his legs, standing at attention like an over-eager soldier. It was flushed dark, the flesh at its base coated in a thick layer of dark brown hair. She had expected such a thing to be repulsive, but she found herself swallowing thickly at the sight. Her own sex began to all but weep as she stared. “Maker’s breath,” she whispered. “I-” She took a shaking breath. “I- Well… Yes.”
“A ringing endorsement,” Galyan teased. “Why thank you, Seeker Cassandra.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“You don’t mean that, do you?” He asked. Before she could retort, he pressed two fingers to the scar on her inner thigh, causing her to gasp. Too many nights she had spent imagining such a sensation again. Her own fingers did it no justice. There was a terrible intimacy to it, somehow locking her heart to his even more than pressing lips against one another’s did. “Now,” he whispered, voice soft, “may I?”
She nodded. “You may.” She attempted to force herself to relax as she lay fully on the bed. Every inch of her skin broke out in an even more intense sweat than it had already been producing. She forced her eyes to close. Steel yourself, Cassandra, she thought. You have slain dragons. You have done the impossible. Andraste has protected- Suddenly, her throat began to close, her lungs began to ache for whatever air would reach them from such shallow breaths. Galyan’s fingers had slipped between her thighs, slipped between the folds of her anatomy and opened her as if her sex was a rose whose petals were unwilling to open by themselves. Her heart was willing, but her body began to freeze, and her mind began to cry out.
She was a Seeker.
Galyan was a mage.
Glittering in the light of the fire was the all-seeing eye embossed onto her plate.
Maker, please, help me, she begged silently. I cannot-! She couldn’t resist. She choked on her tongue as she felt Galyan’s manhood, his cock, press against her yet-explored femininity. She had always been good, had not given into the aches of the flesh, had never been so base as to tamper with the holy seal placed upon her with her fingers or anything crude. Oh, sweet Andraste, I’m going to bleed! She was not ignorant. She had heard many a tale of maidens on their wedding nights, crying out, writhing in pain as they were penetrated, leaving the bed sheets stained red. Foul blood mage! “Maker, please, I-”
“Cassandra?” The tip of Galyan’s cock no longer brushed up against her. It had retreated. “If you do not wish to, we don’t-”
She cracked open her eyes, taking in his worried expression through the slight haze of nervous tears. She cursed herself for her weakness. “Shut up!” She hissed. “I am not so frail as to-!”
“Cassandra,” he insisted. “What do you want me to do?”
She blinked away the tears. “Please.” She held up a hand between their bodies. It shook. Slowly, he clasped it with his own. “All sins are forgiven,” she whispered, her voice quivering. “All crimes pardoned.” She couldn’t help the slight rise and fall of her voice, faintly following along with the melody of the Chant. She needed to cleanse herself of the sin before it was even committed. Could one even sin in a confessional, if that is indeed what this place has become?
“Let no soul harbor guilt,” Galyan echoed, pulling Cassandra’s clasped hand up to his lips. He pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Let no soul hunger for justice.”
She pressed her lips together for a moment before she spoke again. “By the Maker’s will I decree,” she said, her voice growing steadier by the line, “harmony in all things.” She gasped as she felt the press of Galyan’s cock against her once more. “Let Balance be restored-” She squeezed his hand. “And the world given eternal life.” She bit down slightly on her lower lip. “Now go,” she whispered, her voice firm.
He kissed her knuckles again and pressed inside her.
Instantly, her back arched upward, and she cried out. There was a pain to it, but there was also something deep and eager in her body that demanded her will remain strong. She moaned his name as he moaned hers, urging him deeper inside. Further and further he pressed, and her fist grasped at the sheets, knuckles turning pale. Her thighs shook, and she wrapped her legs around his, squeezing Galyan’s thighs as if he were a stallion hesitant to gallop.
“Damn it!” She swore. “Galyan!” She squeezed harder. The pain had receded to a dull noise in the back of her mind, making way for a red-hot desire that rushed through her veins. “Galyan!”
“Eager, are we?”
She only moaned in response as he began to thrust. He pulled back only slightly before pressing inside again, sheathing himself fully and pressing against the soft walls inside her. The gentle curve of his cock rocked against her, filling her entirely and steadily drumming against her belly from inside. Her hips bucked like a mare yet to be broken, even if she was sure her hymen lay in tatters around the girth of his endowment. She reached up, grabbing him by the hair and pulling him down to her lips, greedily kissing him as if to steal the very air from his lungs, to drink in the soothing magic on his tongue.
Spit and sex spilled from each set of her lips. Words faded to nothing but moan-laden pleas for more, for him to thrust harder and press deeper, cries of his name and the Maker’s. His tongue rolled against hers in a fashion that she had once thought to be entirely repulsive. Now, she knew better. She wished to drink him like Chantry wine, to swallow and never stop.
In and out he thrust, their hips colliding like eager Tevinter gladiators putting on a show for them and them alone. The faint scent of blood was sweeter than any desert flower as it graced her nose.
As he made love to her, Galyan slowly moved their clasped hands lower until the coarse hair of their hips brushed against them. “Here,” he whispered, the warm air of his breath ghosting over her spit-slick lips and making her shiver. “Let go,” he chuckled.
Hesitantly, she did as he told her.
“Now…” He guided her open hand lower, until her fingers hovered just above her sex. “Go ahead.”
On instinct, she pressed a trembling hand to her swollen bud. As soon as her fingers touched the sensitive spot, she cried out. Like a desperate bitch in heat, she whined and began to frantically rub against the bud, writhing as Galyan pressed kisses to the side of her neck, her shoulders, the underside of her jaw.
“Cassandra,” he moaned, voice low and rumbling against her ear. “Come along, now.”
The cord inside her snapped.
With a desperate cry, she came undone, spilling onto the bed as her whole body was wracked with a sensation from the crown of her head to the tips of her fingers and toes. It was unlike anything she had ever felt, perhaps only slightly akin to the feeling of standing atop a fallen dragon. Her insides squeezed Galyan’s cock at the same rate as her heart beat against her ribcage.
“Maker’s breath, Cassandra!” Galyan followed her in ecstasy, not pulling back before he planted his seed deep inside her. She could feel with perfect clarity the pulsating of his cock as it filled her.
Andraste, have mercy, she thought. The risk of growing heavy with child seemed like a perfectly reasonable one to take to her sex-addled mind. Surely, she thought, dazed, he is a mage well-studied in herbal remedies. Surely… surely he has something. Her fingers tightened and relaxed, tightened and relaxed in Galyan’s hair. Her legs, despite their weakness, still remained—albeit more loosely—locked around Galyan’s thighs. She wished for little more than for his glorious weapon to remain sheathed inside her forever.
Slowly, however, he began to remove himself, heedless of the soft whines of protest coming from her lips. His manhood had grown slightly softened, and it slipped from her body, taking along with it a mess of sex that spilled onto her skin and the bed. Moved by a sort of morbid curiosity, she looked down and gazed upon the redness that consecrated it. It was done, it seemed. Her Vows had been broken, staining the bed as proof. Silently, Cassandra sent up a small prayer. If this was wrong, then the Maker would send her a sign. But, for now…
Her hand traced the outline of Galyan’s broad shoulders, coaxing him down toward the bed.
“Camping in the woods, are we?” Galyan asked, voice laced with sleep. “What a scandal.”
“Oh, hush,” Cassandra murmured. “Get-” She pushed him slightly, nudging him just far enough away to move beneath the blankets. They still smelled of mildew, but the sweet scent of Galyan’s body—a warm, masculine, slightly earthy thing—overpowered any lingering miasma.
Galyan sleepily followed her command, crawling beneath the dampened blankets. He lay on his side and put an arm over her body, pulling her close. A thousand questions floated about in the haze of her mind, but she paid them no attention. She allowed her eyes to flutter shut, allowed her chest to rise and fall as her breathing began to slow. Faintly, she could feel Galyan’s hand reaching up to slip off the tie holding her hair in place in its now-mussed tail.
Pressing her forehead gently against his handsome nose, she let sleep slowly seep into her bones. At the very edge of her perception she felt his lips press against her forehead. The shape of his breath told her everything her ears failed to hear.
I love you, too.