Explicit sexual content.
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Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Femdom, Sparring, Bondage, Creative Use of Magic Vines, Masturbation, Anal Play, Orgasm Delay, Under-negotiated Kink, Nathaniel Howe's Quest to Get Stepped OnThe Keep rumbled, a low roll of thunder that promised a storm. You could sense it anywhere you went: the nervous wheedling of Herren at the smithy while Wade groused loudly in the back, the messengers racing over the grounds like rats scattering from a pantry, the guards shifting uneasily at their posts and trading whispered rumors as they passed.
An envoy of Wardens had arrived, and with them a host of representatives of the Chantry, and, to Nathaniel's surprise, an ambassador from Starkhaven. She was not a woman Nathaniel had been personally acquainted with, but her manner of speaking was so familiar it sent a wave of memories crashing in on him. She was here, she said, along with the Chantry delegation, to discuss the matter of the escaped criminal responsible for the destruction of Kirkwall. They were here, she said, to discuss Anders.
Nathaniel often took the Warden-Commander's right hand position in matters of politics. He had been raised for this work, after all, though his father had tried his best to forget he had a firstborn son entirely. The Commander was a stronger soldier than she was a politician, and she had come to value his counsel in court. Nathaniel would not have had the heart for it, he thought, if it were his only calling in life, but he knew the steps and the players; it was a way for him to provide his service, and he was happy to do it. Today, however, it seemed he was less useful as an advisor and more as target practice for the delegates to focus their ire on when they tired of aiming at the Commander.
The blame was on her, for allowing Anders to escape. The blame was on Kirkwall, for failing to put the criminal down before he could do further harm. The blame was on Kirkwall's Champion, for turning against the Chantry and allowing Anders to live. The blame was on the Wardens, for allowing the conscription of criminal apostates in the first place. On and on, the arguments cycled.
Nathaniel had heard the news that there had been a violent coup in Starkhaven, and that nearly its entire royal family had been killed, but it was still a shock to hear Sebastian named as the Prince. As fourth in line, neither of them had ever expected to see Sebastian in a position of real power, and yet here his representative was, declaring his intent to impose martial law on what remained of Kirkwall, and declaring enemies of the Wardens themselves if they did not comply with his efforts to find Anders. Never, in all his time as a Warden, had Nathaniel ever considered that these two disparate aspects of his life might collide in such a catastrophic way.
"Sebastian and I were friends, once," Nathaniel said, pleading with the ambassador. "In our youth." The woman looked past him, seemingly determined to pretend he wasn't in the room at all. Usually, that was how people treated the Commander— one look at her ears, and they felt free to talk over her as if she were Nathaniel's maidservant. They'd found satisfaction, the two of them, in making it clear who was the real power in Amaranthine. But his usual approach had no effect here, and he found himself floundering. "Perhaps I might write to him directly—"
"Hold your tongue, cur," the ambassador spat. "You will speak of the Prince of Starkhaven in a way that befits his station and yours."
Nathaniel felt heat flood his face. "Perhaps you aren't aware that I was Ser Rodolphe's squire, during his time in Starkhaven's—"
"I am quite aware of your lineage," the ambassador said, like she was discussing something that she had scraped off her boot. "Commander, I know how you Fereldans love your dogs, but I will not tolerate any more of his barking."
Nathaniel bit back the thousand things he wished he could say, gritting his teeth, trying to control his breathing. The Commander must have noticed the thunderous expression he wore, because she subtly gestured for him to stand down.
"Nathaniel," she said. "Thank you. That'll be all for now."
Nathaniel blinked once, twice, thrice. Adrenaline surged through him, making his skin buzz and his heartbeat rattle in his chest. Minor Fereldan nobles had mostly forgotten to use him as their whipping boy in the time since his conscription. He was the Warden-Commander's man, through and through. But the ambassador, between her brogue and her disdain, had brought him right back to the angry, frustrated young man he had once been, and now here he was more than a decade later, still being sent away like a misbehaving child.
"Yes, Commander," he said, and his voice sounded strained even to his own ears. He swept out of the room before he could make an even greater fool of himself.
He stalked through the halls, tilting his head back and breathing heavily through his nose. Humiliatingly, angry tears pricked at his eyes. The Commander had never dismissed him like that before. What had he said? Had it been so presumptuous of him to call on his friendship with Sebastian? Was it even friendship? He had to admit, he had not heard a word about Sebastian's fate since his parents promised him to the Chantry. And now he was the authority in Starkhaven, a man who showed such allegiance to the Chantry he seemed ready to wage war on its behalf. The Sebastian he had known cared nothing for the crown, or the Chantry. Who was he? And who was Nathaniel but a mid-ranking Grey Warden who couldn't even provide counsel to his own Commander?
Finding himself in the courtyard, Nathaniel breathed in deeply, clenching his fists tightly and then releasing them, spreading his fingers and counting to ten. You're aren't a child, he told himself. Stop throwing a tantrum.
He heard a rhythmic crashing sound in the distance. Either the dwarves were at it again with the defensive walls, Wade was experimenting with unconventional smithing practices, or… He followed the sound to the practice grounds, around the side of the castle and through a line of wooden fencing, and there he found Velanna, dressed down in her forest clothes and hurling little boulders at a pillar of rock she must have drawn up from the earth.
"I see you've taken pity on the practice dummies, my lady," he said, and she whipped around, her last rock going wide and smashing into one of the line of straw targets. The wooden pike holding it up snapped in two, sending hay flying through the air.
"What?" she yelped.
"Never mind," Nathaniel said. Velanna only frowned at him, like he was the most baffling person she'd ever seen. Perhaps he was.
"There's nothing else to do, and I feel… itchy," she said. "And everyone's gone."
"I thought you might enjoy the quiet," Nathaniel said.
"Pfah."
There were a few parties of Fereldan Wardens out on assignment at the moment. Alistair and Sigrun were with one of them, on a trip through the Deep Roads with a group of new initiates. It was quiet without either of them around, and it left the Commander tense and withdrawn. Nathaniel had become accustomed to how relaxed she was, when Alistair was by her side.
Obviously, you've been of no help, Nathaniel thought to himself. The Commander asked you to stay because she 'valued your insight,' but really she just means to keep you out of the way.
Velanna seemed to be faring no better. A small number of Wardens needed to stay stationed at the Keep, of course, and Velanna was among them, but she was brimming with restless energy, and had been for days. Distracting her in bed hadn't proven all that effective, and she was of no help in matters of diplomacy. Nathaniel might have turned to breaking rocks into smaller rocks as entertainment too. Instead, the only rock he was breaking was his head against the stone wall of the combined forces of the Chantry and Starkhaven's royal court.
He went to the weapons shed. Maybe Velanna had the right idea. He withdrew a practice bow and a quiver of arrows. They were not the finest gear, and they looked incongruous when paired with his flashy, ceremonial Warden blues. An archer's tools were important, but they were worthless if he hadn't the skill to use them, and a fine soldier could make do with whatever tools were available. Time to prove to himself he still had some value.
He nocked an arrow, drew back, felt the tension in his shoulders and chest. The balance of the blow was pitiful. He adjusted his stance. Next to him, Velanna hurled another rock and made him wince, his concentration slipping. The arrow loosed— it struck the base of the dummy. Pathetic. He nocked another.
Velanna kept making an unholy racket a few feet to his left. He tried to focus. He never had so much trouble focusing in battle, and that was an even more chaotic mess of movement and sounds and fire flying through the air. He should be able to do this. This should be easy. Aim— release—
The arrow sailed over the dummy's head and landed in the grass ten feet beyond. Nathaniel wanted to break the bow over his knee.
He also wanted to tell Velanna to bloody be quiet, but he'd no right to. She had been here first, and he had chosen to 'challenge himself,' and it wasn't her fault he was a useless tangle of frustration and knotted muscles. He relaxed his arms, letting them fall to his sides, and he stood still and watched her for a moment. She was casting without her staff, and her arm movements were wider and more complex without it. It was warm, one of the first truly hot days they'd had so far this year, and her arms and shoulders were bare, her whipcord muscles tensing and shifting as they cut through the air. Her legs were bare, too, her toes splayed out in the grass. The cut of her robe revealed the divot in her flesh where thigh met slim hips. He'd had his mouth there last night, and she'd seemed rather pleased with it. But today, she was pent up and frustrated. Maybe she hadn't been all that pleased.
Rock smashed into rock. The pillar cracked and shattered. Velanna wiped her brow, and her gold hair stuck to it in whorls, brown and stringy with sweat. She looked at him, face flushed, eyes dark.
"What are you staring at?"
"It's hard not to look," he said, and while he was thinking flattering thoughts about the way her breasts looked in that hide dress she'd worn thin over time, what he said was, "I'm fairly certain they can hear you in Denerim."
Velanna's lips thinned, her jaw going tense, and even that was beautiful. He shouldn't bait her, he knew, but it was like watching a guttering fire spark to life.
"If it bothers you, leave," she said, cutting right to the core of the issue, just like she always did. Normally it was one of the things he loved about her, but right now he just felt frustrated and a little embarrassed that she was brushing him off. He could feel himself picking a fight, but lacked the fortitude to stop himself from doing it.
"They can hear you on the other side of the Keep. I don't think my leaving will help my headache any."
"Why are you out here, then?"
Nathaniel swallowed the true reason. "I had a thought that I might practice awhile, but I see the practice grounds are, once again, yours and yours alone."
"I'm sorry, I almost forgot you were highborn for a moment," Velanna said loftily. "You people need perfect quiet, and arrows painted with gold leaf, and embroidered pillows to rest your soft little behinds on while you practice."
"You enjoy irritating everyone in earshot, then."
"Oh yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "It's about the only thing I enjoy at all these days."
That stung. He didn't want to admit it. Worst of all, he had started it, and couldn't blame her for responding in kind. But he wanted to. He felt ugly and small and angry, and he wanted to blame her, and that made him feel even smaller and uglier. He wanted to shout. He wanted to break something. He wanted to do… exactly what she was doing, but he lacked the ability, and that just made him want to do it even more.
Stop this. Stop it right now. You're better than this. You're a Howe, but you aren't your father's son.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
Bury it.
"I'm sorry," Nathaniel said. "I'm being... needlessly antagonistic."
"Incredible insight," Velanna said. "I'd never have guessed." She crossed her arms, tilting her jaw up. "If you want a fight, just ask for one."
Nathaniel felt the sun bearing down on his back. He was baking in his armor.
"You wish to fight, Velanna?"
"It would be more productive than you pestering me like a gnat. At least knocking you into the dirt is usually good for a laugh."
Nathaniel huffed. "Get your staff, then. We should be evenly matched."
"You haven't got your bow," Velanna said, nodding at the piece of junk he'd picked out of the shed.
"I'm in armor," he said, though the ceremonial armor he wore was less functional than his well-worn field gear. In response, Velanna thrust her arms to her sides, and her pile of stones rose from the ground and clung to her in sheets, over her arms and legs and torso, forming crude rock armor. She'd used this trick before, to fend off projectiles, or to give her an edge if an enemy broke through their defensive lines.
"Do your worst," Velanna said, lifting her eyebrows. Nathaniel licked his lips. One-on-one sparring was tough for an archer, but he had a few tricks up his sleeve. And a few knives. It wasn't the first time he and Velanna had sparred, but he was determined to keep her on her toes.
In a snap, he'd drawn back an arrow and loosed it, knowing she would block it with her rock-clad forearm and buy him time to dart to the side. Every arrow was a second of distraction that might give him a true opening. He'd no wish to actually harm her, but with the rock armor, all he could do was chip away until he could get close enough to go in for a disabling hit.
Velanna rallied, hurling the largest of her boulders at him. It grazed by his shoulder as he ducked, rolling across the dry grass and behind one of the intact practice dummies. He glanced out from behind it to fire another arrow at her feet, tripping her. She went to her knee, growling. Then the dummy in front of him exploded in flames.
He gasped, stumbling away. He dashed for the next dummy, dodging smoldering projectiles as he went. Velanna had superior firepower, but she only had so much energy to burn. He just needed to be patient.
He dashed out from cover to find Velanna catching her breath. When she spotted him, she summoned another fireball, a second too late. It hit the ground, leaving a smoking black streak across the grass.
"Careful not to—" Nathaniel ducked another hurled stone, firing an arrow that knocked the stone armor from Velanna's thigh. "—set the whole fence alight, you know how—" He dashed to the side, groaning when a rock caught him in the gut and knocked the wind from him. "—the Commander hates it when she needs to pay for—" He caught Velanna blocking her face and dove in towards her feet, kicking them out from under her as he went. "—new fencing every time you have a— a murderous whim!"
"Stop," Velanna growled, "talking!" She lifted stone from the earth beneath him, sending him rolling across the ground, bruising his knees and elbows. Sweat plastered her brow, her chest heaving. He was sore, but so was she. She was burning her mana too quickly. He just had to keep running. Keep moving. Keep dodging. "Stop running! Hit me already!"
"As my lady commands," he said, and aimed for her heart. She punched the arrow from the air with a fist of stone. Maker, he did love her.
She charged him, and he darted back, grasping for the dagger tucked into his boot and trying to grab her about the waist. His fingers grasped stone, and he pulled her to him to bring the dagger to her throat. He was on the verge of telling her to yield when the earth beneath him exploded. He thought it more of her stone at first, but then vines, long and broad and curling with leaves wound themselves about his ankles, up his legs, around his calves and his thighs. Vines grasped his wrists and pulled them downward, the dagger falling uselessly from his fingers as they clenched around him. Velanna pulled herself away from him, her stone armor clattering to the ground, leaving her bare and unprotected. It didn't matter— his arms were useless, restrained completely by Velanna's summoned vines. They wrapped fully around his arms and legs, pinning them to each other. Balance lost, he fell to the ground, the air knocked from his lungs by the impact.
He jerked violently within the constricting vines, trying to yank his arms free. He rolled onto his back, kicking and struggling as hard as he could. A few of the vines snapped, and the sound was almost satisfying, except he couldn't seem to break free entirely. After a minute, he gave up and went limp. The vines seemed to relax a little with him, more of a gentle squeeze than a full-body tourniquet. Above him, Velanna's face blocked out the sun, casting her sweating face in shadow and giving him a moment's relief from its harsh light. She prodded his chin with her toe.
"Yield," she said. She smeared dirt into his beard as she stepped down on him. He swallowed hard. It would be easy to yield now. He was helpless, at her mercy. The ground beneath him was hard, and the vines grasped him to it. If he yielded, he would be free.
Free to do what, though? Putter around the Keep pouting like an overgrown toddler? Frustration made him tense— the vines tensed with him, squeezing him so that he could feel his pulse under every inch of his skin. He didn't want to yield. He wanted to keep fighting.
"No," he said, breathing hard through his nose. He clenched his eyes shut. Velanna nudged his jaw away with her foot.
"You're immobile. You've no weapon. Keep struggling if you wish, but the fight is mine."
He did keep struggling. He strained and pushed at the vines binding his limbs, feeling them tighten and hold him in place while he thrashed. He knew he wouldn't be able to break free. He just wanted something to fight against. He grit his teeth, letting out a frustrated grunt.
"What's gotten into you?" Velanna had caught her breath now, though sweat still beaded on her high cheekbones, where her wild hair had clung. She set her foot against his chest, aiding the vines in keeping him still. He wanted to fling her away. He wanted her to step down harder. He wanted…
From his viewpoint on the ground, Velanna's legs were long and sturdy, dusty up to her ankles. Her knees were marked with bruises and hairline scars. The long rags of her skirt caught the wind, revealing a stretch of thigh where muscles were taut under her tawny skin. The first time he'd had her with his mouth, she'd clamped those thighs around his head so that he thought he might suffocate, grinding down hard against his tongue. All at once his mouth felt too dry, his skin too hot. He couldn't quite breathe, but his chest felt full to bursting.
Velanna peered down at him. He could see the shape of her breasts under her dress, and the way sweat had gathered between them on her bare sternum.
"You enjoy this," she said. It wasn't a question. His face seared. She always did go straight for the heart.
Well. Maybe not just the heart.
The vines tightened. A whine escaped his throat that made his face burn even hotter. Velanna looked away, glancing around the empty practice grounds. He was lucky no one was here to see them, but he wouldn't be lucky for much longer. Humiliation simmered under his skin at the thought of anyone seeing him in this position, but it was laced with adrenaline and and a little excitement. Andraste's blood, what was wrong with him?
Velanna looked back down, her eyes scanning over the full length of his body. He was fully armored and constricted by her magic; there was no outward sign of what he was thinking. The flush of his face could be explained by the fight, as could his breathing. But he could see her seeing him, could see the wheels turning in her head as she took him in. He felt taken apart by her regard. Exposed.
She raised her leg, her foot hovering over the platemail shielding his groin. Watching his face for a reaction, she pressed down. He was unable to smother the high, gasping sound it forced from him. Velanna bit her lip, contemplating. She straddled him then, one foot planted on either side of his hips, and squatted, leaning in close to his face.
"I'm going to release you in a moment," she said, low and even. "You're going to go inside and change your clothes. Something you can hunt in, but something you won't miss. Then you're going to go into the forest. Try to find me. Understand?"
He nodded, his hair tangling under his head. How could he possibly disobey?
"Good." Her cheeks were dark, her eyes sharp and focused. Her vallaslin curled over her skin, raised lines of ink like the vines holding him beneath her. Something you can hunt in, she said, as if he wasn't trussed up like her kill.
She lifted herself to her feet and backed away, watching him all the while. When she was nearly out of sight, he felt the vines shrivel and fall away like so much dead grass. The relief was fleeting, because Velanna had gone, off to whatever devious game she had planned, and left him alone in the dirt and painfully aroused. He grimaced, pushing himself up onto his knees, and then onto his feet. He was sore, and bruised, and aching, driven half-mad with frustration. He sighed, trying to gather his wits.
All right. First step, change into something he wouldn't miss. A shiver went through him at the thought. What did she intend to do to him?
He stalked back into the castle, up to the room he and Velanna now shared, his hair a tangle, his glittering ceremonial armor streaked with dust and dirt and dead leaves. He must have looked a terrible sight to anyone he passed, but he didn't dare meet any of their eyes. Safely inside and door locked, he removed his armor, piece by piece, and set it on its rack. He'd worry about cleaning it later, he told himself. There were more pressing issues to attend to.
He swapped his good trousers for a pair that were old and worn, with a hole in the thigh that wasn't worth mending anymore, and exchanged the fine shirt, now soaked through with sweat, for one he'd never managed to get the bloodstains out of. The walk back and his deliberating over which clothes he didn't mind losing had made his pressing need a little less pressing, but now that he was dressed again and considering what to do in case the clothes were a total loss when Velanna was through with him, he felt it surging back, aching and unignorable.
He couldn't walk outside like this. He couldn't walk back if his clothes were grass-stained and he looked like… like a man who'd just been fucked while tied to a tree, or something along those lines. His breath hitched at the thought. Maker, there he went again. This woman would surely be the death of him, one day.
A cloak. Maybe that would help. It was early summer and hot as Andraste's pyre outside, but blast it, a cloak would have to do. He wrapped himself into one and hurried back outside. The sun was not quite setting, but the sky had gone golden and warm with the first suggestion of it. He had strapped on his own bow and quiver for the short journey, his dagger set back into its proper home in his boot.
Velanna came to the woods outside the gates of Vigil's Keep often. Those in the Vigil and the villages nearby often used it for hunting, but Velanna turned to it for comfort when the castle and all its people became too stifling for her. Or when she was angry with him, which was… rarer, these days, but not unheard of. She'd even come here with him on one or two occasions, content to walk alone with him, trading stories and passing time.
Less and less golden light filtered through the pines as he drew deeper into the cool darkness of the forest. He stopped to listen, scanning his surroundings. Trees creaked and rustled in the wind. The scuttering sounds of squirrels and birds echoed. No sign of Velanna yet. He looked to the forest floor, watching for disturbed brush and broken branches. There were paw tracks in the soft earth— a fox or some other small animal. He kept looking, kept listening. The further in he went, the more he felt eyes on the back of his neck. It raised gooseflesh on his arms, making his hair prickle under his clothes. The fire had cooled, but anticipation made his blood race in his veins.
A loud crunch made his head whip around. He saw a flash of something— where was it now? Then behind him again, and he turned, only catching a glimpse of thorny vines burrowing into the ground. Velanna. She was here, watching him. Hunting him. His heartbeat thudded in his ears. Somewhere in the distance, he heard laughter.
He ran toward the sound, drawing his dagger from his boot, but before he could, he was falling, his foot caught on something that sent him sprawling to the forest floor. He landed on his knees and forearms with a jolt of pain. Whatever it was that had tripped him went taut around his ankle, and before he could gather his wits, it was dragging him. His knees buckled, the brush and pine needles scraping against his arms. Just as suddenly, the dragging stopped. He flipped over onto his back, bending to slice the vine away from his boot and staggering back to his feet.
The trees swayed around him. This was Velanna's favored terrain. If he'd been at a disadvantage before, he was truly at her mercy now. But he'd give her the fight he'd promised her, even if it was a guaranteed loss. Arriving at the point where he surrendered was half the fun of it, after all. He set his knife between his teeth and drew his bow, scanning the treeline. A flash of gold hair— he aimed for the trunk nearby and sent her stumbling backwards. Their eyes met through the branches before a swarm of vines swallowed her up like a cocoon and drew her back down into the earth. Velanna's command of the elements was terrifying to behold when turned against their enemies. Turned against him, well… it was certainly an unmatched experience.
Vines surged from the earth, clinging to his feet. He stumbled out of their reach, kicking them away, drawing the dagger from between his teeth and slashing wildly at the thick foliage, but they replenished too quickly for him to stop. Vines gripped his fingers, then his wrist, forcing him to drop his bow. He made a mental note of where it landed— he'd not lose a family heirloom to this foolish fancy of his. Vines twined up his forearms, around his bicep, holding him to the ground as he tugged himself away, the joint in his shoulder straining. They slid over his quiver and the holster keeping it in place. One-handed, he put the knife back between his teeth, then unbuckled the quiver to force the vines gripping it to fall away. Freed of that, he began to scrape and claw the vines clinging to his arm, retrieving his dagger to try to slide it underneath and cut them away. Then the vines twirled themselves around his other wrist, forcing the weapon out of his hand so that it, too, fell to the ground.
"Better luck next time, Nathaniel," came a teasing voice in his ear, and with it, a vine coiling cold and broad around his neck. A hand grasped his shirt and yanked hard. He pulled away from it and heard the sound of tearing cloth. The vines contracted, forcing him to his knees on the ground, and Velanna stepped around to face him, a look of smug satisfaction on her face. "Well fought, I suppose."
"I'm not through yet," Nathaniel grumbled. He relaxed into the vines, waiting to feel them loosen before he lunged forward, snapping the stalks binding his arms and grabbing Velanna about the waist. His legs were still tied to the ground beneath him, but he managed to move his legs enough to roll her onto her stomach, and he thrust an arm about her neck, twisting her arm behind her back to hold her. She grunted in surprise, thrashing against his chest. Her other arm was pinned under their bodies. She couldn't cast without it.
She thrust her head backwards, catching him on the jaw, then clamped her legs around his, trying to roll them over. He lacked the leverage to stop her, constricted as his legs were, and rolled onto his back, Velanna's weight fully pressed against the front of him. With one arm freed, magic sparked at her fingertips, and Nathaniel was being consumed by plants once more, winding and twisting and grasping, stopping him from struggling and giving Velanna the reprieve she needed to tear herself away from his grip. Her hair had half-fallen from its knot on top of her head— she tugged it loose, now, and let it fall wildly to her shoulders as she prowled around his prone form.
He still had fight in him, though it was hopeless at this point, and he wriggled unproductively while the vines drew his legs together and his arms to the forest floor. Velanna reached down and tugged at the clasp of his cloak. It came loose, tangled and bunched beside him as it was, and she lifted it away to drape it over her own shoulders. It was too large by half, but she twirled around in it as if it were his pelt.
"Now do you surrender?" She was playing with him, goading him. He licked his lips, clearing his throat. A vine reached out to tickle the bottom of his chin.
"Make me," he grunted.
Her eyebrows shot up in amusement. Velanna did a complex motion with her hands, and the vines slithered around him, separating his legs but keeping them tightly bound. His arms, too, were forcibly dragged away from where they curled against his chest, up and over his head. He yanked at them unsuccessfully as they drew him out, laying him spread-eagle on his back. The fire that had cooled in him surged back to life, suffusing him with heat. He had no armor to conceal him, now, and no way to deny what Velanna was doing to him. His breath shuddered on the exhale. Velanna knelt beside his chest, throwing her leg over to straddle it. Her hands, deceptively gentle, brushed stray strands of hair away from his face.
"You're going to beg me, before I'm done," she said. A shudder went through him. He had to bite back the urge to agree with her.
The vines shifted around him, curling and tangling with each other, retracting and replenishing just as quickly. His legs drew apart from each other, spreading further without his permission. Vines coiled around his thighs, brushing over the patch of bare skin where a hole had been worn into his trousers. He gasped and jolted under Velanna as delicate offshoots of her vines snuck their way in through the gap, tickling the hair of his thigh and coming too close to where his need was greatest. He could feel how hard he was, underneath his clothes, though he couldn't see. All he could see was Velanna perched over him, watching him like a cat stalking a bird.
She twirled her fingers in the air, and the vines holding his arms pulled, leaving him stretched long on the forest floor with his chest arcing up. Vines coiled around his neck, tickling his ears and his jaw, but not squeezing. They slid down to slip under the collar of his shirt, winding through the hair of his chest and over his abdomen. Velanna stood, letting them do their work, watching the shift of them under his clothes. It was like being caressed by twenty hands at once, teasing little fingers with tickling little leaves, raising gooseflesh and making him shift helplessly where he was bound, hoping for more friction.
"Do you yield?" Velanna nudged his chin with her toe, staring down into his flushed face. His breath shuddered out of him, his hands clenching into fists over his head.
"You'll have to try harder than that," he said.
"Harder?" Velanna considered it, stepping up and over his chest to stand beside him, chin in hand as she examined the picture he made. The vines coiling down his belly arrived at the band of his trousers, and began to burrow underneath to meet the vines growing up his thighs. Velanna hummed thoughtfully. Nathaniel swallowed hard. He could see now, how he was straining at the seams, and so could she. She walked over and raised her foot, teasing at the seam of his trousers. Helplessly, he bucked up towards her, but she pulled away. He groaned in frustration before he could smother the sound. Just as he did so, Velanna stepped down, the ball of her heel pressing against the base of his cock, drawing his voice out into a loud, choked moan that echoed in the trees. Before he could thrust back against her, she'd drawn her foot away again. He knocked his head against the ground, frustrated, and Velanna laughed, light and just a little cruel. "Ready to beg yet?"
"Hardly," Nathaniel huffed, willing himself to keep control. It was difficult. Velanna had bitten her own lip to flushed fullness, and he wanted to taste it. He wanted his mouth on her, on her breasts, on her cunt. Anywhere. Something to stop him from panting and moaning so desperately. Something to put him to work. He licked his lips, trying to smother the desire to ask for it.
The vines coiled tighter around his abdomen, curling and tickling over his navel. Velanna knelt beside him, and she tugged his shirt out from the band of his trousers. She scanned the ground and reached for something. When she returned, she was holding his dagger. The breath caught in Nathaniel's lungs.
"I told you to wear something you wouldn't miss," she said. He nodded wordlessly. "Good," she said. The praise made him shiver. If it strayed too close to surrender, she didn't say so. She reached under his shirt, pointing the blade towards the sky. With one long stroke, she rent it in two, split down his belly. Now they could both see how the vines had wrapped themselves around his chest and the curve of his stomach, the way they tickled the thick black hair and prickled the skin. Velanna turned the knife downward, trailing it along the divot in his chest and down his abdomen, barely touching, not hard enough to draw blood. He tried to hold himself still, tense and shivering. The blade sliced through a vine or two, which immediately began to regrow and shift.
She reached the band of his trousers, and considered the swell of his cock for a moment, unmoving. Nathaniel held his breath. Just when he thought she might begin to cut again, she set the dagger aside. He exhaled enormously, and felt the vines around his throat squeeze gently, just once. Before he could relax too much, however, Velanna was tugging his trousers and smallclothes down, letting them bunch up underneath his balls. His cock strained up towards his stomach, thick and red, resting in the crook of his hip. Little coils of vine began to curl around it as it twitched and jumped in the open air, forming a tight ring around the base. Velanna watched closely.
"Now would be a good time to yield," she said, a little sing-song tease.
"Not a— aah!" The moment he tried to speak, the vice around his cock squeezed, making him thrust up into the empty air, seeking contact and finding none, seeking release and being denied. He was embarrassed by the desperation of his voice, and he clamped his mouth shut, trying to keep from crying out.
She reached out with the tips of her fingers, placing the tip of one gently on the head of his cock, just along the slit. It drew away wet, and she slid it over the crown, a miniscule motion. His cock jumped, his hips jerking. The vines around his thighs tightened, holding him still. Velanna didn't touch him fully, rubbing little circles under the head of his cock, and Nathaniel grit his teeth and swallowed the helpless noises it drew from him, screwing his eyes shut and trying not to plead. He was already too close, it was shameful how close he was, if she would just touch him a little more— But she soon drew her hand away and left him straining and twitching into empty air again. His eyes watered, and he sucked in a shaky breath through his nose, trying not to whine.
"Maybe I should leave you here," Velanna said, dark and promising. "Maybe I should see how long it takes you to free yourself. Or maybe you'll spill all over yourself without any help. That would be interesting."
His cock pulsed, and he felt how he was leaking all over himself. He hadn't come, but it was a close thing, between her voice, the pictures it put in his head, and the insistent vice grip of the vines. One of them slithered down, teasing itself into the cleft of his ass, and that made his whole body jerk against the blindings. His voice threatened to escape his throat— he clamped his mouth closed, screwing his eyes shut. He felt too hot, all over, sweaty and trembling and splayed open. Too much. Too much.
"Velanna," he gasped, trying for persuasive and landing squarely on pleading. "Velanna, what about… Don't you need..."
"Hmm?" She laid out next to him on her side, her head propped on her arm.
The words, Let me touch you, stopped on his tongue. Let me taste you, let me make you come. They were too much like pleading, but he needed to distract her, to give him a moment of reprieve from being taken apart piece by piece. If she would just come closer…
"Is there something you want? You'll have to use your words." Velanna slid her fingers around his neck, palming his throat, her fingers pressed against his pulse point. She rose up and threw her leg over his chest, sitting comfortably. The pressure was pleasant, and made him feel a little lightheaded. He struggled to focus— this close, her legs spread before him… Maker, he could smell her. If she'd just come a few inches closer…
"My lady, don't you... need anything...?" His voice was hoarse, his attempt at diverting her too flimsy to convince. But she laughed, and wiggled down his sternum, pressing her thumb between his ear and his jaw a little more.
"Nice try," Velanna said. "You're not going to distract me."
He swallowed hard, feeling the pressure of her hand on his throat, the pressure of her seated on his chest, the tight tug of the vines at his wrists and his thighs and his cock, too much and not enough. He wanted to please her, and he felt helpless to do so, a quivering mess tied to the forest floor, moments away from release. He wanted to beg her to let him get her off, and he couldn't without surrendering, and that too was against the assumed rules of the game. He thrashed against the bindings at his wrists, and she rode the movement of his chest out like he was a pony.
"Won't you be disappointed...?" Nathaniel tried to control his breathing, forcing himself to look at her. Color was high on Velanna's cheeks, her hair a glorious tangle framing them. The playfulness had fled her, and now she was looking at him so quietly and intently he felt it in his gut. Now that he had looked, he couldn't look away.
"Stop worrying about that for a minute," she said, and took his chin between her thumb and forefinger, holding it still. Her thumb swiped over his lip, and he allowed his tongue to slip out to taste. It gave her an opening to slip her thumb into his mouth, over his teeth, forcibly drawing his jaw down and his mouth open. He knew he was making a mess, and he was helpless to stop. "That's not your job right now. Right now, I just want to hear you say it."
"What," he panted, her thumb to his lip. "What do you want?"
"No. What you want," Velanna said. Her eyes were so green, green as the trees, green as the earth, green as her magic, and she was a part of all of it, and all of it was her. She wound around him, curling vines, soft as moss, unyielding as ironbark. "I want you to say it."
He tried to tear his eyes away, turning his head to press his cheek to the grass, but she grabbed his chin, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were watering, his pulse hammering madly under his skin. She leaned down, her hair falling past her shoulders, framing their faces in gold tangles, and she kissed him, a crash of soft lips and sharp teeth. He groaned into her mouth, drinking her in, needing to hold her and unable to rip his arms out of their bonds. Her fingers smoothed over his cheeks, cradling, holding him where she wanted him. When she broke away, the air between them was steam. He was melting under her touch.
"Don't be such a martyr," she murmured, letting her forehead rest against his as she straddled him. He could feel the wet heat of her against his chest. Maker, she hadn't anything on under her robes. "Stop bottling everything up." She shifted in place, little motions of her hips that made his head swim. "What have you got to prove?"
Vines coiled up over her own legs, not binding, but caressing. She leaned back, letting them creep over her stomach and her breasts, slipping under her hide dress. She rocked into them, pushing her hair back and sliding a hand between her legs to help her along.
"I… Please, I—" He pursed his lips, biting down to keep from begging.
"Yield," she said, rubbing herself with the forefingers of one hand. She slid back, coming to sit lower, and she pinched cruelly at one of his nipples. He jolted under her, sharp pleasure drawing him too close to the summit without pushing him over. She followed the gesture with a quick slap, light but sharp and stinging, the pain tingling swiftly into pleasure. His mouth fell open, unable to hold back a gasp that melted into a moan.
"I— I—" Tears dried on his temples, his hair wet with sweat where it stuck to his neck. Vines were still gripping the base of his cock, tight on his balls, pressing maddeningly beneath them and inside of him, milking pleasure from him but keeping him teetering on the edge.
"Come on," Velanna groaned. She couldn't be anywhere near as wrecked as he was, but she looked so intent. She drew her fingers away from herself, slipping them into his mouth. He sucked on them greedily, seeking the taste of her, and when she took them away again he whined at the loss. Then she went right back to pinch and pull and rub at her clit, wet from his mouth, and with her own arousal. He could barely think beyond how much he wanted her, all around him. And she was. She was above him, and beneath him, and inside of him, she was holding him down and fucking him, unraveling him. But he needed— he needed—
"Velanna—"
"Come on," she said, a demand that became a chant. "Come on, come on, come on, say it. Stop fighting it. I want to hear you... I want to hear you say it." She scooted back further on her knees, kneeling over his hips, her hand hovering over his cock. She gripped it, not stroking, a thumb pressed into the underside, and he thrashed in a way that might have hurt the joints in his shoulders if he hadn't been held so tightly by her magic. He thought for sure that one touch would be all it took to end him, but the hold was too tight there, as well. He wouldn't be allowed to come until she freed him.
She sank down, not taking him inside herself, but rubbing herself against him, sliding his cock between her legs, hot and slick and blinding. He sobbed with it, overstimulated and overwhelmed, while she ground her hips down insistently. She was going to get herself off while he laid back and took it. She was going to use him up until he was incoherent with it.
"You look so—" Velanna's eyes were heavy-lidded as she rode him, vines coiling around their bodies. She reached up to palm at her clothed breasts, and her eyes rolled back a little. "Fuck, fuck." She dropped her hands to his chest, raking her nails over his abdomen, catching and tugging on the vines that embraced him. "Just say it. Tell me. Tell me. Tell me what you want. You're begging for it, come on, Nathaniel…" She pulled away, going up on her knees and leaving him untouched once again. He let out a desperate cry, too loud, much too loud, but he was so overloaded by feeling he didn't have any room left in him for shame. She rubbed her clit relentlessly with her fingers, and her legs trembled with the effort it took to keep herself upright. "Nathaniel."
Her voice tugged something in him loose. The words flooded out of him, unstoppable as a stormcloud breaking.
"I yield, I yield, I— I surrender, please, please, I need to, I need to, please, I yield— Please just let me—"
"Yes," Velanna sighed, and as she watched him, something invisible in the air around them burst. All at once, the bindings around his arms and legs went lax. The vines that were curling up inside of him, torturing him deliciously, slipped out. And at last, the tight ring wound around the base of his cock fell loose. He shouted, letting his head fall back and his hips thrust upward, unable to stop himself, his boots seeking purchase in the ground, scrabbling at the grass and dirt. Blood rushed through him, a heavy throb, like the thud of a hammer, and his untouched cock geysered, come streaking his stomach up to his ribs, pulsing once, twice, more, more. For a moment he felt like he would never stop, until he was wrung inside out, and then he finally did, and he fell, exhausted, boneless, tears streaking down the sides of his face and collecting in his tangled hair, while his cock softened and his spend cooled on his skin in the open air.
Above him, Velanna had come already, while he was too out of his mind to notice. She wiped her hand on his ruined shirt, letting herself recline beside him, not touching the mess he'd made of himself as she tucked herself into his side and caught her breath. He shivered, a full-body rush. His arms and thighs trembled from the strain, his breath heavy. Velanna rested her head on her hand, stroking his damp hair away from his face, tracing the whorls of his chest hair while his heartbeat slowed and calmed. He was moss. He was grass and dirt and leaves on the forest floor. He could sleep here, probably. His eyes had closed, and his mind was floating pleasantly somewhere else, not far, but not quite solid, resisting any thoughts more complicated than how the wind felt drying the sweat that beaded on his skin, or how Velanna's nails sent pleasant tingles shooting across his scalp and down his back, all the way to his toes.
Velanna kissed the corner of his mouth, her nose brushing his cheek. That was nice. He felt fuzzy around the edges, soft and pliant, and she could kiss him all she wanted, as far as he was concerned. Sounds returned to him one by one, first the sound of Velanna's breathing next to him, then the wind stirring the grass and the reeds, and the branches creaking with it. Evening birds sang the day's last songs. It was peaceful, and for the first time all day, he was quiet inside.
"We should wash off," Velanna said softly, her mouth pressed to the skin where his chest met his shoulder. "Unless you'd like to walk back looking like that."
"Mmm… no," Nathaniel mumbled. "No, I don't think I should scandalize anyone today."
"I'm afraid you've already scandalized the squirrels," Velanna said, and she circled her finger around his nipple. He shuddered at the ghost of pleasure it summoned inside him, making him groan faintly.
"Unfortunate," he said. "You know how they gossip."
"Never liked the little busybodies," Velanna said, and pushed herself up, stretching out her legs and toes, letting them crack.
"I don't think I can walk," Nathaniel said. His voice rasped and rumbled, as used up as the rest of him.
"Don't be such a baby," Velanna said, but he could hear the grin in her tone.
Nathaniel allowed his eyes to open, though his lashes had stuck to one another and sealed them shut somewhat. Velanna was combing through her hair, her fingers snagging on the tangles, her expression soft and relaxed. His heart swelled with fondness.
"Thank you," he said after watching her a moment. She blinked down at him, her face flushed, rosy and golden in the evening light.
"What for?" She offered him a hand, and limply, he took it; it was small in his, but her grip was strong, and she tugged him up so that he could sit. His shirt hung loose in tatters, his stomach a rolling mess as he slouched. He tugged his trousers up to spare her the indignity of his soft cock flopping about. "You gave me quite a show. I've never sparred with anyone who liked it quite that much."
Nathaniel huffed out a little laugh, his face heating. "Well, having a beautiful woman to partner with doesn't hurt."
"Seems like it hurt plenty," she said, and nudged a bruise on the thickest part of his bicep with her foot. She avoided his eyes, suddenly shy, the way she tended to be when he spoke of her beauty. "Come on, you look like someone spilled porridge on your gut."
Nathaniel snorted. "After they fucked the daylights out of me, presumably," he said.
"Well, yes, of course, after that."
Velanna helped him to his feet, and together they gathered his weapons and his cloak. She led him to a river a few minutes' walk away, and they disrobed together, washing away the sweat and filth, letting the chilly water wake his sleeping limbs back up enough that he could take the walk back without falling asleep on his feet. He combed his broad fingers gently through the snarls of her hair, and she sank into it, unabashedly pleased, and afterwards she returned the favor, making him sink down to his chin in the water so that she could reach and tugging all the tangles loose. She swam around to face him, then, and twined her arms around his neck in the water, and kissed him, slow and sweet and satisfied. He would have offered to do this more often, just to see her in such a rare state of lazy contentedness, but he feared he wouldn't be able to manage a repeat performance for at least a month without collapsing from exhaustion.
They returned to the Keep just as night was falling, hair damp, Nathaniel wrapped modestly in his cloak. Once safely in their quarters, he undressed and slid gratefully into bed. An hour ago he might have been content to sleep on the ground in the woods, but now he marveled at the unparalleled comfort of one's own bed when one was tired down to one's bones. When he opened his eyes again, Velanna had changed into a comfortable shift and lit a lamp. She tucked her feet up in her chair, her journal laid out to a blank page on the desk. She glanced over at him.
"Go ahead and sleep," she said quietly. "I'm going to be up for a while."
He nodded, giving her a faint smile in response, and slowly drifted off to the sound of her quill scratching.
When he woke, the lamp had extinguished itself, but Velanna wasn't in bed. He sat up, and found that she was still curled up at her desk, asleep, hunched over her journal with ink staining her fingertips. Nathaniel rose, going to her. He touched her arm to wake her, but she barely stirred.
"My lady," he whispered, close to her ear. It twitched, and he held back a besotted smile. "Velanna, wake up." Her forehead creased between her eyebrows, and she groaned awake, blinking bleary-eyed in the darkness.
"Damn it all," she muttered, and rolled her head around on her shoulders. Her neck cracked terribly, and she winced. Nathaniel took her shoulders in his hands, digging in with his thumbs and massaging out the kinks. Velanna groaned, low and a little pained. "Why do I keep doing this?"
Nathaniel kissed the reddening tip of her ear. "Come to bed, love."
"It's early," Velanna said, glancing out the window. The sun wasn't yet up, but it wouldn't be long. "I ought to just wake up."
"Then I'll bring up tea." Nathaniel kissed the crown of her head before he turned away to dress himself in something without any holes or tears or suspicious grass stains.
The folks in the kitchens were already at work baking, and Nathaniel begged a kettle, a pouch of tea leaves, and two cups from them. He was carrying them all back on a tray, along with a stack of Velanna's favorite oatcakes still warm from the oven, when he rounded a corner and came face to face with Warden-Commander Tabris, not yet armored but still dressed in finer clothes than she would usually bother with. Her eyes rounded.
"Nathaniel."
"Commander," Nathaniel said, and nodded deeply, his attempts at courtliness hindered by the tray he held. "I… I owe you an apology for yesterday, my behavior…"
"No, don't apologize," she said quickly, shaking her head. "She was out of line. I'm just sorry I didn't tell her to fuck off." He smiled without meaning to. His Commander mostly kept it in check among the courtiers, but among friends she had a mouth like a sailor.
"You couldn't have, I know," Nathaniel said, and Tabris waved him off, her mouth twisting angrily.
"She lost the moral high ground after she called you a dog. Remember what happened when that Bann's little Orlesian wife called me a rabbit?"
He did.
"I wonder if they had to replace that table," she said wistfully, and her mouth turned up at the corner.
"It's really not the same," Nathaniel said. "I shouldn't…"
"That's not the point. The point is, I didn't want you to have to sit there letting her walk all over you, and she can take a long walk off a short pier. Agreed?"
Nathaniel smiled, looking down at his hands. In the end, he supposed had let someone walk all over him. It was about context.
"Yes, I do believe she can."
"They're here for another day, but you've got permission to spend it however you'd like. I think even the Chantry seems aware that they're losing the argument. Starkhaven's just a little bitty city-state, and the Wardens aren't happy, but they aren't budging either." She eyed the tray he held, and the goods piled high on it. "But maybe you've already got plans?"
"I believe they involve staying in bed too long and transforming into a slug," he said gravely. She gave a knowing smile.
"I'll bet. Try not to go full slug, I'll need you if Starkhaven declares war on us."
"You have my word, Commander."
Back in his and Velanna's room, he found that she had curled up on his side of the bed, wrapped all of the blankets around herself like a nest, and fallen fast asleep. He set the tray on the desk and left it. It would keep, for the moment. He lowered himself back into bed next to her, lying on his side and watching her face, lax with sleep.
How do you do it? he wondered as she slept. How do you see right through all the things that don't matter?
Her nose whistled just a bit as she breathed. It was horribly charming.
I love you, he thought. It was not a sudden thought, but one that had been building within him brick by brick over months, with every argument, every battle, every soft kiss and every hard one, every night in her bed and every night spent alone, missing the way her chin crumpled when she frowned and the way her hands smelled faintly of the herbs she used in her salves.
"You're thinking too loud," she grumbled, keeping her eyes shut. He could see now that her breathing had changed, though she feigned sleep. He smiled, tugging the blankets out of her hand so that he could burrow into the pile with her. She allowed it, tucking herself up against him and stuffing her face into his chest like a pillow.
"My most sincere apologies, my lady," he said. She pinched his side. "Ow!"
"Shhh."
"I suppose you don't want breakfast, then?"
Velanna was quiet for a long time, face down in his chest. "In a bit," she said, though the sound was muffled by her lips smushed against him. It tickled at him, and he laughed deep and low in his chest. Velanna held him a little tighter.
"In a bit," he agreed, and, for once, allowed himself the luxury of doing absolutely nothing.