Strings Attached Ch 16 20

Sixteen: Leliana

When she finally pulled away, panting, Leliana's lips were tender and swollen from kissing, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck as he adjusted his position and wrapped both arms around her again. She was surprisingly comfortable, his strong arms cradling her against his chest and sharing his warmth. She was still cold, not that she'd paid any attention to that recently, and he shuddered as her cold nose pressed against his skin.

He was an incredible kisser, she had to admit – clearly those Free Marches girls had given him some lessons – and she'd lost herself entirely to the simple pleasure of just kissing. Now that she could breathe again and her head had stopped reeling, the worries she'd been suppressing came back into focus.

He was Fereldan. She was Orlesian. He was a nobleman, she a commoner. He was a straight-forward, honest type with an Arling to run and roots already put down; her likely future was as a spy, and she wasn't going to be able to stay in the same place for any length of time.

They were doomed – before they even got started.

And yet, though she knew she should stop it there before things went any further, the thought of telling him that made her feel ill. She wanted his kisses, needed them; she wanted to taste him and feel his hands in her hair and, and...more, and even though she knew he was going to break her heart, she knew she wouldn't walk away.

I'll just take whatever I can get – and learn to live with the loss later.

"Leliana?" His voice was rough in a way that made her smile against his neck.

"Yes?"

He shifted her a little so he could look down into her face. "How are you feeling?" He smiled at her, a small crooked thing that made her heart pound far faster than any big, charming grin ever had, and she cherished it.

"Still cold, but tolerable, thank you."

"Don't thank me – I'd be dead if it weren't for you. The least I can do is be a human..." He paused, seeming lost for words.

"Human bed warmer?" She giggled, and he smirked. Her giggle was interrupted by a huge yawn, and she pressed her face into his shoulder. "I wonder how late it is?"

"Late enough." He squeezed her lightly. "You should get some sleep. I don't think any wildlife will bother us with that fire outside, but I'll keep watch for a while."

She shook her head, but he pressed one finger to her lips before she could say anything. "I slept all afternoon while you took care of me, and I'm not the one who almost froze to death. Sleep."

She grinned wickedly at him and moved, quick like a snake, to gently bite the finger he'd left extended. He gasped and laughed and groaned all at the same time, his dark eyes all but invisible in the dim firelight – but she knew if she could see him clearly, his expression would be priceless, torn between exasperation and arousal. Satisfied, she crawled out of his lap to help him add wood to the fire, then settled down again in his arms and dozed off.

Her dreams were filled with dark figures in the distance – always slipping away from her, and she could never catch up, no matter how hard she tried.

Seventeen: Nathaniel

He watched her sleep for hours, in the end, reluctant to wake her after everything she'd been through during the day. She slept with her mouth slightly open, her face looking younger when slack, and he'd contented himself to hold her, shifting his grip periodically to avoid cramping up – and to make sure he warmed all of her as much as he could.

He hadn't been joking when he said she'd saved his life; he'd seen what happened to people who'd been bitten by Blight wolves, and it wasn't pretty. She'd fought off an entire pack of them, alone, all while protecting him – and then she'd found shelter, carried him there, and spent the rest of the evening collecting firewood and elfroot in the rain.

He was never going to be able to repay her.

Which just made him even more uneasy. He'd been fascinated by the beautiful bard from the start – not only her sweet voice and pretty face, but also her certainty and faith, her self-assurance and optimism even in the face of her apparent intimate familiarity with torture. It wasn't surprising that he would be attracted to her – but he should also know better.

He was a Howe. The son of the worst monster Ferelden had seen since King Meghren. His family name and honour were destroyed, and any personal regard the few nobles on speaking terms with him gave him was due mostly to pity. The entire country hated him – the Amaranthine folks would despise him for not being his father, and the rest would scorn him for his blood-relation to the maniac. He was expected to take over an Arling full of nobles who'd only ever followed Rendon because he bribed or threatened them to, and commoners who'd been abused by his father and the other nobles for years. He was already aware of threats on his life – and he didn't think the conspirators would hesitate to involve anyone he cared for in their games.

He didn't have a problem with them coming after him; he was prepared for it, knew the likely players and how they worked, and had the support of the King in dealing with it – but he'd walk willingly into the Void before he allowed someone else to paint themselves a target by associating with him.

And yet...

She could take care of herself – that much was obvious. Honestly, he pitied any stupid noble who thought she'd be an easy way to get at him; Leliana would eat an old hag like Esmerelle for breakfast. In her sleep. That wouldn't save her from the terrible things that would happen to her reputation, though, and yet...the idea of walking away from her, when he'd only just managed to even approach her...

He couldn't. He wouldn't, not unless things got too dangerous. He'd keep things discreet, keep an eye on her, keep his ear to the ground for signs that danger was coming – he thought Aedan might help with that – and he'd defend her with his last breath.

Especially if it meant spending more time with her.

And when she realised that being with him was harmful to her future and she left him, well...he'd let her go, hiding his sorrow and wishing her well. And then he'd have to hope the memories were enough to carry him through the inevitable marriage to 'good breeding stock' – not that he was sure he'd even find such a noblewoman willing to marry a reviled

Howe

. Not in Ferelden, at any rate.

Leliana murmured in her sleep, her brow furrowing; she'd seemed to have some bad dreams, at first, but they'd calmed after an hour or so, and now she just couldn't quite seem to settle down entirely, leaving her asleep but somewhat restless. He whispered to her, humming old half-remembered lullabies and smoothing back her hair, and she subsided again.

Maker's breath!

He was in so. Much. Trouble.

Eighteen: Leliana

The morning dawned sunny, for the first time in forever. Leliana woke, still wrapped in Nathaniel's arms, finally starting to warm up as warm sunlight shone through the cave's opening. She heard snoring, and realised that the handsome archer must have finally fallen asleep.

She blushed when she remembered the night they'd spent, the kissing...Andraste preserve, had she actually bit him? She rolled her eyes at her own impulsive antics.

She sat up carefully to look down on the nobleman, whose head was tilted back, his mouth partially open. The lines of pain that had been present on his face – emotional pain, not physical; she'd checked with Wynne and Anders both – since they'd first met were gone, faint wrinkles around his eyes the only sign they'd ever existed. She allowed herself to stare at him until she'd had her fill, memorising his thick, dark hair, his full lips, his light stubble – so different from the unkempt, near-beard he'd had when they met – and the small patch of hair under his lip. A 'soul-patch', Sierra called it, and it irritated the dark-haired Earthwoman to no end, but Leliana appreciated how it made his mouth look more...sensuous, somehow. She sat up further to admire his muscular shoulders and biceps, noticeable despite the long-sleeved cotton tunic he wore.

She found herself wishing for Sierra's little device to take a picture of him, relaxed in sleep and so beautiful. She was watching at him, lost in thought, and was startled when he opened one grey eye and favoured her with that little, lopsided smile she'd never seen him give anyone else.

"Staring is rude, you know."

She grinned and fought to suppress her blush. "I wasn't staring."

"Oh?"

"I was admiring. There is a difference." She sniffed primly and was rewarded with the low chuckle that made goosebumps run up her spine.

"Well, far be it for me to interrupt you, my lady." He closed his eyes again. "Carry on."

She giggled, and he opened both eyes, smirking at her triumphantly. He reached up to touch her cheek, his thumb barely grazing her lips. "You have the most beautiful voice in the world."

She shifted, lifting herself up and settling again, now straddling his thighs, her arms around his shoulders, facing him. His hands fell naturally on her waist, his warmth making her skin tingle through the thin cloth of her chemise. She leaned down to kiss him, and he responded fervently, opening his mouth with a groan and teasing her with his tongue until her own challenged his and she lost herself in his kiss.

His hands slid down her hips – almost involuntarily, she thought in the small portion of her mind that wasn't thoroughly addled – and then she gasped when one hand gently gripped her ass, the other sliding further down to tease her bare thigh with his fingers. When he registered the gasp, he pulled away, expression contrite; his hands returned to her waist, and he opened his mouth to speak.

She didn't give him a chance; she kissed him again, almost desperately, and then used her own hands to direct his back to where they'd been – only this time, both were underneath the flimsy cotton of her only clothing.

She could feel his erection against her inner thigh, his hand stroking the smooth pale skin on the opposite side; she wriggled, pressing her pelvis against his, and they both groaned at the contact. He abandoned her lips to kiss his way down her chin to her long, sensitive neck; the hand on her ass relocated, and he weaved his fingers into her hair to tilt her head back further as he kissed and nibbled his way down to her collar bone. Like everything else she'd seen him do, he was methodical and deliberate, making sure he lavished attention on every inch of her skin with his mouth, soothing every bite with a kiss. He stopped short of marking her – she couldn't even decide if she was happy about that, or disappointed – but he had the left side of her neck practically quivering at his touch when he switched, cautiously, to repeat the process on her right.

She continued to squirm in his lap, sending sparks into her core as she ground against him; she was just considering whether she could rid herself of her tunic without interrupting his erotic ministrations, when his fingers stilled on her thigh and he pressed his forehead to her shoulder, panting slightly.

"I apologise, my Lady, for beginning something I cannot currently finish."

Her eyebrows rose. "Cannot?" She couldn't hide the disappointment in her voice – her body was on fire, and she wanted nothing more than to continue from where he'd left off.

He winced, and her heart dropped into her stomach. "Will not," he clarified, and she nearly whimpered in despair. "You're injured – and so am I – and we've both been through something terrifying and life-threatening in the last day. I will not be the kind of cad who takes advantage of someone under those circumstances."

He wasn't wrong, she knew – she'd be devastated if it turned out what had motivated him was gratitude, for example, so she could understand that he might have similar concerns – but that didn't stop the nausea building inside her at the apparent rejection. What if this was it? What if, when they returned to camp, he changed his mind and she never saw him again? How much worse, if she had given herself to him first? Yet somehow, she wanted to anyway – to be with him, just this once,

just in case

.

He must have read some of that in the expression on her face, because he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her sternum, right between her breasts, making her twitch in surprise. "Besides," he whispered, urging her head down so he could get closer to her ear, "the first time we make love, if you consent to it, it will certainly not be in a dirty, freezing cave if I have anything to say about it." His nose skimmed along the shell of her ear, and she squeaked in response – it was a completely undignified reaction, but an honest one, and she curled her fingers into the fabric of his own tunic in frustration.

"The first time?" She knew he'd hear the irritation, but also the insecurity, in her voice.

He merely chuckled warmly in her ear, and she shivered despite herself.

Nineteen: Nathaniel

Now she'd managed to distract him with imagining their first time – and the second, and the third, preferably all in the same night. They'd both laughed uncomfortably, and then avoided eye contact as they'd extracted themselves from the rather intimate embrace they'd found themselves in.

Getting dressed had been somewhat awkward; there was little room inside the tiny cave, so they nearly couldn't avoid accidentally bumping into each other as they attempted to don their respective armour. Both sets of leathers were still damp, making it rather like they were squirming into clingy second skins rather than armour. Not that he didn't enjoy the view he had of the bard as she attempted to get her armour over her legs without accidentally exposing anything else.

Making the decision to wait, instead of taking her up on her implicit offer was one of the most difficult things he'd ever done. She'd been there, half naked and gorgeous and grinding herself against his lap, and he had been stunned by just how badly he'd wanted to break his celibate streak right then and there. But he wanted so much more than just sex with this woman, and he wouldn't take the chance that she felt pressured – or just unimpressed with his effort. She deserved to be romanced, showered with gifts and read poetry, not tumbled on the ground of some nasty cave. He was going to have to up his game if he ever hoped to deserve her.

But she had nice legs, and the view as she shimmied herself into her armour...yeah, the view was nice.

He blushed when she caught him staring – and then chuffed out a surprised laugh when all she did was wiggle her hips at him, purposefully provocative now, with a wide grin. His own armour grew even more uncomfortable, and he sent a brief prayer of thanks to the Maker that the thick leather would at least disguise that fact.

And then, when he bent over and preceded her out of the little cave, she whistled – a loud, obnoxious, appreciative whistle. He laughed, right out loud, for the first time in...

He didn't want to think about that.

They walked in comfortable silence, back in the direction Leliana indicated. There were obvious marks where she'd dragged him through the underbrush on her improvised sledge, so it was easy to follow them back to the main path where they'd been ambushed. He tried not to stare at her while they walked, but despite his best efforts, she caught him looking several times anyway. Each time she'd giggle, and he'd blush; they'd both look away, but it wasn't long before he'd find himself watching her again.

He helped her over a fallen tree blocking their way – not that she needed it, but it was only polite. Once she'd stepped down, he kept her hand, and his heart beat a little faster when she just curled her fingers around his with a light squeeze.

Finally he could take the silence no more. "Leliana?"

She smiled at him. He swallowed, trailing to a halt, his grip on her hand pulling her to a stop as well.

"Do you wish to let people know about..." He wasn't sure what to call it. Maker, he was making such a fool of himself.

She frowned. "I do not know. What would we even say?" She shot him a look that probably mirrored the puzzlement on his own face. "I do not wish to be a 'dirty secret,' but neither do I want to field questions about us when we're..." He waited to see what she would say, curious how she would classify things. "...just getting started."

He nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "I don't want you to think I am ashamed of you." He reached up to cup her cheek, and she stepped closer to him until he could wrap his other arm around her waist. "But I don't want you being made a target, either."

Her eyebrows flew up. "Target?"

He sighed. "I...yes. There are multiple threats we are aware of. People who were promised wealth by my father, or people who wish revenge for me foiling his plans, as well as people he's harmed who want vengeance. Fortunately, the Blight – and King Cailan's favour – have delayed them, for now. But I will have to deal with it eventually. I don't wish for you to be caught in the middle."

"Who?" she demanded, apparently incensed. She put her hands on her hips, her expression fierce, and his heart throbbed once in his chest.

He chuckled. "It's nothing I hadn't expected – and nothing I can't handle. My gut tells me Bann Esmerelle is at the heart of most of it; she was my father's closest ally, and his lover, if you believe the gossip." He gave a disgusted grunt. "I'll deal with her as soon as I've settled things at the Vigil. Either way, it's probably a good thing no one has really seen us together, even if I do wish – selfishly – that you'd said something to me sooner."

"Say something? Me? A common messenger, an

Orlesian

, say something to a Fereldan Arl? What should I have said? 'Would you like to ruin your political reputation, your Lordship?' Or how about 'Care to take a tumble with an underling, Arl Howe?' Or..." She sighed, the reality of the situation hitting her. "Maker, what was I thinking? I seem to have lost track of all of my common sense."

"No, no." He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Please. I don't have a reputation to ruin, nor do I care one bit about you being Orlesian. You're not anyway, and there's a lot more to you than just your accent. If anything, my family name should have you running away – to save yourself from my reputation." He grunted. "And my would-be assassins."

She pressed her face against his shoulder, then looked up with a determined expression. "I'm not going anywhere. If nothing else, I shall help you with these threats – regardless of what happens between us."

He groaned, and then tilted her chin up and kissed her thoroughly. When they were both breathless, he broke off the kiss with a sigh. "I..." He almost said the words, but couldn't finish the statement, even though it was clear to him, in that moment – stupidly, illogically, probably regrettably – that he meant them in a way he'd never felt before. "Thank you," he said instead.

Twenty: Leliana

Returning to camp took less time than Leliana would have liked; they were discovered by a patrol after they'd walked only a few minutes on the trail where they'd been ambushed. King Cailan had noted that they – or really, Nathaniel – was missing and had sent out search parties at sunrise. As the patrol hadn't realised they would find Leliana with their missing Arl, they'd only brought one spare mount, but neither archer could bring themselves to complain about sharing.

As they rode, Nathaniel amused her with sarcastic and witty comments whispered in her ear, which she couldn't react to without the soldiers figuring out their game; she punished him by shifting imperceptibly in the saddle, ensuring that she brushed up against him suggestively, relishing the gasps and stutters she could hear each time. By the time they reached the King's camp, they were both breathless and aroused – but they also both had duties to attend to.