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In good times and in bad	By : kruemel Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 14749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Dragon Age and the characters of the game do not belong to me. This is a no profit fanfiction

Chapter List
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On Rori's advice Morrigan has left Flemeth's grimoire back at our rooms at the Spoiled Princess. Carrying around a strange looking grimoire when entering a tower crammed with templars is not the brightest idea one can have. And this book is real strange. That leather it's bound in. Even Zevran doesn't know what it is and he has a leather fetish - his words, not mine. I don't even know what a fetish is and considering Zevran's expression I didn't dare to ask. And that tree on the cover. Somewhat creepy. Beautiful also, but mostly creepy in a way that makes me shudder. Much like Morrigan herself. So all Morrigan has when following Wynne and two templars into the laboratory is a note, translated from Flemeth's cypher. As Greagoir has Irving check on her recipe, her decision not to bring the grimoire proves wise.
While Wynne and Morrigan prepare our potions, I try getting any information about Maric and the Grey Wardens. It's a rather tiresome task as I have to worm everything out of Irving and in the end only learn that the reports about the whole affair are kept shut away by both the Chantry's and Maric's order.
"I am sorry, your Highness," Irving sighs, noticing my frustration. "If you were king..."
Wow. I never thought I would ever regret not being king. But in this very moment I truly wish I was. I don't really know what I hope to find - but Maric and Duncan and some other Grey Wardens and all that twenty years ago. I mean, I'd have to be the fool Morrigan claims I am to not want to look into that.
At least Dagna gets her allowance to study at the Circle. She'll be so delighted. I can already hear her squeal and see her bounce and pounce everybody and their dog.
None the wiser I follow Rori and Cullen to pay Jowan a visit. Well, us Grey Wardens pay our recruit a visit. Cullen is there to show us the way, make sure we don't get lost and watch out we don't do something extremely stupid and/or dangerous. And as he is already descending to the dungeons anyway, Greagoir has also loaded him with the task of shutting Anders away. The mage has recovered and rants, snarls and complains all the way down, down, down until Cullen shoves him into a cell and slams the door shut behind him. He looks as if he gladly threw the key away.
It is dark down here and moist. The constant dripping of water is the only sound next to occasionally distant and muffled noises that appear to be... human.
"Err," Rori begins, after taking in the surroundings. "I remember saying something about not locking Jowan away under unhuman conditions..." She glares pointedly at Cullen, arms akimbo and ready to start an argument. She clearly isn't going to back down on that matter.
"You didn't believe, we'd let him run around free, did you? He still is a blood mage." Cullen just walks around Rori and opens a heavy wooden door that leads down another dark corridor just broad enough for walking in single row.
At the right side the corridor is lined with cells that offer little privacy as they are more like cages with bars instead of concealed rooms. But at least each of these cells has a tiny window close to the ceiling and thus out of reach. As tiny as it is, that bit of daylight takes away at least some of the gloom and darkness. Jowan is one of the inhabitants, occupying the very first cell. It's quite obvious he's better off than the other mages down here. He's allowed his own lantern, sitting on a desk loaded with several books. He has a narrow bed with several blankets, a bowl with fresh water that sits on a stool and the bucket in the corner of the cell obviously gets emptied frequently. This is the suite version of a dungeon cell. Jowan knows this and despite the still poor conditions, he is full of gratitude and regret. He's so eager to become a Grey Warden and help wherever he can, if he had a tail, he'd wag it. In case he survives the Joining, Jowan is willing to make up for everything he did. He so desperatedly wants to finally do something right, I just hope he and Avernus don't get too excited about the possibilities their magic gives them.
We stay for the night, so there's another of these awkward silent dinners taking place with the guests and their hosts on the dais having the permission to speak.
Rori in a hushed whisper is having an argument with Cullen about the Rite of Tranquility. The tranquils serving the food give her the creeps. Whenever one smiles their fake smiles at her, she looks at them with unmasked horror and sympathy in her eyes. She shudders at the monotony of their voices whenever a tranquil addresses her. The templars are bound to notice how uncomfortable she is around the tranquils. And they certainly have no interest in her reflecting the fears of many mages. Greagoir beckons the tranquils to stay away and after a while Rori probably would have calmed down - if not for Ser Cullen who forces Rori to start a debate on principles – much to his Knight-Commander's dismay.
“They do not suffer, you know,” Cullen whispers, scowling at Rori as if she had personally insulted him. “I tell you, they do not suffer.”
“How could you know?” Rori snaps.
“You can ask them.” From across the table Greagoir motions at Cullen to end the conversation but the templar doesn't notice. He keeps staring Rori down with little success. Rori is as stubborn as a Storm Coast ram and to challenge her will lead to her butting heads. I really don't know what Cullen thinks he is doing. This is a very dangerous topic to discuss here.
“But they have been cut off their emotions, of course they would not feel anything!” Rori is so agitated, she hardly cares anymore to stay quiet. I squeeze her hand to make her look at me and nod at the assembled mages to remind her of our surroundings. “It still is horrible,” she breathes, forcing herself rather unsuccessfully to appear calmer. “They are mere shadows of their former selfs.”
"They are still alive,” Cullen argues. His jaws firmly clenched, he presses every word through gritted teeth. “If you had to choose, wouldn't you rather live than die even at that cost?"
"No," Rori says forcefully. "What kind of life would that be? Everything I am would be gone. It wouldn't be a life but a mere and very miserable existence."
"But you wouldn't know that," I point out, taking the templar's side. “As long as there is no different way to deal with dangerous mages, the Rite of Tranquility is the best option to keep mages under control without killing them.”
“And? Has anybody ever even tried to find a better solution?” Rori inquires stubbornly. It's almost blasphemic and the way Greagoir glares at her, she is about to get banned from the Circle for the rest of her life. Just she couldn't care less. She glares back defiantly and I guess, we all can be glad she doesn't poke her tongue out at him. "What about you?” She turns back to me. “Could you endure meeting me every day if I was made tranquil?”
“Rori, nobody ever will make you tranquil!” I groan. “You are not a mage! This is a hypothetical question and I refuse to answer it.”
“Don't you have any imagination, Alistair?” She totally ignores my demur or the fact that the templars patrolling the room nervously glance at their Knight-Commander while they suffocate any banter amongst the mages at once and with zero tolerance. “Could you endure that bright fake smile I would wear? The monotony in my voice, the absence of my laughter, the way I'd look at you without any recognition of what I felt before?"
“I... I... “ The mere thought is making my heart constrict painfully. I keep having nightmares about Rori's death, dreams that feel so excruciatingly real, it's a torment. Even my memories of Ostagar or the darkspawn connection doesn't cause images as agonizing to twist my mind. But it's only dreams and when I wake screaming, she is there with me and I find the horror is not real. To imagine she could be tranquil... that sounds like an endless nightmare, one I would never wake from, one she would never wake from.
With each of her words hauled at me, Cullen visibly crumbles. He is clutching the edge of the table for support, his face is ashen and his breathing harsh. Rori and I exchange a puzzled look. Cullen seems like a man almost breaking down under a heavy weight. It's only but a short moment before he steels himself, straightens and the pained expression is replaced by an unmoved mask.
“This is just mean, Rori!” I mumble, shaking my head at her when she is about to press Cullen about what has just transpired. His loss of composure has gone unnoticed by the other templars as Zevran is giving a detailed and shockingly explicit description of a night he claims to have spent with two women at one time! “Nothing like that will... err... ever happen,” I say, already distracted by Zevran's tale. He has not really watched how the girls pleased each other with their tongues... has he? I mean... Blast, it's hot in here... I hear Rori's voice but I just cannot listen... they did what with that rod? Maker's Breath!
“Alistair?” Rori pokes my side.
“Err...” I snap out of my leering stupor, blushing a deeper shade of pink when she quirks an eyebrow at me, making me squirm and grin like the fool I am. A drooling fool with a whole lot of very dirty and sinful images running wild in my mind. There's such a huge lump in my throat, I can hardly swallow. And it takes me a while to kick my brain and tongue into cooperating to form a coherent sentence. “If you go on like that Greagoir will dump us into the lake and have us swim back to the shore.” At least the icy water would be a rather welcomed cool down.
Zevran, still either totally unaware of how his voice rings in the silence of the great hall or not caring at all, cheerfully babbles about all the world and his wife. "You know, I have heard stories about your Circle of the Magi, my dear Wynne," the Antivan elf slurs in his heavy accent, licking his fingers clean in thoroughly, slowly. It somehow looks extremely dirty. Okay, everything Zevran does looks somewhat dirty. He can even brush his teeth in a dirty way. I swear he does that on purpose just to tease me when he catches me staring. And it's not what you think! You would stare, too, if someone practically swallowed their toothbrush!
"Is that so", Wynne replies icily. She's been trying to talk to the elf in earnest but all she got was him commeting on her bosom.
"There is a Circle in my country, of course, but perhaps things are different here," Zevran continues, completely unperturbed by Wynne's hostility. He sucks at his cooked carrots, having the assembled templars staring at him in horrified fascination. "I visited the Antivan Circle on official Crow business, once. Met a beautiful young apprentice who was very eager for a taste of the outside world..."
"Please! Please, get to the point," Wynne interrupts hastily.
As a reply the elf rakes his eyes over Wynne's body in a way that makes her clutch her fork as if she was about to poke his eyes out with it. "All I wonder is whether the templars guard the mages here as closely as they do in Antiva," the elf explains. "In Antiva, the templars watch the Circle like a jealous husband guarding the chastity of a wanton bride."
"Interesting metaphor, but yes, it is not too different in Ferelden," Wynne replies, pretending not to notice how Knight-Commander Greagoir almost chokes on his steak.
"And is it also true that when the moon swells to fullness, the mages of the Circle gather at the top floor of their tower and, naked under the stars, make love to each other?" Zevran inquires, his voice clearly audible all across the dining hall. All mages have fallen silent. Where usually the templars have to shush them, now not a single whisper is to be heard.
"What?" Wynne shrieks. "No! Maker's breath..."
"Oh. I found out recently that it was not true in Antiva and hoped that it would be in Ferelden. Alas." Utterly disappointed Zevran turns to take a look at the assembled mages. A few seconds later he grins like a cat that got the cream. "Well, well, it has not yet happened, but that can easily be remedied."
"The stories we hear down here about the Crows... they're not true, are they?” I ask against my better judgement. Usually asking Zevran anything about his past, his former employers, even about the weather leads to moments of utter embarrassement. “They all sound a little far-fetched." But at least talking to Zevran will take anybody's mind of the question if tranquility is right or wrong.
"I cannot say. What have you heard?” The elf turns his attention to me. “In Antiva, we hear that Fereldan men cannot sleep without a dog in their bed. Is that true?"
"A dog? No, of course not.” Well, in Rori's and my case it's more like the dog cannot sleep without us. Means, we far too often have a dog in our bed though he is not welcomed. And when we don't let him in, he chews on my boots. Always mine, never Rori's. I swear, he's jealous that I get far more attention than he does. “We value our dogs, it's part of our history."
“Oh. Perhaps it was simply a reference to your Fereldan women, then?”
“Well, now that you mention it...” I laugh. “Some of them can be rather bitchy... Ouch!” I rub my shin where Rori kicked me.
“Are you refering to a special young lady?” Zevran chuckles. I do but the way she glares at me, I think it is rather unwise, maybe even life-endangering to answer that question. “But those stories you heard? All true.”
“Really. Even the ones that talk about how you all... you know... get paid to...” I begin to stammer and blush, causing Zevran to grin this knowing and still patronizing grin.
“Especially those ones.”
“Wow. I am totally in the wrong order,” I remark. “OUCH!” Rori kicks my shin again. Hey! I do bruise easily!
“Oh, I don't think you are one to complain. Your multiple exertions with your beautiful fellow Grey Warden should leave any man exhausted and completely satisfied.”
Err... haha... Now, that was a piece of information I'd rather have kept from being spit out in front of a whole group of templars.
And there it is again! That moment when I once more regret having even considered talking to Zevran. Much more I regret having skipped past the consideration and made it happen. I guess, hiding under the table until I've stopped blushing is beyond question? Where are the abominations when one needs them? Or a rampant mage running wild? Starting another argument about the Rite of Tranquility would probably also do... But no! Of course this is just a moment when absolutely nobody says absolutely nothing and I feel their eyes all bore into me – and Rori. She has squeezed her eyes shut and her shoulders slumped, trying to appear even smaller than she is. The colour of her face is even redder than her hair.
When dinner is over and everybody prepares to leave, Rori hurries away without waiting for me. Wondering if she is mad at me for that stupid remark I made about being in the wrong order, I start looking for her. She is not in her room, so I check with Leliana, Morrigan and Wynne but she is not there either. Cullen hasn't seen her and I hurry to convince him there's no need to report her missing. On my way back to my room I check in hers once more but she still isn't there.
Now really worried, I wonder if I should return to Cullen and have the templars search for her. I decide to give her another ten minutes, then I will go and check her room again. In case she hasn't shown up then, I really will alarm the templars.
The whole templar business becomes completely unnecessary the moment I enter my room. Because that's just where Rori is - wearing nothing but a pair of silk lace panties. She's usually the practical type of girl when it comes to clothing, but she really has a thing for Orlesian lingerie. I so do not object.
She kneels on my cot, her hands resting on her slightly parted thighs and defiantly stares at me with her beautiful dark blue eyes. “Now, this is what you are totally not going to touch tonight,” she pouts as soon as she spots me.
Oops. She is mad at me for that stupid remark.
Lifting her arms to have her hands meet behind her head, she pushes her busty bosom forward. Then, never taking her eyes of me, she slowly runs her hands down the sides of her neck, teasingly cups her breasts before she lets her hands slide down her belly and across the inside of her thighs, where she has them rest on her knees.
Merciful Andraste!
With my back pressed against the door, I gawk with my mouth having dropped open, expecting my eyes to pop out of their sockets any moment. The mere sight of her makes my manhood stir and throb. I have a major hard-on before even half of her sinful performance is over.
Hesitating, Rori watches me as if expecting me to say something.
Sorry, kitten, I'm beyond the capability of speaking. You just dumbfounded me rather effectively.
Her daringness is faltering as she blushes and she reaches for a blanket to cover herself. A sound, almost like an animalistic snarl stops her and she returns to her kneeling position, a puzzled look on her face. I can see my own reflection in the small mirror at the wall above the cot. My pupils are dilated with only a narrow amber ring surrounding the black depths. That expression... I hardly recognize myself. If I didn't know I am that man with that... feral... expression... Whoa! I look almost scary... and manly... and for sure outrageously handsome – although I really ought to get a haircut soon...
Rori blinks at me, chewing at her lower lip while she tries to come to a conclusion. She looks so young and innocent that moment despite her far from innocent display. But then she smirks and the moment is gone. Casting an upwards glance at me, she bites her lips, then trails her hands across her thighs and belly. Tugging at the waistband of her panties teasingly with her right hand, she lifts her left to her mouth, pressing her fingers to her lips. Without taking her eyes of me, she sucks her index finger into her mouth ever so slowly. At the same time her hand slips past the waistband, cupping her mons.
She's all flushed a deep crimson, her hands trembling lightly. That doesn't stop her, though, to push her hand further down. Her fingers come away slick when she moves them back to her mouth to thoroughly lick them clean before returning to her sinful ministration.
In the dim light of the candles and with the black silk hiding her movements, I am left to guessing what she is actually doing. Not that I have much trouble with my imagination there. The way she looks at me from half-hooded eyes, these cute mewing noises she makes... She darts out the rosy tip of her tongue to lick her lips... With her free hand she caresses her breasts, pinches her nipples and rolls the hardening pearls between her fingers... oh Maker!
That drooling, gaping and gasping fool at the door, that's me. My knees feel somewhat wobbly, and I'm far too hot, it's like a fever. My head is airy, dizzy. Alright, Alistair, breathe! That's not that hard to do, is it? Okay, it is hard... and talking about hard... Boy, am I hard! It's almost painful. Perhaps it's about time to do something about that?
Alright, kitten, so, we're playing games? Well, I'm in. Why should I be the only one reduced to watch?
I know she is watching me carefully to see how I react. Sure of my audience I slip out of my shirt in a totally sexy way – okay, I think it is sexy. Perhaps. At least I manage to pull it over my head without getting entangled with my sleeves or my head getting stuck midway because I forgot to unbutton it correctly. I am in a fantastic shape, all chiseled and not an ounce of fat anywhere. All muscles as hard as steel. And no, I am not exaggerating!
I lean against the door as nonchalantly and casually as I can possibly manage when I open my breeches and reach into my leather pants. Maker's Breath, I cannot believe I am doing this! I cannot believe this is happening. It's like one of Zevran's stories having come true. It's kinda awkward, but also thrilling and so hot. When I free my erection from my pants, Rori sits up and stares, totally forgetting about what she was doing while she watches me run my hand up and down my shaft. She moans softly, licking her lips and it takes all the self control I can find inside of me to not cross the distance between us – and it's a very small room so it would only be two steps – and shove my length down her throat. But she said I wouldn't get to touch her tonight and I won't without her permission.
So we stick to this sweet torture, watching without touching – well, at least not each other. She touches herself a lot in all these beautiful exciting places. She is so ravishing in her embarrassement and arousal. She's scared of her own boldness and swept away by the sensation of the pleasure she gives herself. Maker, she's the most beautiful creature He has ever created in His glory.
Err...
That doesn't sound blasphemic, does it?
Not that I care at that very moment. I am too busy with my own climax. Even while cuming I find myself at awe at how far I can shoot my load. Boy, what a mess! I wonder... I wonder if I could shoot it any farther...
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In good times and in bad