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“But my people have been fighting the Avaar for decades.”
“So view this as a chance for peace.”
He scoffed. “Peace? Ha! They are barbarians, Eve. They don’t want peace.”
She glared at him, hands on hips. They’d been arguing the point for the past ten minutes, and she had had enough. Once they got to Stone-Bear Hold, he’d appreciate the simple beauty of the place, and if he could stop being such a Fereldeny Ferelden for all of ten minutes and actually condescend to speak to any of the Avaar, he’d probably appreciate their simplicity and straight-forward manner as well.
But he refused to admit this.
“Have you actually met any Avaar tribes?” she asked.
“Well… no, not as such. But…”
“Then how do you know what they’re like?” she interrupted, keen to push her point. He opened his mouth, to argue back she was sure, but then he suddenly snapped it shut. Clearly, he had no ready retort. She took the opportunity to press her advantage.
“They actually have some very interesting customs,” she continued, casting about in her mind for one she knew of that he might appreciate. “Like the way they solve disputes. Two men, each representing a different side of the argument, climb a particular side of the cliff. The first man to the top wins.”
Cullen simply scoffed. “Of course,” he replied sarcastically. “Because, Maker forbid that disputes be solved amicably with discussion and conversation.”
She raised her eyebrow at his tone.
“Yes,” she answered, matching his sarcastic tone exactly. “Because I remember how three people standing around arguing worked so well, that you had to appoint someone to be referee.”
Cullen chuckled.
“You’re more than that,” he murmured softly. “But I see your point.”
She smiled, sensing victory.
“It is a truly beautiful spot, my love,” she purred, switching tactics and deliberately making her tone as seductive as possible, as she stepped closer to him. “There’s the ocean waves…” She slid her hands up his breastplate and gently relieved him of his cloak. “And the sandy beaches…” She moved her fingers to the buckles holding his plate in place and began unlacing them with a somewhat practised ease. “And the high, lonely, secluded treetop camps…” The last of his armour hit the floor. She turned her attention to removing the cloth that still shielded his skin from her.
He was watching her intently, an amused smirk painting his handsome features that told her he clearly knew exactly what she was about. Yet, the heat and desire in his eyes was equally unmistakable. She relieved him of his shirt just as he drew her into his arms.
“Mmm, well I suppose it wouldn’t be so terrible to be alone in the treetops with you,” he replied, as his mouth began to do delightful things to her neck and shoulders.
“It might even be enjoyable,” she gasped as his teeth grazed her collarbone. She was forced to grip his arms to steady herself against the sudden weakness in her knees.
“Mmm,” he practically growled against her throat, which did not help the weakness in her knees at all. “As long as we needn’t spend too much time with the Avaar?” He kissed the corners of her mouth but didn’t quite kiss her properly. She wanted him to. She wanted him to so badly.
“Of course not,” she breathed, acquiescing to his request without thinking. She was rewarded by his mouth crashing down on hers.
After as they lay exhausted and sated in her bed, his arm curled around her and drawing lazy patterns up and down her side, they came to an agreement.
He would visit Stone-Bear Hold, providing they could leave when he said and stay secluded in their own treetop refuge. She agreed readily, partly because she knew that once he met the Avaar, he’d change his mind, and partly because he really needed the break.
The recent weeks had been particularly hard on him. So much so that she’d almost regretted capturing Griffon Wing Keep. He’d assured her that he was fine, that an evening (and night) with her was all the rest from work he required, but she’d already decided that as soon as it was feasible she’d ensure he had a proper break, out of Skyhold.
His surprise trip to Crestwood had inspired her to suggest the Basin. She knew that, at the very least, meeting the Avaar (whether he ended up approving of them or not) would provide a good enough distraction that he wouldn’t secretly be thinking about his paperwork cluttered desk.
Three days later she was stood in the viewing gallery, wondering what wonderful thing she’d done in her life to deserve the current state of affairs.
As she had suspected, Cullen had continued to grumble about the ‘barbarianism’ of the Avaar right up until he’d seen the Avaar at sword practice. Then he’d practically salivated over the ‘stew’ Sun-Hair had served them for the noonday meal. It had been a distinctly grey looking colour with lumps of chewy unidentifiable meat swimming in it. She’d had to practically force it down her throat in an effort to be polite, but he somehow seemed to enjoy every bite.
Over the meal, Cullen and Sun-Hair had started sharing war stories. She’d heard some of Cullen’s stories before but had revelled in Sun-Hair’s impressed look as he’d related the story of Adamant. She’d enjoyed Sun-Hair’s stories too. Apparently the Avaar went into battle covered in nothing but paint, believing that if this was the day their gods had appointed for the deaths then armour was hardly going to change that.
Cullen had scoffed at that point, then apologised, then explained that in his view a man made his own fate and armour might certainly help in that regard. This had led to a spirited, yet surprisingly civil debate on the merits of blind courage and bravery versus clever tactics and exploiting every opportunity.
Then somehow, somewhere along the line Sun-Hair had issued a challenge and mentioned a festival for Hakkon, and now Cullen was stood in the centre of the arena. He wore only boots, linen trousers, the small fur shoulder pauldrons favoured by the Avaar, and a single line of twine which bisected his chest.
He looked magnificent.
Sun-Hair had explained the rules to her as they’d taken their seats in the front row of the arena.
In essence it was a boxing contest. It began with the youngest of the boys who could technically be considered a man by Avaar custom. The next youngest then became the first ‘challenger’. The winner stayed on to face the next man, the winner of that match stayed to face the next man and so on until eventually there were only two men and one winner.
Cullen had won the last five rounds, and was now facing the oldest and most experienced of the Avaar warriors. He’d worn a smug self-satisfied smile ever since he’d won his second bout, but his obvious enjoyment of the activity hadn’t affected his concentration. He was still in fine fighting form.
Very fine, in fact.
Not that she wasn’t worried; his lip had been split by a wicked right hook in his fourth match and a smear of blood still painted his lips and cheek where he’d hastily wiped it away. There was a purpling bruise on his left pectoral where one man had thrown his shoulder into him and used the resultant leverage to flip Cullen over onto his back. She’d have sworn that at one point she’d heard a bone snap.
She clutched the water skin and healing potions she’d gathered tightly in her lap. Sun-Hair had assured her that as soon as the match ended it was perfectly acceptable for her to rush forward in order to tend to him.
Something she absolutely intended on doing.
A sickening crunch sounded around the arena as Cullen’s right fist went smashing into the Avaar warriors’ nose. He stumbled back as Cullen launched himself at his torso throwing them both to the ground. He ignored a punch aimed at his bicep as if it were nothing (and for all she knew maybe it wasn’t) and in an instant had pinned the Avaar warrior beneath him, with his arm braced across his throat. He held on as the Avaar tried to dislodge him until finally, finally he tapped the ground twice, indicating surrender.
A loud cheer rose up from the stands. It seemed that, above all else, the Avaar appreciated a good fight and Cullen had certainly given them that. As soon as the warrior had tapped out he’d risen, offering a helping hand to the fallen champion. He wiped his sweat-dampened curls from his eyes as he accepted the adulation of the crowd with a broad grin.
Now that he was free from danger she was finally able to breathe a sigh of relief, and truly appreciate the view before her.
Maker help her. A sight like that it…it just wasn’t fair.
His chest was heaving, the sweat from the exertion making his rippling chest glisten, and as she rushed forward with the water and healing potions she couldn’t stop herself from reflexively reaching out as if to touch. By an extreme force of will, she somehow managed to stop herself just before her fingers actually made contact with his skin and instead handed him the healing potion and then the water. He drained the healing potion in a single gulp, tilting his head back and entrancing her with the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Then he reached for the water.
“Thanks,” he growled, taking deep pulls from the water skin.
She couldn’t help it, her gaze dipped lower taking in his hard, chiselled abs, strong, well-defined arms and…
And…
Was he smirking at her over the water skin?
He was, wasn’t he?
And now she was blushing. Super.
Coughing, she turned away, desperate to put some distance between them before she made a complete fool of herself, but he stopped her. Reaching out lightning fast, he took her fingers in his hand and pulled her back to face him. Slowly, oh so slowly, he raised her fingers to his lips bringing her close enough to him that her hand just barely grazed his skin as he did so.
“My lady,” he murmured, as he bestowed a long lingering kiss on her knuckles, eyes glittering and unwaveringly meeting her own as he did.
She was surprised she didn’t combust on the spot.
“Yer fought well, lowlander,” the Avaar champion called out as he crossed the arena to join them after having availed himself of both water and healing. Mercifully, his interruption caused Cullen to release her hand as he turned to respond, giving her at least a chance of recovering.
“As did you,” he replied, with a slight inclination of his head.
“Aye, though I’da never pegged a lowlander for a brawler.”
Cullen barked a laugh. “Well, it’s not my preferred method I’ll grant you, but...”
He was interrupted by Sun-Hair, who had descended into the arena and held her arms aloft to indicate silence.
“We have our champion,” she said when all was still. “And Hakkon has been appeased by the blood and sweat of our warriors. Tonight… we FEAST!”
A resounding cheer greeted her words as the spectators began to disperse, their excited chattering echoing across the arena.
As she watched them disperse she suddenly felt a mass of muscle and heated flesh pressing into her back.
“I think it’s time we were going, don’t you?” he rumbled, his breath hot in his ear.
She nodded, finding herself suddenly desirous of being alone with him in their secluded treetop refuge. She stepped forward in order to make her farewells to Sun-Hair, thanking her for her hospitality and the entertainment.
“Yer canne leave lass,” Sun-Hair said when she was done. “He be our champion and guest of honour at the feast.” She nodded briefly in Cullen’s direction. “He must be painted to honour Hakkon and sit at ‘ead o’ camp. T’would be an insult to the gods else.”
“All right,” she said slowly, craning her neck around to share a confused glance with Cullen. “What exactly do you mean by painted?”
*
She was going to start throwing fireballs in a minute.
She meant it, she really was. Stupid simpering Avaar, stupid combat-capable Cullen, stupid traditions. Apparently, what Sun-Hair had meant by ‘painted’ was that Cullen had to sit in the centre of their ritual cave while the maidens - maidens - of the hold used a blue dye to literally ‘paint’ various designs on his exposed upper body.
Using only their fingertips.
She was fairly certain that she was in serious danger of her scowl becoming permanent. It didn’t matter that Cullen kept shooting her apologetic glances and was clearly uncomfortable with having a group of young, barely dressed girls run their fingers all over his naked skin; the point was is that he was her Cullen. It didn’t help that, in contrast to Cullen himself, the girls were clearly enjoying the task. She was sure that their fingertips were languishing against his skin. One girl had had spent what seemed like an age cupping his jaw almost tenderly as she added the design around his eye, during which time her fist had been shaking so badly at her side that she was surprised she hadn’t broken her own bones.
She couldn’t exactly fault the girls. He had just won their contest and he was the most handsome man in… well, most places really, but they could at least try to respect the fact that he was taken.
Eventually of course they had to concede that the task was done and try as they might there were simply no more designs to be painted. They withdrew, with much girlish giggling and many a backwards glance they eventually, mercifully, left them alone.
As soon as they had gone Cullen stood, glancing at his chest and arms with open confusion.
“Well,” he said. “That was an… uncomfortable experience.”
She nodded, unable to speak.
Now that he was stood she could see the full effect of the painted designs across his skin. The blue swirls curved across his well-defined muscles, highlighting them, enhancing them. He still wore the Avaar costume he’d fought in and the paint almost seemed to curl out from under the shoulder holster and up from his bracers. The designs curled up his bare arms, having a similar effect on his biceps and the painted slash across his eye worked almost like a mask, obscuring his features somewhat and making him seem that much more imposing.
He looked like a god. Some terrible, powerful, fearsome Avaar god that had descended from the fade to torment her with his beauty and take her with all the passion of….
“Evelyn? Are you all right?”
“What? Oh yes. Fine.” She couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away from phenomenal piece of artwork that was his body at present. Once again she reflexively reached out as if to touch him as he came closer, but once more stopped herself just before she made contact with his skin. He caught her outstretched hand in his own, raising it to his lips in order to leave a lingering kiss on her palm.
“Do you approve of the view, Lady Trevelyan?” he asked her in a deep but soft voice that seemed to resonate throughout her entire being.
“I… I… Err…”
He chuckled at her stammering and pulled her arm closer so that he could lay another kiss onto her wrist, then closer still as he trailed his lips up her forearm and bicep, until eventually he held her pressed against his chest, his other arm encircling her waist as he ever so gently pressed his lips to hers. She couldn’t help whimpering at his gentleness, all too ready for ferocious passion. She felt him smirk against her lips a scant second before he crushed her to him, deepening their kiss and lifting her up into his arms as easily as if she weighed nothing at all. She wrapped her legs around his waist and buried her fingers in his golden curls as their kiss became a sloppy, greedy thing and a battleground for dominance.
He won. He always won, and she somehow ended up perched on a nearby rock completely at the mercy of his hands as he fought to free her from her clothing without parting his lips from hers.
“Cullen!” she gasped out, as he graciously allowed her to breathe. Damn the fact that breathing was necessary to live, she would have quite happily dispensed with it at this particular moment in time. He only growled in response, trailing his lips across her neck and collarbone, effectively reducing her to a gasping trembling mess beneath him.
He’d just succeeded in ridding her of her enchanter’s coat, lifting her up into his arms for the briefest of moments in order to tear it out from under her before setting her back on to the rock when Sun-Hair interrupted them.
“Well, well, well… What have we here?” she said, a broad grin virtually splitting her features. Cullen instantly sprang back from her like he’d been stung and she made a hurried and no doubt poor attempt to smooth her hair and clothing. Then, just in case Sun-Hair was in any doubt as to what they’d been about, they cleverly tried to make their excuses.
“We were…”
“We were just….”
Sun-Hair chuckled loudly.
“Oh I know what yer were just doin’” she said, still chuckling “And I cannae blame yer lass. No doubt he be ‘ard to keep yer hands off, aye?”
Evelyn smirked at that and nodded vigorously, causing Sun-Hair to laugh and Cullen to blush adorably.
“Was there something you needed?” he asked Sun-Hair rather irritably once both ladies had finished laughing.
“Aye,” Sun-Hair replied, not in the least put out by his tone. “The men be waitin’ for yer by the fire. The hunters’ spoils need a’roastin’. As for you lass, I thought mayhap you’d like to join the ladies in their dressin’?”
“Ooh,” Evelyn said, intrigued. “Sounds interesting.”
*
The Avaar had no mirrors so she had no idea what she actually looked like in this get-up but it was certainly comfortable and soft and more than a little revealing. The little fur outfits had looked so adorable on some of the younger girls that when Sun-Hair had offered her one she hadn’t been able to say no.
Her costume consisted of a short fur skirt which ended far above her knees and another scrap of fur that amounted to little more than a breast band across her torso. A wonderfully soft hooded jacket covered her shoulders and her hair had been woven into a single braid that hung over her left shoulder with the hood then pulled up over it. She’d been painted too, thought she’d noted that none of the other girls had been and assumed that this had something to do with her being ‘the champion’s woman’. She’d been too busy trying not to laugh at their ticklish fingers as they’d painted her to actually ask. From what she could see her designs were somewhat softer than Cullen’s and here and there a few flowers dotted the lines.
She really wished she could see what she looked like.
Having said that, when they finally emerged hours later, after night had fallen and the flickering torches were the only light source available, Cullen’s reaction told her everything she needed to know.
He had spotted her almost immediately as they had approached the fire in order to join the celebrations, his eyes widening in surprise as they raked her form, so intense in their gaze that they almost felt like a caress all of their own. Then, as his gaze had risen up her body to meet her own eyes, something fierce and primal and possessive had sparked in them, even as the familiar smirk curled his lip.
There was precious little seating around the campfire and at first she hadn’t be sure where to sit. The other ladies had shown no such hesitation, walking into the circle around the fire and perching themselves, for the most part, on the men’s knees. Seeing this, Cullen had beckoned to her and she’d ended up settled in his lap with his arm curled around her bare torso. His fingers gently, almost absentmindedly stroking the skin there, she’d thrown one arm around his neck to keep herself balanced and the other was braced against his chest making hyper aware of just how little clothing there was between them.
The feast had then begun in earnest. The roasted boar was carved and passed around and she fed Cullen pieces of it so that he didn’t need to relinquish his arm around her waist. She laughed at the ticklish sensation of him licking the grease from her fingers, until he caught her index finger fully in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it then sucking. This stirred an entirely different emotion in her.
Wine also flowed, a strong, hot brew that burned the throat pleasingly and seemed to ignite a fire in her veins and then, the dancing had begun.
A slow drum beat had echoed across the hold increasing in tempo as more and more had joined the dance. Cullen had tightened his arm about her, an indication that he didn’t wish to dance and she had squeezed his shoulders reassuringly to let him know he didn’t have to.
But Maker, the dancing.
It was unlike anything she’d ever seen. As the drum beat quickened the dance increased in its intensity. They danced in couples spread out across the camp but close enough to the fire to make use of its light. But this was not the carefully choreographed dancing of the Orlesian court. This was instinct and passion expressed though movement.
One man held his woman with her back to him, moving his hips against her. One of his hands had slid up her torso, pushing under her breast band and caressing her. His other hand had wandered underneath her skirt and from the way she writhed against him she was sure that he was he was caressing her there too.
To the side of them another man held his woman against the cliff face, her arms pinned above her and his thigh firmly wedged against her as they gyrated.
Beside them another couple were kissing passionately so open mouthed that she could see their tongues between their lips. As she watched the female slid her hand across his exposed chest, dipping below the hem of his trousers and stroking.
And there were more couples all across the hold, all of them dancing.
She couldn’t look away. As she watched, she became aware of just how heavily she was breathing, deep shaking breaths wracked through her, at the sheer carnality that was displayed around the fire. Beneath her hand she could feel Cullen’s breaths coming just as hard and as she turned her head to meet the liquid pools of molten desire that were his eyes, everything stopped. She became aware only of the rhythm of their breathing, the incessant beating of the drum, the feel of him beneath her all hard muscle and tense expectation.
Their gazes locked and then, though she could never be sure what it was exactly, something in him snapped. He wrenched her forwards, crushing her against him and slamming his mouth down hard against hers. She whimpered at his ferocity, clinging tightly to him as his tongue stroked deeply into her mouth. She kissed him back with equal passion digging her nails into his flesh so hard she was sure she was leaving marks. She didn’t care, he wasn’t close enough she needed more. He tore his mouth from hers, gasping into the night air and then growling in frustration as he twisted her his lap so that her knees fell on either side of his hips.
An unmistakable hardness was brought to the forefront of her awareness when he did, the full glorious length of him pressing just so against her slit. She bucked against him instinctively, crying out at the burst of pleasure it sent through her.
He stilled completely. The intensity still raged behind his eyes, but he held his body completely still. Until, very slowly he coaxed her into repeating the movement with the hand of his that rested on her hip. At his urging she bucked against him again and again each time sending the same jolt of unimaginable pleasure shooting through her. She knew he liked to watch her come undone for him so she continued even when his hand fell from her hip, stroking slowly along her leg and dipping dangerously close to her inner thigh. Her gaze stayed fixed on his intense amber eyes as she moved against him pushing, straining until she could take it no more and she arched into him one last time throwing her head back in a wordless cry as she came. He gave an appreciative growl when she did then, swept her up into his arms and stalked in the direction of their hut.
The door flew open with a loud bang that she only just heard over the roaring in her ears as he pushed her into the room. Their lips fused together, all teeth and tongue as they devoured each other. Her fingers were fumbling with the laces of his linen trousers desperate to annihilable the layers between them. She tore at the knot blindly, unable to resist moaning into his mouth when she finally created a gap large enough for her to slide her hand in and wrap her fingers around his hard length.
He hissed sharply when she did, breaking away from her lips and pressing his forehead against her own, one hand flying up to cup her cheek as his eyes squeezed tight shut.
“Maker,” he gasped. The raw desperate passion in his voice sent heat shooting though her and settled in her core. She strained towards him, wanting him more than she’d ever wanted anything.
When he opened his eyes they glittered and that heart-stopping sinful smirk spread across his face. She waited in breathless anticipation of what he would do and when he hesitated, she stroked him again, curling her fingers snugly around him.
He snapped, dragging her lips back to his for a kiss that was harsh and fast before abruptly pulling her lips away tearing off her breast band and jacket and lifting her into his arms. He laid her down on the furs in the corner of the hut, his hands dancing over every part of her exposed skin. They swept between her breasts and slowly up her legs until she felt like she was afire, hyper aware of everywhere where he was touching…
And everywhere he wasn’t.
She writhed against him, wanting his hands over her breasts, between her legs, anything to ease the flame inside her. She heard him chuckle at her desperation and the self-satisfied smugness she heard within it infuriated her. She surged forwards, catching him by surprise and pushing him down onto the furs beside her. In short order she tore away his smallclothes and pants and sheathed him inside her with a single glorious stroke.
She gasped as he entered her, delighting in the feel of her body stretching to accommodate him. He bucked against her, groaning, and she moved with him, following the bucking of his hips as she rode him desperately, almost selfishly seeking her own pleasure.
She was a creature of instinct insensible to anything but her need for him. There was no gentle seduction or timid caress in the way that she took him. There were times when she took delight in gently tracing her fingertips over him, delighting in the shudder and soft groan the action so often elicited. Tonight was not that kind of night. This night was one of need, not seduction.
He felt so good, too good. The barely leashed power she could feel in his muscles as she scored her nails along the hard planes of his body already made her wet and wanting and desperate for him. She strained against him, rolling her hips to meet his every stroke seeking more, needing only a little…
His fingers were there circling, rubbing, pushing until with a loud cry and a desperate arching of her back he threw her over the edge.
He eased her through the aftershocks letting her feel the full exquisite length of him with each slow, almost torturous gyration until she collapsed against his sweat-dampened chest.
“Maker, you are beautiful when you come for me,” he whispered as he cradled her against him, one warm strong arm stroking her back.
He gave her only a moment, tilting her chin just so and meeting her lips with a soft kiss. And another. And another until their kisses were no longer soft but opened-mouthed and charged. As the need for air forced her to gasp out her pleasure he crushed her to him rolling them on the furs so that he towered over her.
“Come for me again,” he said, no commanded as he entered her with one long wondrous stroke.
She cried out at the sensation, catapulted back into the maelstrom. The feel of him, deep and hard and long and relentlessly filling her was all at once too much and yet not enough. The tension built within her almost unbelievably quickly until she was soon on the precipice once again. She was so close, desperate, needy, following his rhythm blindly, seeking her release. His fingers reached for her core just as she cried his name to the heavens and this time when she came he followed her, spilling into her with a soft groan.
He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily and she curled her limbs around him keeping him close, soothing him.
“Maker,” he choked. “That was… That was...”
“I know.” She smiled, pressing her lips to his forehead. He shifted, lifted himself off of her, bracing some of his weight on his arm and gazing into her eyes.
“So,” she said after a moment. “Think we’ll be visiting the Avaar more often?”
He chuckled. “I think so.” Then he cast his eyes over to the haphazard pile of clothing beside the furs. “And I think we’ll keep the outfits too.”
She smiled.
“Good.”