Chapter Text
“Here, for our trouble.”
She takes the coins, silver this time, with a smile but slides half of them back across the table’s smooth surface. “You’ve not been much trouble, Herald.”
His blue eyes light up before his cheeks go blotchy red over a fair beard. He wears it in a small braid at the chin. It’s quaint - especially on a person who was supposed to be leading a Chantry army into the big green hole in the Frostbacks.
“Umm.” His eyes flick to the man sitting across from him. “Thanks.”
Millie nods at the hand he is keeping hidden under the table. “It’s a right pain to hide, hmm?”
“He’s bad for hiding all around.” The black haired man chuckles.
They had been leaning in over their tankards muttering and telling jokes for nigh on two hours. Even sitting down the Herald is head and shoulders over him. He wipes a hand over his odd forked beard as he sits back to prop a boot on the Herald’s chair.
It’s a long time before she sweeps by the Herald’s table again. Nobody has spotted him for anything but a reet big fella hobnobbing with his mate in a quiet corner. Even if it is strange to hear a noble’s accent coming out of a man the size of one of those Avvar. Like them he carries an ax and wears a necklace with animal teeth and carved bone strung on leather.
The darker one is eyeballing her as she comes close. Millie tilts her head just so but doesn’t let on. At least I wore this and not the shabby green frock. Have to see about mending the hem.
There is silver in the Herald’s huge palm. Not the special hand, which is a shame as she’d like to have a good look at it. Possessed, so they say. But no it’s the other hand, big enough to pick up pumpkins two at the time.
Millie looks at the money but only takes their empty tankards. “M’lord you’ve paid up for at least another hour, even at the rate you and your friend put it away.” Millie winks. The Herald of Frigging Andraste blushes again. “So put your coins back before one of those blighters,” she cuts her eyes toward the game of Wicked Grace at the bar. “Comes oozing over.”
“Nobody’s paid attention to us, we must look like trouble,” the Markham man says. “My thanks.”
“We get all types here, Ser. If you want your drinks incognito, it’s your look out.”
His eyebrows quirk up.
“My thanks,” he says again, leaning on an elbow. “As you’ve got a knack for secrecy - yes, this is the Herald of-”
“Thom, stuff that rot.” He coughs, taking a gulp to clear his throat. “Emery, and this is Thom.”
Millie glances at Thom who looks shifty all of a sudden. She bobs maybe half a curtsy then rushes to the door. Old Ansel is trying to unwrap his cloak and use his walking stick at the same time and he’s letting the rain in behind him.
“Millie,” she throws over a shoulder.
In the kitchen she sits with her feet up for a precious few moments. Uncle Branch brings her a bowl of stew with an apple sliced over it.
“Old Ansel make it in all right?” He huffs and picks up the cask she had used for a foot stool. “Has he got two coppers to rub together this week?”
“Who can say?” She sucks air in over her burned tongue. “Hmmph. I know where to scare up his boys when the tab gets too high.”
Her uncle sighs and nudges the kitchen door open with the fresh cask over his stooped shoulder.
“Those two in the corner are looking your way again, Millie.” He frowns. “They behaving?”
Millie cuts two trenchers and carves roast nug down on each with a handful of salted pecans and cheese thrown over the meat. “Close enough,” she mutters. “Staring at my arse all night but what else is new?”
Branch shakes his head at her with a resigned sigh. “I do despair of you ever settling down with a nice fella.”
“They’re good tippers. That’s all the nice I need in this place.” She squeezes between her uncle and the edge of the door.
“I’ll be sleeping with cotton in my ears tonight,” Branch grumbles. “You’ve got that look about you. Don’t wink your eye at me, lassie - whichever one it is, keep it to this side of the house.”
Which one indeed? Trying to bed the only man to survive the Divine's murder might not be the cleverest idea. I wonder if that hand will muck up the Potion? best not to risk it. Plenty of other things a girl can do instead of a proper fuck, though.
“You should eat, with all the ale you’ve put away.” Millie has to lean over to push the Herald’s food close enough. But men looking down her dress is hardly new. The Herald starts eating before the trencher lands but Thom catches her wrist carefully as she stands up straight. Getting pawed at comes with the business so it’s hard to stop herself jerking away out of habit. But his grip isn’t tight at all when she lets him salute her knuckles, ticklish beard making her shiver.
“You’re a creature of rare kindness,” he says with a Markham burr.
“I won’t help carry either of you bruisers up to a room if you take a header, Ser.” Had she even felt his lips on her skin? Could have just been mustache. Either way she knows she is pink, can feel it spreading down from her ears. She takes her hand back. Thom ignores his food in favor of holding her gaze. Well, that’s an offer if ever I’ve seen one.
“Just throw a blanket over me wherever I land!” The Herald is boisterous. He laughs and eats heartily, smiling up at her in a bashful way.
“If you’ve a moment,” Thom says, finally putting food in his mouth. He licks salt from the pad of his thumb.
Millie shrugs, rolling up the sleeves of her dress.
Everyone asks about the caves down the river. Millie was just about to give them the usual gab about a fool’s errand, how the cache was probably long gone back in Arl Grimes’ era but she stopped herself.
Maybe there actually is something left down there.
“Mmmm.” Millie glances between them. They’re both well in their cups, tucking into their midnight snacks. “I’m not certain yet what I want to tell you about the caves.”
Thom isn’t smiling anymore. His eyes are shadowed like he hasn’t slept in a long time. “We need to know where to start the hunt. It’s important.” He shares a significant look with the Herald, who is chewing and nodding, embarrassed.
“Everybody thinks they have a good reason to go getting themselves killed digging up treasure.” Millie can feel herself frowning. Before Thom can try again, she shakes her head. “Save it, love. I’ve tidying upstairs. I’ll think about whether you merit an honest answer.”
The Herald grins, sheepish. “You’ve already said you’re gonna give ush a wild gooshe chase,” he slurs around a mouthful of bread crust.
Millie smiles until he looks down at his food shyly. “No, sweetheart, I’ve told you I need to ruminate on whether you can be trusted not to do something foolish.”
**
By the time she has the rooms aired out and fresh linens on the bed in the back suite they had eaten their way down to the tabletop. Thom thanked her for the ale she brought and for the location of the entrance to the caverns of Calebry - with a sovereign slipped into her hand.
“You don’t have to pay me.”
Thom’s eyes rake over her, especially the top half. “We do if the help is genuine.”
“Help implies there was a conversation not a transaction.”
Thom laughs, head thrown back a moment. Millie holds the sovereign out pinched between her fingers. Both his broad warm hands close her fist around the coin carefully. “Take it dear heart.” Millie’s stomach goes nervous at his calloused touch. “You’re wasted on a tavern. Too clever by half.”
She pats his knuckles. “Watch yourself.”
“He didn’t mean it like that,” the Herald blurts out, scowling at Thom then tipping his shaggy blond head back a few degrees to placate her. “I’m sorry too. You’re not brainless, anybody can see that. You’re - You should probably be a spy if you aren’t already.” At Thom’s wide eyes he shrugs and crosses his arms over his chest. The seams of his tunic barely survive the strain. “What? She should, she’d be good at it.”
The hands around her closed fist let go with lingering fingertips. She keeps her eyes on the Herald as she answers. “This place keeps me busy enough, we can’t keep good help. But I’ll take the compliment. I’ve two good rooms available if you’ll be needing them.”
“And if you’ve got the time, and you wouldn’t mind too much we could use a little more help. Anything you might know about the caverns. About what we’re gonna run into.”
There is a window pane of a face. Not a lie in him, Marcher lord or not. Millie counts the drunks left at the hearth.
“I owe you that much at least, after all you’ve done for Ferelden. Once the rowdies are shoved out. But don’t get so legless you can’t recall it in the morning.” Millie reaches out to tug at the little braid of beard teasingly. Despite all the stories people tell of the Herald chopping demons in two, he is surprisingly unassuming - and can’t take his eyes off her tits. “I won’t wake up at sunrise to repeat myself. Not even for you.”
He grins. His teeth are a wreck, crooked as anything. It’s endearing, like the bit of belly hanging over his belt and the blushing cheeks.
Millie can feel both their eyes on her as she pushes the last of the night’s regulars out. When she catches them at it the Herald looks down at the table, tugging at the trinkets on his necklace. Uncle Branch brings the lantern over the door back inside and blows it out. He looks at Millie for one of their little signs that all is well but frowns when he gets it. She has to fight not to laugh at his grumpy sigh.
Branch cuts a narrow-eyed stare at their lodgers for the night. Thom winks at him over the rim of his tankard. Emery kicks him under the table. Branch gathers up the strongbox and goes upstairs with exaggerated dignity, pretending none of that happened.
“Cheeky,” Millie scoffs as she pulls out a bottle of good red for herself. “But obviously,” she ducks into the kitchen to fill a basin from the kettle, speaking up so they can hear her through the door. “Very very obviously - You’re both the sort who have no shame. Girl on each knee every night.”
“We have not!” The Herald calls. His Ostwick accent gets worse the more he drinks. “I’m offended you think we’re scoundrels.”
Millie wrings out a clean cloth and wipes off starting at the back of her neck and working down, moving her dress aside as needed. Her knickers she wiggles out of and wads up inside her discarded apron before returning to the table in the corner with her wine.
“I don’t have any girls tonight to put on your knee, is all.” Millie says. “They always run off to elope or follow a soldier’s camp or take the vows.”
“You can do their job twice as well,” the Herald says, holding a chair for her as she comes closer.
“But I’ve no time to sit on knees, more’s the pity.”
Thom takes his cue, pushing back from the table with a scraping of chair legs and offering his lap.
“Cheeky.” She takes the seat the Herald offers between them instead. Thom laughs. There is a handsome face under all that beard. “Can you tell me anything about what is really happening down the Frostbacks?”
They could, they did. Though they kept to the funnier things and soon it was only swapping stories of idiocy and debauchery.
“No, no.” Millie shakes her head to interrupt Thom’s tale of the Redcliffe tavern. “I’ve heard a dozen versions of that same story since I was fifteen.”
The Herald chokes on his last swallow of ale. Millie takes her chance to stand and pat him on the back but it is rather more steadying herself than being any help. Most of a bottle of wine in her veins means she doesn’t think twice about about rubbing a hand over the Herald’s broad shoulders.
“Since you’ve pegged me for a liar already, Why don’t you tell us a tale?” Thom crosses his arms and tips his chair back.
“Too right.” Millie winks at the Herald as she takes his empty tankard. “Just as soon as I’ve stirred the fire.”
“Why bother?” Thom pats his leg. “I’m warm.”
“Is he like this everywhere?” Millie calls from the taps.
“Maker, no.” The Herald stands up politely as she comes back but Millie waves him down. He sits carefully, elbows tucked into his sides, as if he’s afraid of knocking something over. “He’s a right sourpuss. Face like a cat’s ass most nights.”
The Herald grins at her and returns the two-fingered salute he gets from his mate. Thom is still offering and with a loud sigh so he knows she isn’t fooled but only playing along Millie perches on one knee with her cup of wine.
“There’s usually more flopping on our shoulders,” the Herald says.
“I don’t need to flop,” Millie rolls her eyes. The Herald clears his throat and starts in on a bawdy joke at the Empress’ expense.
“You’ve had a long night.” Thom’s hand falls light on her waist. The heat of it through her dress is lovely and nerve-making. He shifts behind her.
There’s not as much chance for changing her mind if she settles into his lap but she does it anyway. One arm wraps around her middle to pull her in a little tighter. This way they are eye to eye and Millie is suddenly feeling shy. She turns to keep her attention across the table.
Thom’s fingers play idly up and down the inside of her wrist where her arm rests on the edge of the table. Over her pulse, the ticklish skin of her forearm, to the crook of her elbow. Just that small touch makes her want to squirm. She shivers, not able to hide her quickened breath and the Herald’s blue eyes go sneaky. Millie can’t look into Thom’s face without some awkward twisting so she watches Emery while he talks of crossing the Waking Sea on a Rivaini schooner. He in turn looks at the big tanned hand on her arm, the fingertips worming under the rolled up sleeve at her elbow. Thom is gentle but steady, no apologies. His hands aren’t pulling or demanding but they aren’t polite, either.
He hums to himself, still stroking her arm. “Soft,” he sighs, nose in her hair for a moment. “Thank the Maker for soft skin.”
Andraste’s Natty Knickers that voice. Millie shrugs as best she can slouched against him, which settles her in further. “I’m a woman it’s my purpose to be soft.”
The Herald laughs and has a long pull at his ale. “The hardest women I’ve ever known were all running pubs back home. My brothers used to sneak me into a place called the Crafty Gingerroot. Madame Drake liked to pin your sleeve down to the bar with a dagger if you came up short on the tab. She cut my oldest brother’s braid off one night for backchatting her.”
Thom had been carefully shifting both of them in the chair until Millie has her back to his chest. His deep breaths gently lift her. He noses her hair again, lips brushing her ear. She shivers and her nipples go painfully hard.
“Give us a kiss,” he whispers.
“Piss off.” Millie’s rebuff is toothless thanks to the gasp he gets out of her with a careful nip at her earlobe. Across the table the Herald makes himself more comfortable in his own seat. “Is this how the pair of you occupy yourselves?” Millie lets Thom nudge her head a tiny bit to her left. His beard tickles the side of her neck as he kisses there.
“I wish. Mostly we’re keeping our hides in one piece and sleeping off the last fight.” The Herald sighs. “There hasn’t been any fun at all lately.”
“This is fun to you?” Millie barely manages to say it without stammering. Thom’s hot tongue darts after a teasing bite that makes her squirm.
The Herald sits back farther, adjusting his breeches with an apologetic grin.
“Give us a kiss,” Thom says again - this time into the crook of her neck.
“I don’t snog strangers.” She moans, tilting her head further and closing her eyes as he noses the neck of her dress farther down her shoulder. He leaves small sharp nips and soothing kisses on the skin he uncovers.
"Oh, Thom," Emery chimes in as Millie has shifted enough to let Thom repeat himself on the other ear and she has once again refused. "D'you remember that Inn out in Val Chevin, the one with the-"
"Mmhhm," Thom mutters against her neck. "Not the time for that story, Emery."
Opening her eyes, Millie leans forward, enough to take him off her neck and have a sip of her ale. He protests, grumbling under his breath as he polishes off his own mug. "Oh, now I want to hear it, Herald."
"Emery." He smiles at her, the dark shadows under his eyes making him look sickly despite his bulk and obvious vigor. "Well, the thing is, Thom had gotten us a whole bunch of rum and I was late so he was well ahead of me, and," Emery laughed. "You know what, he did have a girl on each knee that night."
Millie turns to look over her shoulder. Thom's cheeks have gone a little ruddy. His mouth is distracting though, she isn't really listening. He licks his lip to catch a stray drop of foam and she feels herself getting uncomfortably wet. It's been coming on since she let him start in on her ear.
"-but the next thing I know, Thom's laying flat on his back on the floor with a whole flagon of ale poured over him!"
She looks back in time to laugh dutifully.
"Should've just picked one, would've been fine."
Behind her, Thom's hands wind around her waist, fingers overlapping under her ribs. Millie slides back until she's wriggling around to get comfortable on the hard cock under thigh. He groans a little under his breath.
She lets herself relax fully, settling back into his body and twining her fingers with his. “So we’re certain,” she holds Emery’s shadowed eyes. “I am not taking you two into my own bed. Not least because you’d probably break it, bloody big monsters that you are.”
Thom laughs, jiggling her. “You’ve no idea.”
Millie grinds down into him and he grunts in surprise. “Don’t go bragging, Ser, girls aren’t as anxious about that as you blokes think.”
He grips her hips in both hands. “It’s only bragging for me. The truth for him.” He rubs against her with a contented purr.
She finds herself looking at the other man’s lap but it’s too dark to make much out.
“Ah, yes, well. Yes. I'm on the Potion, of course. Second - um, third thing - I’ve got nothing catching but if either of you do I’ll have you out on your ears.” At Emery’s wide eyes and quick denial and Thom’s muttered No worry she nods. “Good. It’s been ages since I was in a spitroast.”
Thom’s chuckle is lovely, and very very dirty.
“Or does he only like to watch?” Millie asks Thom, leaning her head back on his shoulder and petting his thigh through his breeches. He feels muscled and warm. Emery looks the same.
“I like watching, too, but the other thing-” Here the Herald looks into his tankard shyly. “It’s not something that has to happen.”
“Nothing has to happen.” Thom says, terse. “But I think it will.” He untangles their fingers and toys with the laces holding her dress cinched tight. “Give us a kiss, Millie.”
She smiles but doesn’t turn her head under the gentle pressure of his thumb at her chin. Instead she pulls his thumb to her lips, biting and giving him a sucking kiss on the tip. Emery chuckles and leans on the table with both elbows, chin propped on one hand.
“That’s spiteful, Miss Millie. Thom likes a good kiss. It gets him all wound up.”
“He’s plenty wound,” she laughs. “He can kiss some place else if he’s of a mind.”
“Always.” Thom growls in her ear. “Sit on my face - I’ll make you come until you drown me.” His hand gathers up one side of her skirt. She lets him. Emery sighs appreciatively when her thigh is in view. Thom’s fingertips drag gooseflesh behind them. He teases and slides his hand under the edge of the heavy wool skirt but doesn’t go any farther than the rolled tops of her stockings. “Want one here first? Something to hold you over until we’re upstairs?”
MIllie shifts, hooking her ankles behind his until the buckles on his boots click against her shoes. “Mmm. You’re welcome to play a bit.” She rests a hand over his, tracing a long red scar down his first finger.
“She doesn’t think you can manage it.” Emery shakes his head with a false frown. “Poor girl. Hasn’t had a good hand under her skirt lately.”
“Says you. My own is very good.”
Thom doesn’t answer only teases her a little more, keeping her skirt down to hide his hand. Millie lets her eyes close and reminds herself not to jump when gentle fingertips brush over the hair between her legs, petting but not pressing on. She has to fight not to arch off his lap or press forward in the hopes of being touched the way she suddenly very much wants.
“You should feel her.” Thom says softly to Emery. His fingers slip over her inner thighs then further, down between her lips. “Slick as an eel already.” He circles tenderly, searching out the right places to touch.
Millie’s gasp is embarrassingly loud so she slaps a hand over her mouth. Emery laughs at her and adjusts himself in his trousers.
“Told you he’s got talent.”
Maker has he ever. Millie jumps in Thom’s arms, unable to stop her hips jerking at the careful circles on her clit. She hears herself whinging and hides her face in the curve of his neck, his beard brushing her cheek. It’s good, very good, but the fact the big man across the table is watching Thom’s hand move under her skirt is alternately exciting and distracting until Millie can’t relax into the pleasure.
“Slow down, Thom.” Emery says quietly. All the shy smile in his voice is gone as he leans forward to see better.
“No!” Millie grabs hold of Thom’s wrist but it is too late. He rubs achingly slow and feather light, the tendons in his arm hard under her hand. “Oh, fuck, please…shite…please make me come.” Her voice has gone thready, mouth dry.
Thom’s breath is as shallow as her own. The hard length of him under her feels more apparent as he crooks a finger, his voice so low in her ear she doubts it carries to Emery’s side of the table. “Go on then,” he urges. “Come for me.”
She gives up trying to force his hand to press harder. Instead she reaches back and sinks both hands in his hair. When she pulls he lets out a pleased grunt.
“Yes, that’s it. Come. I’ll take you upstairs and lick you clean.”
She breaks and every movement after is near-agony. He pushes her a little past the edge until she arches up and then shrinks back to evade his fingers.
“Give it to me,” he groans. “Keep coming.”
“Enough!” She gasps and squeezes his hand between her thighs, shaking. “Mmm, enough, enough. Maker.” Millie presses his hand flat under her skirt in case he is tempted to torture her further. Dreamily she watches Emery stand and come around to their end of the table. He’s wobbly with drink but finally she can see what Thom was talking about. The creature tucked at an angle against his thigh is rather impressive.
Thom cups his hand gently, squeezing her one last time then lets go. He holds his damp hand up for Emery to lick his palm then eagerly suck two of his fingers clean.
“Fuck,” she shivers and grinds down into Thom’s cock. He plucks at her dress with the hand not in Emery’s mouth, circling her nipples in turn until Millie pulls his hair again. “One of you, both of you - fuck me.”
***