Reverse-Cowgirl Diplomacy

"I don't like this forest," Elissa announced to no one in particular as they surveyed the accursed campsite, which now no longer looked nearly as inviting as it once had. The tents were in tatters, the bones of countless unwary travelers scattered about. She looked at her companions, each of them appearing pale and drawn after their narrow escape from the shade that had attacked them.

Disgusted, she kicked the root of a tree. Her toe protested. The tree, thankfully, did not.

"You know, next time we get attacked by one of those angry trees, I'm gonna tell it you did that," Alistair drawled. He looked peaked himself, though in somewhat better shape than the rest of the party. Even Sten seemed shaken.

"I don't like this forest," she said again, flopping wearily down on the ground and leaning against the tree she had kicked as though it were now suddenly a best friend upon whom she could hang during a drunken evening in a tavern.

"Yes, I'm getting that impression." Alistair said calmly. "Any particular reason why?"

Elissa frowned. "Hmm, let's see. Talking trees? Angry trees? Talking werewolves who are intelligent enough to set ambushes? Hypnotic campsites that try to kill us? An apparently mild-mannered elven keeper who seemed quite reasonable up until the moment I was fitted for my new armor, but who then all of a sudden began glaring daggers at me once he noticed I was pregnant? And, of course, another distraction from our business of actually gathering our army to fight the Blight."

"All right, you have a point," Alistair conceded.

"We need to move," she said, rolling her head against the bole of the tree. "We can't stay here, but we're not fit to travel either. Help me get everyone on their feet; Wynne looks especially weary. We'll put some distance between us and this place and rest for an hour or two. Then we'll see if our people are able to continue, or if we need to stop for the day and make camp."

Alistair gave her an odd look. "Our people?"

"Well... yes. I'm not the only Grey Warden here, you know."

"I know, it's just... you're the one who has gotten us this far," Alistair said earnestly. "When they talk about the Warden, it's you they're speaking of, not me."

"Be that as it may, Alistair, I'm not doing this alone," Elissa said firmly. "There have been moments when we would have failed had you not been there. There are times you... keep me on the right path, when I might have otherwise been more callous about matters. And as we proceed onward...."

She gave a troubled sigh, and Alistair stared at her. "What is it?"

"This... strange reaction of Zathrian's is troubling me," she confessed. "We were in that Dalish camp long enough for me to tell that the fact that I'm pregnant shouldn't affect his assessment of my competence one way or the other. The Dalish seem perfectly reasonable in that respect and I saw pregnant Dalish women being treated with no reservations. And yet, Zathrian has a problem with me. I don't know what it is or how to solve it.

"On top of that, as we progress from this point onward, we are going to begin encountering people who are going to judge my fitness as a leader by my pregnancy, particularly in military matters. I'd like to say that I won't allow them to do that, that I'll kick their prejudiced asses if they try. But if it comes down to digging in my heels about their silly bigotry or getting the aid we need with the least possible time and effort, I'll choose the latter. To that end, it may be that we will need for you to start presenting yourself as at least as much a leader in our endeavor as I am, to reassure those people, however foolish they may be."

"I... I'll do what I can," Alistair answered after a long moment. They both rose and began urging their companions to do the same. "You know, I'm really not... comfortable with leadership," he added as their party began trudging reluctantly onward.

"I don't actually believe that," Elissa declared.

"You don't believe I'm not comfortable with leadership?" Alistair arched a dubious brow. "Because I, being me, would be the one to know."

"I think you've never given yourself a chance as a leader, never even allowed yourself to think about it," she said firmly. "All your life you've been told that being a leader is the absolute last thing you'll be expected to do. Not only was it not expected, it was downright undesirable for you to show such a quality, lest you be perceived as a threat to the succession."

"This is true," Alistair acknowledged. "Templars aren't exactly known for their initiative. They take their lyrium and go hunt mages wherever the Chantry tells them to, at least until they go crazy. Not a lot of room there for free thinking."

Elissa nodded. "Precisely my point. I have to admit, sending you to the Chantry, unfair as it was to you as a person, was a very effective maneuver for eliminating you as a threat to Cailan's rule. You wouldn't produce any heirs to muddle the succession, and you would hopefully have any inclination toward rebellion or independent thought drummed out of you." She frowned and mused, "Damnably clever scheme, actually. I wonder whose idea it was. Maric's, or Eamon's?"

"You know, the fact that you can nonchalantly analyze the benefits of a plan that would have condemned me to a life of misery is a bit off-putting."

"Sorry," Elissa murmured contritely. Giving him a bright smile, she offered, "Have I mentioned how grateful I am that the whole thing came apart when Duncan conscripted you?"

Alistair smiled and looked pleased at that, walking beside her much closer than was strictly necessary for polite conversation. Elissa would have welcomed the bumps and brushes, except that it meant his cool metal armor kept coming in contact with a lot more skin than she was used to exposing in such a non-intimate setting. Nonetheless, her body hummed with awareness and thrilled at his proximity and the easy physical contact which hinted of a step toward more.

How strange that she should respond to him like this, that she should find his barely-innocent flirtation exhilarating So used to easy liaisons, she should have found this slow, simmering build-up to be tedious, and instead it was breathtaking, leaving her heart pounding in her chest and an almost queasy sensation fluttering in her stomach every time he was near.

With her penchant for aggressive lovers, she never would have imagined that a bashful virgin who'd nearly had all the initiative beaten out of him would have been the one she'd fall in love with. And yet....

...She could feel it within him, that potential for aggression, carefully leashed, waiting. But on top of it all, there was his goodness, his tenderness, his caring. The fact that he regarded sex as being more significant that just an opportunity for casual pleasure meant that when he did give himself, he would be giving much more than just his body. And though he was taking his time about it, it was undeniable that he was offering it all to her.

It terrified her almost as much as it aroused her.

She ordered a rest once they'd put some distance between themselves and the haunted campsite. A small fire was built and everyone found a reasonably flat stretch of ground upon which to lay their bedrolls. Shale, seeing how drained they all were, volunteered to keep watch alone while they rested. If she needed further proof that the narrow escape from the shade had depleted them, especially their mages, it came with the fact that nearly everyone fell quite quickly asleep. Soon, even Sten was snoring softly as Elissa found herself attempting to get settle in on the hard ground.

"Problems?" Alistair asked, sitting propped up against a tree. He hadn't bothered to strip off his armor since they weren't entirely certain they were camping for the day, and he looked nearly as uncomfortable as she felt.

"This Dalish armor doesn't offer much in the way of warmth," she complained, pulling her cloak over herself. It was true. The leather was incredibly supple and soft, and by some mysterious quality, also amazingly protective, as Varathorn had demonstrated when he drew a freshly-sharpened dagger across it without even scratching it. She'd not only had to trade in her old studded leather armor, but also promised to spend time gathering large quantities of ironbark to procure a set for herself.

While it accommodated her growing belly quite nicely—if not, perhaps, as protectively as she would have preferred—it left a great deal of her bare, and the spring had not yet warmed to the point where it was comfortable to be running about half-dressed.

Although, it was nearly worth it to see Alistair's reaction when he first caught sight of her in the armor. His jaw had dropped and his eyes had slowly traveled up her legs and then fixated upon the gentle swell of her belly. Only Leliana's giggling and teasing him for gawking had pried his eyes away. Ever since, his gaze returned to her bare midriff with amusing regularity.

As she huddled under her cloak for warmth, Alistair stared at her a long moment, as though weighing a decision. He looked around at the forest as though assessing it for threats and then he rose and began to unbuckle his breastplate. His boots and greaves followed, leaving him in the simple, patched and worn woolen tunic and breeches he wore underneath his armor. Taking up his sword and shield, he walked to where she lay watching him and set them down nearby.

His eyes were grave and intent as Elissa moved over without a word, making room for him. He lay down behind her, drawing her close and draping her cloak over both of them. She wasn't sure if it was his body heat or the electric awareness of his body next to hers, but suddenly she felt much warmer.

"Better?" he murmured, his voice low and husky.

"Much," she answered, trying to stay relaxed as his arm settled around her waist, the other pillowing her head. "You know, you don't need an excuse."

"I know," he whispered into her hair. "But it saves a lot of awkward and embarrassing fumbling with words to have a smooth lead-in like this."

"I like your awkward and embarrassing fumbling with words," she smirked.

"Oh, really?" his voice took on a note of curiosity. "All right, how's this? All this time we've spent together—the tragedy, the brushes with death, the constant battles with the whole Blight looming over us—will you miss it, once it's over?"

"Oh, yes, it makes me tear up just thinking about it."

He laughed. "Right. There'll be no more running for our lives. No more darkspawn," he wriggled slightly, settling in nearer, "and no more camping in the middle of nowhere."

"Hmm, you're right. I would definitely miss this," she said teasingly, but he had grown serious and still.

"It's... strange, coming to care for you like this. You're nothing like like the sort of woman I always imagined I wanted," he mused.

Elissa nodded, feeling the woolen sleeve covering his arm rough against her face. "I was thinking much the same thing earlier about you."

"Maybe it's just because we've been through so much together. Maybe I'm fooling myself. Am I? Or is there... something more here?"

Elissa sighed. "Perhaps you weren't listening when I told you I was in love with you?"

"Oh, I was listening," he assured her. "And I've tried to do what you said, tried to think things over, tried to give it time, to be sure. Maybe it's too soon. I'm don't seem to be sure of anything. I don't know anything anymore."

"I don't either," she whispered with a desperate urgency, hating that it had to be so complicated, that so much had to hang in the balance.

"Well, is it too soon for this?" he pushed himself up, leaning over her as she rolled onto her back to stare up at him. Without hesitation, he closed the distance between them, his mouth gentle but confident upon hers, seeking a response she was all too eager to give. His hand rested carefully on her bare waist, where it hardly curved anymore above her hip, and his other was behind her neck, holding her up, drawing her closer.

When they finally broke apart, he rested his face beside hers, his breath warm and slightly ragged in her hair.

"I don't know," she answered his question with a breathless attempt at humor. "I may need more testing to be sure."

Alistair breathed a soft chuckle against her ear. "Well, I'll just have to arrange that then, won't I?"

When he pulled back to look at her again, his eyes were serious. "What about Leliana? I mean, sure, seeing her come out of your tent has fueled my fantasies for days now, but I don't like the thought of leading her on. Or Zevran, for that matter, though you don't seem to spend much time with him anymore. Is that even an issue?"

"No," she shook her head with a smile, "on both counts. They're both merely good friends, and they both understand how I feel about you. There won't be any complications there, at least."

"That's... good to know. Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he sighed, stroking her cheek with the his knuckles. "I am a lucky man."

Elissa closed her eyes and shivered at the terrifying sense of certitude that accompanied his words. This was it, then. They were really doing this, consequences and complications and potential for heartbreak and devastation be damned. It felt like jumping blindfolded off a ledge, with no idea how far she would fall.

With nothing left to do but wait for the impact of landing, she sought Alistair's lips again and knew she wasn't falling alone.

Hunger. Maker, but he was so hungry! She could feel that craving in the trembling of his fingers at her waist, as though he'd turn feral and ravenous if he just allowed himself to let go. And she wanted him to. Sweet Andraste, yes, she wanted him to. But aware of their resting companions around them, and without even a tent to offer the illusion of privacy, she knew it wasn't the time.

His fingers, however, didn’t seem to be giving a great deal of thought to the notion of privacy or the lack thereof. They heedlessly slid up her ribs to come to rest on the soft leather covering her breast. Her nipple hardened instantly and his fingertips grazed wonderingly over the small knot it formed, drawing a gasp from her which he swallowed greedily as she arched, pressed into his hand.

Under the concealing folds of her cloak, his hand explored her breast. He forgot about kissing her as he became more fascinated with her response to his touch. His fingers tried to wedge inside the tight leather encasing her breasts, but were frustrated by the lack of access it afforded.

His voice practically growled near her ear, "I suppose with the dangers of werewolves and angry trees, and all that, now isn't the time to be running off into the woods alone for some privacy?"

She laughed softly. "Inadvisable, as well as downright conspicuous."

"Oh, now you develop a sense of modesty!"

"It was your modesty I was trying to consider," she shot back quietly. "I don't know if it's possible to actually die of blushing, but I'm certain we'd find out when you strolled back into camp and had to deal with all the knowing looks and smirking."

"You raise a very good point," he murmured, kissing her jaw. His lips traveled down and her resolve weakened when his tongue darted out to taste her neck. Without even meaning to, she shifted, rocked against the thigh that had managed to slip between her legs without either of them noticing it as they had embraced. Her breath caught in a gasp.

"What?" Alistair breathed, lifting his head at her reaction. Meeting his eyes, Elissa deliberately repeated the motion, let him see her pleasure, watched his pupils dilate in response. He wedged his thigh more firmly between hers, ground it against her, and she mewled softly in pleasure.

"Is that good?" he whispered, transfixed, as her eyes drifted shut and she lifted her hips again, seeking more.

"Dear Maker, yes...." she sighed, turning slightly to face him more directly. She could feel the pulse and jump of his erection against her as they rocked against each other, his thigh deliberately pressing firmly against her damp smallclothes under the soft, pleated leather skirt she wore.

His hand stroked firmly over her breast again as she shamelessly rubbed herself up and down on his thigh. She felt him staring at her face, watching her strained, intent expression, listening to her hiccoughing gasps as she worked for her pleasure. It came with a soft, whining moan and a gentle ripple, an almost soothing, lulling thing and she smiled softly up at Alistair as it passed.

"That was...." he gazed at her in wonder, his mouth working as though to find words.

"...only the beginning," she promised him, lifting her fingers to his lips. He kissed her finger, and then her palm, and finally his head dipped down kiss her again, and Elissa gave an elated sigh as she opened to him, welcomed his probing tongue as he grew bolder, more demanding. She could feel his cock, hard and insistent against her hip, and her hand slipped down to cup him through his breeches.

"Oh, Maker's breath...." Alistair groaned softly, tearing his mouth from hers to nudge urgently against her palm.

Watching his eyes, she began to pull at the laces of his breeches, slowly and deliberately, giving him a chance to tell her to stop. Instead, he lay there waiting, tense and trembling in anticipation. They sighed together when her fingers slipped inside his smallclothes and curled around his erection. Without hesitation, he pumped into her hand.

"Sweet Andraste...." he growled. "I swear to you I've been working on endurance, but I don't think I'm going to last long this time."

"Then don't," she whispered, watching him as intently as he'd watched her moments before. "Just let go."

Groaning, he surged into the sheath formed by the ring of her fingers and palm, and she squeezed hard, feeling the wide ridge of the head of his cock pull back through her hand before pushing out again, the loose sheath of skin aiding the glide of his shaft through her palm.

"Elissa...." Alistair moaned her name. Gradually the tempo of his hips increased, became less controlled. And still she watched him, watched him surrender to passion, give himself over to his need. His hand shot down and captured the head of his cock and he made a strangled sound as he gave a few more quick thrusts and shuddered.

"Maker's breath, what you do to me...." he panted, slowly opening his eyes. He withdrew his hand from under the cloak and glanced around, clearly looking for someplace to wipe his palm.

Watching him, Elissa caught his hand and brought it to her mouth. Alistair practically squeaked when her tongue darted out to capture the seed that was leaking between his fingers, but he opened his palm to her, and she cleaned it with slow, sensual strokes of her tongue. She made love to his hand, drew his fingers into her mouth one by one and sucked them clean, made him flinch ticklishly when her tongue delved deep between his fingers.

All the while, he watched her, enraptured. There was no hint of revulsion on his face, and it wasn't until she realized that such a thing was exactly what she was watching for that Elissa realized she'd been testing him, testing just how accepting of her shamelessness he was willing to be.

When she caught herself doing it, she made herself stop. Not here, not now, not with him. With Alistair, she vowed, she would not look for the angle, the catch, the hidden trap or secret advantage. If he still had reservations, that was a risk she would have to take, but she would allow nothing but pleasure in the sex they shared. No games. No gambits.

Releasing his hand, she smiled again, uncertainly this time, much less confident now that she had denied herself the ability to use pleasure to manipulate him. But Alistair merely kissed her again, tasting himself on her lips and tongue and sighing agreeably.

Feeling once more that exhilarating sense of falling, she rolled away, nestled her backside against him, and fell asleep in his arms.