Reverse-Cowgirl Diplomacy

Elissa wondered if it was a hazard of her particular worldview that made her jump so quickly to thoughts of sex. Or maybe it was simply the natural and unabashed nudity of the werewolves and their Lady of the Forest. The sensually caring way she interacted with them, a priestess surrounded by her adoring acolytes, sang to the part of Elissa that was always aware of things on an erotic level.

Whichever it was, the others in her party noticed as well. Or perhaps they'd just been in Elissa’s presence too long. Zevran looked wickedly amused—despite his sympathy for the elves—Morrigan intrigued, and Alistair....

"Please tell me this isn't heading where it seems to be heading," he murmured in Elissa's ear as they watched the Lady stroke Swiftrunner.

"I have no idea where this is heading," she replied softly, even as Swiftrunner's body evidenced a specific response that clearly indicated where he, at least, would like things to go. Or one thing in particular. "But I can tell you I have absolutely no intention of fucking a werewolf who could easily infect me with a curse that we may not be able to cure."

"Oh, thank the Maker," Alistair whispered reverently as she turned her attention back to the Lady of the Forest.

"We will accept your offer of hospitality for the evening, since it is too late for us to make it back to the Dalish camp and Zathrian today, and the forest is full of many dangers at night," she said graciously. "That is, provided you can guarantee that none of my people will be infected with this curse, however accidentally."

"We shall commune amongst ourselves only, then, if that is your wish," the Lady acceded, and turned her attention back to the werewolves.

Elissa looked at her companions. "You are each free to make your own decision on how you wish to pass the evening, but I would caution you against taking unnecessary risks, lest you find yourself sporting fur."

And so they came to find themselves sitting on the outskirts of the werewolves’ communal den in the ancient elven ruins, dining on cold rations while the werewolves feasted messily on freshly-caught game. Despite all the battle she had seen, Elissa found the sight of their blood-covered snouts ripping at the entrails of the buck to be a bit much for her stomach and turned away from them.

"Is that the only reason?" Alistair asked after they had eaten and their companions were busying themselves laying out their bedrolls not far from the exit to the werewolves den.

"Hmm?" Elissa turned back to him, momentarily distracted by the distinct shift in the atmosphere among the werewolves. Now that their hunger was sated, they were settling in, cleaning themselves and each other with slow strokes of their long tongues as the Lady passed among them, caressing them each in turn.

"The curse?" he prompted as Swiftrunner knelt before the Lady, his clawed hands strangely gentle as they stroked down her back while he nuzzled her breasts. His long, sinuous tongue reached out of a fanged mouth to caress her nipple.

Elissa shuddered, perverse arousal tightening her body. Since their covert caresses in the forest two days previously, she and Alistair had not had any opportunity to fulfill the promise of their new understanding. Tension and awareness hung between them like some delicious, mouth-watering aroma, promising a feast in the near future.

"Is the curse the reason I declined to 'commune' with them? Is that what you're asking?" she said, looking away from the display with difficulty.

"Yes," he said, looking resolute and uncertain all at once. That caught her attention, and she studied him more closely.

"You're asking if I refused because of you."

Doubt wavered in those beautiful, expressive golden eyes. "I suppose I am," he admitted. "We haven't really discussed what effect... we... are going to have on the way you deal with things."

"What effect would you like us to have?" she asked carefully.

"I don't really know," he said slowly. "I suppose the part of me that's still the naïve Chantry boy would love to hear you say you only want to be with me. The idea of not having you all to myself is maddening. But the part of me that has sworn to start doing what's best for me and hang what everyone else expects isn't sure it's worth losing you over. You once said you weren't going to change, after all, no matter what I thought."

"Alistair...." Elissa said, reaching for him, but he stood stiff and determined, not bending to her touch.

"Let me finish," he insisted. "There's also the fact that Duncan recruited you for a reason. He felt that... what you do would benefit the Grey Wardens. If I'm going to start being more of a leader here, I need to start thinking more like he did, right?"

"Oh, Alistair," she sighed, saddened by his sudden look of brave conviction and the loss of innocence that it signified. "I'm not entirely sure I'm good for you."

"Don't say that!" he said adamantly, striding to her to take her by the shoulders. "Being near you makes me crazy. Half the time, I feel like my head's going to explode! But I can't imagine being without you. Not ever."

Gratefully, Elissa leaned her forehead against the veridium plate covering his chest, letting the caress of his hands up and down her arms soothe her remorse for being the cause of his lost naivete. It may have frustrated her, but it was a part of the integral him that she had come to love.

"In answer to your question," she said softly, looking up at him, "yes. You're at least part of the reason why I wouldn't consider joining them, even if the curse weren't a factor. I want you, and the thought of anyone else right now isn't all that appealing for me. I can't promise there's never going to come a time when I won't find sex to be the most expedient way to achieve our ends—though, if I'm honest with myself I suspect those times are going to become far less frequent the more pregnant I appear. But I can promise you that I will, at the very least, discuss it with you first. I can't say I'll necessarily do it to ask your permission, or your blessing. But maybe... consult with you, to find another way, or try to at least help you understand why?"

"That... sounds fair," Alistair said with a serious nod. "I guess we'll just... see how this goes?"

Elissa gave him a cheeky smile, unwilling to let him see just how deeply she feared everything coming unhinged on this one matter. "Not quite the ringing declaration of undying love and unquestioning support I hear in my dreams, but it will have to do for now," she answered.

"So you dream about me, do you?" Alistair's voice dropped low as he turned from her to spread out his bedroll. She felt something correspondingly low in her body surge in response as he took her bedroll from her and deliberately laid it out next to his.

"Oh, gracious yes," she said, deliberately adding a breathy note to her voice as she returned his teasing in kind. "I'd be perfectly happy to elaborate, if you'd like."

"I... think that would lead to the sort of conclusion I really don't want to have in dusty, haunted ruins surrounded by werewolves without even the benefit of a tent around us."

"Hmm. Suddenly I'm regretting choosing not to leave the ruins tonight after all," Elissa grumbled, turning to survey the cluster made by her people to ascertain whether all were settled in securely. "Wait. Where's Morrigan?"

From behind her, she heard Zevran give a low, lusty chuckle. "Our witch apparently decided the adventure was worth the risk, yes?"

"And you didn't?" she turned to arch an eyebrow at him.

"Ah, it was tempting, but it would not do to spoil my beauty with fur."

Sten grumbled from where he kept watch not far from Shale, strategically positioned between the party and the congregating werewolves, and she thought she may even have heard a giggle from where Leliana lay on her bedroll with her back to them. Elissa smiled at Zevran and shook her head as she sat upon her own bedroll and looked out into the large chamber of the ruins where the werewolves were clustered with each other and the Lady. Where Morrigan was, she couldn't say. Either the mage had found someplace private with a particular companion, or she had shifted into something rendered indiscernible by the mass of furry bodies.

"What are you doing?" Alistair asked as he settled in on his bedroll beside her. Like the rest of their party, he had not removed his armor this evening, even to sleep. None of them felt trusting enough of the werewolves to take that risk.

"Watching," Elissa answered simply, regretting the fact that she could no longer hug her knees to her chest the way she once would have done.

"…Watching?" There was a squeak to Alistair's voice as he echoed her. "I'm assuming you don't mean in the 'guard duty' sense?"

"No, Alistair," she said with a low laugh. A number of the werewolves had already separated from the pack, in pairs or small groups, forming a small circle of clusters around the Lady, who was surrounded by Swiftrunner and three of the largest male werewolves. They rubbed their furred bodies against her and she touched each of them with her strange, twig-like fingers. They stroked their muzzles along the side of her face in an unmistakably canine gesture, and yet the clawed hands that caressed her did so in very human ways.

Alistair was still staring at her, and Elissa realized she had gotten distracted and hadn't finished explaining herself. "If they're going to be shameless enough to put on a show for us, why should we be ashamed to watch?"

He harrumphed dubiously, and Elissa shook her head, smiling. "Not everyone enjoys watching, of course, and you certainly need not do so if it disturbs you, but there's great beauty in the act of sex. Whether it's making love or just pleasure or even animalistic rutting, it's an art. Even when it's messy and disgusting and absurd and undignified, it's still surpassingly beautiful. There's a reason my father enjoyed watching my mother with other lovers, you know, beside the fact that it provided a convenient means for circumventing any inclination toward jealousy."

"All right, I'm listening," Alistair said slowly. She heard him move, and then his mouth was near her ear as he sat behind her and rested his chin on her shoulder. "Tell me what you see here."

"Trust," she murmured. "Look at Swiftrunner's hand—paw?—on the Lady's breast, those claws just barely pressing against her skin. He could shred her if he wished to. Will he suddenly turn brutish? Will he close his hand, pierce her flesh? Will he hurt her? Will she enjoy it if he does?"

She turned her face, looked at him solemnly. "It takes great trust to allow yourself to be vulnerable to someone you know can hurt you at a whim. Indeed, that's the very essence of love, isn't it?"

Alistair's lips dipped to brush her neck, and he said softly, "So there's a lesson here."

"Not one I had thought to find, but I suppose there is," she answered with a pensive frown. Shaking off her trend toward melancholy, she turned her attention back to the Lady and her mates. "Ah, but look there. He's pressing harder with his claws, almost hard enough to break the skin, and she likes it very much indeed. See the way all her muscles tighten, the way she arches into the touch, seeking more, the way her hips move? It's almost a dance, but no performance could ever be choreographed so flawlessly, no planned movement could ever be so utterly sensual."

She fell silent then, and Alistair with her, watching the way the Lady writhed as one of the other werewolves drew his claws down her back, hard enough to leave scratches without drawing blood. Another actually took her entire neck in his fang-filled mouth and she merely let her head fall back, trusting implicitly that the creature would not rip her throat out. Her face was a sublime mask of ecstasy, and Elissa found herself giving Alistair a very wicked grin.

"Our Lady likes risk," she purred. Something in Alistair's eyes flared at that, hinting at a dark hunger he himself cherished. Her breath caught at the sight of that feral gleam, and when his lips closed over hers, it was with a savagery she thought the werewolves would be hard-pressed to rival.

The guttural, growling speech of the werewolves intruded upon the harmony that had settled upon the den, like a discordant note in a primal symphony, and reluctantly Elissa emerged from Alistair's kiss to turn her attention back to where Swiftrunner and his companions were now in urgent discussion with the Lady. Giving a nod of acquiescence, the Lady turned directly toward Elissa and began to cross the cavernous chamber to where the party was camped.

Immediately Sten's sword rang free of its scabbard and Shale's rumbling footfalls shook the chamber floor as their guards interposed themselves between the advancing werewolves and the rest of the party. Alistair pushed himself to his feet, reaching for his sword, and she heard Zevran's daggers clear their sheaths and knew that he, too, had risen.

Elissa deliberately remained seated, forcing herself to watch the Lady and her consorts placidly as they approached. Leliana's bowstring creaked and she felt a surge of alarm that this could all go badly before they even knew the Lady's purpose in approaching.

"Stand down," she ordered with a calmness she didn't feel, slowly standing. "If they meant to attack us, they would be charging, not strolling casually over.” Alistair and Sten lowered their swords slightly, but remained perceptibly alert.

"Swiftrunner is concerned by the fact that you commune amongst yourselves, but will not do so with us," the Lady said once she stood before Elissa. "He fears it may signify some duplicity on your part. I have tried to assure him this is not so, but he will not be placated."

"If I'm not mistaken, one member of my party is indeed taking part in your communion," Elissa said sedately. She still could not discern Morrigan's whereabouts. What if the witch had gone hunting, or simply prowling?

"She is not your leader," Swiftrunner snarled.

"No, she is not," Elissa agreed. "I am, and as much as I would like to prove my good intentions to you, I will not expose my babe and myself to your curse. Nor would my people allow me to do so. You, Swiftrunner, so clearly protective of your Lady, should understand that."

"Then will you consider communing with me?" the Lady offered.

Swiftrunner protested, concerned with letting one of their party touch his Lady, but she silenced him with a calming touch, looking expectantly at Elissa.

Elissa felt Alistair's eyes and turned to look up at him. "I suppose this is where I consult with you," she murmured. She felt the rest of the party drawing back, offering them privacy.

"I'm not seeing another way around this," he answered reluctantly, "at least not one that doesn't involve a body count I'd really rather not have tonight. Do you believe they'll keep their word, that it will only be the Lady?"

"I do."

He sighed, nodding. Then his jaw set and he closed in on her, kissing her angrily, desperately. "Do it," he whispered harshly. "Fuck every creature in the forest if you must. Just, please... tell me I'm on the list somewhere."

She jerked with the spasm of shock and arousal that shuddered through her at hearing his beautiful voice, gone low and growly with frustration, use that word, a word she'd never imagined would cross his lips. Wide-eyed, she nodded. "You are the list, you fool," she said emphatically, kissing him again.

She sat and removed the boots that protected her legs to the knee. Then she turned to the Lady and followed her into the rough circle formed by the werewolves. Swiftrunner snarled at something behind her and she looked back to see Alistair had come with her.

"You have your protectors," he said without meeting Elissa's eyes, giving a respectful nod to the Lady and glancing significantly at Swiftrunner and the other werewolves. "I think it only fair that she should have hers."

She stared at him in wonder for a moment, realizing just how deeply he was taking to heart her admonishment that she needed him to lead beside her.

Elissa wondered at her own strange reluctance as the Lady of the Forest drew near, smelling of the seasons of life and growth; the spring's new flowers and summer's freshly-tilled earth and the autumn's crisp, dried leaves. That the Lady was beautiful and exotic was undeniable, and yet all she could think of was the man at her back, at whether he would be angered or repulsed should she give herself over to passion with the Lady. What was she becoming, that she should want only him?

The Lady's arms twined around her, and she felt them begin to move in ways no arms ever could. They were... transforming, she realized with wonder, writhing, lengthening, sprouting new shoots. She was being embraced by living, moving vines.

Tendrils creeped out and with more dexterity than any fingers could ever manage, unlacing the tight leather encasing her breasts. The cloth bindings securing her breasts loosened, and Elissa gave a gasp as gravity sank its cruel claws into flesh made tender by her pregnancy and pulled. And then she felt the Lady's skin against hers, was overwhelmed by her scent, cool and fresh and indescribably alive.

There it was; desire. Elissa let it fill her, flood her, let herself embrace the Lady and pull her closer. There was an odd texture to her skin, she thought, caressing the Lady’s back down to her waist where the vines began to cover her. Waxy, almost, like leaves, rather than flesh.

The Lady's breasts were cool and firm as they pressed against Elissa's, and there was an energy to her; it felt like magic, but much subtler, not something that was summoned or harnessed. It was simply a part of her. It felt as warm as the spring's first rays of sunlight on her skin, despite the coolness of the Lady’s flesh.

Her hand came up to cup the Lady's breast and Elissa dipped her head, licking softly across her nipple before drawing it into her mouth. She tasted like berries, like chilly water from a mountain spring fed by melting snows, like earth and grass and fog all at once. All of that and more. Elissa held the Lady tighter, suckled harder at her breast, barely noticing when the writhing tendrils of the Lady's hands unfastened the pleated leather around her hips and let it drop to the floor.

More tendrils brushed delicately over her nipples and Elissa gasped, for it was foreign and disconcerting and yet still undeniably arousing. They twined about her hardening nipples, forming snug rings that gently pulled and pinched. Their unusual texture scraped just roughly enough to heighten sensation without being uncomfortable and Elissa found herself unconsciously rocking her hips in response.

Her smallclothes seemed almost to melt away at the urging of those tendrils, sliding off her hips and down her legs effortlessly and then she was bare and surrounded the the Lady's essence, by her power. She could no longer feel Alistair's eyes upon her, nor even the tense and predatory gazes of the werewolves. All that mattered was the Lady.

She did not know how she came to be lying upon the marble floor of the chamber, the Lady hovering over her. Those vines caressed her in more places than mere fingers ought to have been able to accomplish, and she writhed in pleasure, feeling both perverse and indescribably free. The Lady slipped down her body, her breath like a cool breeze whispering across Elissa's skin. She paused reverently at the gentle swell of Elissa's belly and kissed it softly, as though bestowing a blessing, and Elissa felt warmth and wonder flood through her.

The Lady’s tongue had a strange texture as it parted Elissa's folds, velvety and cool, like thick moss upon the bark of an ancient tree. Elissa closed her eyes and let herself be pleasured, and she understood why the werewolves called this communion, for it was much more than sex. She could feel the life of the werewolves surrounding her, each one both savage and sentient. She could feel the life of the trees whose roots were creeping into the ruins, reclaiming them for the forest. She could feel the forest beyond the ruins, ancient and full of mystery. She even thought she could feel the elves, far away, and how similar their presence was to the forest.

The Lady's mouth jolted against Elissa at the same moment she heard Alistair draw his sword. The sense of awareness fled, and she looked up in alarm to see that Swiftrunner had dropped to his knees behind the Lady and begun to couple with her. His clawed hands remained very carefully on the Lady's hips, however, and Elissa gasped, "It's all right, Alistair!" as the Lady's tongue found her clitoris and stroked firmly across it.

He looked down at her questioningly, and she wondered for a moment how she must appear to him, embraced by the Lady's vines, hovering on the brink of rapture. Her eyes pleaded for his forbearance, for his understanding, and slowly he lowered his sword, and it was then that she saw something else in his eyes.

Desire.

She held his eyes for as long as she was able, let him see her pleasure as the Lady's tongue caressed her, until her eyes drifted uncontrollably shut and she was carried away on sensation. The sense of communion, of oneness, was back, and this time the presence of Swiftrunner was a bright beacon within it. She could feel not only the feral instinct which drove him, but also the tenderness of his adoration for the Lady. She began to understand that he could feel her as well; it was why he had needed to join them, so that he could sense her in this way, to trust her.

And then thought was impossible, for the thrusts of Swiftrunner's body into the Lady drove her against Elissa, adding surges of pressure to the stroking, twirling pleasure of the Lady’s tongue against her nub. Something cool and smooth slipped inside Elissa and began to swell. She came with a startled cry as she realized it was another vine, delving carefully but deeply within her and beginning to grow.

She arched her hips off the floor, bucking wildly as she rode out the waves of pleasure, and another orgasm followed hard on the heels of the first. She heard savage growls and howls echo through the chamber and realized the werewolves had fallen to rutting, giving themselves over to their ferocious desires. On it went, and on, as the tendril fucked her firmly and deliberately, and the Lady's tongue brought her to the pinnacle again.

Swiftrunner howled and slumped above the Lady. Elissa felt the resurgence of his humanity as his desire was sated and he embraced the Lady tenderly. Another stroke of the Lady's tongue brought her to a gentle, shivering climax and then the Lady began to withdraw from her.

The entwining vines slipped away from her body, retreating. The penetrating tendril shrank and withdrew from her. Elissa lay there, gasping and awed, as Swiftrunner helped the Lady to her feet. After a moment, she reached for Alistair's hand and he did the same for her.

"Now you understand," the Lady of the Forest said calmly.

"Yes," Elissa nodded, accepting the clothing Alistair offered her. She bowed slightly to the Lady. "Thank you."

Unable to find any words that could adequately express her wonder, she turned from them and went back to the small enclave her party had established. Her companions—except for Morrigan, who had not returned—all waited watchfully.

"You may all rest tonight," she assured them softly as she dressed. "We’re in no danger here."

Nodding, Zevran turned away and began to remove his armor so that he could rest more comfortably. Leliana did likewise, and soon even Sten and Alistair were unbuckling their plate.

Settling upon her bedroll, Elissa waited, feeling a warm glow of peace as Alistair took off his armor and lowered himself beside her.

"You were right," he murmured as he took her into his arms. "That was beautiful."

Elissa didn't answer, but instead waited for him to decide how he would handle this new discovery. Finally, after a long moment, he gave a rueful chuckle.

"This is the strangest courtship ever," he declared, kissing her hair. Elissa smiled and as always, felt that hum of desire at his nearness. Even sated and tired, she wanted him.

"I suppose it is," she murmured.

Finding nothing else to say, she snuggled in closer and let herself drift to sleep.