Samahlen

A Plague in the Alienage

"Brilliant," Alistair muttered.  "It's a trifecta.  The Blight, a civil war, and the Tevinter Imperium rearing its ugly head."

Wraith looked around the Alienage, the elven ghetto in Denerim, dismay and disgust warring for dominance.  These city elves, these flat-ears, were not what he had expected.  Most seemed like the humans Wraith had met elsewhere in Denerim, simple hard-working people looking to earn a living.  Some, though, seemed to have given up and huddled, ragged and filthy, in corners.  The vhenadahl at least was standing.  Wraith had heard of some Alienages burning their tree of the people, their reminder of lost Arlathan.

It was around the vhenadahl that most of the elves had gathered, some listening to a tall man in Tevinter robes and others listening to a fiery elven girl.  Wraith stood at the edge of the gathering, listening to both the Tevinter man and the elven girl.

"There's a plague here?" Wynne asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the gathered elves.

Zevran looked around distastefully.  "There's always a plague in the Alienage," he observed, his tone sour.  "Most of the time, it's filthy water and even filthier people." 

"I'm more concerned about the Tevinter Imperium sticking their noses in," Alistair growled.  "They're slavers and blood magic lovers, the lot of them.  If Loghain is trafficking with them, he's worse than I thought."

Wraith looked at his lover, his expression somber.  "This is why Anora sent us here.  How much did she know that she didn't tell us?"

Wraith looked at Caladrius, the leader of the Tevinter slavers, his vallaslin making his expression unreadable.  "Your offer is rejected.  I would not condemn shemlen to a life of slavery in the Imperium.  What makes you think I would trade elven lives for gold or your foul magic?"

"I had hoped you would be reasonable," Caladrius said.  Even wounded, the Tevinter mage was formidable, and he gestured to his remaining guards almost casually. 

From behind Wraith somewhere, Zevran hissed in approval as he faded into the shadows.  Wraith knew the Antivan would circle around to strike from behind Caladrius, his blades coated with deadly poison, and Wraith silently approved.  The caged elves in the corner of the room watched silently, one elderly elf remaining in the forefront, a captive audience to the bloodshed.

It was quick.  Caladrius never managed to get off a spell, Zevran striking with lethal precision, and Morrigan and Wynne disabled the ranged enemies with powerful bursts of intense cold.  Leliana used her bow to pick off the frozen archers, and Wraith and Alistair led the rest of the company against the melee fighters.

Caladrius's corpse yielded documents granting the Imperium the right to harvest slaves from the Alienage, the gold to be paid to Loghain, and Wraith's blood ran cold as he handed the documents to Alistair.  He watched as Alistair read them, his expression darkening.

"When I am King, I will make amends for this," Alistair grated out, his eyes stormy.  "Let's get this evidence to Eamon."

Wraith nodded, his thoughts darker than Alistair's mood.  Anora had known what they would find here, and Wraith could only wonder how she had come by that knowledge.  Anora did not strike Wraith as anyone's willing pawn, but she did play this game to win, and the cost be damned.

"Have we figured it out yet?"  Alistair's voice was bleak as he finished undressing, turning to look at Wraith who lay waiting on the bed.

Wraith snorted.  "I've figured out that we have few friends and fewer allies."

"And where are you lumping Anora?"  Alistair flung himself on the bed.

Wraith reached out to pull Alistair closer.  "In the 'liable to turn on us' camp."

Alistair leaned in to kiss Wraith, a slow and lazy kiss.  "Nice to see we agree."

"We agree on a lot," Wraith protested, grinning at his lover.  His hands slid along the man's chest, his thumbs circling Alistair's nipples teasingly.  Alistair groaned, his hips bucking forward to grind his cock against Wraith's thigh.

"Stay with me when I'm king," Alistair murmured, reaching for the oil.

Wraith rolled over onto his stomach, pulling his knees under himself and presenting himself to Alistair.  "I'm not leaving," Wraith promised, feeling the mattress shift as Alistair knelt behind him. 

Cool fingers slicked his pucker with oil, one breaching the tight muscle, and Wraith's back arched.  A second finger joined the first, and then a third, and Wraith moaned, a needy sound.  Alistair chuckled softly, and the fingers withdrew to be replaced with the head of Alistair's cock as the man's hands wrapped around Wraith's hips.  Wraith rocked backward, and Alistair thrust forward, sheathing his cock in Wraith's ass in a single fluid motion.

"Maker," Alistair groaned.  "So tight..."

Alistair's cock slid over Wraith's prostate, and Wraith made a small sound, white light exploding behind his eyes.  Wraith's cock jumped, precum beginning to drip, and he pushed back against Alistair, wanting all of that cock, needing the heat.  Alistair held that angle, his hands tightening around Wraith's hips, and the elf moaned as his prostate was subjected to constant assault. 

Wraith could feel the heat in his belly, spreading outward and driving away the ice in his veins, and he moaned again.  Wraith's balls were tight already, his cock leaking freely, and his back arched as Alistair shifted and sent a fresh tingle of pleasure up Wraith's spine.  Wraith's hands fisted in the bed covers as his balls drew up, and he felt himself release in thick spurts across the bed.  Alistair was right behind him, filling Wraith's spasming ass with hot cum and banishing the last of the chill.

They sank down slowly, Alistair's arms wrapping around the elf and his breath hot against Wraith's ear.

"You're all I need," Alistair murmured, and Wraith let his eyes close as he basked in the warmth of his lover's arms, his growing dread held at bay for now.

Prompt word: Trifecta

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