Reverse-Cowgirl Diplomacy

Elissa did not expect that their journey into the Deep Roads would take weeks. Truthfully, she lost all track of time down there, but the farther they traveled, following the trail of vague clues left by the Paragon Branka, the more she began to fear they would need to turn back, lest she be forced to deliver her babe in those horrid, dark tunnels surrounded by darkspawn and filth. She wasn't sure how much time she had left—perhaps six weeks, possibly only a month—but she needed to get back to the surface, or at least to Orzammar and into the care of a midwife soon.

Sleeping on the hard stone of the tunnels was agony, and she got very little rest. There was no privacy for her her frequent stops to relieve her bladder, and the embarrassment of that situation was not helped by their newest companion, who may very well have been the most odious and offensive person—human, elf, or dwarf—she'd ever encountered. It was an utterly wretched time.

As the days and nights became indistinguishable except by the weariness of her companions, it also became apparent that Elissa was not the only one having difficulty in the Deep Roads. In the torchlight, Zevran looked pale and strained.

"Even born in the city as I was," he explained with a weak attempt at a grin, "I am still an elf, yes? We are not meant to live underground away from the sun and air."

If anything, Wynne's rapidly deteriorating composure worried her more.

"There is a reason I left the Tower at every opportunity," Wynne said when they stopped to rest, her eyes hollow and her face tense and drawn. "I didn't tell you before how greatly I feared during those days in the barn before the templars came for me. The townspeople threw rocks at the outside walls while I was locked in there, and I was afraid that they would set the barn ablaze around me. I've never been very good with enclosed spaces, and it has been too long since I've seen the open sky."

When they doused the torches to conserve them, it became worse, and they could hear Wynne's panicked breathing in the dark. Zevran took to hovering near the mage, and the two seemed to find comfort in each other. During one stop to rest, as Elissa lay awake with her discomfort and the rest of her party slumbered, the frightened panting took on another tone: soft, decidedly erotic sighs and stifled moans drifted out of the darkness.

When they lit the torches again, Wynne was sleeping with her head on Zevran's lap. Zevran met Elissa's eyes calmly but offered no explanations, nor did she request any. For a time after that, both Wynne and Zevran seemed calmer and more able to cope with being trapped underground. Periodically, it would happen again, but if anyone other than Elissa noticed, it went unremarked.

Elissa wished the solution to her own misery were that easily accomplished. Once the babe had moved, the incidences of her leg collapsing beneath her stopped, but being on her feet and walking for endless hours was torture, and sometimes as she attempted to rest in Alistair's arms she wept softly in pain and despair.

Their sighting of the archdemon and the darkspawn horde moving out for the surface was terrifying enough, but what they found beyond the Dead Trenches was even worse.

The Broodmother was the worst sort of perversion, taking the glorious ability to bring forth life that was the sole province of women and twisting it into something monstrous. She could see it on the faces of every female in their party, that soul-deep revulsion and horror that the men would never truly understand. And when the battle was joined....

It was a grueling fight, and there were times Elissa was certain they could not possibly win as they were flung around and pummeled by the grotesque tentacles. While trying to avoid the tentacles, she and Wynne became separated from Morrigan and Leliana as they all hung back at range, using spells and bows to combat the horrific beast.

Another wave of darkspawn came pouring into the chamber and then they had more than the tentacles to worry about. It was only by chance that Elissa heard Leliana scream and looked over to realize the darkspawn had closed in around she and Morrigan and were cornering them.

No, not cornering.

Corralling them.

Elissa called out desperately to Alistair and Sten and they turned their attention to the darkspawn that were menacing Morrigan and Leliana and dealt with them. At long last, the Broodmother lay thrashing out her last monstrous breaths and Elissa sank wearily to the floor and buried her head in her hands and wept as she tried to bring her mind to bear on the ramifications of what she had just learned about the darkspawn menace.

They all hovered around the Broodmother's bloated, reeking corpse as they healed and bandaged and recovered from the battle. Finally, she drew Alistair aside, conferring with him softly.

Together, they gathered all their companions to make an announcement.

"We're sending Leliana and Morrigan back," Elissa said to them without preamble. "Not just to Orzammar. Not just to the surface. All the way back to Redcliffe. Dear Maker, I'd send you to Seheron if I could manage it! We cannot take the chance that the darkspawn will capture you and make more of those... things."

Morrigan nodded. "A sensible decision. Though I think you shall miss my skills, I confess to being relieved nonetheless."

Leliana looked as though she wanted to argue, but instead she nodded, her face pale.

Elissa drew a deep breath. "That's not the end of it," she said, closing her eyes for a moment. "Sten and Zevran will accompany you, and you need to know why they are going. If you become involved in an unwinnable battle, if it becomes apparent that the darkspawn are going to take you, they have orders to kill you or die trying." Elissa made no effort to check the tears that rolled down her face. "I pray that you'll understand, and that you'll forgive me."

Even Morrigan looked stunned at that, but after a moment she nodded grimly. Leliana sobbed openly. Elissa embraced her, and they clung to one another for a long moment.

"Sten, consult with Oghren and see if he knows of a more direct route back to Orzammar," she said, resting her head on Leliana's shoulder and holding the bard tightly. "Since you don't need to search for Branka any longer, there's no reason to trace the same route she traveled. Zevran, gather the supplies you'll need. Wynne, I think you should go with them."

"Nonsense, child," Wynne said, still looking shaken. "You will need me now worse than ever, losing half our party this way. Whether its my age or the fact that I have this spirit inhabiting my body, those darkspawn were not interested in me."

"That's not why I think you should go."

"I know," Wynne sighed. "But I'll manage. I don't have a choice any more than you do."

Elissa hugged Leliana one last time and kissed her in farewell. Within hours, their party had been considerably reduced, and they were once more making their way along through the labyrinthine tunnels of the Deep Roads, and soon they found the way behind them blocked at Branka's doing. They had no choice but to move forward, attempting to solve the puzzles that would get them through to the Anvil of the Void. But as each day—or what Elissa presumed were days—passed, Wynne's composure began to deteriorate again.

As they made camp and prepared to sleep, Elissa drew Alistair aside once more.

"I'm going to sleep with Wynne until we're out of this wretched place," she informed him. "Now that Zevran's gone, she has no one to help allay her anxiety."

Alistair's jaw hung open a moment, then he gave a decisive nod. "Do what you need to do."

Elissa went to where Wynne lay trembling and crying softly on her bedroll and spread her own bedroll out alongside her. She maneuvered her ungainly body to the ground and reached for Wynne, and the mage went anxiously into her arms and clung to her desperately. Elissa could barely manage to get her arms around Wynne with her belly between them, but somehow she managed enough to calm the mage.

When Alistair's watch was over, he did not return to his own lonely bedroll, but instead came and took Wynne's sleeping form into his own arms, allowing Elissa the opportunity to roll over and find a more comfortable position in which to catch what sleep she could. Thus was the pattern set for every rest they took thereafter, but with each passing day it became less effective. Wynne took longer to calm and it took less to rouse her to anxiety once more.

Without Shale they would never have made it through the second trap, a room filled with toxic gas which required four levers to be pulled before it could be disarmed. The golem proved impervious to the gas, rushing through the chamber to pull the levers while larger, more dangerous golems awoke and began to pound on Shale. Shale was severely damaged by the time it was safe for the others to enter the chamber and deal with the other golems that had come to life. After that trap, they were required to rest for what seemed to be several days while they puzzled out the next challenge and Shale recuperated.

The later traps were equally grueling, and after the final one they were all in need of a rest before continuing on toward the Anvil. Unfortunately, the cavern in which they were forced to camp was particularly small and enclosed. And so it was during that downtime that Wynne moved from anxiety to panic. She clung to Elissa desperately, and Alistair embraced Wynne from behind, lending his solid bulk to the endeavor and sandwiching her between the two of them. Elissa kissed her forehead and stroked her hair, but still Wynne teetered ever closer to complete hysteria.

She was on the verge of screaming madness when Elissa kissed her lips firmly. There was not much of titillation in the kiss, and yet it seemed to shock Wynne back to a calmer state. Her hands clutched at Elissa's shoulders as Elissa's lips gently and skillfully parted hers, nibbling and sucking.

It was when her breasts began to ache in response to Wynne's bosom pressing against her own that Elissa seized upon a flash of inspiration. She thought back to the servants and peasants she had seen throughout her childhood, whether with their own children or acting as wet-nurses to the children of the nobility. No matter how distraught a woman's mood, she seemed to calm whenever she brought her nursling to her breast and the child began to suckle.

Her fingers flew to the frogs on Wynne's robe and began to open it. Despite the coolness of the cavern, her shift was damp and reeked of old sweat. None of them had bathed in weeks and they were all rank. It didn't matter. She pushed the robe apart and lifted Wynne's shift and in the darkness, her lips closed around Wynne's nipple.

Wynne moaned, a low, needy sound as her arms clasped around Elissa and drew her closer. Though her fingers toyed at Wynne's other nipple, Elissa applied very little by way of erotic artistry and instead concentrated upon suckling, pressing the nipple to her palate with her tongue as she drew upon it firmly.

There was a shift, rustling and motion, and then Wynne was drawn away from her. She released Wynne’s breast as the mage was pulled back so that she reclined against Alistair's chest as he sat behind her and held her. Elissa followed, seeking out Wynne's other nipple, and her hand began to push under the skirt of the mage's robes.

Without relinquishing her suction upon Wynne's breast, Elissa stroked her fingers along Wynne's smallclothes, finding them warm but not very damp. Her mother had been much the same at times, explaining that past the time when her menses cease, a woman might produce much less moisture. Armed with that knowledge, Elissa stroked her gently through the thin fabric of her smallclothes, not wishing to create an uncomfortable amount of friction.

Wynne whimpered, and her hips shifted, pushed against Elissa's fingers ever so slightly. Elissa switched nipples again and continued to lightly run her fingers over Wynne's cleft, increasing the pressure of her strokes as the fabric beneath her fingertips grew damper. All the while, Alistair continued to hold Wynne tightly but chastely, a comforting, solid presence between her and the darkness surrounding them, and Elissa never ceased the attentions of her mouth upon Wynne's nipples.

With time, there was nothing left of panic in the tension of Wynne's body or the soft, muffled sounds that rose up from her throat. She held Elissa close and writhed against her, lifting her hips, seeking more. Elissa's fingers slid underneath the wet fabric of Wynne's smallclothes and delicately slipped between her folds, delving within her sheath. Wynne made a low sound of approval and her leg parted more, allowing easier access.

In and out, Elissa slid her fingers as they became slicker, as Wynne's sheath became less tight, and tension of a different sort began to gather in her muscles. Wynne thrashed her head against Alistair's chest, biting her lips to stifle her pleasure, and when Elissa's thumb found her nub and began to stroke with increasing pressure, her entire body snapped taut, her hips thrusting off the cavern floor as her fingers closed with unbreakable strength upon Elissa's shoulders.

And then she sagged back against Alistair, limp and pliant. Elissa's mouth ceased its efforts at her nipples and drew away as she pulled her hand out from under Wynne's robes and solicitously smoothed the skirt of the garment back down over Wynne's legs. Fumbling in the dark, she refastened the frogs of Wynne's robe and then pressed a tender kiss upon Wynne's brow.

"Thank you, child," Wynne whispered in the darkness. Elissa merely bestowed another kiss upon her wrinkled cheek.

Alistair laid Wynne down upon her bedroll and for the first time in many nights, instead of holding the mage, he moved in behind Elissa and drew her to him instead, cuddling her from behind.

Wynne clutched Elissa's hand as she drifted off to sleep, her grip gradually loosening as the relaxation of slumber overtook her.

It was then that she felt Alistair's hand begin to push its way up under the pleated skirt of Dalish leather and pull at her smallclothes.

Whether he was aroused by her actions with Wynne, or by the long abstinence they'd kept these weeks in the Deep Roads when Elissa was so tired and uncomfortable that sex had been the farthest thing from her mind, Alistair was in no mood for a long build-up. With little preamble he pushed his breeches down and his lips began to suck at her neck as he prodded at her entrance.

With no preparation she was tight and not nearly as wet as she might have otherwise been, but Alistair was unrelenting as he pushed his way in and she gradually loosened and yielded to him. The discomfort of being taken with so little consideration was its own delicious thrill. She loved that he could be so desperate for her that he would abandon the niceties of lovemaking and seek his own pleasure so frankly.

He began to move, drawing her moisture out of her cunt to ease his passage. The angle of penetration was far from optimal, allowing neither depth nor the ability for his cock to stroke the spot inside where it was most pleasurable.

It didn't matter.

With his mouth on her neck he could undoubtedly taste the grit and sweat of weeks of travel.

That didn't matter either.

All that mattered was that he was within her, completing her in a way that went far beyond physical togetherness. All that mattered was that even though she was huge and ungainly and filthy and miserable most of the time, he needed her.

His hand rode on her belly as he stroked in and out, and that created another surge of arousal within her, that his amazing fixation on her enormous belly still drove him to passion. Only when he was shaking and clearly nearing his own precipice did his hand plunge downward from that roundness to insinuate itself between her thighs and begin to stroke her clit.

He worked her toward her climax with the same rough urgency with which he had initiated their lovemaking. No slow teasing, just pressure and friction and then she was coming on the filthy floor of that cavern, biting her lip to avoid waking Oghren and having to endure his leers and lewd remarks.

She mourned that she could not keep his seed within her, savor the feel of it seeping out of her, but it would make her smallclothes unbearable to wear. And so she fumbled in their packs for a scrap of leftover bandage and wiped herself, bearing down to force as much of his seed out as she could, and discarded the rag in the shadows of the cavern, where it would molder amidst the darkspawn filth.

The next day, Wynne was clear-eyed and calmer than she had been since Zevran had left their company. Elissa was not required to calm her again, for that was the day they found the Anvil and were finally able to turn back to Orzammar with the crown Caridin fashioned in-hand.