Lavellan gasps at the contact when their lips come together. Whether it's from shock or anticipation Cullen can't say.

She doesn't move and shows no signs of protest. That is good, he supposes, but it's not enough.

Respond, he begs quietly in his mind, pressing his lips harder against hers, urging her to open her mouth, to let him in like she once did. Please, respond.

And she does.

Little by little, she relaxes against him. Then she sighs, as if to let go of the tension in her body, and parts her lips so that his tongue can find hers. She turns slightly in his grip in order to get closer to him. Her movements are tentative. Most likely she's going through all possible outcomes in her head. But she wants to. Oh, she wants to. He knows her well enough to tell.

And that's all that matters.

That, and the wild beating of his heart.

"Cullen", she whispers into his mouth as he strokes his tongue against hers. There's an urgency in the precise way she holds her head, like she's struggling to reign herself in. The very idea makes him dizzy, his blood pumping with desire. Holding her like this, feeling her, tasting her, is enough to drive him mad. He's already so hard he could lose his self-control any second.

Keep it together, he commands himself.

"I'm not sure..." Lavellan begins, but when Cullen places a trail of kisses across her throat she falls quiet and bends her head backwards to give him access. He keeps his hand firmly pressed against her back as he explores the curve of her neck. Her fingers clench the red fabric of his tabard.

"Don't you want to?" His voice is almost desperate.

Fuck.

He can't appear to be desperate.

He is desperate.

"Yes." She sighs heavily, eyes closed, and shifts her head to expose more of her skin. "I didn't know, but... yes."

He kisses her neck while tracing her further down with gentle strokes, caressing her shoulder, her collarbone and finally her breast through the tunic. Her nipple immediately hardens against the material.

"You like this." The words are a mumble of breath against her skin. "Don't you?"

"Gods, yes." She leans into his touch, her response sending waves of impulses through his body. It's all he can do not to simply push her down onto the bed.

Careful now, not too quickly.

"Then let me", he whispers.

He almost dies from amazement when she crawls into his lap, one leg curled underneath her, and leans in to kiss him again. Growling with anticipation he runs his fingers across her back, pushing her closer to him. Her light weight presses against his cock and there's no way she can't feel his erection. Just as well. There's nothing at all hesitant about the way she's playing with his mouth like she's trying to satisfy a need.

Cullen groans and fumbles with the belt around her waist. When he reaches for her tunic she pulls away from him, just slightly, and holds up her injured arm. Her eyes gleam with desire, but also challenge, like she's ready to evaluate how he reacts to her mutilated body. Well, he couldn't care less about her injury! He quickly unties the knot on her sleeve and pulls the tunic over her head.

Her white skin is luminous underneath, ethereal in the light from the fireplace. The injury has healed around her elbow and left a red scar. He can't claim that it's beautiful - but the rest of her is, so what does it matter? Her pointy ears and sharply cut cheekbones are more graceful than ever. Her Elven beauty is exquisite, like she's a divine, unearthly thing. Her breasts are now visible through a thin top and he tugs at the material, pulling it slightly to one side to reveal a nipple. Carefully, he bends to roll his tongue over the peak. It's stone hard, almost vibrating, and she gasps.

"Feels good?" he mumbles as he repeats the action with her other breast.

"Yes", she practically whimpers.

After all this time, it feels like a triumph.

With a sudden hurry, Lavellan rises from Cullen's lap to pull his tabard off of him. She loosens the straps to his shoulder pads with suprising competence considering that she's one-handed. He can feel his heart pounding when she attends the buckles of his chest plate, her fingers gently brushing his torso underneath the metal. It's been so long. Yet she knows exactly how to do undress him.

Without further ado she lets the armour pieces fall to the floor. One by one they make slamming sounds as they hit the stone tiles. She runs her open hand across his chest, from the collar of his shirt down to his stomach.

"Now I can feel you", she says.

He tries to pull her back into his lap but she moves out of the way and walks past him to curl up at the head of the bed. He remains still for a few moments, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and still wet with tears. The neckline of her top does nothing to cover her breasts. She streches out her hand, reaches for him without a word, and he quickly kicks off his boots and crawls over to her. Not very elegantly, he supposes, but he's pretty much beyond the point of caring. Instead he tries really hard not to crush her as he covers her body with his.

They kiss, forcefully, and Cullen is lost in the warmth of her mouth. Her breath is shallow and uneven and she spreads her legs to make room for him between them. He presses against her, his cock stiff underneath the remaining layers of fabric, and she moans softly. She wraps her arms around his neck, almost violently, and rocks her hips against his hardness and it feels so fucking good.

Reluctantly he pulls away from her again, just so that he can wriggle her leggings off of her. His ability to think is slipping away by the second, yet he tries to watch her for signs that he might be moving forward to quickly. He detects no signs of the sort, she just twists and turns impatiently until her leggings are gone. Once her legs are free he traces the delicate skin there. He's seen her in battle several times and knows that she's a precise and fearless archer. Yet, underneath her clothes, she's so soft he's afraid he'll break her.

So fucking perfect.

He slides his hand between her legs to touch the fine fabric of her knickers and whatever doubt he may still have felt is gone in an instant.

Her knickers are moist, almost soaked. The very sensation, the damp material against his fingers, drives him insane. There is no way she could fake the wetness that is slipping from her body.

Keep it together, the sensible part of him insists, but it's clear that this can't go on for much longer.

He won't be able to wait.

He needs to have her. To claim her.

Slowly, he slips his index finger beneath her knickers, finding her folds. It takes no effort at all, she's so wet that his finger seems to instantly disappear into her cunt. She gasps at the contact, whispering something inaudible. He quickly adds a second finger, exploring. She moans and rocks against his hand. He catches up on the rhythm and moves his fingers back and forth until she's breathless.

"Cullen", Lavellan pleads, eyes closed, and he marvels at the fact that he is the one who can transform her into this lustful, wanton thing.

She's ready for him. More than ready.

She snarls, clearly displeased, when he removes his fingers from her cunt but quickly follows his lead, letting him pull her top and knickers off. She is flawless in her nakedness, so beautiful that it hurts to watch her. She tugs at his shirt and he can't be rid of it fast enough. She then brushes over his trousers, touching his cock through the black silk, and he's genuinely surprised at his own reaction. Out of control, his entire body jerks closer to her hand in one desperate move. He is so damn hard that for a moment he's convinced he's going to come right there and then. He takes a deep breath, grits his teeth and clings to his willpower.

Wait. You must wait.

"I want you inside me", she says, making everything worse.

That's a capitol idea.

"Yes." He can hardly find his voice as he grasps her hand to stop her from touching him further. He fumbles with his trousers until his cock springs free and then he's back between her legs, kissing her neck, his hardness throbbing against her wet folds.

With an impatient little sound Lavellan spreads her legs wider, wrapping them around his hips to adjust her position. Clearly, she's attempting to make it as easy as possible for him to slide into her. Despite her efforts, he continues to tease her as well as himself. He rubs his cock against her folds, letting it slide across her opening once, twice, but without entering. She growls, frustrated, and struggles underneath him to find an angle he won't be able to evade - but he holds back.

At first, he has no idea why. Under other circumstances he supposes he would want to savour the moment, make it last longer, but right now he's well beyond the point of desperation to pull that off.

Then, as he watches her squirm, fragments of their earlier conversation enter his aroused mind. There is something else that he wants. Needs.

"Cullen, please." Lavellan jerks her hips closer to him and makes another hissing sound when he breaks the contact.

"Look at me", he rasps.

She immediately obeys, her eyes wild and dark with want.

"Ellana." His voice is sharp despite his heavy breathing. "Promise me you'll kill him."

She blinks at him, confused. "What?"

He pulls away from her yet again. "If it comes to that, you have to kill him. Do you understand? You must promise me."

It pains him to watch the arousal in her eyes fade away as his meaning dawns on her. She continues to move, but her movements seem involuntary. Her gaze is fixed on him.

"I've already said..." she begins, her voice husky.

"Promise me", he snaps.

She swallows and tries, it seems, very hard to stop rocking against him.

"I promise", she says slowly and with a clarity he has to admire, "that if all else fails, I will kill him."

He slams into her then, violently, and she gasps in surpise. It hardly even takes a thrust, she's so wet that he's immediately buried in her. He pulls out, only to enter her again, and settles for a quick, even rhythm. She moves against him and her eyes widen with pleasure as if she's already forgot about their exchange of dialogue.

Words, perhaps unintended, slip from her lips. "This feels amazing."

He can only agree. It does feel amazing. He would never be able to describe the urgent tension in his body, the promise of release, the waves of delight that flush through him like an ocean.

And yet, when he closes his eyes, he's somewhere else. He's standing on an indefinable mountaintop, watching as Lavellan straightens her bow. In one sharp, delicate movement she aims and then loosens. Cullen follows the Dalish arrow as it flies through the air and penetrates the creature's chest. Yes, the creature is there, and blood pours through the greyish wool of his shirt. Cullen sees the creature fall to the ground, eyes unseeing, Lavellan silent and unmoved as she wrenches her arrow out of his dead body.

Cullen plays the scenario in his mind while he pushes into Lavellan, again and again, more violent every time, until the ocean sweeps his senses away. He comes hard, spilling himself inside her with what seems like a million thrusts.

Releasing himself.

Finally.

It has been such a long time. Months. Years.

Now it's done.

He gently pulls out of her and takes a few moments to adjust his trousers. He then sits quietly beside her, not sure what to say or do next. Minutes pass. She looks at him without speaking, and he can see that she's not entirely satisfied. He didn't have the physical ability, and perhaps not the patience, to take her over the edge.

Not this time.

He must find a way to persuade her into giving him another chance. She won't regret it.

She might, however, regret the conversation you forced upon her at the worst possible moment.

Well, there's that.

At least she enjoyed it. He's sure of that.

He would have died if she hadn't enjoyed it.

He rises from the bed to tend to the rest of his clothing while Lavellan slides beneath the blanket and sheets, pulling them around her.

"Don't go", she says when he puts on his shirt.

He freezes and stares at her, completely befuzzled.

"I'm going to sleep for a while", she explains. "I don't sleep very well and it'd be... easier if you were still here."

"Of course", he manages.

She lifts up the linen and he crawls into bed with her, pulling her close. She curls up against him, her arm around his waist, her head resting against his chest.

It's unreal.

He can feel his chest explode with something that is dangerously close to happiness.

Suddenly she shifts in his arms. "Wait", she says. "I forgot something."

He is granted a short glimpse of her naked body as she walks over to the cupboard in the corner. She opens it and puts on a simple dressing gown.

"I'll be right with you", she says. "There is just something I need to do first. I do it every night."

"What is that?" he asks, confused.

"Pray", she says.

She walks out on the open floor, past the fireplace where the fire is dying. She opens the window wide, then kneels in front of it. Moonlight fills the room and illuminates the markings on her face. With her pale skin and long ears she looks like something out of a Ferelden country fairytale.

The moon is so white it stings his eyes.

She remains on her knees, eyes fixed upon the moon, and quickly whispers a long series of Elven sentences and words. Must of it he can't comprehend or even understand.

Yet, he understands well enough.

He recognises emma lath. Ma vhenan. Ar lath ma.

And his heart grows cold.

Her prayer doesn't last for long. She soon falls quiet but remains in the same position. She lifts her head with a broad smile and for the first time since Cullen came to her room she seems genuinely happy and at ease.

"I really do love him, you know", she says. "I always will. My people tried to reach him in so many different ways, but they were all wrong. So I created my own prayer. I always pray to him."

"Who?" Cullen asks, although he knows the answer.

She looks past the moon and into the darkness.

"Solas", she says.