Volatile Times

Universe: Dragon Age Awakenings

Pairing: F!City Elf x Nathaniel

Rating: MA+

Warnings: Talk of suicide, angst, mental issues, discrimination and sex.

Summary: The stories of the Archdemon's destruction are heroic and beautiful; they tell of the Warden's strength and bravery and what she did for her Kingdom. They mention what she lost and Nathaniel is beginning to believe it may have been more than it was worth.

"Every book is read and I'm paralyzed.
Every fist is clenched, but I'm so tired.

Goodbye my friends.
Goodbye to the money.
Adieu to the fuckers that think that it's funny.
I just want to turn the lights on
in these volatile times.
I just want to turn the lights on
in these volatile (volatile) times."

~ IAMX "Volatile Times"

Volatile Times

She may think that no one knows about her secret training times. She may not know that I hear her slip through the hallway outside my room at ungodly hours of the night when everyone else is tucked away to bed. Sadly, she is no rogue and stealth was never her greatest skill but no one else is awake to hear her. No one to hear the falter in her steps; no one to hear the way she sometimes stops and lean against a wall, as if exhausted.

I slip out of my room after her and go up through the castle to see her relieve the same guard. He's used to it, a good friend, and I am sure, knowing her, she has already run this by the proper channels. I watch her walk across the battlements, a restless creature, all coiled muscles and tension. She is a night predator; she is the top of her food chain and very bestial in these moments. The small bit of control she keeps during the day is let loose to allow her some freedom.

She'll bring her two swords out, enchanted and glowing in her grasp, and practice while she watches for darkspawn. It's a habit for her to do this up in the battlements where no one can watch except for me, from the darkest shadows. Her body, packed heavy with muscles, flows through every move like water; she is a master of her twin blades and wields them with a dangerous grace that comes with years of practice.

Her forehead dampens with sweat, her movements become frenzied and there is a desperation to her actions. There is a furrow between her brow, that knit's the two, white strips together, creasing her skin and making her look sad. There's no thought, however, just movement.

I must admit, she was nothing of what I had originally assumed the famous Grey Warden would be. I had assumed some hulking elf with a monster chip on her shoulder against all humans. Instead, I still recall the smile she gave me when offering me a way out. Even with all that my father had done, she was willing to give me a chance to redeem myself, my family.

She gently slots her swords back into their spots and I hardly see the hand that reaches for the dagger at her side before it is embedded into the stone wall beside my head. "I may not be a rogue, Nathaniel, but I am not without my skills," she comments, running a hand over her forehead to catch the falling beads of sweat.

Her eyes, a cold, icy blue, pin me to the wall like a force. There's something…chilling in her gaze tonight; something she would never show in the daylight. Trick of the darkness? Of the flickering flames from the torches along the walls? "Forgive me for being curious as to where our grand leader was going at such a late hour," I say with my usual sarcasm, leaning a shoulder against the stone.

She went over to the edge of the battlement, looking down at the world as the wind picked stray, white hairs from the loose tie. There is tension in the air, leaking from every inch of her stiff posture. "Do not take me for a fool, Nathaniel. You have been watching me since I plucked you from that cell," she observes casually, coldly.

This woman was anything but a fool. There was a wisdom in her icy gaze that spoke more than any text we picked up along our journey. Perhaps, this is what drew me to the woman. Before the Free Marches, I had been surrounded by noble women with clear, open eyes; women who knew nothing of the real world. They knew courtesy, manners and the policies that went with being a noble woman. They knew nothing of the trials of others. It was something that struck me the moment she had walked through the prison doors; her posture, her gaze, the crinkles at the corners of her mouth and eyes spoke of her trails and failures and triumphs.

"Go back to bed. I will need you tomorrow," she finally speaks up when I fail to offer anything.

I stepped from out of the shadows into the warm light of the torches. It was a cold night but she seemed impervious to the chill in her scale armor; her legs were pale but not sickly so and I wondered how she kept such a complexion. I, myself, had chosen to stay in my sleep-clothing. She never seemed to wear anything other than her armor; at least, not that any of the rest of us could tell. I had yet to see her in such a vulnerable state; she was always armed to the teeth.

She turns slightly, eyeing me cautiously. "I know you are not dumb, rogue. Why are you here?" she asks with a hint of warning. She was a poisonous snake, if ever I saw one, coiled and ready to strike.

I finally shrug slowly. "You obviously do not get enough sleep being out here most nights, Commander. Every other night, I hear you tossing and turning in your room," I point out, sidling up to stand just a few feet from her. I was well out of arm's reach, not that I truly thought she would grab me, but one could never be too careful around warriors.

A fine, pale eyebrow quirks curiously. "Worried for me, Son of Howe?"

It is a jab, meant to provoke, so I grit my teeth; she could be so cruel when she was in a foul mood. "I do not want to have a distracted leader when we go to the marsh tomorrow," I snap, baring my attitude a bit.

There is that iciness to her gaze again, a dropping in temperature that I felt in my soul. She could rip my heart out, right here, and bat not an eyelash. That was part of her charm, though; she was a dangerous woman. She was the dangerous woman of Ferelden. "Have I not proven myself to you on the battlefield, Howe?" she snaps back, something straining in her expression.

She looks like a woman on the verge of insanity for a moment. There is a desperation there that had been lurking behind her gaze this whole time; I just didn't realize what it was until just now. Whether she liked it or not, this was her moment of vulnerability and she was a very vulnerable woman.

Perhaps, she can see the sudden blossom of understanding in my own glare because she reclaims some of her composure. "Forgive me, Nathaniel," she whispers, looking a little defeated as she turns her gaze to the dark world around her. "Sleep has been elusive as of late."

Her shoulders bow slightly, as if there is a heavy burden pressing down upon them. Her armor looks too big, too heavy for her small, frail body to carry and I am aware of the weight she has lost in the short time we have known one another. There is a withered look about her as the walls fall away. I am suddenly looking at the real woman; I am suddenly seeing the rawest part of Laria.

She slouches down onto the battlement, into herself. "Have you ever been so exhausted that you feel it in your bones?" she whispers, running a hand over her face. "So tired that you feel thirty years older? So utterly weary that…" She runs out of words.

"That you cannot sleep?" I offer quietly.

Her eyes look up at me and I can feel the air being sucked right out of my lungs. She just looks so…frightened and sad. There is a hopelessness in her that twists in my gut like a dagger. "I did not even want to come here," she mutters, looking too gaunt as shadows were cast across her cheekbones. "I just…" She shakes her head, at a loss. "Go to bed, Nathaniel. We have a long day tomorrow."

Knowing our conversation was over, I bid her goodnight and retire.

Her words did not leave me. Instead, they sat within my stomach and chest, festering like open wounds. I became aware of the dark rings under her eyes and the sad, weary look she wore when she thought no one was watching. There was a weakness in her stance, now that I watched her closely; there was the slightest tremble in her hands when she sheathed her weapons.

I think Anders was aware of the changes too because he would focus most of his healing on her; I think he felt it somehow. Something inside of our leader was fading, slowly rotting away, leaving a shell of the once-great Hero. And one day, it just clicked.

She was dying. Our leader was slowly killing herself and I was not certain whether it was accidental or not. Her footsteps would sound outside my bedchambers every night now and one night, I swore I heard sobbing from behind the wall separating our rooms. She was gently killing herself with lack of sleep and, as I noticed, lack of proper feeding.

Anders was the first to alert me to something amiss. I never understood why he would sit by her during our breaks or in our camp while we ate. Now, I noticed he was doing it to make sure she ate all of her rations. When he was left at the Keep, she would stash most of her ration back into her pack when she thought no one was looking. I soon took over Anders' position, talking to the woman as we ate.

It was after a recent mission that I nearly walked into a conversation between her and Anders. They were whispering but I pulled back in just enough time to listen. "I am merely worried for you, Laria," he pleads, sounding desperate. "You've lost weight and you're body is constantly sending me messages that you need to be healed but nothing I do helps."

I can practically hear her smile. "Anders, you worry too much. I am fine, just tired," she soothes, patting the man on the shoulder.

There is the sharp sound of flesh and bone hitting flesh and bone. "Laria, please, you and I both know this is not just about sleep," he begs.

He must have grabbed her wrist because I hear a scuffle before she is growling. "Anders, I am fine!" she snaps, sounding irate with the healing mage. "I am no child to be coddled so stop treating me as such!"

She storms down the hallway towards her room and I only move when I hear the door slam shut. I walk over to stand at his side. "Let me try, Anders," I whisper after a few moments of silence. My feet take me to my own chambers to grab two bottles of Oghren's strongest brew first.

I knock gently on the door and maybe she assumes it to be the mage because she jerks the door nearly off the hinges to open it. "I told you-Oh," she automatically deflates, the air rushing out of her lungs. "Nathaniel, sorry…" She blinks, regaining her composure slowly. "What do you need?"

Holding up the bottles, I slip my way into her room before she can object. "Come on, I think you need some of Oghren's finest," I say with a devious smile. She had not even started taking off her armor, it seems, because she was still armed and dangerous. "Come on, get out of that heavy armor and have a few with me. Regale me with tales of your heroics."

She looks as if she might resist but her eyes linger on the bottles too long. In the end, she heaves a sigh but carefully starts to remove her armor. It is an innocent act as she reaches back to fiddle with a buckle but I find myself standing to offer my assistance. "I've done this a thousand times, Nathaniel," she huffs even as she drops her hands to an easier clasp.

"I know," I smile, unclasping the back of her breastplate before peeling both away from her. They are heavy, as I knew they would be, but it still shocks me at how tiny she looks under all of it. Her shoulders are narrow and her body lacks the curves of a noble woman but there is a grace in her posture.

Piece-by-piece, the armor is slowly discarded to the table beside her door. Soon she is standing in her silk underclothing that keeps her skin from being rubbed raw by the metal and leather. She looks elegant and…fragile in the soft garments. Her hair, bleached from hours in the sun as a child, was still tied in her impossibly tight bun but she made no motion to release it.

She grabs two cups from a chest and sets them on the bedside table. "Hit me," she says, trying to smile. It looks painful.

Thankfully, one and a half bottles through the ale, she is pleasantly flushed and barking out a laugh I didn't think possible from her. "I'm walking through the palace, right? And there right before the stairs to the battlements, surrounded by dead darkspawn and soldiers alike, stands Sandal!" she giggles into her drink for a moment before finding the will to continue. "So, of course, I run up all worried and shit. I'm screaming, 'Sandal, are you okay?! Are you hurt?!' and the fucker just looks up at me and asks, 'Enchantment?' Like a well placed enchantment is going to make a difference right then!" I laugh with her, already warmed from the alcohol so it's a bit loud as well. "Damn me if I didn't grab that kid up and give him a hug right then and there because it wasn't like I was supposed to make it anyways!"

Something in the tone of her voice sobers me a little. "What do you mean?" I ask, watching her face fall a little. We're both plenty drunk but she hardly wavers. "You were meant to die?"

She lets out a dry, bark of a laugh. "Fuck, Nathaniel," she mutters, downing the rest of her glass before I refill it. "There is a reason Grey Wardens are necessary in a fucking Blight. We are the only ones that can take down the Archdemon." That was news to me. "Taint has to be canceled out by taint or the damn thing just finds a new host and the whole thing starts over again. I volunteered to take the fall."

My blood ran cold. "Why?" Did I really want to know?

Her chuckle is more of a sob, honestly, and I can see the tears at the verge of falling. It happened so quickly, it snuck up on me. "Because I couldn't face losing Alistair," she snaps but not in my direction. I could hear that this was a long-fought internal battle.

I was no fool. I knew the rumors of the two remaining Grey Wardens that took on a whole Blight on their own. They had fallen in love; they had had a forbidden love affair. "Why did you put him on the throne?" It was a question that I had been asking myself since meeting her. It had come down to her decision; she could have easily put Anora on the throne and kept the other Warden as her own.

She scoffed, a rough, indignant sound. "I wouldn't put that noble cow on the throne if she were the only option!" she bites, a fire in her eyes that I had missed in the past couple of weeks. There was a bit of her old self and then some. It was beautiful, dangerous but beautiful. "Stupid whore. Stupid, Maker-forsaken whore! Could have cared less that her father left her husband to die; left his corpse to be strung up by darkspawn. He was neither the best King nor the brightest but he fought for what was right and she forsook his name!"

Her anger was brutal, a crashing wave of molten heat and rage that was almost palpable. Then, as quickly as it had started, it was gone, leaving the woman to slump against the side table. Her forehead rest against her arm and there was a glassy look in her eyes. "I could not put that woman on the throne, Nathaniel. You did not know her. Alistair was the only option," she whispers, a single tear slipping down her cheek to darken the desk's surface. "My duty is to do what is best for my Kingdom and that was what needed to be done."

There was a lull where she squeezed her eyes shut and then shakily sat up. "You want to know the most ironic part of this?" she asks desperately. All I can do is nod. "They valued my opinion when it came to deciding the ruler of Ferelden but there was no way I could rule it beside Alistair. How funny! A city elf making a decision but Maker forbid she be a Queen!"

"Politics are like that, Laria," I whisper, reaching out to touch her arm. "Twisted and deformed worse than any darkspawn."

She chuckles roughly. "Men's hearts hold shadows darker than any tainted creature." Her eyes look up into mine. "An old witch told me that once and I have never heard a truer statement." She stares into the bed for a moment.

"How did you survive?" I finally ask, drifting away from that tangent.

Her glazed over eyes continue to stare at the bed but she takes a slow breath. "One of my companions, a mage, offered a way out through a magic ritual. It involved Alistair and would redirect the taint away from the warrior making the final blow," she whispers distantly. She was no longer in this room; she was a thousand miles away, drifting through memories. "I declined politely. My rogue, Zevran, however, overheard the conversation and went to Alistair himself, thinking I would not ask because of my guilty conscious." My skin tingled with anticipation. "How could he know that I wanted to die in that battle? How could he ever guess that I wanted to end my life in the most honorable way possible?"

There were more tears now, streaming down her face to pool in the silk at her neck. "Zevran did what he thought was right but all I wanted was the nothingness of an eternal rest!" she sobs, glass cracking as she squeezes it a bit too hard. I quickly grab it from her fingers before she can hurt herself; she hardly noticed. "And when I woke up a few days after the battle alive…I just decided a few days of rest would do me well, unconsciousness aside." She grits her teeth. "Instead, I was thrown into the courts. Alistair needed me and I was so guilty for throwing him into a position he never wanted that I did it for him."

She covers her face with a hand and gives a soft hiccup of a sob. "I'm so tired, Nathaniel, but I just cannot sleep."

My hand reaches out before I can stop it, grasping the back of her head and smashing our mouths together in a kiss that is more teeth than lips. Her shock lasts barely a second before she is grabbing at me, desperately searching for something to ground her. Our tongues are hot and violent as we take from each other, fighting for a dominance that only I want. Her fight is a reflex that slowly dies away until I am shoving her back with my body and the hand in her hair.

Her hands, so deft and dexterous, fumble at my shoulders for something to grasp. "Nathaniel," she pants when I pull away to strip the shirt right off her body. Her eyes are hazy with lust and need and a hint of confusion. "Please-I-"

"Shut up," I grit, nearly ripping her wraps to free her breasts. "Just shut up." I run rough, nipping kisses across her jaw and down her neck, leaving a trail of angry marks. I will regret them in the morning but for the moment I can only focus on the breathless, needy noises that shudder in the woman's heaving bosom.

Her nipples are dark against the pale skin of her breast and I waste not time in taking one into my mouth. The moan I rip from her throat is desperate. "Nathaniel," she whispers my name like a prayer, begging for more with nine letters.

With one hand on her other breast, I use the other to jerk the silk pants down her legs so she can kick them away. Her plain covering is discarded next and the scent of her washes over me like a wave. "Laria," I growl, intoxicated by her heady, feminine smell. "Maker's breath."

She bucks into my hand as I suck at her hipbone and tease her soaked folds. "Fuck," she hisses as I brush the small nub at the top of her sex. "More."

Maker hearing her say that word had my pants too tight for comfort. My finger breeches her entrance and I have to hold her hip down as she tries to come off the bed. Calloused and worn with work, my finger works her tight sex until she is a writhing mess on the sheets, begging for more when she can form a coherent thought.

I push myself up so I can watch her beautiful face twist with pleasure as I add another finger. "Nathaniel, please, Maker!" she pleads, bucking her hips as I flatten my palm against that spot and rub. "Fuck!" Her back comes off the bed and I crook my fingers to get both buttons simultaneously.

My cock throbs as her insides clench around my fingers and she gives a whimpered sigh of pleasure when it all breaks. Her walls clench, her breasts heave and I can see the skin of her thighs and hips growing red from the rush of pleasure. "Not done yet," I whisper with a dark smirk when she opens her eyes.

With her body still convulsing from the first orgasm, I lean down and run my tongue across the small pleasure zone. She gasps but I merely slip my fingers out and back again as slowly as possible. "Nathaniel!" she sobs, clutching at my hair in an almost brutal way. I look up at her from between her legs and our eyes connect; there is a vulnerability in her face that drives me to add another finger. She groans desperately, leaning her head back against the pillows as I suck the small zone harshly. "Please, Maker, just-ah!-fuck me!"

I pick up the pace and soon she is tightening up. Her back is strung tight and I can almost feel her hold her breath before letting it all go. Everything cascades across her body like a ripple before she's writhing against my fingers and mouth. It was a beautiful sight as I pulled away to strip my clothes off while she recovered.

Her hands are shaking as they reach out to pull my body over hers. She kisses me in a violent way and wraps her legs around my hips so the head of my hard flesh is grazing her sensitive folds. "Please, Nathaniel," she begs desperately.

I lean up to look down at her. Her white hair is loose and pooled across the pillow like a blanket of snow and her blue eyes are dark with want. Her elven ears are pointed delicately and just the least bit rosy like her cheeks. There are scars covering her rock-hard body but there is a beauty in them that I just want to trace for days. She is as far from the noble women I had been surrounded by as a young man as possible but I would trade all of them for just this moment.

And then I am inside her.

She lets out a sigh of bliss, her hands burying in my dark hair to pull me down. Our foreheads brush and the look in her eyes is of content happiness, like this is the only place in the world she wants to be. "Maker, you are beautiful," I whisper involuntarily.

She is warmth and something familiar. There is the constant smell of darkness lingering around her and I was slowly becoming aware that it was the taint in her blood. Her hair always smells of some soap with the flavor of elfroot and Andraste's Grace; her skin smells of metal, oil and leather; and all of a sudden her lips are home.

We move together as one and in that moment…I have never felt a connection stronger. Maybe it is the connection of fighting for one's life together; maybe it is the fact that she saved me from a fate far worse than death; or maybe it is just the way she looks right then but she is suddenly all I want. She is the only thing worth fighting for in a world that is so corrupt and twisted.

She has been the only thing that has been keeping me tied to this world. The smile she gave me when her eyes looked through those bars at me had been a light to my fading flame. And I only wanted to be that spark for her dying embers. I wanted to give her a reason to live in a world that only wanted her dead.

I lost myself in her flesh as I thrust into her. Her nails bit into the skin of my shoulders but I was drowning in everything she was. I wanted to cover her body until the world forgot her face; I wanted her to be forgotten so I could remake her into what she once was. I would help her to live again even if it took everything I had in my body.

"More, Nathaniel!" she begged, arching into my thrusts perfectly even as I sped up. Our panting breath was a beautiful harmony to the sounds of skin against skin until her legs were bruising my hips where they were wrapped and her walls were locking down on my shaft.

My thrusts became shallow and jerky until I tipped over the edge, spilling everything into her. We stayed frozen for a few seconds before we both collapsed into each other. Her body was a solid weight under mine and I knew she had no problem holding my mass as we lay there panting.

Finally, she easily shifted my body to the side. I slipped out of her, ignoring the hallow feeling that came with it. Her body was warm beside mine but her eyes were a little dazed when I glanced over. "Laria," I whisper, watching the tears slip down her face. "I'm sorry…I just…"

She shakes her head, rubbing her face with her hands roughly. "No, please, Maker, I'm sorry!" she laughs, the sound more real than anything I had heard from her in weeks. I could almost imagine her laughing like that nearer to the beginning of her journey or even in the alienage before she had been thrown into the real world. "I just…it's been forever since I…" She gestures wildly and laughs again. If I could make her laugh like that for the rest of her life, I could die happy. "Thank you, Nathaniel."

I don't even try to hold back the laugh at her comment. "I do not think I have ever been thanked after sex but you are welcome, my lady," I smirk, rolling over to prop my head up so I can look down at her. "If you are not properly worn out I could keep going."

I could tell just by looking at her that she was well worn out. "Damn, boy," she teases, reaching up to touch my cheek gently. "For a rogue, you have some stamina, do you not?"

My smirk is very roguish as I lean down to kiss her gently. "I may not be a warrior, Laria, but I am not without my skills," I quote impishly.

She laughs brightly. "That is quite evident after three mind-blowing orgasms," she points out, tugging me down for a quick kiss. "But, I think I am ready to sleep now."

My eyebrow quirks curiously. "Sleep?"

Her eyes roll upwards playfully. "Yes, sleep, you git," she smiles, looking a little more than exhausted.

I pull the blankets out from underneath us and wrap the woman up in my arms with her back pressed firmly to my chest. It was a way to be comfortable as well as watch the door and she sighed happily as we settled. Our breathing evened out but I sill had something on my mind. "When we are finished here," I whisper, kissing the back of her head gently. "You should leave."

She had yet to fall asleep, I could feel it as she tensed. "Where?" was her simple answer.

My urge to shrug was quelled by our position. "Orlais, I hear, is nice around this time," I offer, smelling the earthy scent of her hair. It was a smell I could get used to.

Her hum is in agreement. "Alright, on one condition," she whispers, already half-asleep. "You go with me."

I cannot help the smile that crosses my face. "Of course."

Fin.