π™ΏπšŠπš›πšŒπš‘πš–πšŽπš—πš πšŠπš—πš π™»πš’πš›πš’πšžπš– [cyrodilicbrandy & Agnes]

At Cayd's humorous comment that alluded to her 'talent' of burning the table they were currently rutting against, she tried to lift a hand to swat against his chest as playfully as she normally would, but it was clear she wasn't the only one feeling the pleasurable effects of their love-making. What little force she had put behind her hand to hit him faded away as a coil of desire seemed to burst through every nerve ending in her lithe, trembling body, and the hand instead, rather weakly, tapped against his chest and just rested their, where her fingers curled against the rough, brown fabric of his undershirt. She had been on the verge of some kind of exasperated reproof - possibly another "menace", but his lips closed over hers before she could form the word. Not that she would complain, of course, and Ari eagerly returned the kiss, the passion and need that was always between them rising and rising - if the way Cayd's tongue sought her own out, and the way he grasped her thighs, which were covered in a sheen of sweat.

The kiss was over soon, too soon for Ari's liking, though she also relished those moments when their faces weren't as close together, so that she could see his expression change, eyes become lidded, cheeks reddening with his exertion. Cayden was more expressive with her than he was with anyone else; spending most of his life as a faceless, emotionless soldier, stoic and silent... there were times, very rarely, where she wondered what he would have been like had he not been given away as a mere baby, if he would have been a proper lordling. Her own life, of course, wouldn't have changed much, if at all. From the moment of her conception she was meant to enter this world as an elven mage - some of the unluckiest odds in Fereldan, and mage children didn't have a chance at hiding and controlling their magic. She would have been found out eventually. But she couldn't imagine having to contain her emotions so strongly - it didn't happen often, thank the Maker, but there had been times where a 'brother' of his thought her ass was his to touch and had grasped it firmly in his clammy hands. At least she had been able to react outwardly, but when she had looked up she saw that Cayd had seen the whole thing; their eyes met and she could see his jaw was set a little more stiff than usual, but little else. Later, when they had been able to catch up, anyone would have thought that Cayd had been to blame entirely for the whole thing, by the way he practically grovelled at her. Ari understood perfectly, however, and had never held Cayden in contempt for his actions or lack thereof, when surrounded by other Templars. She supposed it was a little self-serving of the two of them, in not bringing undue attention to them, to not have anyone suspect they had anything going on other than a passing familiarity. But Aria was more than willing to be selfish if it came to Cayden, in almost every respect.

Except their love-making, however. Occasionally, she would tease him and prolong his pleasure for a short while, though without any malice - and she'd found out that Cayd, too, could give as good as he got. But as Cayd's nose bumped against hers, she could tell his body was reaching that point where it just began to take over, its owner almost entirely lost in desire, and in this moment Aria wasn't inclined to hold out on him, not in the least because she wanted to erase any lingering melancholy from their attempts at humour just now. Ari's own body, erupting in a heat that she could feel emanating from her lover's body also, felt soft and shaky, her lower abdomen feeling pleasurably on fire. Both of her hands dropped, fingers laced together and pressing against her chest as a soft mewling sound started in the base of her throat - over the years, the lovers had quickly learned they usually had to dampen their sounds, especially in moments of release, but for Aria it could sometimes be a hit and a miss. Toes curling, her grey eyes squeezed shut as harshly panted words slipped from her pink lips into the infinitesimal space between their faces; at first she could only manage to say his name several times: "Cayd-... Cayden. Cayd-" The last utterance of his name shut off quickly as it threatened to fill the room around them, her hands immediately pressing against her mouth as the sound, that could only be described as a muffle scream, was now dampened considerably. Cayd would, at this point, be well versed with the rapid arrival of her own orgasm, confirmed by the way her back arched from the table. Even though she knew she wouldn't be able to say his name again without screaming it for anyone who might happen to still be awake and in this part of the Tower to hear, her brain kept repeating it, over and over, heart almost bursting in her chest as a tear escaped from the closed corner of each eye.
 
Words simply died out between them, the crux of their shared pleasure crescendoing to hitherto unseen heights, propelled forward and amplified by the slow, intense lovemaking they were so often unjustly denied of. The dainty little hand that rose up to swat at him only fell to clung at his chest, Ari too apparently lost in the throes of pleasure to form any sensible rebuttal against his quips. Not that Cayden was in any capacity to revel in his small victory of course; his whole body treblemed with need, fingers clenched and jaws set, eyes closed in a blissful haze as his thrust again and again and again and again into her tight wet pussy, lips interlocked with the elf's in a heated, ferocious kiss. When he reopened his eyes, he saw those shining grey eyes, those trembling lips, half open, those rosy cheeks flushed red, every little freckle on them a distant star on the night sky auroraβ€” Cayden couldn't have felt more complete. It felt natural, for them to the conjoined in mind, body and souls, two parts to make one whole, as if the the Maker above had paved the way for their star-crossed romance, despite how cruel and unjust the road would be.

She mewled, she bucked, she pushed her hands between them, she called his name out repeatedly, a prayer, a plea and a demand all combined into one. Cayden replied in turn, fingers leaving red lines on her pale thighs, hips rolling expeditiously, groans of lust escaping thin lips, calling out desperately: "Aria... Ari... fuck, Ariβ€”" Breaths hitched in his throat, breathing a secondary concern as he felt her walls squeeze around him, trying to milk him for all his worth, a telltale sign of the fast approaching orgasm that would crash down upon both of them like waves upon the shores of the Tower. He would've loved nothing more than to take her hands away from her mouth so she couldn't muffle herself, so that she could scream out to the whole bloody Tower the name of the person who owned her. He would, one day, but right not his attention was demanded elsewhere; namely, his cock, which was edging dangerously close to release. It took all his self-control to hold everything in for a few more precious seconds, enough for Ari to finish first. And sure enough, she didβ€” her backs arching off the table and her hips lifting ever so slightly, caught and held up by Cayd's strong hands, her inner walls clenching down on him with a fury that just annihilated any semblance of control he might have fancied.

Cayden shattered into pieces as his own orgasm hitβ€” a rolling, uncontrollable tide that washed away all his logical thinking and indeed, any and all thoughts at all. With a final, powerful thrust he embedded himself deep in Aria's pussy, leaving but an infinitesimal space between them as he shot rope after rope of his seed into her, his body trembling with every pleasurable pulse. Was it wise of him to finish inside her, especially considering the circumstances of their relationship? Probably not, but the consequences of their actions were the last thing on his mind as they both rode out their orgasms, holding each other in close comfort, basking in the afterglow of sex. The templar's hand shifted forward so that he was holding her hips, and with a shallow, released breath that he had been holding in for quite a while, Cayden gently nuzzled his nose against Aria's, observing all her beautiful features. He did not want to move at allβ€” it would've been so much better if they could lie down like this and doze off. Still, time was still on their side, and he would make the most of it, extensive aftercare included. Smiling tiredly, he gently thumbed away the tears she had shed during their climax, and whispered softly to the wind and her ears, "I love you, Aria Siward."
 
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The two of them were almost animalistic now in the depths of their need, though there was - and always would be - love and care between them that tempered just how violent their respective orgasms were; Cayd had made a promise to her, even before they'd made love for the first time, that he would ever, ever hurt her, and despite the awkwardness that could be expected during their first time, it was a promise he'd never broken. Tonight would be no different; as their bodies rocked and stiffened against each other, even as his fingers dig into the supple, pale flesh of her thighs, it caused no pain, though she would have been unlikely to have noticed if he had, the waves of her climax rocketing through her body, a veritable barrage of need, pleasure, and love burning through every single inch of her, and somewhere in the last vestiges of her mind that were able to think, she thought it incredibly endearing that he was clearly holding himself back all of his own accord. Though if his own subsequent climax was anything to go by, the way her pussy's muscles tightened around him, holding him there until they were both done, only added to his pleasure.

As the last waves of her orgasm hit her, Ari's body immediately felt heavy, her breath husky and tremulous. Her eyes, though still lidded and misty with the tears she hadn't meant to produce, fixed on Cayd's face, his body stiffening as he buried himself deep within her, his own voice breaking and devolving into groans. Through her sense of lustful daze, her parted lips curved into a smile; and then she felt it, a certain ripple in his body that signalled his release. Despite her hands feeling like blocks of stone, she fought her body's reluctance and lifted them to each side of his face, cupping his cheeks and drawing her soft thumbs over his warm, sweat-slicked skin. For Aria's part, she felt such pure elation and love that her brain spared no thought for the riskiness inherent with him finishing inside of her - it had been a decent while since they'd had the opportunity to take their time loving each other in such a manner, that Ari was almost of a mind to forget they were in the library, so focussed on his face that she was.

And he'd said her full name: not the first time, of course, but it was something mostly relegated to moments like this, and the love, the love in the way he said it, the way his voice got softer, she might even think reverent. In another place, another life, she would have already willingly given up her name and taken his, but she settled for the worship in his voice. Slowly, her breathing began to settle, though her heart was being stubborn and continuing to race, her pulse jumping. "I love you too, Cayden Amberstern. I love you so much, light of my life." Any trace of the melancholy that had been brought to the table - literally - between the two of them was entirely forgotten by Ari, and her face, the cheeks still red, turned familiarly mischievous for just a moment, her voice a whisper that he was meant to hear, even if it was barely audible. "...almost as much as lemon bread rolls."
 
The light of her life. A simple term of endearment perhaps, but to Cayden it signalled something deeper, something more profound than just shallow words. She was his moon as he was her sun, bringing love and laughter into a life that could be so bleak and hopeless. She shone a light of hope on a faceless templar, and in the same way, he supposed, he was the sun whose rays shone through cracks in the wood for a lonely mage trapped in a tower. They rare called each other by their full names; indeed, there was no real need for itβ€” Cayden and Aria were enough for the two of them, and so they used them in moments like these, when they were bare and vulnerable. Her name carried memories of a tragedy and injustice in the slums of Denerim, and his the story of two divergent paths at the whim of a parent's choice. Not that it would do them much good to dwell on it. And he didn't need to eitherβ€” she loved him, and he loved her. That alone was more than enough.

Her soft palm felt cool against his warm cheeks, still flushed from the animalistic rut they'd just went through, and he too nuzzled into them affectionately, gazing lazily into her eyes all the while. His senses came back to him slowly, namely the slight ache in his calves and the way his shirt stuck to him with sweat. As Aria uttered a whiper Cayden leaned in, only to pull back laughing out loud, uncharacteristic of someone who'd just nearly fucked someone through a table. "Pfft, and you call me menace," he muttered smilingly, giving her a pinch of her cheeks as punishment for bringing him out of the hazy high of sex. Clarity came next, and as they stood there in silence, connected below their waists, Cayd took the moment to truly appreciate her beauty, gently running his fingers through her crimson locks to brush them out of her face, teasing her little pointed ears that had been the cause of so much hate. Grinning with mischief, he leaned in to lick at the tip of one ear, the one stroked and played with by his fingers.

"Hmm, lemon bread rolls are nice and all, but I had another delicacy in mind," he whispered, his hands slowly trailing down her cheeks, chin, neck and chest to come rest as one perky breasts, caressing it lovingly as he continued to ply at her ear with her tongue. "But I have a feeling we might both pass out if we let ourselves carried away. Just one of the many downsides of being proficient at lovemaking," he said, laughing boyishly at his own corniness. And so he reluctantly pulled back, hands still on her chest, and slowly pulled himself out of her, shuddering as her mucles gave him one last parting squeeze. "Looks like we made a bit of a mess of both your dress and the table," he mused amusedly, looking down to assess the damage, before looking back up to smile winningly at the redhead. "Can we cuddle somewhere?" he asked, as if he was a savvy merchant proposing some preposterous purchase, from the way he grinned.
 
Watching his reaction to her whispered quip, so characteristic of the redhead even amidst an afterglow such as this, her lips quirked into a triumphant smirk as he barked out surprised laughter; soon a soft gale of giggles left her own lips as Cayd's callous, yet always gentle, fingers pinched her still flushed cheeks as a form of playful retaliation. She loved every moment she spent with him, but in these post-lovemaking moments where some of the most pure, innocent and endearing between them, even if they only had a minute or two to hurriedly rearrange their clothes, pushing their hair into some sort of normal state as they waited for their breathing to steady and the flush on their cheeks to fade. But in the rare times they had actual time, such as this, it was something she wouldn't forsake for anything else in Thedas. His vulnerability, the way his eyes sparkled and mirrored his emotions just for her - a few moments passed before she realised she had just been staring up at her lover, her own eyes wide and unguarded as they often were with other people. Blinking them rapidly, she came back the present, his fingers and lips gently playing with the tips of her ears; any one else who tried that would get a small shock straight into their fingertips and up their arm. But not Cayden.

As Cayd whispered into her ear, she could hear the way it almost imperceptibly broke in places, the pleasured exhaustion hidden behind every word. Ari felt it too; though he was quietly jesting -mostly -, Cayd really was a proficient lover, and had Aria not been aware from the very beginning of their courtship that he had never even kissed another women throughout his teens she would have assumed he'd had some prior experience. Despite the backdrop of their relationship, for all intents and purposes prisoners in these stone walls, Ari considered herself lucky to have found Cayden, that they clicked almost from the very start of their acquaintance as two young newcomers who been ripped from their previous lives and forced to acclimatise themselves to the rest of their lives within Kinloch hold. She supposed she would have survived somehow, and yet she knew Cayd kept her sane, kept her her. There were many mages she'd seen who had been broken down over time, becoming bitter, depressed, some even dangerous. ...and it didn't help he was attractive and very good at kissing.

Cayd pulled back from her, and in so doing pulled away from her depths, the reluctance she felt in her body she knew he was also feeling, though Ari was validated in seeing how, just as his member slid free from her, a shudder coursed through his body, giving him one last thrill. Ari was able to sit up now; very lightly grimacing at the soft dull pain in her shoulders from where they had pressed against the table that she hadn't even noticed for a moment, her grey eyes followed his to the parting of her thighs and the table beneath it, lips pressed together to prevent laughter or something snarky from slipping forth. Pressing her hands against his chest as a sort of anchor, she shuffled off the table, taking a moment to steady herself against Cayd, her legs weak and wobbly, before lifting some of the fabric of her robes and patting it against the mess on the table - somewhat clumsily, it must be said, but the effort was there. Her robes were now even more in a state of disarray, but her slender shoulders shrugged lightly as she looked back up at him, eyebrows raised in amusement and mirroring Cayd's expression. "I can't speak for the table, but if it comes to my robes I can always spill some agent or the other on them to hide the... worst of the 'damage'."

Ari wobbled a little, though in truth it was all an act, and quite possibly one Cayd might just recognise; her body fell softly against his as her fingers curled into his skin lightly, and she put on a weak voice, her wide smile hidden against his chest. "If you don't sweep me into your arms right this instant and cuddle with me in that armchair over there I'm going to pass out. As in, right now."
 
It was hard not to at least chuckle at the way she patted the table away with her dress, throwing in a bit of flair into the act which was, all in all, quite unnecessary and ineffective. But, it was the effort that mattered, not the result, so Cayden instead gave her an impressed nod and a quick thumbs-up, but soon broke into an amused grin, as he always did. Aria held this carefree, happy-go-lucky aura about her that made it almost impossible to keep a straight face when he was around her. Well, except the times they were having sex against various furniture and flat surfaces, during which his face would be occupied with other things. He could easily imagine Aria as a jovial spellsinger if she were not a prisoner of these cold stone walls, bringing happiness and love and laughter to anyone lucky enough to cross her path with the gifts the Maker had bestowed upon her. Admired by the young and elderly alike, helping the sick and bringing smiles upon the downtrodden. And perhaps he could be her loyal companion, a rugged sellsword (perhaps he could grow out an impressive beard, or a stubble at the very leasat) to go with the pretty mage-bard, travelling across Thedas from Orlais to The Anderfels, filling their coffers and making love under the stars, not in cramped broom closets and deserted libraries. Just another of the fantasies he entertained when he was not dreaming of a simple farmer's life with her. Wherever he planned on going, whatever reality he thought of, Aria was always there, the centre of his world, and so was he, a loyal shadow to this wonderful woman he so loved with all of his racing heart.

Her hands felt soft on his chest, barely there, and he instinctively took a hold of her triceps, helping to steady her with a surprised chuckle when she wobbled a bit too easily and fell into his awaiting chest. Although her voice was soft and weak and her body limp, he could practically feel her wide smile, and the young man could not help but play along to his lover's little antics. "Right now?" he gasped in mock horror, also trying his damnedest not to break into a fit of giggles as he pulled her in closer and held her close to his heart. "We cannot let that happen now, can we? Hold on just a moment longer, my sweet damsel," he whispered laughingly, and bringing a hand under her knees and quite literally sweeping the giggly woman into his arms. She was a petite thing, and even after the the tiring tryst earlier, he was able to pick her up without much effort. Well, perhaps a small huff, but that was to be expected.

"We would be quite a sight, me carrying you around while being naked from the waist down," he murmured against her ear, a quiet, happy contention in his grey eyes, as he slowly padded over to the said armchair, which by the way, was more than large enough for two people snuggle in comfortably, which led him to believe that the old mages that furnished the library knew exactly what they were doing. Maker bless them. He carefully lowered the two of them down onto the armchair, placing Aria's ass firmly in his legs while her head and legs spilled out from the sides. One hand behind her head, so that she wouldn't be lying on wood, and another to skirt beneath her robes and brush against her thighs and crimson bush, a subtle show of affection where it felt unusual if he wasn't touching her somewhere. "Here we go," be cooed, flipping his hair back and placing a quick peck on her lips, letting her settle in however she wants on top of him. His fingers played with her hair from behind, stroking them, deftly pulling them into braids only to let them go again, and he closed his eyes happily as he leaned on his shoulder, simply basking in the warmth of her presence. "Mm, this is nice... I wish we could indulge more in post-sex cuddling."
 
Aria held back her giggles from slipping between her lips, but her body shook somewhat against him with the force of keeping them silent. But when Cayd reacted in a mock, gasping horror at her 'oh, wow is me, I'm so weak' delicate damsel antics, a few left her mouth quite unwillingly, and in the end, as her lover lifted her into his arms as if she were a mere child, the giggles erupted into full laughter; though she had to catch herself for a moment, the first laugh echoing tellingly against the bookshelves surrounding them. She hated the feeling of being silenced in these moments with him, especially the more intimate they were. A cupboard door opening and a mage and templar laughing together would, alone, raise suspicions; however, if the said mage and templar were caught in various states of undress and compromising positions, Ari couldn't even imagine the consequences, didn't want to. And so, pushed that out of her mind, instead snuggling in closer to Cayd's lean warmth as he brought her to the armchair. A ratty old thing, clearly no one had thought to replace it in a very long time, it was lumpy and threadbare in places, but just right enough for their need of it in this moment.

Cayd's voice, crooning and indulgent following her show of weakness, was soothing, and Aria lifted a hand to rest against his cheek and softly her fingers traced the lines of his jawline. Her giggles had now subsided, though a ghost of a smirk was still evident on her face as her eyes met his. "Mm, yes, exactly what I wanted," she said, her own voice little more than a murmur. "I'm lucky, as a dainty damsel, to have such a knight in shining armour such as you." Supressing a yawn with her free hand over her mouth, she blinked away the light bleariness that threatened to take over her sight. They still likely had a good while before they had to part ways again, and she wasn't going to waste any of that time by falling asleep in Cayd's arms - again. He'd let her sleep, though, and that made it a little worse, though Ari knew she wouldn't be annoyed at him about it. After all, falling asleep in a lover's embrace was a commonly normal thing to do, and very little about their relationship was normal - no three guesses as to why Cayd would let her sleep and hold on to that torturously brief sense of normalcy.

"One day," she began, continuing without thinking, her mind between the realm of wakefulness and the blissful dream-state of someone who became rather quickly tired, mouth moving faster to speak than her brain was in actually thinking about the words. "One day, we'll be curled up in front of the hearth in wolf furs or something, and we'll stay there all night. The whole night. And in the morning, we'll make love again-" here a small yawn did break through, and her voice was softer when she continued. "-.before getting on with the day. I call dibs on the three goats." Ari's words trailed off, her back arching in a stretch against him; and then, grey eyes widening somewhat she realised what she had said, all mirth from before evaporating rapidly, and the pure fruitlessness of such a daydream. Her heart tightened painfully in her chest, lips pressed together for a solid moment, before she let out a long, ragged exhale from them. "I..." Ari's small hands covered her face, the only way she felt she could hide the intensity of the sadness that suddenly washed through her from Cayd's eyes, though she knew it was useless. "I'm sorry," she said as she drew her hands away, voice small and child-like. "I didn't mean- I got caught up in... thinking about it," and here her voice had an undercurrent of anger in it, though it was only directed at herself. Ari refused to look up at Cayd for fear her carelessly muttered words had hurt him. "I'm so stupid."

The words echoed in her head: stupid, stupid, stupid. The moment was surely ruined now. Though she felt a twisted irony in all of this: Cayden had briefly mentioned needing to discuss something. If that something was bad, like her Harrowing, well - at least she had been the one to ruin the moment between them.
 
The old armchair was far from comfortable, but it in that moment, where Aria was safely curled up in his embrace and clinging onto him as lovers should, Cayd felt as if he was seated upon the grandest and most luxurious chair in all of Thedas. It was the person that made the memories, and when he was with Ari, every straw bed they made love on became a king's down-stuffed mattress, every old table they rutted against became the most exotic piece of craftsmanship mankind has ever seen. The mirth in his grey eyes glowed to match her identical greys, loving the soft glide of her hand along his cheeks, the adorable way she covered her yawn with one hand and blink away the sleepiness that threatened to overtake them both. He would've gladly let her fall asleep in his arms, content to just gaze upon the sleeping beauty for a few hours until the time came where they would inevitably have to part ways. It was what normal lovers did, after all, was it not? Pillow talk and lazy, half-coherent conversations, just looking upon each other's faces as they slipped off into sleep. He knew Ari didn't like itβ€” she would prefer to make the most of what they have instead of indulging in fanciful fantasies, but Cayden, despite being a templar that he is, was a dreamer at heart. It was these books and wayward thoughts that made life bearable after all; combined with Aria, of course.

So it understandably took him by surprise when she began to spin tales of a distant future, without even thinking about it, it seems, where they would live a simple life with simple worries, holding each other close without fear of repercussion, as lovers should. The hints of tiredness that had hovered at the edge of his face faded back, the young man strangely intrigued by the redhead's lovely vision. Yet a fierce, pulsating sadness clawed at his conscience, both of them knowing all too well that these fantasies were just thatβ€” fantasies. Though, his smile was still in a soft upward curve, listening intently while studying closely every little change in her features. And then it was all gone suddenly, Aria noticing what she has said, the mirth and joy in her eyes replaced by a crippling hopelessness, hiding her face from him so he wouldn't see her pain.

Cayd wasted no time in acting. Immediately, his hand left her legs to gently pry away her hands, wanting to see every part of her, tears and all. His voice was soft, loving, affectionate, matronly even, wanting to pull her away from the well of melancholic thoughts that would truly pull her in and consume her, even if he himself had an a dull ache in his chest. "Oh, Ari... there's no need to be sorry about dreaming," he whispered softly, kissing each corner of her eyes so that he could wipe away any tears before they could fall. "Don't call yourself that, okay? I'm the one always telling you about these. You're making me look bad," he said in a half-hearted jest, continuing to pepper her face with kissesβ€” her nose, forehead, chin, cheeks, lips, brows, each and every touch a smoothing balm to take away her sadness. Perhaps he could not provide her with the future they envisioned, but he could provide her with a safe haven in his arms when she needed him. "You take the three goats, and I go and tend to chickens... We have a beautiful little cottage on the outskirts of Fereldan, where no one bothers us about anything. Just our own little world. Our children will come bother us as we're working... hmm, two boys and a girl. The boys come help you to milk the goats, but they take after you, so they're cheeky little buggers. More trouble than they're worth. Iβ€”" He hadn't noticed that he himself had choked up during all this, and with a dejected laugh, he shook away the overwhelming urge to break down and instead settled for placing a long, desperate kiss on Aria's lips. "There's no need to be sorry about dreaming," he repeated.

It was actually amazing, how they managed to go from laughing about lemon bread rolls to brooding about their future, but such was the normalcy of their life. With a heavy heart, he shifted up a bit in his seat and cleared his throat, a telltale sign for when he was nervous, or when he had something important to say. Sometimes both. "And... on that note, Ari... The thing I wanted to talk to you about. Your..." he sighed, his lips unwilling to speak the cursed word. "Your Harrowing. It will come inevitably, and I thought it best to speak of it sooner rather than later. I... what will we do if you..."

No, he couldn't dare to think about asking her what would happen if she fails.
 
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Aria didn't deserve Cayden; he was too good and pure and loving for her, too good for the life of a Templar, truly. He should be the one to be free, to love and cherish some noble lady, the pride of his parents. She couldn't pull her hands from his grasp, exposing her face, though she tried so hard, so hard, to flatten out her expression as much as she possibly could. There was no reason for it; she wouldn't cry, not fully, she wouldn't break apart so much in his arms, but as Cayd's soft lips peppered over her, the hurriedly spoken words laced with desperate reassurance kissed onto her face, exhaled gasps left her lips as she fought back against the sobs that threatened to expose just how sorrowful and hopeless she felt. As a few rogue tears dropped from the corners of her eyes, they were quickly stopped in their tracks at Cayd kissed them away. It was rare to not want to be around Cayd; in fact, she thought this was the first time ever she wanted to be alone, to sink to the floor, to crumple up into a ball and let the tears flow as her anguish rushed through her and into a scream. But she needed him in this moment, more than anything, and instead Ari had to force the instinct deep inside of her.

Still, Ari couldn't help but give out shuddering breaths, chest heaving rapidly, quickly devolving into quiet hiccups as she listened to his own embellishment on her uttered dream, unaware of more tears streaming from her eyes and that she was shaking her head; though if in denial of his story, or trying to get him to stop, she wouldn't have even been to say. The cottage, tucked away somewhere off of the beaten path, surrounded by tall trees and a fenced garden she would tend to in between the farm chores and the children, though Cayd would be no means a deficient or absent father. The two boys, she could almost see them as clear as day, running around the farmstead and causing playful chaos, pulling their sister's pigtails but just well-behaved enough to stop their antics with a stern look from their father. Their girl... she was a solemn little thing, apple of her father's eye. If any of them showed any magical ability, Aria was guide them, mentor them, keep them safe - only over her dead body would they be ripped away from them into the Tower. Lost as Ari was in her own thoughts, she only caught the way Cayd's voice broke off before his lips covered hers; the kiss was desperate and needy, but not the usual kind of need that was so often between them.

Cayden pulled back, his grey eyes flat and grave, and Ari felt a short stab in her chest at this expression that looked so out of place, and her fears for the direction the conversation was taken were confirmed. The Harrowing. Of course that would have to be discussed eventually, why not when the mood between them was already hopeless and bitter? It wasn't as if Aria hadn't thought about it herself, and with a final, ragged sigh, Aria turned her body in Cayd's lap so that she was further curled into his grasp much like a baby. Her eyes closed and her voice was almost measured when she spoke.

"If I fail," she said, her voice without intonation. Though many of the particulars of what exactly happened during the Harrowing were kept secret, rumours were bound to fly around the walls of the Circle, and the two of them knew, or heard, enough for it to be a veritable fear. "If I fail, I'll die. Regardless of whether it's the demon or not. I mean, there's always the possibility the demon possessing me will be so powerful it will rampage for a while, but it... I... will be put down eventually."
 
Aria never pushed him away, never had to shield herself from him in any way, shape or form. So it came as a hurtful surprise when she pushed back against him, struggling against his kisses and whispered reassurances, shaking her head furiously as if she didn't want to, or rather, could not bear to hear his embellishments on their little dream. It crushed him inside, to see her so broken and hurt about a hopeless future, and the painful fact that he was powerless to do anything for her only compounded on his feelings. Still, even as she whimpered and sobbed and rejected his touches, he would not shift away, knowing she needed him even if she didn't want her. It was a gift after all, to be able to read between the lines of one's partner's emotions, and right now, Cayden knew Aria would crumble into a shambling mess if he left her. And so he continued on, desperately regaling to her the memories of a future yet to pass, of their little cottage tucked away amidst the the woods, the farm animals, their two troublesome boys and the quiet, soft-spoken little girl who would sit in a corner all day and read poetry rather than join in with her brothers' antics. They would all have a happy life, away from the worries of the world their parents suffered so much from growing up. And in the middle of it all, Aria and Cayden, holding each other until they were old and grey, sitting in front of a flickering hearthfire until the very end, when they would leave the world behind. And as he spoke, the images flashed before his eyes, and tears began to sting at his eyes, words choking up in his mouth, but he blinked them away all the same, knowing Ari was the one in need of an emotional anchor.

So it baffled him why he ever thought it was a good idea to bring up her Harrowing when she was in such a terrible state. Thick as the tower walls, he was. Still, he was quick in wrapping his arms protectively around the redhead so she could curl up in a fetal position and press deeper into him, his hands rubbing her back gently to soothe her.

It chilled him to the bone, the lack of emotion and intonation in her voice when she answered. Between the two of them, Aria was always the livelier one, the more expressive, easier to cry and laugh and anger. And her answer... Maker, her answer scared him more than her voice. Cayden was not expecting such a blunt truth from her, and it only forced him to face a reality that he had been avoiding for so longβ€” that he could very well lose Aria in that cursed ritrual. His whole body tensed up, his jaw setting and clenching so much he feared his teeth would shatter. Surprising himself, Cayden steeled his mind and grasped Ari's wrist, his grip vice-like and possessive, as if telling her no one was allowed to take her away from him, not even herself. He tipped her chin up to meet his gaze, and in those eyes she would see nothing but love and a cold, hard determination to get what he desiredβ€” that being seeing Aria come out of the fade in perfect condition. "No." His voice had a tone of finality to it, as if he would not entertain any arguments or logical fallacies in his selfish wants. "No. I can't bear to lose you Aria. We... we have such a long, beautiful life waiting for us in the future. Promise me Aria," he whispered, squeezing her hand desperately as if he feared his voice would not be heard. "Promise me you'll come back safe and sound. Promise me I'll see you the day after so I can pull you into my arms and tell you just how much I love you. Promise me you'll come back to me... so we can one day cuddle together in wolf furs in front of the hearth in our little cottage."

A shuddered breath left his lips, an echo of the emotional toil he felt inside, his eyes glassy with pained tears. "Promise me," he said, for the umpteenth time.
 
Ari had seen Cayd be incredibly serious before; his position as a Templar demanded seriousness and stoicism as a given, though comparatively Cayd tend to be somewhat more open than his brothers. Still, the deathly grave expression on his face, the face that he often kept light when he was with her, the way his eyes blazed with a mixture of deep determination and desperation - some fury, she thought too, though if there was it wasn't directed at her -, coupled with the vice grip around her slender wrist, shocked her, and she froze a little against him. His voice, the words spoken in clipped, final tones, cut through the room like a sharpened knife, and if his face and demeanour hadn't already made it very clear where his thoughts lay on the matter, that alone would have gave her some indication. Barring a few times he'd grabbed her with a little too much eagerness, back when they had been so inexperienced they had just been acting upon their base urges, it was the most pressure he had ever exerted upon her.

"Cayd," she whispered, but her voice might have well as been silent entirely for all the force she put behind the word, especially as he continued to speak. And she wanted desperately for what he said to be true, more than anything else in the world. That was the scary part, though, being a mage - she hadn't mentioned it to him at all, after all it hadn't been until now that they'd even brought up her Harrowing at all, so why would she have mentioned it? But if there was some way, maybe some spirit or... demon... that offered to give her the life she so desperately wanted to live, with Cayd, living free and together with no indomitable walls around them, would she take the offer? She might. The crux of the matter there was that no mage could trust anyone, or anything, they met in the Fade. The Harrowing was more of a test of will, than of magical ability, and when it came to her hopes and dreams for that life with her lover, her will and training might all crumble. And then what if the spirit she made a deal with wasn't a spirit, a spirit of Hope, or of Love, or whatever, and instead a demon possessed her, twisted her mind and body until she was nothing left but an abomination; an abomination that would be very likely put down quickly... and she would never be seen again.

So could she promise that she would enter the Fade and leave it safe and sound? Ari wanted to say yes, to put Cayd's mind to peace a little, even just a little. But even though, only minutes ago, they had been laughing together and coming down from their shared intimate high, to her it was now just a distant memory, almost. And somehow, that dream they both shared - she'd even gone so far to tentatively think of their future children's names, subject to argument from Cayd: for their little girl, sitting quietly, Marielle. It was close enough to Ari's mother's name, and her own, to be a sort of tribute, but unique enough to suit their unique daughter. The boys, that had been a little harder - in her mind she wasn't sure if they were twins or not, but she liked Ciaran and Tyrel, which meant stubborn, and she was sure that her boys would take after herself a little too much. The family would produce most of what they needed on their farmstead; probably the boys would want to learn to hunt at a young age, whereas perhaps Mari was a creative mind that liked to create and tell stories.

But she still couldn't promise to Cayden she would survive. And so Aria said nothing, her plump lips pressed so tightly together that they, usually so pink, where bone white from the pressure. She wouldn't cry, not the way she wanted to, and even though it practically killed her to not jump immediately into reassuring him of her survival, of their future together, whether or not they ever started that family they both so wanted, she couldn't lie to him either. She had no idea what would await her in the Fade, and though not giving this promise to him was likely cruel, she thought it would be even more cruel to make that promise. And then, as if it couldn't get any worse, a single, lone, terrifying thought came to her, her lips parting in a strangled cry, sitting up in Cayd's arms as her face lost all of its usual colour. Aria shivered uncontrollably, hands clenched together so tightly it was painful as she shuffled out of his lap, though her movement was not so strong as to break the grasp he had upon her. Internally she cursed everything; the Maker, the Circle, the blasted Templars and their duties, the Fade, magic, her parents, her birth - but never Cayd. But the thought, once in her head, wouldn't leave. For although the general rites and rules around what exactly happened during the Harrowing was a well kept secret, rumours were easily spread. Some were hopeful, deludingly so. Others so ridiculous no one could even countenance them. But what was fact was that a mage either survived the Harrowing and returned to Circle society, no longer a mere apprentice. Or they were never heard from again. And the most common rumour, horrifying enough to be reasonable, was that mages who failed their Harrowing were put down by the Templars; some had, the rumours went, taken just a little too long, and were killed. None of the rumours could ever identify any current Templars who might have had this grisly duty - they were either summoned after the made had already entered the Fade, or wearing their helmet, after all - but the point, the terrifying point, was still obvious: that any Templar, any of them, could be called upon to end the life of a mage during their Harrowing. And the thought that had Aria in a state of almost shock was this:

What if Cayd, her beloved Cayden, was the one who had to take on that duty?
 
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It completely unsettled Cayden, how Aria had her lips clamped shut, the usual pretty pink turned snow white from the pleasure. He would've given anything to hear a simple confirmation from her, a single "yes", a single promise to come back into his arms unscathed even if it was a sweet, empty lie. Hells, he even a whispered "sorry" might have eased him a little, but no words fell from those pouty lips he loved so much. In the end, it was a deafening silence that overtook the two of them, not the sweet words of reassurance he so desperately hoped for. Ari was still curled up in his lap, clinging onto him, but Cayd couldn't help but feel that she was worlds away from him, lost in her own crushing thoughts, puting up barriers that didn't exist before and pushing him away. Perhaps he should have eased up a little, give her some space and time - after all, they had been laughing while having sex just moments ago - but logic and reasoning would not be on the forefront of his mind when there was a very real threat that he could lose her in the next few months... or weeks, even. The thought hit him hard, once he realized that his days with her could be essentially numbered. But was that not in the very essence of their secretive romance? They could dream about a peaceful life away from the worries of the world as much as the want, but everyone has to wake up one day and face reality. And the reality of their situation was that they were hanging onto each other by the barest threads - they were lucky enough to have grown up together and to have come to love each other, be the centres of each other's world. Yet, just as easily, Aria could fail at her Harrowing, or he could be called away to serve some place else - templars don't stay long in one post after all. And he's held this one for twenty years.

Cayden so wanted to push her more, to eke out even a little squeak out of her in hopes that she might tell him what he wanted to hear, but he too fell silent, not quite coming to terms with the fact that Aria might not come back, even though she has. Suddenly the future felt bleak, an opposite shift from the little dream they shared. What would he do without her? What would he do if he could not hear her laugh anymore? Would he still be able to serve the Maker's cruel "will"? Would he be able to stand by and watch while other apprentices succeed where Ari had failed and flourish in their lives? Or worse, fail in the same manner as she died? He might not. At that point, it would be a mercy to be sent out into the world for whatever task the Chantry assigns him, but even then, he knew he would see her face in every happy family he comes across, every happy couple living a life they were not given. The mind was a strange thing, and to be trapped in one's own thoughts was a terrifying prospect indeed - something the young, frazzled templar was quickly learning as he fell deeper into the mental hellhole he's dug for himself. And the Harrowing... the exact details of the ritual was understandably kept secret, but rumours flew abound against these thick stone walls that had eyes and ears. He tried to not pay heed to rumours, but one thing was starkly clear - either the apprentice succeeds in their Harrowing, or they fail and they die. Cayden knew not what tests awaited them in the Fade of the Lyrium induced dreams, but he had suffered from enough nightmares himself to know it would not be pleasant. And among his brothers... there were ones who came back shaken and numb after being called upon to attend to a Harrowing, ones that eventually ended up failing. No questions were asked, but it was quite obvious, from the bloodied sword to the shaken men, that a life had been taken. The templars were essentially jailors to the mages after all, and it was a jailor's responsibility to remove prisoners that may prove harmful to others. What if Aria, Maker forbid, had failed her task, and he was the one called upon to bring down the sword?

It would destroy him. It was so unbearably painful to even think about ever hurting her, even by accident; how could he ever take the life of the only person he had ever loved and ever will love? But... it was also comforting, in a way. Such was the paradoxical nature of humans. Yes, it would break him, but if she was destined to leave him behind, then at least he would be the one to free her from this cruel life. He would take all her pain away with one swift stroke, and add her burdens and worries to his own and life out a cursed life for the two of them, while she goes on to live peacefully by the Maker's side, waiting for the day when he would inevitably join her. He would not be able to give her a peaceful life on the farmstead with their three children, but he would grant her the final moment of rest, at least. And that singular thought, as crushing and depressing as it was, helped him cope a bit with the unthinkable.

He was opening his mouth, ready to apologise for pushing her, when she sat up in his lap, all colored drained from her face as if she'd seen a ghost, shivering and trembling uncontrollably. "Ari?" he called worriedly, his own woes disappearing for a moment as he moved to care for his visibly shaken lover. She let out a choked cry, a sound that stabbed a dagger into his aching heart and twisted it cruelly. "Ari, I'm sorry. I didn't mean toβ€”" Before he knew it, Ari was scrambling out of his lap, her hands clenched tightly as she tried to wrestle away from his grasp, probably able to run away from him if it weren't for his grip on her wrist. Even then, the mere force of her movement jerked him forward, and before she could try anything else, he wrapped around her waist from behind, holding her tight in his arms so she couldn't run away anymore, no matter how much she wanted to. "Why do you want to run away from me, Aria?" he asked in a whisper, his state of emotions clear in his shaky, hitched voice. Just the fact that Aria didn't want to be near him nearly made him crumble into dust, and as he held her there, the fragrance of her hair caressing his nostrils, a single rogue tear fell across his cheek. "Is it... is it because of what I said?" he continued to ask, confounded and fearful of what she might be thinking. His hands snaked along to find hers, lacing his fingers in her smaller digits, holding her possessively in a way he never had before. He had never needed to. "Please, Ari, don't shut me out. Tell me something... anything."
 
Aria was not typically someone who fell into depressions of any kind, even as trapped and helpless she often felt, a byproduct of living as a mage in the Circle. Sometimes she wondered why she was able to keep a generally brave faced upon things, was able to comfort other apprentices and reassure them, especially the younger arrivals. Maybe it was just a natural talent she had been born with, and despite the life her parents had to live, they were pleasant and even occasionally indulgent - until the night of the fire. But for the first few years of living in the Tower, she held on to her parent's smiles, and then being taken under Wynne's wing, she very quickly was able to hide any anger she had at the change in her circumstances. And then getting to know Cayden, despite being from completely opposite lives, well after that, she didn't need anything else, and with Cayd being typically the more serious of the pair, she filled the 'happy, smiling friend' boots rather well. That wasn't to say she never felt fear, or anger, or bitterness, but rather that she hid it well. But then, even though she'd thought about her Harrowing before, learning about the rumours and consequences of failure, that lone thought had never come up. So why had it come up now? Because now, in this moment, she felt sick to her stomach, face pale as death, each beat of her heart causing pain in her chest, and even Cayd's frantic, possessive hold on her trembling body after she sat ramrod straight in his lap barely even registered.

Over and over in her mind she imagined all of the ways the Harrowing could go wrong, though the image of Cayd, looming over her still, prone, lifeless body, the sword that was currently resting in the corner next to her staff dropping to the floor as her blood pooled beneath her and stained her robes. Her body would have be removed, quietly and without attracting notice, likely buried in an unmarked grave, or burned, or Maker knew what; in her head, Cayden was the one who slid his armoured arms beneath her body and lifted it against him, in a way he had done so many times before - though no more would she be able to lift her head and smile at him, making some asinine joking remark. Her blood would be on his sword, on his armour, in his hands - and in his head. The image of the blood almost appeared to turn her vision red, and nausea bubbling up inside her, though she quickly repressed it with a hiccup. The sound brought her back into the present, back into Cayd's arms. His grasp almost hurt her, but that was nothing, not important. Cayd's voice was a mere whisper, the words broken and tortured, and she slowly turned her head to him, grey eyes wide and empty.

She was confused: she wasn't running away from him, was she? - until she realised she was no longer laying in his lap and had apparently, when that lone, horrible thought had hit her, tried to get away from him. Slowly, Ari shook her head a little, brows pulled together, her body less stiff now. "I-" the world was choked out, and Ari had to cough and clear her throat so that the sobbing her mind so desperately wanted to let free would not leave. Of course, she had no way of knowing that Cayd had also come to a similar conclusion that she had - she had been in non-verbal shock, after all - and so to herself, her words sounded disjointed and confused. "What if it's you?" she whispered, a few rogue tears betraying her wish to not cry in front of Cayden. "What if you have to do it?" Her stomach roiled again, and she found herself gasping, body cold, a weakness starting to overcome her as she fell back against his grasp, no longer pulling away from him. "What... what if...?"
 
Cayden thanked the Maker and the elvish gods and the old gods and all the deities that ever was when Aria came back down to earth. A single choked word let slip from her, prompting his head to move away and lean over so he could gleam a look at his lover. Even when broken and hurt and her eyes filled to tears, she looked beautiful. Bashful about his own tears, he let out a small nervous laugh and wiped them away, not wanting to appear weak when he needed to be an anchor for Aria's quickly fleeting emotions. Her question was simple, and frankly strange and out of context, but Cayden knew exactly what she meant, and it sent a haunting chill across his spine that was had him frozen and wide-eyed. It wasn't that unlikely they'd fear the same thing regarding the Harrowing, but the words still felt as sharp as needles when said aloud, and compounding it all into a painful, helpess reality - he had no true answer for her. What if it was him? What he had to do it? He couldn't answer. "I..."

A gasping sob wracked through her, her body going limp as if all her strength had been sapped away, no longer pulling away from him. Cayd was there to catch her, supporting her weight against his, unable to speak or offer any sort of reassurance as the love of his life broke down into sobs and hiccups, unable to even fully form her sentences anymore. Even then, Cayden had no answer, the only comfort he could offer being his protective grasp around her, keeping her safe and sound if only for a moment. Their fears about making noise or sneaking out on time were lost in the frantic haze. He had never seen Ari cry this much to the point of hysterics, always having been the happy, easy-going lass she was. Even through the myriad of dreadful worries about a bleak future yet to come, Cayd knew to soothe his girl. Soft as the wind that breezed around them, he kissed her on her head and gently turned her around, pulling her in and embracing her tight so she could cry against his shirt and muffle her sobs in it. A hand pressed against her waist, keeping her firmly in place against him, while its twin gently sifted through her crimson locks, trying to calm her down as best he could as he gave as much time she needed to let out her tears.

He didn't shush her or tell her to stop crying, knowing she would only devolve further into melancholic despair if she did not have some sort of outlet for her grief. "I don't know, Ari," he whispered, brutally honest. "I don't know. If I have to be the one to do it, then I... I..." Would he be able to do it? It didn't matter. He would have to. Aria knew that, as clearly as he did. Just as she wouldn't promise him she would come back safe and sound, Cayd couldn't promise her anything regarding the Harrowing. There may come a moment where he has to choose duty over love and commit an act of the highest sin, if only to protect the lives of all who lived in Kinloch Hold. After all, Aria had said so herselfβ€” there was a chance, a terrifying chance, that she may well be possessed by a powerful demon. And if that ever comes to pass, Cayden would be called upon to strike down the abomination that wears her face, even if it would shatter his world.

But Aria doesn't have to know that, does she?

"I won't ever hurt you. I promised you, remember? When have I ever broken a promise?" he asked with a half-hearted laugh, not swayed by his own attempts at misdirection. "I won't lay a finger on you, come what may. The others will have to tear my dead body off you before they touch you, Ari."
 
Seeing the broken realisation on his face as he understood her mumbled words caused her to like like the biggest arsehole in the whole of Thedas, and self-hatred bubbled in her chest, her eyes closing tightly. Self-hatred wasn't new to her, the whole being an elf, being a mage, after all, meant that sometimes she looked at herself in the mirror and wanted to be human, to be normal. And maybe if she didn't have Cayden, it would have changed her, made her bitter and mean, but his love, his worship of her, brushed those thoughts away. But never before had she been the reason for Cayd's face to twist in pain, and in his arms, the tears causing streaks down her pale, pretty face, her eyes wide and sparkling with the tears as if the whole of the sky's constellations were embedded into them, she stared directly into Cayd's own grey eyes. Every word he said, no matter how quietly it was spoken, she ingrained into every beat of her heart, her mind, her body, her soul, even as her crying slowly stopped and soft hiccups escaped from her lips. Slowly, trembling with emotion, she lifted her hands to cradle his face, thumbs lightly brushing over the balls of his cheek, over the barest amount of stubble peppered there, her galaxy eyes taking in every minute detail of the face of her lover.

I won't ever hurt you.

I won't lay a finger on you.

Those statements were now a mantra in the very fabric of Aria's existence, the promises, combined with his soft, subtle laugh, causing the bulk of the misery subside, at least enough that she found she could breath normally again. Her lips parted, her gaze into his face almost reverent. "Cayd..." the way she spoke his name was just a whisper, just one of the many secret words this deserted library must have heard over the centuries, as she moved into the space between them and captured his lips with her own. Against his mouth, she took in a deep breath into her nose, the scent of him faintly woodsy yet tangy, almost metallic, mixed with the almost imperceptible saltiness of sweat accumulated from their love-making earlier, and she felt safe, loved, in his arms. Ari whispered his name against his lips again. Was it a little hypocritical, a little selfish of her, to accept Cayden's promise when she couldn't make her own promise not so long ago? And besides that, if she should become possessed, the idea of him throwing his life away... that caused her heart to contract painfully for a beat. But if the Maker was good and kind and loved his children as the Chantry sisters taught them, then the two of them would be together, freer in death than they could ever be in life - desperate to put some slight element of good humour into the situation, she thought of them as two Spirits, tending to Spirit animals on some spiritual farmland, and for the first time in what felt like a long time, her lips curved into something like a smile against Cayd's lips.
 
Guilt washed over Cayden's chest even as the pain and misery visibly flowed out of Aria and faded into thin air. She was breathing normally now, no more wracking sobs or gasping breaths against his chest, but at what cost? He'd lied to her for the first time in their many years of friendship and love. A bond of trust unknowingly broken, an invisible line crossed. An innocuous white lie it may be, but it carried many consequences, the most prominent of which was if he was actually called up for the job. And then there was the matter of the lie itself. Was he being a bad partner for her, lying to her even for her own sake? Shouldn't he be able to tell her the truth, no matter how harsh it might be? And if he truly loved her... shouldn't he be able to give his life to protect her no matter what becomes of her, like he said? In truth, Cayden doubted his resolve when push comes to shove, and a deep sense of guilt and self-loathing consumed his frame. Yet, it was all washed away with a single look from Aria, those sparkling, shining nebulae of stars she called her eyes easing his mind with just a glance. She was no longer crying now, but rather gazing at him, reverently, lovingly, as she trailed her hand along his cheeks. Cayden swallowed his ball of shame.

Yes, he did the right thing. There was no need to put her through any more turmoil. If need be, he would throw himself at her feet and beg for forgiveness. Right now, all that mattered was that Aria was able to smile again.

And smile, she would. But not before she called his name in a soothing whisper that was as melodic as a siren's song, reaching up on tip toes to meet his lips in a kiss. He reciprocated in turn, so, so relieved to see a fragment of the old Aria again. His hands did not roam or explore her body as they did before; no, this time they stayed on her hips, almost as if he was worried she might run away from him again. The kiss was soft and sweet, not charged by desire and want, but so much deeper in truth that he couldn't describe it in words. They needed it, the intimacy. Cayden knew he would go mad if Aria had not shown him that she was okay, and he knew full well the same would be the case if he not been there for her. Against his lips, she whispered his name again, and Cayden responded in kind, uttering her name in a grave prayer. "Ari..."

She smelled of spice and citrus, unique and delightful in just the right way, her natural scent mixed in with a perfume of patchouli and sweet orange and lemongrass. He couldn't get enough of her; the intoxicating fragrance, the sweet, familiar taste of her lips, the breathtaking beauty of her eyes. And suddenly, her lips perked up in a small smile against his, and Cayden inadvertently did so as well, letting out a small, relieved laugh for the first time in what felt like ages, even though it had only been mere minutes since they were laughing and joking about lemon bread rolls. "Everything will be fine, Ari," he whispered, against the very core of his own beliefs at the moment; white lie after white lie. Why stop now when he could make her smile again, at least for the remainder of this night? "I won't let anything happen to you."

After a moment of much needed making out, he parted from her lips with a smile, gave her nose a light peck, and sank to his knees so he could look up at all her beauty, in all her teary-eyed messy glory. A small chuckle slipped past his lips at the state of both their dresses and persons, and with an affectionate smile he pulled her legs against him and pressed a long, much deserved kiss against the flat of her tummy, thinking of the new life that would form there after they'd left behind this life. "Now tell me that you love me," he whispered with a tired, but satisfied smile.
 
In his arms, lips against hers, in the aftermath of his promise, she believed him implicitly; indeed, she had no real reason to think he was lying to her - lying and deceit were simply not ideals that were part of their relationship. So when his whispered voice told her everything would be fine, she believed it. The Harrowing was still a terrifying thought, and one she knew she'd still feel nervous and scared about as time passed; and yet, most of the mages did complete their Harrowing and move on from being mere apprentices. But now, the most important thing was Cayden, and their kiss deepened a little, yet still chaste and loving. She was almost embarrassed that she had practically fallen to pieces in his arms, and that her own words and actions - she'd never pulled away from him before! - had hurt him as much as she herself had been hurting. But when he sunk to his knees, looking up at her, his grey eyes filled with reverence and love, she knew that everything was forgiven between them, if indeed there was anything to even forgive.

As Cayd pressed a kiss to the flat of her stomach, Ari took in a soft, surprised breath, her lips curving into a smile so radiant her very skin seemed to shine in the candle-lit library. Her hand rested atop his dark curls, smoothing his hair and caressing him, the soft and slow movement filled with nothing but love and happiness. The dreams they shared, of their life on the farmstead off the beaten road and hidden within fae-like woods, the children, the freedom... it was still tinged with something like sadness. But with his previously whispered words, and the worship, for want of a better word, he showed to her, and to the idea of her becoming the mother of his children someday, she could almost believe that it would happen. A grand escape, stealing away in the dark of their night, Cayd using his position as Templar to somehow destroy her phylactery - never mind it was likely heavily guarded somehow -, she would be disguised as a Chantry sister, maybe, just in case. It would be exhilarating, exciting, ...terrifying... and yet, with Cayd, she knew she would be able to weather it. And then, they would settle somewhere quiet, peaceful. The walls of their cottage would be thin, covered in decorative paper. A garden, walled - but the walls wouldn't be too high or thick; she could never again live in place where the walls were too thick, or too high. And then, their children; the boys would be older, maybe twins if that trait ran in Cayden's family.

As Aria gazed down as Cayden and his whispered demand, she returned the smile as she leant down and gently grasped his arm. She directed it to the spot where his lips had pressed to her belly, as if by doing so he would somehow be able to feel their future children there. It would happen, she had to believe that it would happen. "I love you, Cayden Amberstern." She bent at the hip to press a kiss to the top of his head as if she were a queen bestowing a token upon a favourite subject. One day, she might take his name, make their bonding official - though his name was not what she cared for, even if it might have weight in the noble scene. But if they were living apart from all of that, why should it matter? "I love you, and I love our dreams: I love our cottage, and my garden, and there's your little shed as well; and Ciaran and Tyrel will always want to try on your armour even though it's far too big for them. Mari likes to read by the river - you built a bench from a fallen willow just for the quiet moments she needs." It was the first time she'd mentioned the names she'd thought of for their future children, and she finished her spoken daydream with a sigh, though the moment was, unlike the previous daydream, was purely happy.

It would happen. It had to.
 
If Cayden had any lingering doubts about Aria's state of mind, they were all whisked away when he felt her small fingers twirling in his curls and playing with them. They were a much needed relief after the tumultuous affair of emotions they'd both went through, and as he kissed her stomach through the sheer of her robe, the Templar could practically feel the smile radiating from her face. She looked so beautiful, smiling down at him as majestically as one possibly could, and that look of pure love and happiness in her eyes, the unfiltered, unguarded raw emotion she displayed to himβ€” that was enough for him to absolve himself of any guilt over deceiving her. He did this for her own good, and he'd succeeded. And her declaration of love, her submission to his demand, couldn't have lit a brighter flame in the templar's soul, and the heat of love that had dulled between them earlier now roared back into a triumphant inferno. "I love you too, Aria Siward," he answered back, a smile of the happiest man in the world plastered onto his lips.

And it only widened when she bent down at the waist (though not very far admittedly, considering their heights) to kiss his forehead, like a queen gives favour to her devoted knight, or a goddess upon her most loyal acolyte. His grey eyes simply observed as she brought his hands to her stomach where he had kissed her, pressing gently on her skin. And when she began to speak again, painting a picture of their future - and Maker, it was such a beautiful picture - he let himself be drawn along with the story, his mind weaving images of a little cottage in the midst of fae woods, surrounded in every direction with green grass and colourful flowers. Aria's little walled garden, where she grows all kinds of vegetables for food and herbs for her spellcraft. His private shed, where he would display his armour and weapons and devote the paraphernalia of worship to the Maker. And then... and then...

Cayden looked up with a teary smile, and gradually rose to tower over Aria, his hands still over her stomach, holding her possessively. "You've thought of names for them...?" he whispered in elated astonishment, unable to even close his mouth, his eyes sparkling with wonder like the light of a thousand stars. A gentle giant, he was, and he leaned down to place a kiss on her nose as he rolled those beautiful names in his mind over and over again. "Ciaran and Tyrel... strong names, for boys who would become strong men. Are they twins? They would be troublesome little kids, with Tyrel taking after your sense of humour and Ciaran the boldness. They'd run around your little garden, bothering you while you tend to your herbs, and try to sneak into my shed even after countless warnings." A wistful sigh escaped him, and as he looked into Ari's eyes, he could see nothing but pure happiness and a joy, their little dream no longer tainted by fears of a broken future.

"And Mari... it echoes of your own name. Would she have a full name? Hmm, little Mari, reading on a bench carved from a fallen willow. She's a sweet, soft-spoken girl, preferring to read poetry and play among the flowers rather than play swordfighting with her brothers." Already, Cayden could tell that little Mari would be the apple of his eye, the second woman he ever loves in his life. Perhaps she would be a mage, along with her brother Ciaran. Aria would teach them all they need to control their magic and harness them for good, while Cayden trained the jubilant Tyrel how to hold a shield and swing a sword. They would live a peaceful life away from the worries of the world, protected from their pasts. Cayden would never let the circle get their hands on his precious children, if any of them happened to inherit their mother's gift. And through it all, in the centre of it, Aria, beautiful as ever even when she was a mother of three, smiling as majestically and freely as ever as she cooked and cleaned around the house, tended to the plants and chickens, read bedtime stories to the children. "Mari, Tyrel, and Ciaran... they're such beautiful names, Aria," he whispered, leaning down to capture her lips in a slow, sweet kiss that transcended time itself. "I love our dream as well. We wouldn't need anyone else... just our beautiful family in our own little world. Free from the worries and the pains of this world. We would live out our days there, Ari, until we're old and frail and grey. We would hold each other until our time comes and when it does, we will be in front of the hearthfire, wrapped in wolf furs win you in my arms, leaving this world peacefully for an eternity in the afterlife."

It would happen. It had to.
 
Soft, jubilant gales of giggles escaped Ari's smiling mouth as she nodded down at him, her red tresses flowing with the movement. The expression on his face, the pure, elated wonder in his grey eyes; it was mesmerising. She thought she could almost see his thoughts through those eyes, put into his mind from her whispered words. Every time she thought of their cottage on the small farmstead, she pictured something slightly different each time, though the general atmosphere was the same; sometimes the walls were covered with blue decorative paper, other times the paper was a mint green, small things such as that. But her garden, his shed, they were fixtures. She had an image in her mind of Cayd, eager to please, eager to oblige her whims and wants, laying brick after brick around her garden, and cheekily she thought it would be an even better image if he removed his tunic as he did so, working under the summer sun for her.

As Cayd rose, coming up from his knees with his hands still protectively on her stomach as if their child was already there, the top of his head over a foot taller than hers, her starry grey eyes following the movement intently, lovingly, his own expression made her feel as if her heart was about to burst straight out of her chest. Each rapid flow of blood in her veins seemed to reaffirm every ounce of love she'd realised she'd had for him since her early teens, when the two were blushing and stumbling around each other, trying not to look the fool in front of the other. "Of course I have," Ari whispered back, her voice playfully amused, as if the idea of thinking of names for children that didn't exist for a long time yet was the most natural thing in all the world to her. As his head dipped to brush his lips against her nose, she wriggled it slightly. As he offered his ideas on their son's names, Ari listened to him with as much wonder as she had seen in his eyes when he was on his knees. Of course the boys would be a lot of trouble at times; she could readily picture them scampering around her garden and accidentally kicking over her harvest basket. They wouldn't be bad children, she was sure of that, and if they were indeed twins then the two of them had a lot of work on their hands. She hoped... that none of them would have magical abilities, if only for the risks that posed to young children, and the ever-present danger that the Circles posed. But, should it happen, between the two of them, she knew that neither would stand by and let anything, or anyone - demon, Templar, anything - harm their babies.

"Mari..." she echoed in a whisper. Marielle. Sweet, gentle and quiet, her father's favourite - though Ari was sure he wouldn't even admit that if he were being raked over hot coals. Cayden, protective and chivalrous as ever, his grey eyes turning stern if he noticed that the boys in the nearby village were noticing her. Maybe he'd try not to be too stern, but Ari knew him well enough.. Marielle Amberstern. "Marielle," Ari said, her hands trailing over the rough-spun tunic he wore, jus faintly able to feel the beat of his heart. She repeated their daughters name before continuing to speak. "She'll have your eyes..." and her voice trailed off into the small space between their faces, as Cayden leaned his head down again to take Ari's pink lips in a kiss that moved her so much in her core that she genuinely thought for a moment that she was floating a few centimetres from the stone beneath their feet. The kiss ended far too soon, as most of their kisses did, and Cayd's next words brought such a torrent of positive emotion to her that her legs buckled somewhat and her body fell against him - for real this time. Her small, smooth fingers grasped at the fabric of his tunic, though she knew his own arms would be enough support, now and always.

Her head against his chest, a shaking, almost silent exhale left her lips, almost overwhelmed with the happiness she felt, and the truth of their future in his words; though for a moment she did feel her stomach twist a little, but it was the idea that eventually they would die. But, as Cayden shared with her, when they did, they would pass from this life, the life that despite all of the hate and adversity against them, they found each other in, and into the eternity holding hands; leaving behind their grown-up children who would hopefully have had children of their own, and thus their life together would not end as just some forbidden series of trysts in what was effectively prison, but would carry on through their legacy as an example of a true, deep, passionate love.

Aria had told herself earlier she would cry in front of Cayden. This was different though, different from the need to scream, pull at her hair, let out the soul-crushing wracking sobs. In this moment, though, she found herself, in Cayd's arms, sobbing; the tears soon wet his tunic, and she quickly looked up so that he would be able to discern her emotions this time around were not centered around immeasurable sadness. Through the rapid, happy tears, she said his name, though it came out as more of a hiccup, her expression fixed with a wide, blazing smile.
 
"Marielle," Cayden repeated after Ari, the name of their would-be daughter echoing endlessly in his jubilant mind. Marielle Amberstern. It was unique, beautiful in its own way, with an elven air to it that would be reminiscent of her mother's heritage. Cayden felt a bit guilty for having chosen a favorite among children not even born yet, but at this moment, he couldn't care lessβ€” he felt as if it all were real, if it had come true. He would try not to show too much favouritism of course; he would still heckle the boys with terrible jokes until they roll their eyes in exasperation, and train them well to be fine warriors one day, ones who would protect the weak with all their capacity. It was something his own father wanted for Cayden, but the old man didn't have the decency to do it himself. He admired the thought process though, and he promised to himself he would be the father he wished he had.

Of course, with little Marielle, things would be different. He did not know if she would enjoy playing with swords or chopping wood with him, being a girl. Maybe she would prefer someone who could braid her hair and play tea parties with her, or whatever normal girls do growing up. Cayden was decidedly not skilled in either braiding hair or tea partying, but he would learn how to comb, style, twist and curl any kind of hair if it meant he could spend more time with his daughter. Aria could be his test subject. Woodworking was not a skill he had ever expressed interest in either, but he would learn it, so he could carve a bench out of a fallen willow for Mari to read poetry on. He would build a bookshelf that covered the whole wall, so that Ari could place all her old books and tomes on it. And on the opposite wall, layers of shelves where she could store her herbs and specimens. He would make little wooden figurines for the children to play with; people of legend, wild animals and mythical creatures, swords, staves, shields, anything his precious children asked for, he would give them. They would have to sacrifice so much, work so hard to get to that point in life. Cayden would do almost anything to give his family a peaceful, happy life, and his children a childhood they could smile back on.

"And she will have your smile," the templar finished his mage lover's sentence for her, right after they'd broken apart from a kiss that left him feeling dazed and smiling in all the right ways, his lips still pressed against hers. And when she shuddered and fell into his chest at his words, he would hold her close, his hand gently rubbing along her back and peppering little kisses on the top of her head, giving her all the love and comfort she would need. The crackle of energy in the air, fuelled by love and lust and desire and sadness and hope, it was all overwhelming to the point that Cayden could almost taste it. Everything he had ever wanted in his life, his hopes, dreams, ideals, fears, his whole identity, was sealed in the pretty little thing smooshed in his arms.

So of course, when Ari started to cry softly again, Cayd was instantly worried. He moved to gently hold her, wanting to ask what was wrong, but when she looked up with those wide, beautiful eyes and a smile that could've put the light of a thousand suns to shame, Cayden knew that nothing was. In fact, everything had gone right this time. He could only find happiness and pure joy in Aria's gleaming face, almost radiant that she lit up the darkened library, sobbing and hiccupping but the happiest he'd seen her in such a long, long time. All because of one simple promise, one simple assurance that he would protect her no matter what, and that their little dream would come true one day. His own thin lips curled upwards in a happy smile, laughing good-naturedly with the way Ari's tears fell, thumbing away the streaks affectionately and with care.

"Oh, Ari... " he crooned, gently rubbing her hair and holding her close, letting her empty her tears into his tunic as much as she needed to, content to be a silent companion while she let out her tears of joy. Deep down, he knew just how lucky he was to have her with him here, opening her heart and all her thoughts to him without a care. Cayden knew there would be no one else like her, and he fancied that their love was so deep and strong it transcended lifetimes. In previous lives, they had always found and loved each other, and would do so in the next lives and the next, until the very cycle of the world comes to an end. And until that day comes, Cayden would love Aria, forever and always.

Yet, their precious night together was timed, as they were so rudely reminded of when the old bell in the tower chimed as the clock struck twelve, signaling the day had changed. Reluctantly, he looked down at Aria, his lips pursed in defeated resignation to the fact that they would have to part soon. "It's midnight," he whispered softly, his tone still soft and loving, but now tinged with sadness at the thought of having to lose her. There was no need to voice what they both had to do, so instead, he gave her one last kiss, gently lifting her up by her waist and holding her in the air as he tasted those beautiful pink lips. "Thank you. For being with me tonight, Ari. It was... it was amazing," he said smilingly. With that, he slowly lowered her to the ground, finally breaking apart fully from her body for the first time in hours. Intent on making the most of their last minutes, he helped her get dressed and fix her, all the while laughing and kissing, before he himself put on his breeches and armour. The two parted with wistful smiles on their faces, their night together just another secret the old library would hold in its aged halls.

One week later​


"That's what I'm saying. All chantry sisters are lesbians."

Cayd rolled his eyes until they were at the back of his head; good thing he was wearing his helmet. Mercer was spewing shit again, and it took all the self-restraint in the world for Cayden to not tell him to shut up. Hierarchy was sacred among the Templars, and that meant that Mercer, being a good decade or so older than Cayd and his partner Callum, was able to do and say almost whatever he wanted in front of them not be held accountable. It didn't help that he also seemed to be a favorite of Knight-Commander Greagoir's. "Why?" was the young man's dry, single response to the crass statement, but that seemed to be enough fuel for the older templar.

"Because," he began, as if he were berating a child, "think about it. They spend all their time locked up in these boring halls, sworn into their oaths of chastity. How can they not develop something for other women, eh? Not that I blame them."

"But... by that logic, wouldn't that mean all the templars are gay as well? We'll also locked up in a boring tower, and we're also sworn into oaths of chastity and poverty." piped up Cullen, who had been completely silent so far.

Cayden let out a small snicker at that, but kept his silent, vigilant watch, content to just see Mercer struggle with an appropriate rebuttal to the question, and fail miserably. In truth, Cayden couldn't care less if the chantry sisters were lesbian or not; he was more pissed at having his ear drums tortured over the course of the whole twelve hours of their watch, unable to daydream and relive his night with Aria from a week ago. He could still taste her lips upon his, smell her spicy, citrus scent upon his clothes, though it was most likely a trick of the mind. Thankfully, his brothers fell silent soon after, and Cayd gladly let himself be dragged away into a fantasy, of their little cottage in the woods, little Marielle, troublesome Ciaran and Tyrel, and of course, Aria.

Yet, peace would not be on his menu, because goddamned Mercer piped up again, this time tapping his armour and pointing at a gaggle of apprentice girls who were walking towards them.

"Hey. Psst. Little lordling. Look at those buxom lasses. Pretty little things, all of 'em, eh? Especially that red-haired knife-ear."

That immediately captured Cayden's attention, and instantly, he felt his blood boil as he realised he was pointing at none other than his beloved Aria. "She has a name, Mercer," he said curtly, bristling at the racism and barely keeping his gauntlet-clad fists from rearranging his helmetless, ugly face. Mercer did not notice any of this of course. He was a tad too busy ogling Aria's ass.

"Ladies! Where are all of ya going? I hope you all weren't going to pass by without saying hello to your friendly templars," he shouted, strutting over to the group with the confidence of a peacock.
 
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Ari walked through the halls of the Tower, somewhat bleary-eyed from bending over yet another yellowed, brittle-paged tome, filled with the properties of varying plants to be found all over Fereldan. It was where she excelled, and drying, cutting and crushing herbs was one of the few things she enjoyed doing - though it paled on comparison to the time she spent with Cayd. A smile crossed her lips, as it had many times throughout the day so far, even when she was trying her best to concentrate on the uses of rue and valerian. Rachel and Elena, two other apprentices who were studying for their own exams, often noted these enigmatic smiles, though Ari brushed them off as if they were the product of thinking of passing the exam. She'd left the classroom with the two girls, her copy of Yevana's Herbal Compendium in her arms, her mind half focussed on their conversation, and the look in Cayd's eyes as she'd told him the names of their future children.

For the most part, the presence of Templars was a given; faceless, stoic beings, they hovered over and guarded practically ever inch of Kinloch Hold. Aria generally ignored them on principle; no other Templar but Cayd (and fine, she had to admit that Cullen was not as bad as some of the others, either) really had any attraction for her. Throughout the years, she'd learned not to look up at the helmet of every Templar for fear of gaining unwanted attention - though luckily, Cayd was so much taller than most of them that often she could very literally see him coming. Even though they could not openly acknowledge each other every time they passed, she would walk a little closer to him, brushing the side of her arm against him, and if he was alone, or with Cullen, he would take the opportunity to dip his head in her direction, and she could imagine the way his eyes crinkled with happiness and lips curved into a smile as she passed. It was, truthfully, exhausting at times. Though they made up for with when they finally spent time together.

And now Aria removed herself from the conversation with the other apprentices entirely as she sunk back into her memories of him. Smile gracing her lips, the very apples of her cheeks ever so red, the daydream was violently shattered as a leery voice echoed across the hallway towards the group of apprentices. Ari, looking up so quickly she felt a crack in her neck, held her books closer to her chest, lips tightening. Rachel and Elena had much the same reaction, for Mercer had been the one to call out to them, and was striding towards them, his stupid helmet-less face wearing a disgusting smirk.

Maker, Maker, give me the fucking strength to deal with this arsehole, Aria prayed to herself silently. Nowhere near as devout as Cayd, her religion was only surface deep. And yet she still asked the Maker to intervene. For Mercer was a strong example of a man who knew no love, no respect, no goodness, and yet still had such a position of power over the mages, vulnerable and unable to fight back without running the risk of dangerous consequences. Ari had faced his unwanted attentions before, though she'd heard worse of him than just catcalling and wandering hands, and the elf looked over at Elena - poor thing, her face was sheet white. Ari stepped in front of her, the usually open expression on her face as defiant as she felt she could get away with. She didn't know the specifics of her 'interactions' with Mercer, but Maker damn her if she was just going to let him continue to terrorise her friend.

This was definitely one of those moments Aria regretted being incredibly tiny; she puffed herself to her highest height, all 5" of it, and knew she probably looked ridiculous against the menacing presence that was Mercer. Ari's voice was clipped, expression one of utter no-nonsense - she'd learned that as a young age from Wynne who, even through all of her maternal instincts, was as tough as old leather. "Leave us alone, Mercer," she said, even as a beat of fear stabbed her heart. Talking back to the Templars, any of them - with one, maybe two exceptions - could be a dangerous endeavour. It could be seen as rebellious, inciting; and those were words which did not go well next to the word mage. Many of the Templars were quietly compliant in the myriad of abuses the mages faced - either duty or lack of compassion prevented them from speaking up. Only a handful were ever outwardly sympathetic, and even then only when it was deemed that a fellow Templar had been incredibly out of hand. Even fewer still were truly cruel, and Aria thanked the Maker every time she heard a snatch of news from the Circle in Kirkwall; she would have likely killed herself already had she had to live in those conditions. It was unfortunate, too, that even when injustices were done towards mages - many of them young women, new of the Tower and vulnerable - that proof was scarce. Templars were oft believed over mages, and even if the First Enchanter tried to seek some kind of redress on behalf of a mage, the close-knit Templar culture was often so pervasive that the names of those Templars who had been so abusive were not shared. And so, nothing would be done. She would have stood behind Elena with the full force of her belief and love for the girl, should she have stood up and told anyone about it. But Elena was terrified, and Aria understood.

"We're busy," she continued, feeling Rachel and Elena shuffle backwards behind her a little, and the fear stabbed at her again. She didn't blame them for moving away, wanting to withdraw themselves entirely from Mercer's leering and hard hands; as far as she knew, they didn't have anyone like Cayd to kiss away their tears and pat the fingermarked bruises with a soothing balm like she did. In fact, so focussed was she on Mercer, on trying to make her presence a beacon for the other girl's to use to escape, that she didn't look past the helmet-less Templar; she would have known Cayd stood a little further back, standing at least half a foot taller than the other Templar beside him. Though, had she known... well, it wasn't as if he would have been able to do anything about it.
 
Cayden would be the first to admit that the Templars were a flawed bunch. There was no way they couldn't be, when they were taken as young boys and molded into faceless soldiers in the name of service to the Maker. They had no fathers to look up to, only harsh weaponmasters who would starve them if they misbehaved. No mothers to sing them to sleep, only Chantry Elders who forced the Chant of Light into their memories before they could properly hold a sword. Cruelty begets more cruelty, and it shouldn't come as a surprise that some of his brothers carried some ugly tendencies indeed, and hid those behind their helms. Every Andrastian Circle had templars to watch over the mages, any relatively speaking, Kinloch Hold wasn't that bad of a place. Mages were kept in separate cells in the Gallows in the Kirkwall Circle, a literal prison. At least here, mages were allowed to live a relatively peaceful, if boring life surrounded by their peers.

And in every Circle, there were bound to be 'bad' templars. Just as there are mages who would use their abilities for harm, there were templars who use their position of power over the mages for less than noble purposes. It was a sad fact of life in the Tower, and most people, mages and templars alike, did not speak up for the injustices happening in these walls for fear of repercussion. Cayden was guilty of this well. It was better to endure some harsh words and some crass touches than get into an altercation in front of everyone. Aria herself was a victim of some catcalling and inappropriate touches, and Cayden always had to kiss her tears away later, not defend her publicly. After all, they should not let a few bad apples spoil the bunch. Deep down, Cayden wanted to believe that the Templars were good. He wanted to believe that they were indeed the noble warriors they were reputed to be.

But Mercer... well, Mercer was a different case. There were rumours, unsavoury rumours, flying about that whispered of his 'misadventures'. It was well-known that he had little regard for decency with women, whether they were mages or fellow templar sisters, though the total lack of female templars at Kinloch Hold meant all of his attention went to the mages. Behind closed walls, in their barracks below the mages' quarters in the Towers, he spoke of some truly awful thing about the women, human and elven alike, that made Cayden sick to the stomach. But he never spoke up or raised a hand, because it was what he had been trained to do. But when he noticed that he was walking towards Aria's friends, and that it was Aria himself rebuffing him, Cayden felt a deep pit of fear in his stomach. Immediately, he turned and edged towards the group, though it was unclear even to himself what he was trying to do.

See, Mercer had a formula to his little games. He liked women who were rebellious, who had a mouth on them. He'd told Cayden and the others himself. And he always singled out and picked on a single mage to harass and was mostly given free rein to do so. Greagoir was all too happy to turn a blind eye and Irving was frankly too soft to defend his own charges. And up until a month ago, his attention had been focused on Aria's friend, Elena. She also had a quick tongue and sharp wit, and she resisted the templar vehemently, throwing every insult imaginable to his face when pushed. And then about a month ago, she stopped. No more sassy comebacks, no more hard glares. She just stared to the ground when Mercer was near, and took the abuse without uttering a word. There were rumours and speculations about what really happened to her, but to anyone with any semblance of intelligent thought, it was all too clear what Mercer had done to her when she came back with torn clothes and a face so bruised she couldn't even cry properly.

The mages were confused as to what happened, but the templars all knew exactly what happened, even without Mercer uttering a word about it. Yet no one acted up. Not even Cayden. And he doubted Elena herself would speak up. Most girls unfortunately didn't. And now, with Aria spitting venom at him, Cayden feared she would be painting a target on her back.

"Busy? You seem pretty free to me, just traipsing around the Tower as if you own the place. Is that right, little knife-ear?" The bastard got closer, his stature towering over the girls, and more noticeably over Aria, who, despite her attempts to look tall, did not grow higher than her full 5'. "Come on, loosen up a little. We just want to have a little fun! It gets boring standing around all day, right boys?" he called back to Cayden and Cullen, met with silence for an answer. Cullen, seemingly having sensed Cayden's growing worry and anger, attempted to warn him by uttering his name, but it was all for naught-- Cayd was already making his way towards them, if only to distract him so Aria could leave. His heart beat a thousand times a second, fear a phantom that was only inches away from consuming him.

But the fear was drowned out by fury after what happened next.

"And what are you doing, hiding this tight arse under all those robes? You're thicker than the whores in Denerim!" he sneered, just as his hand came down to forcefully grab at Aria's backside. Cayden's own helmet went clattering to the ground, no longer caring about concealing who he was. His sole purpose was to let his fist kiss Mercer's face now, preferably repeatedly, until he was bloodied and whimpering like the dog he is. The first strike connected with a satisfying crunch right on his jaw, the ache in his knuckles pacified by the adrenaline. His black hair fell in strands upon his face, masked by fury and a manic frenzy, and landed a second and a third blow to his nose, dislocating it before he finally came back to some semblance of control.

"Fuck off, Mercer," he uttered through his teeth, raising his fist for a fourth against the coughing, cursing older templar, his eyes momentarily flicking to Aria as if telling her to leave.
 
Aria would have been the first to admit that she could be an open book when it came to showing her emotions. She felt strongly about almost all of her feelings, especially ones that threatened to overtake her mind; the mixture of happiness and sadness that had swelled inside her bosom that night with Cayd in the hushed library was a good example of that. And at times, too, her humour made her laugh until she could barely breathe and she had to wipe away the tears. And now, in this moment, she understood what it meant when people got so angry that they 'saw red'. Beneath her skin, her blood ran hot and furious, heart hammering in her chest as the fear and anger combined. Her lips curled up, not so much in a smile, much a sort of sneer. Mercer disgusted her, and she could feel, in every throb of her heart, the injustice of a walking pile of scum such as him was given so much power to abuse.

The racism in Mercer's words was almost inconsequential. It wasn't as if she could do anything about her race; cutting off the tips of her ears wouldn't erase the slurs and the heritage behind her existence. It was Mercer's hands, the cold, hungry expression in his eyes as he loomed over her. For a moment, Aria thought her legs would give out beneath her as she leaned her head back to look up at the monster in the Templar's armour. She was waif-like, compared to him; her base survival instincts told her to back away, dial back the rebellion in her face, in her voice. But the anger and disgust was too deep. She had been there when Elena, her robes torn, face red, black, blue, limped back into their quarters late one night; she had been there as the once so outspoken and bubbly brunette mage withdrew into a shell of her former life, one that only recently some of the old parts of her were peeking back out of. And Aria had been there when she'd heard stories of other mages, other Templars - many of the incidents not coming anywhere close to what Elena had gone through, though Elena, to this day, refused to go into specifics. Aria wasn't stupid, though. Though perhaps in this instance, she let her emotions overcome her common sense, for she stood her ground.

So it shouldn't have been surprising, perhaps, when Mercer's large, gauntleted hand planted itself firmly on her plump arse. A gasp slipped from her lips, her hold on her Yevana's Herbal Compendium slipping to the floor, several slightly torn pages falling out and scattering on the concrete beneath her feet, though her face twisted in fury as she tried to step from his disgusting hand. She opened her pink lips to say something, when her attention was completely captured by one of the other Templars approaching - just as he removed the helmet, she knew who it was, the height alone, even compared to Mercer, was a dead giveaway, and her stomach contracted painfully.

Before all assembled, Cayd's fist landed heavily on Mercer's jaw, the force behind it knocking the brute away from Aria, and before Mercer could react, before the other Templars around could even step forward, her lover struck Mercer a second time, a third, upon which a cracking sound could be hurt and spurts of blood sprayed from Mercer's nose. Rachel, blinking out of her worried stupor, grabbed at Elena's arm, who was watching with a stolid pacifism, face still white, before pulling the woman away. The further away the mages were from this, the better, and Aria's wide, fury-filled greys met with Cayd's, the anger mirrored in his. In that instant, Ari got the message he was trying to convey, and for just a moment her body shifted as if to follow his unspoken instruction. But it was strange - she wasn't stupid, she knew Cayden would be so so much trouble after this, an unspeakable amount of trouble. Not just for fighting, but Mercer having superiority over him made it all the more serious. And not only that, but he'd made a public show of sympathy for the mages, and even worse... in doing so, made it clear of his partiality towards her. So, she knew that she should go, recollect herself, ready for whenever they came for her statement on what happened, down-playing the relationship between herself and Cayd as being nothing more than a passing closeness due to their being given to the Circle at such young ages.

But as Cayd's fist rose again in preparation to hit Mercer a fourth time, the venom she felt towards the coughing, bleeding man in front of her spilled forth from her lips before she could even control it, and it was highly unlikely she would have stopped herself even if she could. Her expression, usually lovely and laughing, was twisted into one of triumphant derision, aimed at Mercer with the full force of her rage. "You fucking monster," she hurled the words at him, hissing like an angry cat, tiny hands clenched into balls and her nails sinking deep into the palms of her hands. "You deserve that, and worse, you animal. Standing there like you're a fucking big man, using and abusing your power." Aria wasn't aware of the crackle in the air around her, from her, her emotions running so high she felt as though she could mentally flick a switch in her head and immolate the bastard in front of her.

Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.

The Templars nearby, trained from tender ages to perceive and counter magic, would be able to sense it, too, and that alone should have caused Aria to stop, think for a moment, eke back her self-control. It was dangerous for her, a mage, to get so angry, to be on the verge of losing her self-control, but her mind kept playing the expression on the faces of both Elena and Cayden. "I hope you fucking choke. You act so tough cause you're angry about your life, about your tiny dick you can't even use without beating the shit out of a woman first, right? Can't get off without hurting someone, yeah? Scum - you're fucking scum!" The last word came out like a jeering laugh, haggard and raw, and then it was just the silence, punctuated by her harsh gasps of air and the groans from Mercer. The enormity of what she'd said, what she'd done, the way her dissipating lack of control would make her seem like a threat, still not hitting her.
 
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Rage is a terrible thing, and unfortunately for Cayden, it came to him as naturally as breathing. Another gift from his father perhaps. Most of the time, he kept it in checkβ€” just as mages used their magic to serve them and not rule over them, Cayden too refrained from letting his anger dictate his actions. But once it comes out, it comes in waves, unstoppable and destructive like torrents crashing down from a broken dam, and Cayden found himself wanting to hurt Mercer more and more every time the metal of his gauntlet connected with his face. Maybe it had been a long time comingβ€” his pent up guilt over not speaking up for many of the atrocities he'd committed, his fury over the many other times Mercer and the others had abused Aria, both verbally and physically. This one was the straw that broke the camel's back; seeing his lecherous smile as he laid his disgusting hands on Aria's precious body was enough to send him over the edge.

He heard Aria screaming, shouting, jeering, calling him scum. If he was of a rational mind, he would've stopped right there and then and got Aria out of there, knowing she won't listen to him if she just told her so. But the pain and hurt in her voiceβ€” it broke something inside Cayden. She was right. Mercer... men like him, they were scum. Suddenly, images of Aria - bruised and battered, face red, black and blue, robes torn haggardly, her beautiful red hair disheveled - flooded his mind, and it chilled him to the very bone how easily Aria could've been subjected to Elena's face at Mercer's hand. With the way the bastard groping at her, he very well might already be planning his sick game. This thought, combined with Aria's own spiteful words, acted as fuel for his unending barrage. A fourth, right across his cheek, leaving a large gash where his gauntlet slashed him. A fifth, further dislocating his broken nose. A sixth, giving his jaw a nice wiggle. A seventhβ€”

"Cayden, that's enough!"

It was Cullen, pulling him by his shoulders and dragging him away from the bloodied man, his broken face looking akin to a purple potato. Blood spurted everywhere and pooled beneath him, coming out of his nose and mouth and the gash on his cheek. It brought a sickening sense of satisfaction to him, and as he was being pulled away, he gaze fell on Aria, standing stiff as a statue with her hands balled into fists and her eyes alight with hatefulness. Seeing her like this should've made him worry for herβ€” both her friends were now gone, and more than likely that others would be arriving soon. He should be urging her to leave after she didn't listen to him the first time. But he didn't. He liked that, for once, he was able to protect her. He wanted her to see it. And his anger transferred to Cullen, shoving him away backhandedly in an adrenaline-filled rage. Rising to his full height, he towered over his blond templar friend, and jabbed an accusing finger to his cuirass. "You're pulling me away? You fucking coward." Every word seethed with venom, though most of it was supposedly meant for Mercer, but as lost as he was in his rampage, Cayden continued to grill into Cullen. "How would you feel if your woman was the one that got abused and molested and raped by this monster? Would you still hold back then? Would you still grovel to him knowing he broke her face to the point where she can't even weep properly?"

Cayden couldn't see his expression under the helmet - that was what they were supposed to do, after all - but he could almost feel the fear an trepidation seeping out from under it. With one final shove that backed him against the wall, he turned back to Mercer, who was now on his fours and coughing out blood, holding his face and groaning like a beaten dog. Unable to help himself, he kicked him right across the face, the sickening crunch of a jaw being pried out of place ringing out around the silent hall, knocking Mercer completely out and flat on his back. A deafening silent fell over after that, only Cayden's breathing the only sound to permeat the silence, and only then did the young Templar realise the extent of what he'd done.

With no one around, he rushed over to Aria, hurriedly undoing his gauntlets so he wouldn't bloody her when touching her. He held her hands desperately, wanting to kiss away her pain right this instant, wanting to wash away the places where Mercer had touched her, but right now, they had to be sensible. "Aria. Ari. You have to leave," he whispered through ragged breaths, his whole body shaking with both exertion and a newfound creeping sense of fear, fear of repercussions for both of them for what he'd done. "You have to leave, now. I... we'll deal with this."

Did he believe his own words? Not truly. He was scared his defense (even if he had one) wouldn't stand against Mercer's word. He was scared Cullen wouldn't be on his side after what he'd said to him. And most of all, he was scared his punishment for this would be being separated from his beloved Aria, for he had shown partiality to a mage, and 'illicit relations' between the two were vehemently detested by the elders. Still, through all that, he could think of nothing but to find comfort in his lover's quivering pink lips, and he did so by capturing them in a quick, desperate kiss, grabbing her waist and pulling her agaisnt him.
 
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Aria's heart beat a fury in her chest as she ran out of words, out of breath, her nails leaving indents into the smooth palms of her tiny hands. She wanted, so desperately, to get in a few punches of her own, or slaps, or something, but her feet felt stuck to the concrete floor, as if she'd grown roots that tunneled deep down into the storage caves. Cayd, his breathing ragged, seemed to pause for a moment - but again, and again, and again, his gauntleted hands connected solidly with Mercer's face, which was turning impressively and disgustingly pulpy and red. As each blow hit, the sound it made was a sound of validation and satisfaction for Ari. It was long overdue; though given the circumstances it was clear how such a man could go through the Tower stalking and hurting women as he chose. And she knew, that for Cayden, there was an element of guilt too -for so long he'd stood by silently. He'd had to. He could have hardly said or done anything about it.

Until now, anyway.

Aria saw that Cayd was pulling back his fist for a seventh blow, but it was stopped as the second helmeted Templar forcibly pulled Cayd back; now she knew it was Cullen, from his voice, and she felt another twist in her heart, her face twisted into a feral grimace. A coward, a coward and a hypocrite. Cullen, like Cayd, had a secret lover, he too was 'fraternising' with a mage. He, too, should have been angry - more than angry, enraged, just as Cayden was. And it hurt even moreso as Cullen was friendly with Ari, was Cayd's closest 'brother'. Yet, Ari thought, her internal monologue laced with venom, he doesn't have a balls to stand up for what was right. Cayd seemingly had the same train of thought, and a flush of pride rushed through her at him, his words, and for a moment the twin grey eyes of both Templar and mage glared daggers into Cullen's helmet; let him feel the shame of doing nothing, Aria thought. Her lover, pushing Cullen backwards into the wall turned back to the feebly rocking body of his superior, and Aria felt a grisly satisfaction coil in her belly as Cayd's foot kicked Mercer solidly in the jaw, the crack echoing through the hall, and the older man was still.

Then it was over.

A coldness began to seep into her nerve endings, expression turning into one of outright horror as the adrenaline dropped away; she only just now noticed how her magic had started to crackle around her, and she quickly dropped the fire spell her brain had been so close to unleashing upon Mercer. The only sounds now were Cayd's harsh breaths, and from somewhere else in the Tower, steadily increasing in volume, were the sounds of several pairs of sabatons on the approach. Ari suddenly felt nauseated, the sensation curling in her stomach and threatening to rise. Cayden hurried over to her, removing his gauntlets so that Mercer's blood wouldn't stain her, and even as the panic started to set in, she noticed that, how even in this moment he was being considerate with her. She looked up at him in stark terror - for herself, for him. The repercussions for them both were going to be severe, and even if Cayden and Cullen swore to Andraste that Aria had done nothing, said nothing, Mercer would be seeking bloody revenge for this. There was a target on her back now, and Cayd's punishment would almost certainly not allow him the time or means to be around her, to protect her. The thought of Mercer looming over her, his bandaged face glaring down at her, his hands reaching out for her - she felt her gorge rise and had to swallow down the bile.

Cayd's hands took hers, and she could feel his trembling, smell the fear in his sweat. "Cayd..." she whispered, wanting to pull him close, wanting to not leave him to deal with this alone. But he was trying to protect her again, just as he already had done, and she gave him a shaky nod. "Okay. I... I love you, Cayd," she said, her voice trembling. His head dipped, towards hers, their lips meeting in a soft kiss - but it was tinged with a deep desperation, and Ari tried not to read it as a goodbye. Reluctantly, she ended the kiss, pulled away and took his hands from her waist and giving his strong hands a swift kiss, before bending to pick up her book and the pages that had fluttered out of them. The sounds of the Templars approach was close now, and she wanted to look back at Cayd - but she pressed her book against her chest and ran, ran up to the second floor, through the doors to the Chantry.

The Chantry was almost empty, a few lone mages sitting in silence and contemplation, and watched over by a Chantry sister whose name Ari couldn't remember. There were two Templars standing by, as well, and seeing them made Ari shiver. The Chantry sister looked up in disapproval as Ari came in hurriedly, and though her white was pale, Aria made herself look appropriately devout and humbled as she dropped into an empty pew and set her book aside. Her heart was still unsettled and, clasping her tiny hands together so hard her knuckles turned white, she silently moved her lips in prayer. Aria was not typically overtly devout; her parents were outwardly of the Andrastian faith, but her mother, who's own mother had been Dalish, had told her fantastical tales of the Elven Gods, which were much more interesting than some woman ending up being burned alive. Still, it was better to pretend to be faithful than to be atheist, and so Ari had learned a fair amount of the Chant of Light. She scrambled to remember some now, praying avidly for Cayden above all else.

O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights.
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.
Make me to rest in the warmest places.​
 
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