Mahariel Memories and A Warden's Love
'Ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, light through the leaves'
She shot awake in a panic, memories flooding her. The rapid succession of happiness turned horror was jolting. Ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, light through the leaves...
Laying back on her sleep roll, she took a deep breath and looked up. There was no golden light today, just the grey awakening of another day. Dawn was not the same outside of the dalish camps and forests, where the warm light of the morning sun illuminated the leaves of the trees above and shone through to cascade and dance across your face. If she closed her eyes she could almost feel the warmth from those days..but she stopped herself, at least this time she was able.
Though she was still camping under the stars in Ferelden, everything had felt different; as if the very light in the world was going out. 'Is this how it always is for the humans?' she wondered. Perhaps it was the taint, perhaps it was the blight..perhaps it was her.
She had fallen asleep next to the fire again. It had gone out some time ago, the smell of ash thick in the air, thick in her hair. It was easier at times to fall asleep near the fire, under the trees; than in the quietness of the tent where the only sounds were the sounds of her memories.
She sat up once more, looking into the cold dead embers; before shaking her head as if to shake the memories away. Her hair rustled from side to side, but no luck, the thoughts stayed put. She sighed. 'Ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, light through the leaves'
Alistair rolled over onto his side and propped himself up on his elbow, leaning his head against his hand. Looking up at her sitting there, he noted the distracted pained look on her face. "Thought I heard you rustling about over there," he said smirking.
Her attention was finally broken, and brought once more to the here and now. She looked over at him with a sad smile, "I see you spent another night out here too." In spite of her lingering sadness, she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen; a rare thing of beauty in this dull grey world they had found themselves in.
"You know I don't like leaving you out here alone at night.." in a tone more serious, "Not during..." and he trailed off, sighing himself before drawing himself up to her. Trailing the back of his fingers along the criss-crossing lines at the base of her neck, his gaze slowly trailed up. His thumb traced the gold-green ink from her chin to her lips, that beautiful ink that matched the sad green-gold pools of her eyes, "You're too precious."
From gracefulness to forcefulness, his hand grasped her chin and his thumb parted her lips before he kissed her hard and strong; as only a man can. Their kiss tasted of ash and longing. Longing for peace, for a touch of happiness in this dreary place. He moved down to kiss her neck, she ran her hands through his ash blonde hair...'Ash again' she thought. He smelled of sweat, of exhaustion. 'Is that just how all men are?' she wondered, as his rough hand grazed her thigh, calloused from handling his sword; his soft touch edged with pain. All pleasure now was tainted with pain.
'Ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, light through the leaves'
His hand traveled up the skirts of her tunic, and his head came up to hers, cheek to cheek he whispered in her ear, "You know I could never lose you" as she felt his touch inside her, gasping in his ear in return.
'Ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, light through the leaves'
She tried to push it out of her mind. The taste of ash, the smell of sweat and dirt, grey..grey skies, grey wardens...
Alistair came on top of her, and she fell back. His thumb once more traced the line to her lips, he paused for a moment taking in her beauty before...he pushed his thumb into her mouth at the same time as he pushed himself into her. She tasted dirt, her legs wrapped around him pulling closer, his hand traveled back down to the lines at her neck before wrapping around it.
Looking up at his tall muscular figure, cropped ash blonde hair, the grey sky behind him, the taste of dirt and ash on her lips, his strong calloused hands wrapped around her throat; she remembered ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, the light through the trees...the way Fenrael's long clean blonde hair would fall out from behind his ear, a braid hanging down. His gentle kisses, laced with honeysuckle and love. The way golden light would dance across them under the trees, illuminating his hair, gracing them with golden beauty and pleasure and sweetness.
But that was Mahariel, that was a lifetime ago...yet why did she remember it so well?
'Ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, light through the leaves'
That was how Mahariel loved, but not the Warden.
She bit down on Alastair's thumb, bringing herself back to the present. Suddenly she sat up, coming into his lap and breaking his hands free of her mouth and her neck. Running her fingers through his hair, gentleness to forcefullness, she grabbed it and yanked his head back; licking from his Adam's apple to his chin, tasting the dirt..the sweat..the ash. She bit his jaw, pleasure tainted with pain. They grasped and moved with each other desperately, forcefully, necessarily. Her eyes traveled just beyond him, to the grey sky through the trees.
Grey skies...grey wardens. The taste of ash, and dirt, and sweat...pleasure tainted with pain. This was how the Warden loves. Gone were the ghosts, the taste of honeysuckle, the light through the leaves; the love of Mahariel. As she let go, she let go of the memories; and she collapsed into her warden. Comforted by his strength, his roughness, his smell.
He held her, cradled her, rocked her. Stroking the back of her head, he ran his fingers through her hair. Brown with streaks of spun gold, like the sun gleaming on the forest floor. Even with no light on her, she glowed, the light came from within her. After a few minutes she pulled her head away from his body, and looked up at him with those deep pools of green-gold. She held the beauty of the earth itself within her, yet she was constantly looking elsewhere for it..if only she could see...if only she could see what he sees.
But there was something different about the way she looked at him now. The sadness had shifted into something else, something more determined and resigned. She looked at him, rather than seeming to look past or through him. A slight smile ran across her rosy red lips, as she lifted her lithe hand to his face..stroking his brow with her soft fingers, interrupted only by the slight raised roughness on her pointer and middle finger..formed from long years of plucking bow strings. They grazed across his temple, and she took a stand of his hair between them; deftly and dexterously twirling and twisting the golden strands.
Those beautiful green pools washing over him, he felt like she took him in and saw him, truly saw him; for the first time.
Grey skies, grey wardens. The taste of ash and dirt, the longing for peace and happiness, gentleness and forcefulness. This was how the Warden loved.
Coming onto her knees she knelt in front of him, gazing into his brown eyes full of longing. "Lathbora viran," she spoke softly, almost to herself. She gently brought her fingers down along the side of his face. There was something sad, but sweet in the words she spoke.
"Ar lath ma, vhenan," she said to him, as she pulled herself towards him, kissing him softly. He felt the warmth of her words, and wrapped himself around her as she nuzzled into him; head against his collarbone, lips grazing his neck.
"Penshra, ghilas vellathan" she whispered into his chest, one arm wrapping around him as she lifted her hand to trace the line of his collarbone with her fingers.
He had felt something shifted in her, could feel the weight of her words though he knew not what they meant. All he knew was that he would do anything in his power to keep her close, to keep her safe. To use his arms to guard her, to love her..
He said once more, without a smirk like before,
"You are precious to me," remembering an elvish term of endearment he overheard in the camp in Brecillian, "da'len."
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