#avvar!au

As she was patrolling through the woods on her own initiative, she found tracks that looked Avvarian. While she normally would have passed them by and figured it to be a hunter or someone who would turn back so soon as they realized they were in Hakkon territory, something instead made her follow those footprints.

And that had led her to one of the most bizarre things she’d ever seen.

An Avvarian man hung upside down in one of the trees, drying blood across his body in various splotches, though there didn’t seem to be any cuts or bruises as a source.

When he saw her, he brightened instantly. “Hello! I don’t suppose I could get a bit of help, could I?”

She stared up at the man, unmoving, for several long, drawn out moments, wondering if she shouldn’t just spear him where he hung and leave him for the birds.

He seemed to read that in her expression, as his smile slipped and he pinched his brow together. His face was red from all the blood flowing the wrong way. “I…I’m here on my Gods’ behest. There was something wrong, and they wanted me to fix it.”

Cassandra cocked her head and crossed her arms. “What is wrong?”

“I…cannot quite say. They’re being rather finicky about it.”

“If your Gods brought you here, they had better make themselves known.”

No sooner had the words left her lips, then a single reddish light glinted into being, flitting anxiously around the man before fading away slowly. While it could have been an illusion created by the man—obviously a shaman—she felt that, when dealing with any Gods, it was good to err on the side of caution.

It took almost fifteen minutes to get that man down—how he’d managed to tangle himself so badly in tree branches was beyond her—but as soon as he hit the ground, she turned her back to him, disinterested in whatever his task might be.

“I…I don’t suppose you know this area, do you?”

As the hand landed on her shoulder, she gripped his wrist and flipped him up and over her, so that he landed on his back on the ground. “Do not presume to be so friendly.”

“Well, it’s just that you’re here, so clearly it’s for a reason.”

“The reason being that I followed a fool.” Cassandra waved him off. He was thin, for a man, almost as willowy as a lowlander. “Tell me, should you be making your Gods wait so?”

Despite her attempts to get him to go away, he insisted that he needed a guide, for his God was somehow as lost as he was.

“They’ve not been here since the trees were small things, and they don’t dare tread into the dreams guarded by other Gods.”

With a pronounced sigh, Cassandra turned back to him. While she’d considered simply skewering him, if she did that, it might anger his Gods—God, from the look of it—and she didn’t wish to be so disrespectful, even if it wasn’t one of hers. “If I help you find where you wish to go, you will leave me be?”

“I will.”

“And you will not change your mind or bother me further?”

“I will not.”

With a disgusted noise, she shook her head, unable to believe she would let herself do this. “Where is it you need to go?”

The shaman was named Galyan Ar Annette O Lionhold of the Red Lion Hold—he had no legend-mark, unsurprisingly—and he was looking for a waterfall.

When he first described it, she’d just about tossed him off the nearest cliff, but as he spoke, his God began to speak with him more and told him details that rang familiar to Cassandra.

With only a second’s hesitation, she led him through her home to the where he was seeking.

It took three days on foot, and the man chattered away the whole time. At first, Cassandra considered threatening him to shut up, yet something stayed her sharp tongue, and she let him ramble on. Despite his weak appearance, he seemed adequate enough at surviving in the mountains—even if he had gotten caught in a tree somehow.

“Tell me how you ended up so high in the air,” she said on the eve of the third day, figuring that if he was going to talk, it might as well be about something that would interest her—a lot of what he said interested her, not that she would admit it.

“Well. It’s a little embarrassing,” he admitted, glancing away from her as his cheeks flushed. For the first time, it was as though his words had dried up. After what felt like an eternity of prodding on her part, he finally winced. “I tried to float myself up above the trees to get a look around. It worked well enough, until it was time to come down.”

“So the blood was yours?”

“I’m a fairly apt healer,” he proclaimed, seemingly taking that as an excuse to change the subject. “Fortunate, that. I might have bled out before you found me, otherwise.”

…-…

They stood before the waterfall the next afternoon, and despite everything, Cassandra felt odd telling the man goodbye.

Even so, she’d held her end of the bargain and saw no reason to waste her time further. She was probably missed in her hold at this point, and she had a feeling that if anyone came looking for her, they’d take one look at the waif she was helping and drown him.

It was the end of an odd adventure, nothing more.

She’d barely made it a few yards down from the waterfall when she heard the sounds of something exploding and had, without thinking, whirled around and headed back to see what was going on.

There was a small cave behind the waterfall, and she found Galyan there, surrounded by ash wraiths.

Though she’d been bent on charging in, the man’s way with magic stopped her, and she was enraptured by how easily he moved and cast. While she hadn’t thought much of him before, she had to say that were she in a fight, she’d be confident with him at her back.

Even as she thought that, two of the wraiths slithered up behind him, and she snapped out of her awe.

With a yell that startled the wraiths and Galyan alike, she charged at the nearest one, distracting them from their original target and keeping them occupied while he healed her and helped pick off the monsters.

When two tried to overwhelm her at once, Galyan swung his staff into one, delaying it just long enough for Cassandra to off the first and then bash the second with her shield.

When the last of them fell, he grinned at her, pulling a small sphere from his bags and walking to the back of the cave. What looked to be little more than old rock proved to be an altar of some kind, and as he placed the sphere down, the entire room broke into wild light, countless Gods flitting about the ruins in jubilation.

Cassandra had never seen anything like it.

And then, just as quickly as it had happened, it was gone.

When she looked, the orb appeared as little more than added rubble, and she quietly marveled at whatever task she’d helped with.

Galyan trotted back over to her, a wide grin in place as he stopped in front of her, leaning forward a little to peer into her eyes. “You’re quite lovely when you fight, you know.”

At that, Cassandra let out a startled gasp. “You are…not serious.”

“Oh, very,” he assured her before sighing and letting his gaze wander wistfully toward the exit. “I suppose this is where we part ways, isn’t it?”

For the first time since Anthony’s death, she wanted someone to stay.

Foolish, that. After all, he wasn’t even from her clan.

But his smile had been one of the warmest things she’d seen in years, and she found herself oddly disappointed to part ways with him so suddenly.

He seemed to linger a moment, as well, before leaning forward and giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.

With that, he was gone. Back to wherever he came from. The Lion’s Hold.

…-…

Hakkon’s Keep was a whir with whispers as everyone talked of the fool who had come to request to steal a bride. It almost never happened here, as it was assumed that beatings would be considerably worse from Hakkonites than other clans, and yet…

And yet Cassandra couldn’t stop herself from heading to the village elders’ home, to see who the great fool could be.

Somehow, she knew.

Before she heard his voice, before she saw that head of brown hair, that willowy body, she knew.

Galyan Ar Annette O Lionhold of the Red Lion Hold.

His gaze happened toward her as she stopped in her tracks, just inside one of the entrances, and he smiled brightly and pointed right at her. “I’ve come for her.”

Silence reigned within the wood walls, no one sure what to make of his proclamation.

And then, with a heavy sigh, Cassandra knew what must be done. If she didn’t, then this man’s fate would hang over her forever, and oddly enough, that wasn’t something she could bear.

Striding forward, she rolled her eyes as he greeted her warmly and then shouldered him, looking to the elders as a disgusted noise caught in her throat. “Close your eyes. I’m being stolen.”

It hadn't only been her silver-white hair and piercing green eyes that had caught his attention. For an Avvar, picking a partner rarely held beauty as the deciding factor, though it never hurt. It had been the way she had run to the aid of Cullen and his three brethren as demons had crept from the green tear in the air, how she had ripped through their flaming bodies as if they were made of wheat. A Dalish mage, aiding the Avvar. It was almost unheard of. Unneeded, certainly, as they were more than capable of tearing the demons limb from limb themselves. Yet she had run from her passing clan with their aravels on the hill, summoning lightning to strike through the bodies of the demons like the Lady of the Sky Herself before vanishing them into hues of green that back into the tear in the sky with screams of their own. As the tear had calmed and the demons ceased to appear, they had locked eyes, she with hers, eyes like shining emeralds, and he with his, deep like flaming amber and gold. Her cheeks had flushed as her chest rose and fell with rapid breath from the battle. As four of her clan approached to ensure all was well, he had watched her eyes travel over him in interest. The green tattoos on her cheeks, favors for her elven gods, were delicate in comparison to the blue that painted his face and chest, but he could only assume she must have been blessed by Hakkon Himself to fight so fiercely and not be one of his own. And as her clan led her away and she had looked at him once more with a flaming desire in her eyes that matched his own, he knew theirs had been no chance meeting.

The Avvar were adept hunters, and Cullen knew the importance of patience. He waited until the moon had risen, full in the sky to bathe the lowlands in white. He watched as many of the Dalish clan had gone to sleep and he had seen the woman with the silver-white hair retire to her tent alone. Then, he crept into the land, moving quietly before slipping into her tent without notice. 

Her eyes had been wide in the dark, shining from what little light filtered through the fabric that surrounded them. Her shout was muffled by his firm hand, until flame illuminated the tent in her palm. And then she had clearly seen his face, the same paint streaked across it like blue blood that her flames danced across, golden amber eyes that looked upon her with more want than she had ever seen in her life, and the flame in her palm extinguished. Her hands slid into his long, golden curls as he pulled her close, and their lips locked as a quiet whimper left her throat. Cullen's fingers slid up her neck and into her hair, gripping and pulling at it until her head tilted back. 

“I know why you're here. I know of the Avvar ways,” she whispered into the dark, careful not to make too much noise as the sound of others still awake drifted close to the tent. 

“What do you know of us?” He asked as his lips trailed her jaw, and he felt her body tremble in excitement from his voice.

“My Keeper told me how you steal your women under the light of the moon, never to be seen again,” she breathed. As his teeth grazed her neck, he chuckled lowly against her skin, not unaware of the extravagant rumors lowlanders spread of the Avvar.

“Not without permission...To take without consent of the elders is punished by death,” he spoke. She whimpered as he bit at the crook of her neck, and her fingers slid to his chest, grating over the dried paint to grip at his bare skin.

“I won't be given by any word but my own,” she breathed. Her breath hitched in the back of her throat as his hand cupped her through the fabric of her cotton breeches. His face lifted to gaze at her, and when their eyes met and he saw the desire in her eyes and the hope that lived just behind that, he understood.

Cullen lifted her, throwing her over his shoulder.  The voices still lingering near the front of her tent, he grabbed the dagger at his side and cut straight down the back of the tent before stepping out into the moonlight and taking off into the hills. His grip on her thighs remained tight, holding them close to his chest as he made his way through the mountains and towards his Hold. She was quiet along the way, breaths of air only escaping her in any semblance of a protest whenever he dropped down from a height. Cullen took no shortcuts, allowing her plenty of opportunity to change her mind, yet she said nothing. Before long, they had reached the Hold, and he carried her through the archway of his dwellings, lit only by the moonlight that filtered through the wood. He set her on his fur ladened bed, then began removing the leathers that adorned him.

“What are you called?” He asked.

“Sarya.” The name left her quietly, as if still afraid to be heard. He grinned for a moment, knowing full well how many had witnessed his return with her, hidden in the dark as they kept watch on the Hold. Reaching for the dagger at his thigh, her heart began racing as he pointed it towards her chest, yet her magic remained still. Then he gently took the collar of her shirt, and with the tip of the dagger he tore at the fabric, slowly ripping it to her navel until it was in two. He repeated the motion with her breeches, then her smalls, tearing them from her body and tossing them to the floor.

“You won't be needing those anymore, Sarya.”

Cullen slid onto the bed, taking her in his arms as he kissed her. She clung to his lips as if they were a pure life essence, licking at them and tracing a scar that ran along their corner. She gasped against his lips as he slipped a finger into her heat, then two, coaxing out more of her wetness as he readied her. He nipped at her jaw, her neck, her breasts, anywhere he could suck and bite and mark her as his own. She felt him shifting as his fingers slid from her, removing the rest of his clothing before he grabbed her hips.

“Wait,” she said suddenly, and he paused his motion, waiting in silence for her to explain her outburst as he wondered what she could possibly want to stop for now that she was so far from home. “Does this mean I'm to stay here? With you.”

“Is that what you want?” He asked. Their rules were greyer when choosing from outside the Avvar; being a lowlander, if she agreed to it, he need not ask permission from anyone else for the sake of avoiding a blood feud. If she had changed her mind… Well, that was her decision to make, and he didn't long for death more than any other man.

“It is.” She nodded, and he needed no further explanation. She had already shown her willingness to defend him and his people. He would be questioned for sure, bringing a lowlander to his Hold without any mention, but his desire for her and her want to choose for herself was undeniable. If she wished to stay, then he would be glad for it.

“Then yes. You shall stay with me, for as long as you please.”

“Tell me your name.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smirk. He sat up on his knees, and she followed him, eyes eager as they traveled over him.  

“Cullen.”

She ran her hand down his chest, fingers gliding across the dried blue paint that stained his skin. And when her eyes met his again, he could feel the weight of her desire.

“Then I trust you'll give me my fill, Cullen. My clan will not understand, unless I grow one of your own.”

“With Rilla’s will, I'll see it done,” he growled. His hands gripped her hips, turning her to face away before holding her close. His cock slid with ease along her slick, and she whimpered as he teased her while grasping at her breast. Her back to his chest, Cullen slid down before guiding himself to her heat. 

Sarya cried out as he pressed into her. It was the first thing he had heard from her void of a whisper, and he desperately wanted - no, needed more. She sighed as he nearly removed his cock, then slowly pressed back in to bury himself in her to the hilt. Gods, she felt incredible. He could feel her heart beat against her breast, heavy and quick as she moaned under his touch. Her voice made his skin shiver, and as his hand slid down to grip her thigh he felt the muscle quiver beneath his touch. She began slouching from his slow thrusts, overwhelmed by the feel of him. He ran his other hand along her skin, up her body to firmly grip her neck as he pulled her flush against his chest. Sarya's mouth hung open as the back of her head rested against his shoulder, heavy gasps leaving her as his hips began slapping against her backside. 

“You want me to fill you, Sarya?” He asked, his breath husky in her ear. She moaned loudly in response, her voice strangled in her ecstasy.

“Gods, yes, please,” she gasped. Her hand grasped behind her at his thigh for purchase as her legs shook, while her other stretched to tangle in his hair at the back of his head. The way his cock filled her, stretched her, it was unlike anything she had felt before. 

 “Until you're full of my seed and your belly swells with an Avvar of your own?”

“Fuck, yes!” She cried out. “Fill me with your child, so everyone knows what we've done!”

Cullen grabbed a fistful of her hair, pushing her forward. Her hands caught against the furs, her back arched as her head strained to ease his pull on her hair just slightly. His other hand gripped at her hip, pulling her backwards towards him as he thrust forward in time. In the moonlight he could see the faint smudges on her back where his blue paint had rubbed off onto her, streaks of blue made liquid again by their sweat and heat. Their bodies met one another with salacious slaps, and Sarya's voice echoed out of the hut into the night as she cried out his name. Wanton moans carried from her throat, words he couldn't understand as she encouraged him in her people's tongue. He needed no translation to know what she wished, releasing her hair to grip both hips as he increased the speed of his thrusts until her screams of pleasure became the sweetest music to his ears. For a moment she became ever louder, and Cullen wondered if she would wake the entire Frostbacks, until her legs quaked as she came undone beneath him in a flurry of gasps. She slumped slightly, her forehead touching the furs on the bed as he held her hips in place, his body snapping towards her in one last, great thrust as her quivering sent him over his edge as he groaned loudly and spilled into her. 

Sarya slumped onto her elbows, whimpering as she felt Cullen pulsing in her. He held her hips in place for a moment, his body flush with her backside as he ensured his release of every last drop. When he finally slid from her heat, they groaned in unison and she fell to her side, her legs tightly clenched together and a grin on her face. Cullen pulled one of the furs from beneath her, draping it over the two of them as he slid next to her. His breath was still heavy as she scooted closer to him, quickly finding his lips and sharing a string of appreciative kisses. Gods, but she was perfect. Theirs had been no chance meeting. After this, he knew their nights would be filled with plentiful opportunities to make her swell. He would later give two offerings, one to Rilla and another to Hakkon, for working as one to bring them together. 

“How good are you at tying tight knots?” He breathed as her head hit the bed once more. He slid his arm beneath her neck, and she eagerly nuzzled her face against his shoulder as he pulled her close.

“Not great,” she admitted with a laughed. He grinned widely, pulling her close as he closed his eyes.