#merehawke

Days were long in the Gallows, but as Meredith reached her quarters, she felt the entire heaviness of a week falling onto her instead of the one of a single day. 

A failed Harrowing, a rite of Tranquility performed, two apostates captured and brought to the Circle, Orsino at the foot of her ear, complaining and demanding again and again and still nothing from Val Royeaux. 

She grabbed the wine at her desk, drinking it straight from the bottle. There was only so much left and the dull alcohol did little but leave her wanting for more. She removed her armor piece by piece. A simple shift covered her as she laid on the bed alone, hands laying across her midriff. Her mind was too full for sleep or prayers. She sighed, looking at the ceiling, as she remembered.

The Harrowing. An unprepared mage, one who should have never even been allowed to even partake in a harrowing. But Orsino had insisted, and the Grand Cleric had taken his side. 

“Orsino is not unreasonable, Meredith. There must be a compromise.” 

Meredith, Orsino and two other senior templars stood watching the young mage laying on the floor. The mage had been one of the Starkhaven runaways, a mousy little thing that had not protested when she had been captured years back. The apprentice did not stand out much, always walking with her head down whenever another templar walked by. 

It had all been good until weeks prior, when a small rebellion had broken out within the Gallows. A group of mages banded together, striking and killing three of Meredith’s men and one senior enchanter. The details were lost to her, the attack happening during a brief period where the Knight-Commander attended to business elsewhere. Upon her return, all involved had been made Tranquil or executed. 

It had not surprised her to discover the mousy girl was a part of the band, just as it never surprised Meredith when any mage revealed their true nature. But this one, Orsino had insisted on giving another chance. 

“You have already raided her room, you know the girl is innocent.” 

“She killed a templar, Orsino.” 

“Who had raised a sword to her, who just happened to be in the courtyard during the attack. She was not involved.” 

“Then the girl has no control over her magic.” 

“I will not let you make her Tranquil.”

“Then what do you expect me to do? She killed a Templar.” She emphasized every word. It cannot go unpunished.”

So there they stood. Time passed slowly, boredom threatening to hit but Meredith remained vigilant, watching how the mage’s limbs twitched until movement seized. A beat passed before the girl’s eyes opened, and she stood up calmly. She heard the First Enchanter sigh and walk towards the mage but a feeling of unease settled within Meredith. 

The hairs on the back of her neck raised as she locked eyes with the mage, and it did not take a moment longer for her to shout 

“Abomination!”

The creature was quick to target the first templar it could see, killing him with an unprecedented speed. Orsino would have been next had Meredith not shoved him aside, striking down the abomination with one precise swing of her sword. Corrupted blood spurted from the wound in its neck, before it fell to the ground dead. 

Meredith finished the job by beheading it. 

She thought back to those eyes, the corruption behind them. The eyes, she found, were always the biggest tell of a possession. It was as if the demon was the one looking in, and the girl had had the look of desire upon her. 

Desire was always a tricky demon to deal with. She had seen the great templars fall prey to their temptations. Her mentor had always warned against wanting, and though the order did not take vows of chastity, she wondered if it would almost be for the best. There had been enough templars making a mockery of their duties by seeking pleasures in the Blooming Rose. Templars had to have sharp minds, clear of such lusts and luxuries, if they were to fight the horrors of magic.

But small sparks could be stoked into strong flames in even the most ardent of the faith. The brief but striking gaze of Desire had left such an impression that an inferno grew within the templar, and in the midst of her wandering, thoughts of a certain apostate came to the forefront of her mind. 

When had they last spoken? She wasn’t sure, only that it might as well have been an eternity ago. Flashes of long nights, clothes on the floor, the same heat and hunger Meredith felt now finally being consumed. Thoughts guided her hand lower and lower, underneath her shirt, trying desperately and clumsily, to calm the flames within. Her fingers were calloused, rough, unsure of what to do when it came to herself. 

‘Lust is a sin, child. To want is to open yourself to demons.’ 

Years of lectures ringed in her ear as she rubbed at her miserable flesh. She had given enough confessions to last a lifetime over the impurities she had committed, but might as she try, as frustrating as it was, Meredith was simply a woman, one who had had a taste of the forbidden and who could scarcely sleep without it. 

It was a sin. But had not the Maker made her so? 

To you, My second-born, I grant this gift: In your heart shall burn An unquenchable flame All-consuming, and never satisfied. 

If the Maker had given them unsatisfying needs, why would it be a sin, then, to follow in her nature? 

The hand between her legs froze, and she was quick to pull it away. This was unbecoming of her. She would eventually stand up, and splash cold water on her face. 

She dared not tell the Grand Cleric of this, for it was far too blasphemous for holy ears. She would go on with her day, shoving unwanted feelings down to her feet where she could step them into nothingness. She prayed relentlessly, hours upon hours of her night, hoping that Andraste’s light would find her. 

And it wasn’t enough. Each night she ached, her lower abdomen tying itself in knots, her skin a hot furnace in spite of the cool air breezing in through the window. She hungered for something she would not name, and as much as she ignored it, she knew it would not go away until she had had a taste of it again. 

She penned a simple letter, sealed it tight, and waited for morning to come. She would soon feast again. 

.

The letter sat on Elizabeth’s desk for the entire week. Returning from Orlais had been tiring enough after the situation with the Duke, and the last thing she needed was to deal with whatever Meredith had planned this time. She kept telling herself she would read it the next day, over and over. 

Perhaps if she had read the letter, she would have rushed to answer it. Instead, when she returned home late at night, tired from a day of fighting, she quickly found her feet rooted on the ground, too surprised to move. 

“Ah, Champion” Meredith said from the top of the stairs, an eerie expression on her face. “How good of you to finally arrive.” 

Elizabeth turned to look at Bodahn. 

“I-I told her you weren’t home b-but she was very insistent and-”

She wasn’t sure what exactly made her run out the door and onto the streets of Hightown, but every nerve in her body told her to keep running. It didn’t take long for her to hear the sound of heavy footsteps following behind. 

She did not dare look. 

Her lungs burned as she kept running, trying her best to evade the templar where she could - taking shortcuts, entering dark alleys but nothing was enough to deter the commander.It was when Eliza thought she had finally gained an advantage that things only got worse. 

She was running down the stairs that would take her to Lowtown two steps at a time when she tripped, falling the rest of the way before hitting the ground. Her body ached, new bruises forming, lungs burning for hair and legs cramping. She groaned as she moved around, laying on her back, trying to prop herself up by the elbows. 

When she found a less painful position, she saw the templar at the top of the steps.

With her hood up and it being the middle of the night, Elizabeth could barely see her face, only blue, glittering eyes staring at her. Her breath came out shaky as she watched the templar take slow, steady strides towards her, Meredith’s shadow falling onto her and blocking the view of the moon. 

Her heart picked up its pace, a fallen deer waiting for the wolf to rip into its belly, teeth bare.

“Why run, apostate,” Meredith spoke, inching closer and closer, a hand wrapped around one of Eliza’s ankles “when you know I’ll catch you?” 

She stared at the templar, using what little upper body strength she had to lift her torso up, their faces close. She saw the templar’s lips part, as her eyes fell down and Elizabeth smirked as she placed both hands on Meredith’s shoulders. 

“Not going to happen.” 

.

It took longer than she would have liked to admit for Meredith to stand again, after being hit with the full force of the witch’s attack. In the span of a breath, she was sent flying backwards, giving enough time for the apostate to run. 

The fox could wear the guise of prey for as much as she wanted to, her cunning well known, but the wolf, too, had her wits about. Her nose was sharp, and the trail would be found, for the wolf hungered and she would not stop until she was satisfied. 

And foxes could run for only so long. 

. 

It felt almost ironic that an apostate should find refuge within a chantry, but everything in Elizabeth’s life was a big joke by the Maker at this point. 

If there was anyone else in the building, they likely would have heard the sound of her forcing the doors open and of her heaving breaths as she finally had a moment to rest. As it were, she seemed to be the only soul in place. 

A small blessing for the time being. 

Moonlight poured in through the windows. In this light, Andraste’s golden eyes felt less intimidating. There was no obnoxious chanting, no thousands of red candles lit, and for a moment, she felt less the crusader and more of the woman whose songs made a god weep. 

A woman who would not have shunned others, she thought, but one who welcomed all in her arms.

Peace did not reign for much longer as the heavy sounds of the chantry’s golden doors alerted Elizabeth that the chase was not yet done. 

Except this time, there was nowhere she could run to. It was time to face the wolf head on. 

“Champion.” Meredith’s voice thundered as the doors closed behind her. “You did not answer my summons.”

She opened her mouth to reply but there was no time, as in an instant, the templar was onto her. The Knight-Commander grabbed her waist, tilting her downwards, her other hand on Elizabeth’s face, holding her in place, as she devoured her mouth. Meredith’s kisses were always forceful, but this one was even more desperate. 

She felt heat rise to her neck, as the room grew stuffy. She tried to pull away, as she felt her lungs beg for air, but Meredith only tightened her grip, her tongue forcing more of its way in, turning any word of protest into a throaty moan. 

She held onto the templar’s arms for stability, as she felt herself getting lightheaded. When the kiss was finally broken,  Elizabeth gasped for air, and the red candles of the Chantry came to life, the heat of their fire similar to the one growing inside of her. 

Eliza looked at the templar through half lidded eyes. 

“Mer-”

She was cut off by Meredith holding her cheeks with one hand, squishing them, pulling her close and for a moment, she thought they would kiss again. 

Instead, the templar shoved her on the ground. 

“Hey!” She shouted as she fell on her backside, propping herself on her elbows. She would have further complained, if not for the look Meredith gave her. 

Her eyes were hard and focused, jaw tight, breath heavy. But it wasn’t anger that she had on her face. No, Meredith looked at her, standing as immoble as a statue, as if she was fighting an eternal battle. And when she fell slowly to her knees, that’s when Elizabeth knew Meredith had lost.

For a moment, she wondered if this was a dream. It surely felt like one and it wouldn’t be the first time she had unknowingly fallen into a too real dream. Instead of it being Meredith crawling towards her, it was a desire demon trying to mollify her into a pact. 

But she had faced demons-with-Meredith's-face before. She had had this dream before, but when she looked into the templar’s hungry eyes, she knew this was no dream. 

There was a shift in the air, as past memories passed through her. Memories she’d rather forget, debasing herself for men she did not care for, men who did not know her name, who did not see her, mouths pressed to places she would hide from unwanted eyes, and the feeling of cleanness, of innocence would never be hers again. 

This was not those times. 

Maferath was destined to betray his wife, just as the wolf was destined to eat the deer’s entrails. There would come the day when this Chantry would no longer exist, the day when Elizabeth would give Meredith scars to match hers, the day when this would be nothing more than a near-faded memory. 

But in the present moment, the dreaded Knight-Commander of Kirkwall, the bane of mages, the tyrant in the Free Marches, her enemy by birth, Ser Meredith Stannard was on her hands and knees because of her. For her. 

And she was hers. 

This time, she allowed the templar to grab her ankle and gently drag her towards her, just as she allowed Meredith to pry her legs apart to make way and to keep crawling until both of her hands rested to the sides of Elizabeth’s face, her blond her falling down like a curtain and in that moment, she was truly the most handsome woman Elizabeth had ever seen. 

There was much either of them could have said, but there was no need for words. When Elizabeth’s hands moved to untie her blouse, Meredith stopped her, taking the time to do the task herself, slowly - almost too slowly for her tastes -  untying ribbons and belts and undoing buttons. 

Looking at it now, the first time they had done so had felt wrong. Elizabeth had hastily removed her clothes, shutting down the embarrassment she had felt. The scars in her body, though healed, were still too fresh. No one, least of all the templar, was supposed to have seen them and yet, she had had little choice but to expose herself to the woman. Everything had been done too quickly, in a small study in the Gallows, as if they had no time to enjoy things. 

But here, in the house of the Maker, time was endless. And when the upper half of her body was finally free, she no longer felt ashamed. Meredith was the first, the last and would be the only to ever see Elizabeth so exposed, and when the templars looked at her abdomen, at her scars, at the parts of her that were missing, when Meredith traced a gloved finger down from her cheek, to her neck, to her sternum and finally to her abdomen, Elizabeth no longer felt the need to recoil. 

The templar might still wear her armor, while the apostate wore the clothes she was born with but they both knew, it was the warrior who was the most exposed of the two. 

Her pants and boots soon followed, and she had to believe Meredith dragged this on on purpose. Only the Maker knew how long it took until only her gloves, forever sacred, remained. Meredith sat back, still placed between Elizabeth’s legs, leaving the mage unable to close them, and stared at her soon to be work. 

Meredith only stared, and Elizabeth bit her tongue, stopping herself from rushing the other. Much as she wanted for anything to happen, she would not mind if this lasted longer. 

They would not have the time later, anyways. 

Many had looked at her naked form before, many who stood above her, towering and imposing and ready to jump. 

They had looked at her.

Meredith propped both of Eliza’s knees up, placing her hands on her thighs, almost squishing them under her grip.

They had had their way with her without knowing her name. 

The templar hesitated, taking a breath. 

Elizabeth expected fingers, or for Meredith to pull some strange contraption from her backpocket. Instead, she exhaled. 

“Eliza.” She murmured her name, so quietly, almost like a prayer. And when their eyes met, she knew. 

Meredith had seen her. 

. 

The Maker and His Bride would be the only spectators of this unholy act. A sin committed in Their house would surely make her soul wander the Void for eternity. 

But for any stain on her soul, it was the apostate who brought it so. And had not the apostate come to Kirkwall by the Maker’s will? The apostate had defended the faith, the city, and were the burns on her arm not a mark of Her favour? That this was all destined to be so? 

The magisters’ curse was Maker born, just as all things were. If there was want in her, it was He who made it so. 

She had bled for Him, she had denied herself for Him. She prayed to Her, to take these thoughts from her but they would not go away. It could only mean one thing. 

Meredith had starved long enough. She looked at the feast in front of her, glistening, the only to quench her thirst and calm her spirit. 

From the waters of the Fade you made the world.

She dipped her head. When Andraste and the Maker returned, all sins would be forgiven. 

. 

Elizabeth gasped in surprise at the feeling of Meredith’s hot breath on her intimate parts. She could sense the templar's unsureness. They had never…done this before, and she doubted Andraste’s golden eyes looking down on them were of much help. 

An unsure lick, followed by another and another before the templar stopped altogether, and neither knew exactly what to do. Elizabeth shifted, taking a deep breath, closing her eyes. This feeling, too, was new for her. 

A moment passed before the templar’s tongue was on her again, this time not with uncertain licks, but the whole mouth wrapping around her clit, sucking on it. Hotness shot up Elizabeth’s back, before Meredith gave it another suck. She continued slowly, until she found a steady rhythm, even allowing her tongue to be a participant once more and switching between sucking and licking. 

The flames of the red candles grew brighter, matching the growing heat in Elizabeth’s skin. She bit her lip, hands coming to her own hair as her breath grew shallower. Her legs began to shake, the grip on her thighs tightening just as the invisible knot within her grew tighter and tighter until- 

Nothing. 

She groaned in frustration at the ghost of Meredith’s mouth. She lifted her head to look at the templar. 

“You did not read my letter.” She said with a grin. “You will know now what I endured.” 

While still holding her gaze, Meredith grabbed one of her knees, placing it over her shoulder, as the other hand felt down where her mouth once was. She spread Elizabeth’s folds with her fingers, the action so delicate it gave her sparks of electricity. She brushed her middle finger up and down, gathering wetness before inserting it. 

The leather of the templar’s gloves were cold but familiar, and with her index and thumb, she pinched her clit, making Elizabeth gasp once more. She circled the bud, rolling, almost massaging it between both fingers, while also slowly working her middle one in and out of Elizabeth. 

Eliza’s brows furrowed upwards, blushing on her necks, cheeks and ears. No matter how composed she tried to be under the templar’s gaze, they both knew she would soon come undone. If she held on just enough, perhaps she could finish without the templar catching on.

But Meredith’s eyes saw too much, and when a smirk rose on her lips just at the right time, Elizabeth knew the night would be far from over. 

Her chest had been the next recipient, fingers pinching one nipple while a tongue attacked the other, switching back and forth. Elizabeth arched her back, head falling backwards, making eye contact with Andraste’s golden eyes. 

That the Bride was watching made Elizabeth even more excited. To know when morning came, and the faithful kneeled down before Her, She would be the only one to know what had transpired within these walls, their secret safe with Her. 

The templar took the opportunity to claim the sensitive spot on her neck, sucking on it until it bruised, and finally prying a loud moan from her. 

Instantly, Meredith’s fingers were on Elizabeth’s mouth, three of them pressing down on her tongue, thumb beneath her chin. She tasted herself on those gloves, and stopped the urge to bite and suck on those fingers. 

“Be quiet.” 

A simple command, one that had been repeated before. What if-

“I can see the defiance on your face, mage.” She said firmly, and another moan almost escaped Elizabeth. “If you cannot listen, I will leave you just as you left me. Do you understand?” 

She only blinked in response. 

“Do you understand, witch?” She said again, more pressing. 

Elizabeth nodded, still with the fingers in her mouth. 

Meredith smirked, her free hand finding a breast and continuing her ministrations, and Elizabeth had no doubt the templar was pleased to see her struggle against moaning. 

The night continued on like this, her standing on the precipice but always being held back before she could jump. Her body ached for the fall, but the templar only continued her torment. 

Sweat covered her body, her hair a mess, circles of purple and marks of teeth were worn like a necklace, and instead of fingers, it was Elizabeth’s own glove that stuffed her mouth, not allowing a sound through. Meredith’s mouth had graced every inch of her before returning to its initial position.

It was in those conditions that finally, Elizabeth jumped. Again and again, until her eyes watered, as Meredith had not stopped, coming down on her again and again and again, a woman starved, eating as if this meal would be her last. She spat out her glove, allowing the Maker’s Bride to hear her, an apostate’s prayer. 

When the templar had had enough, she let go and the candles all suddenly died just as Elizabeth collapsed back onto the floor, eyes closed and exhausted. 

. 

She stood on aching knees, joints hurting for spending too much time down, reminding her of her age, but she did not regret it. 

Moonlight shone down on the mage, her body glowing under it. She appreciated the view for a moment, savouring it in her mind for as long as she could, before the time bid she’d get to work. 

She was just as meticulous dressing the mage as she had been undressing her. It was the least she could, now that her stomach was satisfied, filled with sweet ambrosia. Every inch of cloth hid this secret, sacred meeting.

The mage’s heavy sleeping would never fail to impress Meredith, as she had not even moved the whole time she worked. It was almost concerning that she did not rouse. Maker knew what could happen were Meredith anyone else, someone less careful. 

Perhaps it spoke of the trust the mage placed in her. 

Regardless, once she was fully covered, Meredith placed one arm beneath her knees and the other supported her back as she lifted Elizabeth up, her head rolling backwards. 

She turned towards Andraste, bowing her head to the Bride. 

At last did the Maker From the living world Make men. Immutable, as the substance of the earth, With souls made of dream and idea, hope and fear, Endless possibilities. 

She looked at her mage, in her arms, and with one final nod to the statue, she walked away. 

By your will All things are done.

.