Chapter Text
The man’s nose was gushing blood and his eyes were wild. His collar was torn and his run was unbalanced, arms flailing as dragging boots kicked up dust from the Imperial Highway. The sudden presence of said man was such a shock to the system, the road having been mainly void of other travelers, let alone one bruised and bloody, that Will literally skidded to a stop on his heels at the sight.
“It’s sort of nice to see someone who looks worse than we do,” Katz offered lightly, stopping beside Will.
Three days had passed since the enlistment of Witherfang and her werewolves, and the party was currently located somewhere to the northwest of Lothering (which they’d blessedly decided against stopping over in, on account of the stir they’d created last time, not to mention the presence of their new apostate friend). They traveled the Imperial Highway, the main road cutting through the heart of Ferelden, and they would continue along its path, skirting around the massive Lake Calenhad, completely bypassing the Circle of Magi for now (thank the Maker), until they reached the Frostback Mountains. Under that mountain, their next treaty’s fulfillment resided, in the hands of the Dwarven King of Orzammar. But they were still days away from reaching the Dwarven Kingdom, and for now, Will’s concern was allotted to the pathetic man who had now come to a panting halt in front of him.
A drop of blood splattered to the ground at his feet and mixed to pinkish sludge in the dirt. With a rather disgusting snuffle, the man exclaimed: “My wife! My wife! You have to help us, please!!”
Will was stepping forward to address the poor man, but a hand on his shoulder caused him pause. With the slightest of willful pressures, Hannibal was holding him back from drawing nearer, and Will narrowed his eyes at the templar indignantly before acquiescing to his silent request and grounding his feet, crossing his arms over his chest. He cocked his head at Hannibal and tapped his foot.
Hannibal paid Will a thin smile and stepped in front of him, his head tilting questioningly toward the hapless newcomer. Will started to roll his eyes at the templar, but he was distracted when the sunlight hit against a swath of his fine, silvery-blond hair. For days and days, Hannibal had neglected to wear his templar’s helmet, and Will couldn’t help but wonder if this was the reason why, for it was unfairly distracting, especially in the glow of the sun, and when it caught Will’s attention now and again, it could be difficult trying to redirect that attention to anything else.
But on this occasion, Will was instantly redirected to the troubles of the miserable soul sobbing before him as he cried out, “Our wagon tipped over and my wife is trapped beneath it. Please, can you help us?!”
“Where is she?” asked Hannibal.
The man turned back his head and pointed down the road from which he’d sprinted. “Just around the corner, ser. Please, will you help us?” His voice was pure panic, his pointing finger trembling.
Hannibal touched a gauntleted hand to the man’s shoulder. “Pardon me for a moment, please,” he said, and then he turned back to his companions, leading them away with a telling twitch of his eye, waiting until their speech could not be overhead to address them. He looked up at Will, Katz, and Alana, eyes dark as they shone through rogue strands of distracting hair.
“What do we think?” he asked in a voice so low and intimate that Will felt the burgeoning of a blush.
Katz peeked over their bowed heads at the man for a moment before turning back. She shrugged, sighed, and then said, “It’s a trap.”
Will’s eyebrows knitted together in uncertainty. “What? Why is it a trap?”
Alana gave Will a pitying look. “It’s a trap,” she agreed.
Will looked to the templar beseechingly. “But he’s injured,” he reasoned, trying to muck through the evidence. “His wife…”
“I’m afraid I must agree with Katz and Alana,” Hannibal said. “This appears to have all the makings of a deception.” He clicked his tongue thoughtfully. “That does not mean, however, that we should not offer this man our assistance.”
“What?” Will asked, surprised. “And walk right into the trap?”
“If we have a plan, Will, we should easily be able to overthrow whatever awaits us,” Hannibal replied kindly, making Will’s blood run hot.
“What do we think?” asked Katz with a chipper of excitement. “Bandits?”
“Perhaps,” replied Hannibal.
Will listened to them chatter conspiratorially for a moment, feeling woefully inexperienced. He knew nothing of bandits and highwaymen. He knew nothing that wasn’t written in one of the tower’s tomes. Frustrated and hurt of feelings, Will pulled away from their huddle with an exaggerated huff of irritation and began straight for the bloody-nosed man, ignoring the templar’s touch to his wrist.
The man’s eyes were watering and he blubbered anew as Will approached. “Please, ser! Will you help?”
“Yes, of course,” answered Will. “Lead us to your wife.”
The man steepled his hands in front of his face and shut his eyes in a quiet prayer. “Oh, thank you, thank you!” He turned and began trotting down the road. “It’s this way. Please! Quickly!”
Without turning to see if his companions were following, Will ran after the man. He could hear the heavy clanks of the templar’s armor close behind, and Alana’s exasperated sigh. If they wanted to head into a bandit trap, fine. But if the man was telling the truth and his wife was really crushed beneath a wagon, then they should come to her aid immediately. One way or another, Will was anxious for…something. After three days of uneventful walking, an itch was spreading beneath his skin. He didn’t want to stand in a huddle and talk things through, he wanted to run and feel his heart pumping. So he chased after the man with little to no thought to possible consequences, until he was led off road, between a smattering of large boulders, and into a little clearing. A clearing that had no wagon and no wife crushed beneath it. He heard his companions trudging up behind him as the man turned to face them, a wicked smile on his face. He wiped the flow of blood from his upper lip and banished it to a stain on his trousers.
“Hey, Dimmond!” the man called out, eyes thrust upward to the boulders. “Don’t need to hit me so hard next time. These idiots would have followed me anyway!”
Katz groaned and pressed a hand over her face. “Trap,” she whispered in Will’s ear.
“Yeah, I got that.” He followed the man’s gaze, turning to look over their heads, to the man, no, the elf that was standing atop a boulder with hands on his hips and double daggers at his waist. He was smiling winningly and gazing down at the victims of his trap, who were essentially surrounded. More bandits stepped up with cruel grins on the boulders, and Will gripped his staff. They were surrounded by at least a dozen bandits, all with the advantage of higher ground, save the one in front of them who was chuckling and wiping more blood from his dripping nose.
“I’ll take every opportunity to punch you in the face, my friend!” laughed the elf called Dimmond.
A number of the surrounding bandits laughed at their apparent leader’s claim, but one was scowling down at Will and the others, who had formed a tight circle in the center of the clearing, hands hovered over sword hilts and staffs. “Wait a second,” the bandit bemoaned, this one human. “I thought he said there was only two of ‘em! I count four!”
Dimmond threw back his head with a guffaw. “Excellent powers of observation, my fellow! Four, indeed!” Like lightning, his twin blades were suddenly flourished. “Let’s cut down that number, shall we?”
The dagger sailed through the air, spiraling at such boastful speed that Will didn’t even see it until it ricocheted off Hannibal’s raised vambrace, right in front of his chest. The dagger fell in the grass, and, for a few moments of calculating silence, none moved. Then Dimmond cocked his head, long flow of hair catching in a breeze and fluttering about his face mischievously. “Brilliant,” he said, and everything that happened after that happened quickly and all at once.
Will slammed down his staff, mana bubbling over, his skin bustling to burst with contained heat. Flames whipped wild, catching around the bandits’ feet. They jumped and howled in pain and surprise.
Katz ducked a loosed arrow, rolling to her feet with the elf’s dropped dagger in hand. She landed, balanced on one raised knee, and sent the blade flying through the air. The bandit who had shot his arrow met his match with a blade buried in his throat.
Alana waved her thorny-edged staff through the air, knocking the bandits off balance feet with an invisible force. A few toppled from the boulder tops, and a few fell face-first into the flames licking at their heels.
Hannibal unsheathed his sword in a graceful sweep, arriving in an instant at the bloody-nosed man’s side. He grimaced, grabbed the man’s knife-wielding wrist and twisted. The bone snapped, the man cried, and Hannibal plunged the tip of his blade into the man’s belly, pushing in until hilt met flesh. His metallic boot kicked at the speared man’s groin, and he slid him off his sword, letting him fall in a ruined pile at his feet.
In seconds, the fallen bandits met either sword or staff, and the remaining assailants atop the boulders smoldered in the summoned firestorm. Katz was pressing the edge of her blade against the lone survivor’s throat before long. The elf, the apparent leader, had been blasted off the boulder with Alana’s gusting spell, and his face was smudged with soot from Will’s flames. Katz pressed the blade harder, coaxing a drop of blood from beneath the skin.
“Just one left,” she breezed. “Let’s cut down that number, shall we?”
The elf tensed beneath the weapon and his eyes blazed. “Oh, but you don’t want to kill me,” he said. He tried to laugh, but when the movement made his throat press further against Katz’s blade, he stopped, squirming on his back as if he could recede into the ground to escape his fate.
“Shut up, bandit,” Katz spat.
“But, you see, I’m not a bandit,” said the elf. “I’m an assassin.” He arched a dark eyebrow. “Hmm, I wonder who hired me to kill you?”
Katz kicked him. “What are you talking about?” Sword still angled at the elf’s neck, her eyes flew up to look at Will, who had walked up to her side. Hannibal crouched next to the elf and slowly wiped his gory blade on the green grass.
“I believe we’ve caught ourselves a Crow,” Hannibal said. He shifted closer to their hostage and grabbed his jaw, yanking his head toward him. Will bit his lip at the dominant display, riveted by the sight of the templar manhandling someone else for a change. Armored fingers dug harshly into the elf’s cheeks.
“An Antivan Crow?” asked Katz.
Alana, who had been busy rummaging through the scattered dead bodies, looting for coins and other supplies, perked up at Katz’s question. She stood and wiped a few blades of grass from her black leather leggings. “Antivan Crows mean business,” she said coolly as she walked with swaying hips towards the elf. She gently laid her hand over Katz’s wrist, making her draw her sword away from the assassin’s neck. “Don’t kill him. Yet.”
Hannibal squeezed the elf’s face with his hand. “Who are you working for?”
The elf rolled his eyes, which made Hannibal jerk his jaw sharply. “Ah, ouch, stop bruising my face, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”
Will kneeled down beside Hannibal and lightly touched his shoulder. “Let him go, Hannibal.”
The templar snarled in dissatisfaction, but speedily released the elf from his iron grip. The elf, still on his back, rubbed at his jaw, working it back and forth. His skin was peppered with red finger marks. He set a dreamy gaze on Will and smiled. Will was slightly taken aback, for it was an extremely attractive smile. But Will could also sense impatience radiating from the others, so he cleared his throat and continued.
“Who are you?”
“I am Dimmond, of the Antivan Crows.”
Will crinkled his brow. He’d never heard of Antivan Crows. He looked askance at Hannibal.
“The Crows are Thedas’ most infamous gang of skilled assassins,” the templar supplied helpfully.
Will nodded and looked back down at the grinning killer. “Dimmond,” he said, “who hired the Crows to kill us?”
“I would love to tell you, but I’m going to need something in return.”
Will heard Katz sigh somewhere behind him, but he ignored her and pressed on. “What do you want?”
Dimmond appeared pleased, and his reply was sly. “It pains me to admit, but clearly I have failed my objective. If you let me go, I will become the next target, as is the savage custom of the Crows. But,” he continued, his eyes sparkling, “if you let me join you, not only will I tell you who hired me, I will help you defeat them.”
“I notice your possible scenarios don’t include us running you through with a blade,” Katz snarked from over Will’s shoulder, “when, to me, that’s looking like the best option.”
“You could kill me,” Dimmond said, sounding unbothered by the prospect. “But then you’ll never know who sent me.” He smiled again, that wide, charming smile, and Will could feel Hannibal bristling beside him.
“If we promise to let you live, you’ll tell us what you know?” Will asked. The elf nodded. “How will we know you’re not lying?”
“What reason would I have to lie? The Crows will kill me if we meet again. That pretty much puts a damper on my loyalty.”
Will glanced around to the others, but he already had a grim feeling that the decision would be his to make. Briefly, he weighed the options, and then he reached his reluctant verdict. “Fine. We won’t kill you.”
“Not right away,” Katz added moodily.
“Now tell us what you know,” demanded Will.
“I thank you,” Dimmond exhaled, releasing a buildup of tension Will hadn’t realized the elf had been holding. “Teyrn Mason is your man.”
The name made Will recoil. He stood, Hannibal with him, and they exchanged heated looks. “Mason?”
“That has to be a mistake,” Katz exclaimed. “Why would the Teyrn of Denerim want us dead?”
Dimmond, still flat on his back, lifted a hesitant finger. “Can I stand up without any of you trying to cut off my head?” They glared at the assassin, but made no move to slaughter him, so he rolled off his back, groaning softly, and clambered to his feet. Upright, he combed a hand through his thick, shoulder length hair, snowy at the temples, and bowed to his watchers. “Mason has declared all Grey Wardens enemies of Ferelden. The two of you,” he whipped his finger between Katz and Will, “in particular.”
The Wardens gawked at one another. “Why would he say that?” asked Will.
“According to the eccentric gentleman with the unfortunate hair and penchant for molesting alienage elves,” continued Dimmond, smile twisting with distaste, “you fled the field of battle and deserted King Frederick. He’s dead because of you, and if Mason hadn’t had the cleverness to retreat when he did, there would be no army left in Ferelden to stand against the Blight. Naughty Wardens.”
“That lying, crazy son of a bitch!” Katz’s hands were balled into fists as she paced the clearing. “It was Mason that quit the field! We lit that blighted signal fire and nearly died doing it! He’s the coward who abandoned Jack and King Frederick to die. And now he has the audacity to accuse US?”
Will had his head in his hands. He thought back to just a handful of days ago when he and Hannibal had met the Teyrn. His behavior had been erratic, strange, and they’d walked away with worried glances, certain the man was mad. So Will didn’t find it hard to believe the truth had been twisted and the fault aimed at them, but he still felt revolted by it. He felt unclean. With a word, Mason had sullied the Warden name. And he had sent assassins after them, to boot. Like Keeper Tobias had sought the heart of the one who knew the truth, so Mason set the Crows after the Wardens. All two of them.
“So Mason thinks his army is all that stands between Ferelden and the Blight?” Will asked Dimmond.
“That’s right,” he replied. “And he has the backing of the Queen Regent.”
Katz groaned. “Oh, I forgot about her.”
“Who?” asked Will.
“With King Frederick dead, the rule falls to his wife. She’s Regent until the coronation can be made official,” she answered. “And it just so happens that Frederick’s wife is also Mason’s sister.”
Will frowned at the thought of a female Mason.
“And the Queen Regent, she’s allowed this rumor to spread?” Hannibal asked.
“Queen Margot’s husband is dead and she has no one but her mad hat brother whispering murder in her ear,” said Dimmond.
“This is a mess,” moaned Katz, still pacing frantically. “What do we do?”
“We do exactly what we set out to do,” said Alana, stepping forward and snaring everyone’s eyes. “Mason might be trying to convince the world you’re traitors to the crown, but we know the truth. We have the treaties. We’ve already received promise of aid from the werewolves. I say forget Mason, forget Queen Margot, and stay focused on the plan.” She paused, hands on her hips, and Will couldn’t help but smile. Maker was she fierce. “Katz, how far away is Orzammar?”
“Three days if we pretend sleep is for losers,” offered Katz.
“Hannibal, how are we on supplies?”
“Our stock is plentiful. The Dalish proved posthumously helpful, if nothing else,” responded the templar, patting the pack over his shoulders. They had raided the Dalish encampment before they’d left, helping themselves to water, food, and medical supplies. “We have proper provisions for the journey to the Frostbacks.”
“Then we don’t need to stop in any towns where we might be spotted along the way,” said Alana. “Nothing has changed but a few coins on our heads, and who is better at keeping their heads than we?”
After a moment of soaking in the apostate’s words, Dimmond began a slow clap. “The lot of you are fantastic,” he said. “It is an honor to join your party. Truly. I feel very inspired. Does anyone have a quill and ink?”
“Whoa, back up, Crow,” Katz harrumphed. “Who invited you?” She glanced uncertainly at Will. “Did we invite him?”
“I don’t believe we made it that far in our discussion,” replied Hannibal, taking such a forceful step in Dimmond’s direction that the elf did a little dance backwards in his effort to escape. “Why would an ex-Antivan Crow wish to travel with us?” Hannibal’s words were a deep, menacing rumble.
“Didn’t I explain it before, when my life was flashing before my eyes?” asked Dimmond with a put upon sigh. “When a Crow fails his assignment, his head is next on the chopping block. I’m a walking dead man. But I figure my odds are slightly improved by joining forces, and,” he said, that sly smile returning as he surveyed Will, “I doubt I’d be able to find a more forceful group to join forces with than you.” He winked. “Did I mention I’m incredible with a dagger?”
“So incredible that it took two seconds to get you on your back?” asked Katz.
“Oh, darling,” Dimmond smirked, “if you really wanted it, it’d take less time than that to get me on my back.”
“Alright,” said Will, “we’ve wasted enough time trading quips. Dimmond, we could use another set of blades. But do you see this templar?” Will pointed at Hannibal, who was standing stalwart beside him, the world’s scariest bodyguard. “If you do anything he doesn’t like, he’ll have no qualms killing you.” He glanced at Hannibal. “Right?”
Hannibal narrowed his eyes at the elf. “Right.”
“Good,” said Will. “Now let’s finish looting these bodies and get moving.”
--
Despite Katz’s stubborn insistence that ‘sleep was for losers,’ she was the first one to beg they stop for the night. After doing a thorough job of griping her about it, they deterred from the Imperial Highway, walking until they found a grove of trees that would conceal their campfire from searching eyes. And even though the majority was aware that Will could easily light the fire on his own, they were all happy to set up their bedrolls and unbuckle their gear while sticking Dimmond with the task. He didn’t exactly fumble with the flint, but a few choice expletives came from his direction before the fire was crackling with success.
Alana was showing Katz which native herbs would pair best with the stew they were making Dimmond cook when Will walked a few paces away, turning his face from the fire and closing his eyes.
“Will?”
He laughed weakly, eyes still closed, completely unsurprised that he had been followed. “I’m alright, Hannibal. I just needed a moment.”
He felt the templar’s presence moving closer, until they stood nearly shoulder to shoulder. “You acted rashly this afternoon.” Hannibal’s words weren’t said with specific inflection. They were even, lulling, and peaceful. “You became angry and ran headfirst into danger. Why?”
Finally, Will looked, opening his eyes to peer at the man beside him. He shook his head. “I don’t know.” Hannibal stared unblinkingly at him until Will sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “I was…envious.”
Hannibal tilted his head, the moonlight catching a glow on his damned silken hair. “I would have proposed you were suffering from embarrassment.”
“Right, thanks,” Will breathed, rubbing at his temples with a finger. “It’s just…”
“What, Will?” Hannibal turned to face him directly and demanded Will’s straying eyes. “Have we not been through enough together to indulge in confidences?”
Will examined the man who continued to save his life repeatedly. He wondered if the templar had ever had a hand in protecting him when they had been in the tower together. He tried to think back to the very first time he’d noticed him, trailing him dutifully in the stone hallways. But he couldn’t remember. “I was sent to the tower when I was six,” Will said softly, barely above a whisper. “My life was restricted in Lothering, between my house and the few steps it took to reach the tavern. And once the Circle had me…my world became even smaller. There are things…outside…that I never expected to see, and even more things I never knew existed.” He shrugged uncomfortably, keeping his eyes focused in the middle distance past Hannibal’s shoulder, so he wouldn’t have to meet those sharp eyes. “I know spells and I know my histories. But I can’t help but feel lost when it comes to…almost everything else.” Why? Why was he still talking? He couldn’t stop. “And the rest of you look at me and expect me to make all of these decisions, life-altering, world-shaping decisions, and I don’t know why.”
“Look at me, Will,” said Hannibal, and once again Will was drawn to his eyes. The templar’s body was backlit from the fire, making his entire outline glow. “How long have we been traveling together?”
“Uh,” Will mumbled, trying to quickly reckon the time in his head. He squinted, unsure. “Almost two weeks.”
Hannibal smiled. “Fourteen days free of your circular prison for the first time in fourteen years, and in that scant time you’ve joined the Grey Wardens, fought for your homeland, survived a lethal arrow wound, and conscripted a pack of werewolves to fight the Blight. You’ve accomplished more in the past two weeks than most will accomplish their entire lives.” Hannibal stepped toward him and placed his hand on Will’s shoulder. “The holes in your knowledge are no fault of your own, and you’re filling them with admirable speed. You are smart, Will, and you are capable. And that is why the others look to you.”
Will dipped his head slightly, and looked up at Hannibal through a tumble of curly hair. “And why do you look to me?”
The hand on his shoulder smoothed down his arm and squeezed. “Where else would I possibly wish to look?” Slowly, he brought his hand away. “You are young,” the templar told him, “but do not mistake your youth for lack of wisdom.”
Will brought the cool back of his hand to his cheek and tried to calm his heart. “Thank you, Hannibal.”
To his relief, Hannibal did not linger, but gave Will a gracious smile before heading back to the fire. Will turned when he heard a loud roll of laughter. Dimmond was juggling his double daggers in the air, Katz was –rather unsuccessfully- attempting to copy him, and Alana was lying out on her bedroll, laughing at the both of them. Will smiled and watched Hannibal’s broad back as he took his place beside the others and accepted a mug from Alana. The scene looked so relaxed, and it tugged at something in Will’s chest he couldn’t quite place. But he wasn’t ready to join them. Not yet. With a sigh, he turned away again, and looked up at the sky. The stars were bright and the air was crisp. So many nights Will had stared, sleepless, up at the apprentice dormitory ceiling and wished he could see what he was seeing now.
“Beautiful.”
Will jumped, caught off guard by the sudden appearance of Dimmond behind him. He gave him a withering look, but the elf just strutted up to his side and grinned.
“The stars are beautiful, too, I guess,” he added with a devilish wink.
Will rolled his eyes. “Did you need something?” Will asked, aware he was being entirely rude and not caring.
“Funnily enough, I came over here to ask if there was anything I could do for you.”
“Pardon?”
“Don’t think for a minute I don’t realize what you did for me today,” said Dimmond, eyes twinkling in a very specific way that had Will taking a step back. “And I thought, maybe, you’d allow me to show you my gratitude. And I have…big gratitude.”
Will’s head was angled, eyes squinted, and then, suddenly, with a gasp, he realized what ‘big gratitude’ Dimmond was referring to. “Oh!” he said, stupidly loud. He saw Hannibal’s head perking up from the fire and turning to check on him. Will laughed uncomfortably and waved at Hannibal, signaling that he was fine.
Dimmond was laughing at him, and Will wanted to throw himself into a darkspawn horde. “My apologies,” he said on an easy exhale. His face was bright with amusement. “I didn’t realize you were already involved. I mean, I thought maybe you might be, but I had to give it a try, didn’t I? Enticing creature like you?”
Through the sudden dryness plaguing his throat, Will’s next words were pitiable squeaks. “Involved?”
“The mage and his templar-honey,” continued Dimmond dreamily. “Quite the romantic tale behind that, I’ll bet.” He leaned in close. “Maybe you’ll give me the details some time, hmm?”
“Hannibal and I aren’t…,” Will floundered, but Dimmond was already turning back for the fire, still laughing.
He threw Will an infuriating smile. “Come on, the food’s ready, and your sweetheart’ll get worried if you don’t eat. And then probably flay me alive.”
Will waited long enough to control the red in his cheeks, took a deep breath that did nothing to soothe his blasted nerves, and then followed Dimmond back to the fire.
--
The demon was waiting for him when he slipped into the Fade.
“Your blush is magnificent,” it purred in his ear, instantly pressed to Will’s back. Its long arms slinked around his waist, slotting their bodies harmonically. Will could hear it scenting the air, and then its nose pressing into his neck and breathing in. “Your heart is racing, sweet boy.” Taloned tips delicately scraped across his throat’s pulse point. “What has your body so reactive, my love, that you would remain effected here, with me?”
Its words only increased Will’s fluttering heartbeat. He had gone to sleep beside the fire, shortly after they’d shared the pot of stew. The food was awful, but Will had felt happy, sitting cross-legged on his bedroll, his bent knee brushing with occasional innocence against Hannibal’s. As he’d tucked himself beneath the covers and shut his eyes, he’d heard Hannibal’s voice, informing the others that he would take first watch. When sleep had overtaken him, Will had Hannibal’s image in his head, imagining the templar watching over him while he slept. And now, in the Fade, his blush was prominent and the demon was holding him tight, and he knew that, where his sleeping body lay, Hannibal still watched.
“You travel with fresh blood,” the demon rasped with hot lips against Will’s neck. “Does the assassin excite you?”
Will turned in its arms and brought his hands up against the demon’s chest, lifting his head to gaze into its black eyes. “No.”
“Ah, I see,” replied the demon sweetly. Its fingers raked through Will’s hair and beckoned him closer. Will sighed and rested his head on its lean chest. “It is the templar that has aroused you.”
Will licked his lips. “No,” he answered, and the arms around his waist squeezed.
“No? The templar’s eyes drinking in your sleeping figure does not have your blood rushing with want?” Its hand traced over Will’s hip. “This does not belong to him?” The demon cupped its slender palm against the swelling between Will’s thighs.
Will gasped, bucking helplessly against the demon’s warm hand. He hadn’t realized he’d grown hard, but now the sensation was overpowering, and he pushed and rubbed against the demon’s too-gentle touch. “Please,” he whispered, oblivious to the truth of his begging.
“Tell me, Will,” the demon whispered in his ear, “how much you love it when he watches you.” Its fingers tickled softly over his length, offering no relief and Will whimpered in protest.
“It’s not,” he panted pathetically, “like that between us. He only wants,” Will paused, groaning as the demon lifted his fingers completely, “to protect me, to help me.”
“Is that what you think, my love?” The hand that had abandoned its teasing strokes came to smooth beneath Will’s chin, tilting back his head. “You do not think it strange that a templar, a servant of the Chantry, has forsaken his sacred duty in order to loan you his strength?”
Will’s head was spinning. He had thought about it, of course he had thought about it. In the back of his mind, it was always there, the wonder, the questions. “You told me to let him help me,” he managed, trying to grind against the demon, his bare skin sliding across black, leathery flesh.
“Shhh, I know, my sweet boy,” it said, pressing a kiss to Will’s canted head. “I only wish for you to be as honest with yourself as you are with me.” Both its hands framed Will’s pinkened face and it dipped its antlered head. “He makes you feel, Will,” it whispered. Its mouth was so close to Will’s. “Tell me he does.”
Will throbbed painfully, mind so muddled all he could do was comply. “He does,” he gasped, “he does.”
The demon smiled, and then brushed his lips against Will’s in a chaste kiss. “Who does, my love?” it asked, nuzzling against his cheek.
“H-Hannibal,” Will moaned, breathless and writhing in the demon’s embrace.
“Mmm, yes,” it said, and then it bit into the sensitive crook where neck met shoulder, and Will’s eyes spasmed to a close.