Chapter Text
When they were returned safely – miraculously – from Fort Drakon, Will found himself seated at the Arl’s long table once again, only now, Margot was seated at its head and Hannibal was seated at Will’s side. And though Will was thoroughly exhausted, as he had been when first taking their meeting earlier in the day, it was much easier to stay awake this time around. He idly pressed his fingers against his lips as the others spoke, imagining Hannibal’s mouth on his. But what really kept him from dozing off was Hannibal’s thigh, which he kept pushed against Will’s beneath the table, and Hannibal’s fingers, which kept gently dusting over Will’s knee. Politely, Hannibal kept his attention straight ahead while the Arl caught Margot up on the details of the Landsmeet, but the templar’s eyes were sparkling with mischief, and slowly, discreetly, he continued to push the boundaries of his hand until his palm was resting on Will’s inner thigh.
Will hid a lusty sigh beneath the cover of his own hand, and scooted forward slightly in his chair, trying to coax Hannibal’s fingers further up the inseam of his trousers. Hannibal squeezed the meat of Will’s thigh in response, and it took all of Will’s strength to resist moaning. His eyes fluttered and he bit his lip. His hand gripped Hannibal’s wrist beneath the table.
“What do you think, Will?”
He blinked and sat up in his chair, head swinging around to see who had addressed him. When his eyes landed on the Queen Regent, who was staring at him expectantly, he swatted away Hannibal’s skillfully kneading fingers and tried to school his face to one of great concentration. He brought a hand to his chin and rubbed thoughtfully over his scruff.
“What do I think?” Will repeated her question, tilting his head interestedly. He knew Hannibal was smiling at him, could see it from the corner of his eye. Distracting, distracting, distracting.
“Queen Margot seems to think her brother won’t play fairly at the Landsmeet tomorrow,” Alana said, appearing fractionally smug as she glanced between Will and the templar. “What do you think?”
He cleared his throat, shifting again in his chair in an effort to displace Hannibal’s searching fingers. “I think Teyrn Mason’s gone to a lot of trouble removing us from the playing board to give up now.”
“I agree,” Hannibal added, his voice way too casual for someone with their palm gliding up Will’s leg. “It would be foolish to assume someone like Mason would suddenly be willing to play by the rules. We should keep that in mind as we head into the Landsmeet.”
Margot nodded. She no longer wore the fuzzy bathrobe, looking instead as if Alana had dressed her, adorned in a sturdy leather vest with soft fur trim. It suited her better than the velvet gown, Will thought. And much better than the bathrobe. “Mason has been obsessed with the idea of finishing off the Wardens." She pushed her long hair behind her shoulder and looked at Will. “Did you happen to see the pig head mounted on the wall outside my room?”
He shivered at the grotesque memory. “Yes, I saw it.”
Margot’s eyes were dark as they looked at some middle distance. “He told me that’s what he wants to do with your head. When he cuts it off.”
Will sat frozen in the chair, and Hannibal’s hand left his thigh, smoothing around to rest at his back instead.
“Well, that’s not what you like to hear before bedtime,” Katz said, her fingers clasping at the amulet around her neck.
“No kidding,” Margot sighed. “Look, I know what my brother is. He’s a monster. He’s evil. And tomorrow, at the Landsmeet, he will try to kill you, no matter the outcome.” She took a deep breath and lifted her chin higher, looking absolutely like the Queen she deserved to be. “That is why we need to kill him first.”
Alana nodded knowingly, as though she’d heard the words already, but Will’s furrowed brow matched Katz’s. As for Hannibal, he was sitting motionless, hand a constant pressure on Will’s back and head tilted in its usual fashion, curious and, if Will had to guess, mildly amused.
Will responded first, voice stronger than he would have predicted, considering the context of his words. “How do we do it? Before the Landsmeet?”
Katz was shaking her head. “There could be a revolt if we just offed the Teyrn of Denerim, and it would only solidify the rumors he spread about us.”
“Judging by the looks on Margot and Alana’s faces,” Hannibal said, “they have already considered these consequences. What is it you propose?”
Margot glanced at Alana with a small smile. “There are certain legal deviations to the standard Landsmeet rules. And I happen to know Mason is already planning on a work-around. He doesn’t want to sit and hear Arls and Banns swear to the innocence of the Grey Wardens. Mason is going to cut to the chase as soon as he can.”
“Cut to the chase how?” Will asked.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. “By challenging you to a duel.”
“A duel?” Will asked. He looked at Hannibal, then back at the others. “A duel?”
“It’s been done before, but not for a long time,” Alana replied. “Mason can challenge you to a duel to settle all matters between himself and the Grey Wardens, and no matter the result, as long as it was officially held within the Landsmeet, it would be considered entirely legal.”
“Am I correct in assuming this duel would be to the death?” Hannibal asked, and Will watched as Margot slowly nodded. “Hmm,” Hannibal hummed thoughtfully.
“Hmm?!” Will exclaimed. “So all of this comes down to Mason and me?”
“If he does what I think he’ll do,” Margot said, “then yes.”
Will tried to remember the Teyrn of Denerim in crisper details, but a lot had happened since the month ago they'd met, and he had only spoken to the man for a scant few moments. All that really stood out in Will’s memory was bulking armor and crazy eyes.
“You’re the Queen,” Katz said suddenly. “Can’t you wave your scepter or something and have your brother locked up?”
“I’m only the Queen Regent,” Margot said, sounding slightly dreamy. “I won’t have that kind of authority until after my coronation.”
“Which is why you have to win the duel tomorrow, Will,” Alana added. “The winner of the duel will gain the authority. You’ll be able to kill Mason and grant Margot her official, uncontested right to the throne of Ferelden.”
Will scrunched his brows at the Witch of the Wilds and wondered briefly when she had become so politically savvy. But he wasn’t the only one studying Alana. Margot had an eye on her as well, had been watching her ever since they’d sat down at the long table for their discussion.
“What if Mason doesn’t initiate the duel?” Will asked as infinite differing trails of possibilities sprang up in his mind. “What if he doesn’t want to deal with us at all and kills us flat out? No duel, no talking, just an execution we’ve willingly walked into.”
“That’s why we think you should be the challenger of the duel,” Margot said. “Before the Landsmeet can begin, you need to set the challenge. Everyone will be watching. All of Denerim comes to observe the Landsmeet. Mason won’t be able to refuse you in front of so many witnesses.”
“You’re all assuming I’ll be able to win this duel,” Will mumbled. His head still ached where he’d been knocked out, and his body was sore from hours of lying on a prison floor, not to mention his days and days without genuine sleep stacked on top of everything else. Will could barely imagine himself staying awake long enough to walk to his bed, let alone fight an insane, greatsword wielding Teyrn.
“You can beat him, Will,” Katz said, and she sounded so sure, so positive. Will looked from her to Alana and Margot, who smiled at him reassuringly.
Finally, he turned to Hannibal, who had begun to rub small circles on his back, but when the templar met Will’s gaze, he stood up from his chair at once. “Will is not participating in any duels unless he’s had proper rest.” He bent down and hooked his arm around Will’s waist, helping him up from the table. Will held on to the arm gratefully, too tired to even mind the raised eyebrows they were receiving. “If you will excuse us, I must insist on taking Will to bed.”
Margot stood, and, to Will’s surprise, bowed her head slightly. Alana was smiling beside her. “We should all get some rest,” the Queen Regent announced. “We will reconvene in the morning.”
Once the idea had been proposed, everyone was eager to retire to their respective quarters, and Will was more thankful than ever for the firm body supporting his weak one, relying almost entirely on Hannibal’s strength to lead him outside his guest chamber door.
And then Will felt his face blushing deep red, because he and Hannibal were alone in the hallway, and the templar was reaching around Will’s waist to open the bedroom door. He tightened his arm around Will and led him inside, softly clicking the door shut behind them. It was truly just the two of them since they’d been pressed together against the Fort Drakon cell wall. And Will didn’t know what to say. Then again, Hannibal always seemed to know what he needed, whether or not the words were spoken. He sat Will down on the bed and knelt before him, staring up at him with dark eyes. His hands smoothed slowly up Will’s thighs, until his fingers hooked into the waistband of Will’s trousers. Will sucked a sharp breath between his teeth, lifting his hips from the bed so Hannibal could pull the fabric down. Hannibal ghosted his lips down the pale skin of Will’s legs, as he exposed them inch by inch, until the trousers were slipping around his ankles. Will laughed breathlessly as Hannibal quickly removed his boots, and then whimpered as the trousers were pulled over his feet and thrown to the floor.
“Hush, my love,” Hannibal whispered, smoothing his hands back up the expanse of Will’s thighs. He crawled up on the bed to sit at Will’s side, and his fingers dexterously unlaced the ties at Will’s shirt collar. “Close your eyes, Will,” Hannibal hushed, kissing his cheek before lifting the fabric over Will’s head. Will watched the garment fall to the floor beside his boots and trousers, and then he let his eyes close.
He felt Hannibal move further up on the bed, and then his arms wrapped around Will from behind and pulled him back to lay against his chest. Will sighed, turning into Hannibal’s body, his head nestling into the crook of his arm while his hand splayed over the thick hair of the templar’s chest. Hannibal’s body was hot and firm and perfect, and when fingers began to comb through Will’s hair, he moaned shamelessly.
“Hannibal,” he whispered, just because he loved the shape of that name in his mouth. “Hannibal.”
He felt a rustle and then the weight of the blanket as Hannibal lifted it over Will’s shoulder. “Rest now,” he whispered, and it wasn’t long before Will was slipping away, sleeping peacefully for the first time in days.
--
When Will found himself in the Fade, his smile was wide and hurt his cheeks, but he couldn’t stop. He spun around the grand hall, looking for his demon.
“Beautiful,” Hannibal whispered, and Will could feel him moving behind his back. Will sighed and leaned into his chest, expecting to feel the tips of claws scratching gently over his hips. When he looked down and saw human hands, Will frowned. Hannibal must have felt him tensing in his arms, for he asked, “What troubles you?”
Will turned to face him. “Hannibal?” he asked, looking up into the templar’s human face. “Why do you look like that?”
His demon cocked his head. “I thought you would prefer my human form,” he said softly. “After your reaction before.” He dipped his head down to kiss Will’s cheek.
When he pulled away, Will lifted his hand and carded his fingers through the soft, silvery strands of Hannibal’s hair. “I do like this part of you,” Will admitted, pushing his hips against Hannibal’s. He was naked, of course, as he always was in their Fade space, and the grind of his hardening cock against Hannibal made Will shiver. “But,” he continued, sliding his hands down the templar’s chest, “I like the other part, too.” Hannibal’s eyes flashed hungrily and Will bit his lip. “When we’re here, together, I don’t want you to hide who you are.”
Hannibal grasped Will by the back of the neck and surged forward, crashing their lips together. Will hooked his nails into the flesh of Hannibal’s back, and groaned as he felt soft skin quickly morphing into hot leather. Will’s hands scratched up his demon’s back, over his gaunt, sharp-boned skull, until his fingers wrapped tightly around the base of each antler.
He pulled back to breathe and there his demon stood. Tall and dark and strange and his. “Beautiful,” Will whispered, and then he yanked at the antlers, forcing Hannibal’s mouth down, kissing him fiercely. Long, bony arms slinked around Will’s waist, and sharp, clawed nails sank into the flesh of his hips before lifting Will up, straddling him against his waist.
And Will’s heart was screaming and his blood was thumping because they were picking up where they’d left off in the prison cell, and it was everything. Will was happiness, glowing and full, and every part of him that touched his demon sang with pleasure. He could live like that, falling asleep in Hannibal’s arms and waking up in his demon’s embrace. Two worlds to share together. How lucky Will felt in that moment, as lips slid roughly, blessedly against his own. How thankful he was for the prison that had forced him to look, to really look and see Hannibal, and see how badly he wanted him - needed him.
So absorbed was Will in the greedy urgency of Hannibal’s lips and tongue and teeth, that when the pull came, it was a shock doubly cruel.
“Hannibal!” Will yelled, breaking their kiss to wrap his arms tightly around his demon’s chest. It felt like hooks had sunken into his guts and were tugging, tugging, ripping him inside out. Desperately, he dug his nails into Hannibal’s skin.
“Brave boy, I’m here,” his demon rasped in his ear, and Will could feel his hands gripping him tightly, trying to hold him against his body, trying to keep him there in his arms, but Will’s fingers slipped loose and his demon’s hold failed, and he was falling, screaming, a violent force calling him forward.
Will spiraled in blackness for horrible seconds until he fell to his knees. And then, suddenly, the scene around him burst into brilliant light as the archdemon roared, breathing a raging fire that burned a circle around Will, casting thousands of darkspawn into gruesome illumination. Will gasped in horror, for they were many and they were all around him. Alphas and Ogres, all raising their swords and axes and snapping their bloody maws, while the titanic dragon turned its fiery eyes to Will.
He sat on his knees, gazing up at the archdemon. His head buzzed with a thousand whispers, and while he couldn’t understand the words, he knew the message that drilled into his brain.
The Blight. It was coming.
--
He woke up screaming.
Hannibal was already awake, and his hands were holding on to Will’s shoulders, trying to ease the tremors that thrashed his body.
“I have you, Will,” Hannibal soothed, demanding Will’s eyes. “You are safe. I have you.”
Will panted, but his muscles stopped their spasms beneath Hannibal’s administered touch. He calmed against the pillows, the sweat dripping from his fevered skin, tears streaming down his cheeks. He barely had time to croak Hannibal’s name when there was a soft knock on the door, followed by a faint voice. Hannibal brushed the damp curls from Will’s forehead and smiled apologetically before lifting from the bed. Will listened to the sound of Hannibal’s feet padding across the floor, and then the creak of the door opening.
“Katz, come in,” Will heard Hannibal saying, and he lifted his head from the pillow, pushing up to his elbows with a groan.
“Katz,” he whispered when he saw her face. She was pale and trembling and Hannibal was holding her elbow and leading her to the bed.
She sat on the end of the mattress and Hannibal repositioned himself beside Will, his hand winding around Will’s back and helping him sit up against the headboard.
“Will,” Katz said, and her voice sounded weaker than he’d ever heard. “Did you see it?”
He nodded.
“It was so much worse than the others,” she continued, shaking her head slowly as her eyes remained fastened to her twisting hands. “It..spoke to me.”
“The archdemon,” Will said. “It spoke to me, too.”
The Grey Wardens stared at one another. Too young, too inexperienced. And the only hope for Ferelden.
“Tomorrow,” Katz said, “we kill Mason. And then we get ready.” Her fingers clutched the necklace around her throat. “We can do this, can’t we?”
Will grabbed Hannibal’s hand and squeezed it tight. “We have to.”
--
Will tried to go back to sleep, but after tossing and turning again and again, Hannibal pulled him into his lap. He nipped at Will’s neck, and whispered against his skin.
“Would you allow me to make a suggestion?”
“Mmm,” Will mumbled, arching his neck to present his demon with more skin to kiss.
“It is concerning your potential, Will.”
Will indulged in the feeling of one final kiss against the column of his throat before he shuffled out of his demon’s lap. The room was dark, but Hannibal’s eyes were defiantly bright.
“I told you,” Will said, trying to keep his temper cool, “that I will not use blood magic, Hannibal.”
“And I will stand by your decision, always,” Hannibal replied, his hand reaching out to skim across Will’s bare knee, as if he couldn’t stand a moment’s separation. “But I would ask that you indulge me for a moment.” He tilted his head, the hair falling over his eyes.
Will huffed indignantly. There was no way Hannibal didn’t know the effects that look had on him. Feeling weak from his vision and flustered from Hannibal’s attentions, Will sighed his acquiescence, turning to lie on his back, settling his head in the templar’s lap. “I’m listening,” he said, closing his eyes when fingers began to tenderly dance across his collarbone.
“Demons are dangerous,” Hannibal began, his voice a lulling comfort in the shadows of the bedchamber. “But not all demons. Blood magic is dangerous, but not all blood magic. As I told you from the beginning, the line between good and evil is not so easily discernible. You yourself have toed that very line, time and time again these past few weeks, have you not?”
Will turned his head, pressing his cheek against Hannibal’s warm thigh. “Helping Peter destroy his phylactery,” he whispered, remembering his friend’s tear-filled eyes as he begged Will for help.
“Peter’s phylactery,” Hannibal agreed. “And then the werewolves. Prince Franklyn. A myriad of choices, not good, not evil…”
“Just whatever I could live with,” Will finished.
Hannibal shifted beneath him to lie on his side, so they were face to face. “Do you think, if you let me inside, I would dare hurt a hair on your head?”
Will moved forward, tucking his head beneath Hannibal’s chin, but he did not answer.
“There is a ritual,” his demon whispered as he cradled Will’s head gently against his chest, “of blood and love, both yours and mine, to join our souls. When fueled by hate, greed, and cruel desires, that joining can become corrupt. An abomination, you would call it.”
Will listened to Hannibal’s heartbeat, steady and powerful, beneath warm skin and muscle, blood and bone. “And when fueled by love?” he asked in less than a whisper, hardly vocalizing that final word.
“It would be a union of mind and spirit,” Hannibal answered. “A bond of strength, pure and beautiful.”
Will lifted his head and couldn’t resist pressing his lips against the sharp line of Hannibal’s chin. “What would that be like?”
“I do not know,” Hannibal answered. “I have never shared such a bond with another soul.”
He remembered the Guardian telling Hannibal his fear was to be alone forever, and Will wondered if he felt that same fear now. He wondered if being with Will as they were, unbonded but together, undeniably together in each other’s arms, was enough. With a shock of possessiveness, Will rolled his demon over, onto his back, straddling his hips. He bent down, sucking a bruising kiss over Hannibal’s heart. He felt Hannibal's pulse quicken – a rarity – beneath his adoration, and then fingers, feather soft, stroked over Will’s backside. Only when Will was satisfied he’d left a mark did he finally detach his lips. He kissed the dark circle of skin he’d created and sat back on Hannibal’s waist with a smile.
“I don’t need blood magic to be bonded to you, Hannibal,” he said. “I’ve been bonded to you since my Harrowing.” He laughed, thinking back to the templar stalking him through the Tower hallways, always there, always near, always watching. “Since a lot longer than that, actually.”
Hannibal opened his mouth to protest and Will leaned in, stealing his words with a delicate kiss. When they parted, he kept his face close to Hannibal’s, nuzzling his nose into his skin and breathing in the scent that had become so familiar.
“If you’re worried I’m not powerful enough to defeat the Blight without blood bonding with you, you’re wrong,” he said, not unkindly…but not sweetly either. “I’ve already grown more powerful.”
“I know, my sweet boy,” Hannibal said. “You have done so well.”
Will blushed at the praise, lowering his head to look up from thick eyelashes. “Are you proud of me?” he asked, surprising himself with the blatant flirtation. He was pleased beyond belief when Hannibal sat up, gripping Will’s ass and grinding him down against his lap. Will gasped and wrapped his legs around Hannibal’s waist.
“I am,” Hannibal affirmed.
“Even if I refuse to use blood magic?” Will asked, already breathless as he rocked himself down on his demon’s lap.
Hannibal stopped him then, cupping Will’s face in his hands and bringing their foreheads together. “I only want what is best for you, and I trust you to know what that is. Do you understand?” Will nodded his head, and Hannibal rubbed his thumb over Will’s cheek. “Kiss me, Will.”
Will kissed him. And Maker was he thankful for the lack of clothes between them, because as he pushed his hips forward, he felt the long, hard swell of Hannibal’s erection, rubbing right along his backside. And he wanted more. He ground his ass against the solid line of Hannibal’s cock and thrust his tongue into Hannibal’s mouth with a needy groan. Hannibal let him, for a moment, and then pushed him onto his back and hovered over his body. Will stared up at him helplessly.
“Hannibal,” he moaned, hands reaching for his demon.
“Shhh,” Hannibal whispered, kissing Will’s lips once before sinking lower to lick a line down his stomach. “Let me take care of you.”
“What - ,” Will began, but his words were stolen and his brain evaporated when Hannibal pulled down Will’s smallclothes and wrapped his lips around his hardening cock. “Oh!” His hands flew to the back of Hannibal’s head, tightening in his hair. His back arched from the bed.
He’d been treated thusly in the Fade by his demon, but this was different, because when he looked down he saw Hannibal’s plump mouth sinking over his cock and Hannibal’s eyes on his, and when Will gathered his fingers into fists, he had Hannibal’s soft, soft hair to grip and guide.
Hannibal’s tongue was relentless, lapping at the underside of Will’s cock while his lips were a constant, all-consuming suction of wet heat. Will tried to watch, he tried so hard, but when Hannibal hummed pleasurably and pushed Will all the way in to breach his throat, Will’s eyes rolled, and his lids squeezed shut, and he had to bite his hand to keep from screaming and waking the whole estate.
It didn’t take long. In fact, it took an embarrassingly short amount of time for Will to melt completely beneath Hannibal’s mouth, and when he came, his hips pumped and his breath was ragged, and his demon kept suckling and licking until Will was spent. Will’s length popped from Hannibal’s mouth with an obscene smack that had him groaning into his pillow, and then Hannibal was slowly kissing a path up his stomach. His hands trailed across Will’s check. Will sighed when he felt soft lips press against his closed eyelids.
“Hannibal,” Will whispered, beginning to move, wanting to touch his demon, but strong hands held him down.
“No, Will,” Hannibal said. “Go to sleep, my love.”
Will wanted to protest, wanted to taste and kiss and explore. But he was tired, he was impossibly tired, and Hannibal was nuzzling his neck and telling him to drift. So Will drifted, fingers tracing over forearms before sleep finally consumed him.
--
Will had no more dreams that night and no more visions of terror from the archdemon. He slept as soundly as he supposed anyone could with such disaster looming on the horizon, and when he woke, he was wrapped tight in the templar’s arms. He wanted to stay as they lay, didn’t want to move or face the trials of the day. But he had to, and so he plied himself from Hannibal’s arms, and together they dressed and prepared.
Faces were grim that morning when they reconvened at the long table. Katz looked as though she’d never fallen back to sleep after their shared vision, and Will couldn’t blame her. In fact, he felt a bit guilty as he snuck a glance at Hannibal beside him, filling his cup with more tea. Not everyone had a Hannibal to make them come so hard they passed out. Will was unused to feeling so lucky, and he flushed as he thought about the night before. It had almost been enough to wipe the archdemon from his mind completely. But Katz’s dark circles were a harsh reminder. The Blight was imminent. Soon, the preparations would begin and all of Will’s efforts, and the efforts of his friends, would come to fruition. But not quite yet. First, before anything else, there was a Landsmeet to attend.
--
Will grabbed Hannibal and kissed him hard on the mouth, and then he kissed him once more. Then he entered the Landsmeet.
The balconies were filled and the room was loud with the combined whispers of a hundred Denerim Lords and citizens, but when Will strode into the ovular clearing, a hush fell across the crowd, and the only sound that could be heard was the stomping of Will’s boots against the hardwood. And even though his heart was fluttering nervously in his chest, Will didn’t stop until he arrived at his target.
Mason was facing away from him, speaking to an elven woman who Will recognized instantly as the servant who had snuck them into the Palace. She smirked cruelly when she saw Will, and the anger rising in him at her betrayal gave Will the drive to extend his finger and tap against the Teyrn’s gold-plated shoulder.
“What, what, WHAT?” Mason asked, turning around. When he saw Will standing in front of him, he looked confused for a moment and squinted as though he didn’t recognize him. “You look different,” he said at last, his lips turned into a sickening grin. “Older. A shame.”
“Teyrn Mason of Denerim,” Will said loudly, letting his voice echo through the chamber. He remembered the words Margot had told him to say. “I challenge you to a duel, under the codes of the Landsmeet.”
Mason threw back his head with a manic laugh. “You DO?” When he straightened his head, his wild hair flopped over his forehead before springing back, seemingly on its own. His eyes were brimming with the sparks of insanity. Will's memory had been accurate. Mason was mad. He leaned in and Will barely managed to refrain from pulling back, baring the discomfort as Mason stage-whispered. “I’m going to fuck that mouth before I mount your head on the wall. HA!”
Will glared. “I take it you accept my challenge.”
“I accept!”
The Teyrn unsheathed his greatsword in a slick stroke, and the watching crowd gasped. The little elven woman cowered behind him and scampered out of the clearing, jumping over the railing separating the Landsmeet center from the observers’ benches. Will was reminded of the Proving Grounds, an experience he hadn’t cared to repeat, yet here he was. Might as well make the most of it. Will gripped his staff and narrowed his eyes at the coward who had left the King and Jack and all the other Wardens to die on the Ostagar battlefield. He would enjoy this fight. Will liked killing things that deserved to die.
Though it wasn’t Will’s first fight to the death, it was his first Landsmeet, and he was expecting some sort of official announcement to cue the beginning of the duel. It turned out the only cue he would get was a kick to the gut from Mason as he launched his armored boot forward unexpectedly and sent Will falling to his back on the hard floor. He landed with a heavy thud that knocked the air from his lungs, but he didn’t have time to shake it off and recollect himself because Mason was striding up to him, lifting his sword while Will was still splayed on the ground. Will rolled as the blade bore down, cracking against the floor and chopping through a curl of Will’s hair.
“HA!” Mason cackled, and as he hefted his sword again, Will shuffled backwards. Before Mason could swing, he lifted his staff, pointing it toward the mad-eyed Teyrn and shooting a blast of fire. It hit him in the chest, but the armor he was wearing seemed to lessen the damage. Mason cocked his head, looking down at the licking flames on his chest piece. He patted them out with his gloved hand and grinned, toothy and terrible. “My, aren’t you ADORABLE? So SPUNKY.”
Will shot at him again with another blast of flame, clamoring to his feet as Mason patted it out just as easily.
“You’ll have to do better than THAT,” Mason laughed, and he rushed at Will, slicing his greatsword right towards Will’s middle.
Will blocked the blow with his staff, momentarily stunning Mason, who had surely expected his blade to cut straight through. Will took the opportunity to touch the sword’s blade, lightly, quickly, but it didn’t take much for Will’s mana to seep through the pads of his fingers and heat the blade. Mason lurched forward, slamming into Will’s shoulder to shove him away, but the magic was already seared into Mason’s sword, and Will watched, backing up with his staff lifted and readied, as the metal began to burn beneath Mason’s hands.
It was a glowing red light that spread across the sword, and Will could see Mason sweating beneath his helmet as he struggled to hold on. But after a moment more, steam began to rise from the mouth of Mason’s gauntlets and he dropped the weapon. It landed with a heavy clang, and Mason laughed. “Ouch,” he said.
Will advanced, kicking the burning sword out of the Teyrn’s reach. He slammed down his staff, and a ring of fire erupted, surrounding Mason.
“Oh no. You CAUGHT me,” Mason jeered, his eyes dancing with fire. “That looks like fun. I think I’ll catch one, too.”
Mason waggled his eyebrows and made a twirling gesture with his finger. Will spun around, keeping the Teyrn trapped in his fiery cage. When he saw what Mason was alluding to, his fingers tightened on his staff. Off the main Landsmeet clearing, several hulking soldiers had a hold of Katz, two pinning back her arms as another held his blade at her throat. She kept still, eyes wide. Hannibal and Alana stood nearby, frozen, unsure. More guards were surrounding them, their blades pointing and awaiting further instruction.
At Mason’s low chuckle, Will turned back to face him. “There are the eyes I remember,” Mason drawled. “Scared and sweet. I want those eyes for my trophy room.”
“You can’t hurt her,” Will growled. “The duel is between you and me.”
“So INNOCENT!” Mason said, clapping his hands. “You know, I was planning on killing you right away, but I think I might SAVE you. Play with you for a while before I mount your head on my wall. Above my bed. Would you like that?”
Mason’s threats weighed empty on Will’s nerves, which were single-mindedly focused on the steel against his friend’s throat. “Let her go.”
“Okay,” Mason said. Then he brought up a hand and fanned himself. “This fire is so HOT, though. I think you better get rid of it first. And then I’ll let your Warden go.”
Will’s jaw clenched. He knew Mason was lying. But he also knew he was insane. There was no room for risk. So, reluctantly, he waved his staff and the circle of flames around Mason disappeared.
“So PRETTY when you follow orders,” Mason said. “I think I’ll start my fun right now. And then I’ll let her go. What do you SAY?”
Will just stared.
“On your knees,” Mason demanded.
Will glanced back at Katz, held tight by the guards, and what he saw made his lip twitch. He faced Mason, head lowered to mask his amusement, and then he dropped to his knees, just in time to duck the sword that sailed through the air.
The room exploded into violence. Hannibal’s sword struck Mason’s shoulder, knocking him to his back. At the same time, Alana attacked the guard holding the blade to Katz’s throat, sending him flying across the room with a bolt of energy. The other two men holding Katz’s arms were met with a sharp jab of her staff. They released Katz to stop the gush of blood from their noses, and Hannibal came up behind them, placing his hands strategically on their heads and SNAP. SNAP. They fell and Katz unsheathed her sword, and Will’s three companions ran to him at the center of the clearing.
“Will!” Hannibal shouted, pulling Will the rest of the way to his feet.
“I’m fine,” Will said, and then he grabbed Hannibal, pushing him out of the way and sending a jolt of fire at the guard rushing at them with his sword held high. The guard fell to the ground, smoldering and wheezing, and Will barely had time to smile at Hannibal before the templar was scooping up the fallen man’s sword and clanging it against another attacker's hacking blade.
Will looked around with a gasp as the saw the entire Landsmeet on the attack. It was Mason’s guards versus Will’s companions, grunts and groans and blood splattering quickly to the floor. Not the Landsmeet he had envisioned, but then, when had anything ever turned out the way Will expected?
With Hannibal defending him, Will turned to track the injured Mason. The Teyrn was slowly backing up from the clearing, staying low to the ground to avoid detection from the distracted fighting. His hand was pressed against his shoulder and his face was a grimace of pain.
“Hannibal,” Will said in a low voice. Hannibal plunged his sword into an advancing guard’s stomach, and then turned to Will, following his gaze curiously to the retreating Mason. Will waited for Hannibal’s nod, and then they both made their way through the fighting.
Mason tried to lift a dagger from his belt as he saw them walking toward him, but Will kicked his hand, committing the blade to a useless clatter on the floor. He stuck his staff’s blunt point against Mason’s throat.
“Call off your guards,” Will said.
Mason’s eyes darted wildly between Will and Hannibal, and then he lifted both hands and yelled, “GUARDS! STOP. STOP IT.”
The boisterous clanging of blade and staff suddenly ceased. Will didn’t bother to look. He knew the room had grown still behind him. He poked his staff into Mason’s neck and whispered, “Get on your knees.”
The Teyrn moved inelegantly to his knees.
“I should kill you,” Will said. “But I’m not going to.” Will waited for Mason’s eyes to flood with relief before he added, “I’m going to let your sister do it.”
“Ha! Margot? She would never kill me. I’m the only family she has. She needs me.”
“No, I don’t, Mason,” Margot said, her voice clear and calm as she stepped through the crowd and came to stand in the clearing beside Hannibal and Will.
Mason’s face was white. “You can’t kill me, Margot,” he said quietly, so only their small cluster could discern his words. “You kill me and you’re all alone.”
Margot accepted the sword Hannibal handed to her. Her fingers flexed around its grip and she stepped forward. “I’m not alone,” she said.
Alana stepped up from behind and kicked Mason in the back, forcing him to drop on his hands and knees, and then Margot turned, addressing the onlookers of the Landsmeet. “Teyrn Mason has endangered the safety of Ferelden. He betrayed my husband, King Frederick, as well as the Grey Wardens, leaving us all vulnerable to the Blight. As he has lost the Landsmeet duel, his punishment is death.”
When Margot cut off his head, Mason's face was still contorted in a dubious expression. He didn’t believe she would do it, not even when his head rolled on the floor.
Margot took a deep breath, and Hannibal kindly took back the sword. Will walked up to Hannibal’s side and leaned into the arm that came to wrap around his waist. They watched together as Margot stepped to the center of the clearing. Everyone watched, and as she held her head up high, they dropped to one knee before their Queen Regent, soon to be Queen of Ferelden.
“Teyrn Mason has paid for his disloyalty,” she said, her voice echoing, strong and lovely. “Anyone loyal to him, I offer the chance to be loyal to me instead. There is no time for civil war between us. Thanks to the honorable Grey Wardens here with us today,” she motioned towards Katz and Will, who nodded uncomfortably at her praise, “we know of the Blight threatening to strike against us.”
A wave of whispers rolled across the crowd. “A Blight?” “Oh no!” “What do we do?”
Margot lifted a hand to silence them. “We have only one choice, and that is to fight. The Blight will be defeated, Ferelden will survive, and I will be your Queen.” Margot’s face grew soft for a moment and she looked over at Alana. “And I will not rule alone.” She held out her hand and Alana came to join her, taking her offered hand. Will watched, stunned, as Margot pulled Alana into her arms and kissed her.
The Landsmeet went crazy, needless to say. Will tried to count the hours they had even known Margot, and ended up shaking his head, laughing. But when he glanced at Hannibal, it made a bit more sense. Some things, he mused, were just meant to be.
--
Will stood in the guest chambers, lifting his arms so Hannibal could remove the sweat-damp shirt from his chest. He shivered at the loss but moaned happily when his demon pulled their bodies together.
Following the Landsmeet, their party had retreated back to the Arl’s estate. Will and the others had already met with their allies to discuss the plans for the battle, and they were to re-adjourn with Margot shortly, after a quick freshening up. But now that Will had Hannibal shirtless and hot against him, he wasn’t particularly motivated to get him cleaned and dressed.
“I like you like this,” Will admitted, resting his cheek against Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal ran his hands down Will’s bare back and Will could feel the laughter rumbling deep in his demon’s chest. “But you know,” he said, turning his head to brush a soft kiss against Hannibal’s shoulder, “I’m mad at you.”
“Oh?”
Will tilted back his head to look into thrilling, bright eyes. They were Will's eyes to gaze into whenever he wanted, he reminded himself, warmth spreading through his stomach. And the skin his fingers traced was his to touch and kiss. He bent his head to languidly press his lips across Hannibal’s chest. “Last night,” Will said, dropping slowly to his knees, “you wouldn’t let me touch you.” Settled on his knees, he wrapped his hands around Hannibal’s backside, gripping his ass with possessive fingers to hold him steady in front of him.
“You needed to sleep, Will,” Hannibal chided, his fingers finding their way into Will’s hair. As he smoothed across the section of curls that Mason’s sword had chopped, his body grew tense.
Will kissed his hip to soothe him. “I’m okay." His fingers left Hannibal’s backside to dip into the waist of his trousers, and he looked up at the templar with heavy-lidded eyes before tugging the material down his hips, over his groin, and to his ankles. Will's tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Hannibal?” he asked, his eyes taking in the large cock hanging heavily in front of him.
Hannibal’s thickness twitched in response, swelling steadily beneath Will’s gaze. He smoothed his hand across Will’s forehead, sweeping the hair from his eyes, and sighed. “Take whatever you need from me, my sweet boy.”
When Will had lived in the Circle Tower, he’d lived deprived. He had not sought such intimacies, had long ago resigned himself to an abstinent life. Pleasures of the heart and body were not pleasure in which a mage could easily partake. He truly thought – a constant surety of his life – that he would never have anything that would make his heart pound and his blood race and his whole being pulse with excitement. So the first taste of Hannibal’s velvety skin was a gift. And when he parted his lips and gently sucked on the purpling head of Hannibal’s cock, it was a wonder. He tasted salty and bitter, and Will lapped his tongue over the slit, eyes rolling at the precome already seeping.
“You were so beautiful today,” Hannibal whispered, fingers threading softly through Will’s hair.
Will groaned around Hannibal’s cockhead before sinking his lips further down the shaft, now hard as iron, thick and long and sweet on his tongue. How had he lived without that weight between his stretched lips? How had he allowed Hannibal to lie beside him all their weeks together and not lick his sensitive skin and swallow around his thickness? How had Will not grabbed Hannibal’s muscular, plump ass and pulled him forward, further into his mouth?
“My love, my love,” Hannibal moaned as Will took his fill.
And Will shut his eyes, feeling his demon’s heat and tasting his demon’s skin, and letting everything else, even the impending end of the world, fade away, at least for a little while.