Tales from Thedas #01: Dark Ritual

Naughty tales from Thedas, kept out of the official histories.

A Warden has crowned her lover king, but how will they survive the archdemon?

***

"You know, we could have had least had dinner and a glass of wine first," Alistair quipped, still not believing what he was doing. Or seeing. He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at Morrigan as she joined him on the bed in her scanty black small clothes, his traitorous manhood stirring at the sight of her dark beauty. At least he would be able do this quickly, before he changed his mind. He would just lie back and think of Ferelden.

Morrigan leaned over and blew out the candles next to the bed. When she sat back in the warm firelight, she held a small red candle which sparked to life at a wave of her hand. Morrigan made eye contact with him, and though tense, Alistair said nothing. Slowly, she dropped the hot wax onto his chest, now watching her own movements and murmuring softly as she did. The sharp sting melted into tingling, Alistair noticed, so that as she added drops to his chest and forehead each one became more arousing. She hesitated when she moved to his groin, just above his small clothes, and made eye contact with him again. He gave her a wary nod.

Morrigan took her time freeing him from the cloth, cupping his length in her soft palm before she resumed the spell. Alistair watched as the dripping wax took shape on his skin; flames, sprawling flames curled along the muscles of his abdomen, surrounding and framing his growing cock. As his arousal grew, so did the flames, no longer needing the wax to form their color and shape, they moved like living tattoos along his skin. He remained passive under the witch's touch. It seemed to please her.

She drizzled some of the red wax onto her own body, letting it pool and then weep from her belly button, flames forming at her words. Then she blew out the small candle and reached again toward the side table, this time coming back with a small stone pot, which she placed in his palm before scooting away from him. Her movements deliberate, she slithered out of her small clothes and naked, crawled over him, settling her weight on his thighs.

He looked up at her face and body - inky hair, pale white skin, tight breasts that defied gravity with their pink nipples pointing skyward; narrow waist, with a luscious curve to her hips. She was freshly shaved bare below, with lips as full and pouty as those on her face.

Alistair sighed. Beautiful, by any definition, but so cold and harsh in action and word, with eyes that cut like Serault glass. Stunning amber eyes that could have warmed like laughter in sunlight, but didn't. Power seemed to be the only thing that moved her. Power, pretty baubles, and a good mirror, he amended, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

She took the pot from him and dipping a finger into the soft green unction within, began to paint silvery green swirls along her chest and bare sex and also around the red wax flames over her womb. They were like waves, soft green waves that flowed along her pale white skin.

Morrigan held the pot out to Alistair. "As part of the ritual, paint the waves on my forehead. Think of a child, your child; think of Solona. What would you wish for a child of your own?"

Alistair frowned at her words. He thought about what she and Solona had told him. An Old God baby? What would that mean? Could he trust Morrigan when she said the child would not be hurt, would not be some sort of monster? Even the existence of a normal heir could be a threat to Ferelden, not that she wanted him to see this baby. Ever.

When he touched his clay covered finger to Morrigan's forehead, however, he thought about Solona, his love for her, the love that had brought him to this strange moment as king and warden. As for the child, he was afraid to wish for much. All he allowed himself to think about was raven hair and his father's eyes, kind eyes he had not gotten to see but once in his life.

He slumped back flat on the bed when he was done, knowing what must happen next. Solona wanted it to happen. Ferelden needed it to happen; he would make it so despite his anger with Morrigan, Solona, and his own stupid bloodline. He hated that his first act as king would be this - this betrayal. Unlike before, on the pirate ship, Solona would not be with him. Morrigan wouldn't allow it. Besides, he wasn't sure Solona could bear it. So no Solona caressing him, kissing him, encouraging him in his pleasure. He did intend to have pleasure, and to give it too. Nothing would annoy Morrigan more, he was sure. He had to do something with the seething fury inside of him.

Morrigan moved forward, bringing her sex to slide along his. He was surprised to find her hot and wet; she hated him. But perhaps the waves worked on her as the flames did on him, though hers had not sparked to life as his had. They remained pale swirls of color painted on her skin. She took him in her hand and moved him into place. Before engulfing him, however, she paused, her eyes lingering on him. They were eager, ravenous. Covetous?

Her eyes had taken him in like that before, at Flemeth's cottage, when she was tending his wounds and thought he was still unconscious. She had been attentive too, at least before Solona woke up. He did not understand that look or what brought the change then, but he did now. Now he understood more of what goes on between women and men.

The look was pure desire. Morrigan desired him, his body pleased her. Even if his conversation did not. This was news. He smirked, suddenly finding that perhaps he did not want it over too quickly.

He flexed his hips into her, leaving the rest of his body flat on the bed. Morrigan gasped and slipped the head of his cock inside of her sex, then settled down onto his shaft completely. She muttered her spell as she moved her body languidly, the words a language foreign in Alistair's ears, but then he caught a phrase of harsh sounds and a flash of meaning ~ free from the curse, through flame into life.

He closed his eyes then and took her hips in his hands; the feel of Morrigan in his grasp, her sex engulfing him, was strange and arousing. Still, he did not interfere with her movements. He simply allowed her to have her way with him, enjoying the feel of her hot channel clenching and releasing him in her efforts to get him to give up his seed. She felt good, but he was in no danger of a quick release. He had some wrath he needed to work out.

He started his movements subtly, so that Morrigan wouldn't notice, just an undulation in his hips to act as a counterpoint to her own. He often woke to Solona riding him and liked to respond slowly. He let one hand slip down lower on her hip. The other moved lazily up to her rib cage. He would wait until the witch was off her guard.

Morrigan made pretty little noises for him, soft and low, though as time went on, they pitched higher in frustration. She muttered again in a strange language, sending a shiver us his spine and causing their markings to glow dully. It was then that Alistair caught a breast in his large hand and gave the nipple a tight pinch. Her eyes flew open and he caught her surprised gaze, too. As he watched her the calloused thumb of his sword hand pushed down on her hard, unsuspecting bud, messaging it in rhythm to their thrusts. Morrigan cried out in pleasure, her sex gushing and grasping around him, forcing a low grunt from him. Her shoulders shuddered above him even as her lower back went stiff. Her face was the picture of triumph as she rode him. Clearly, she thought she had gotten her seed.

Alistair pulled Morrigan to him and flipped them over so that he was on top of her, pinning her hands with his and her hips with his own. He was still rooted deep within her, thrusting softly, drawing out her climax.

When she surfaced from her orgasmic stupor she said, "I said you would not hate it quite so much as you thought," she said, practically purring.

Alistair kept his eyes shut and didn't respond, remaining tight within her and hard. He wondered when she would notice.

"You can get off of me anytime." Morrigan said. She tried to pull her wrists free of his grasp, but he didn't budge. Instead he pulled out of her and then slowly sank back in. Her eyes went wide when she realized he was still full and rampant and nowhere near spent.

"What - what are you doing?" Morrigan burst out and struggled against him. She was taller than Solona, but not as strong, certainly not as strong as Alistair himself. He used his height and weight against Morrigan, remaining silent and unmoving as she tired herself out.

Alistair planked himself over her and rolled his hips into her, causing her eyes to flutter and close, a moan to escape unbidden. He kept it up even through her torrent of complaints and demands. He waited for her to say 'no' or 'stop'. The words never came.

Her eyes cracked open, and she fixed her honey eyes on him. By the Blood, he never thought he'd see that look on Morrigan.

"Why - what are you doing?" she asked again, flushing pink along her chest.

"Am I not pleasing, Morrigan? Is my body not attractive or am I lacking in skill? Do you want me to stop?" Alistair asked, even as he did stop.

She growled at him. "No! You can't just stop! You have to finish. To finish the ritual."

"Oh, I'll finish," he said, starting his movements again. "Eventually. Once I am done making love to you."

"Making love? Have you gone mad?" Morrigan tossed her head and moved into him, wrapping around him, using his body as leverage for her own, trying to hurry his finish along but only teasing herself with pleasure. Eventually she bit out, "Can't you just fuck me and get it over with?"

He ignored her, having met her thrust for thrust during her tantrum. He kissed her neck, her ear, murmuring words of love and affection usually reserved for Solona. He placed a peck on Morrigan's mouth, testing her anger. She didn't bite him so he kissed her properly, deeply.

She kissed him back.

When he gently dragged his teeth along her lower lip he felt her cunny tighten on him. He sunk one hand into her hair and used the other to hold her leg up so he could grind closer to her.

She placed her free hand on his ass and pulled him in closer. Soon, helpless against his strength and weight, she came for him again, beautifully, tenderly, in spite of herself. He pulled out then, still hard and glistening with her juices, and flopped down on his side, his hand over his flushed face, nowhere near finished.

"What is this Alistair?" she asked quietly. "Do you tell every woman you love them when you have sex? Could get a bit tiresome, that. Let us cast aside this silly lovemaking and complete the ritual. Do you not want to survive the death of the Archdemon?"

"What happened to you? Growing up in a swamp did you no favors. You are the only person I know that questions love and connection," he said from behind his hand.

"Though I have met your mother, which does explain a few things." He pulled his hand away from his face and they stared at each other. Her brow furrowed, and she looked almost sad taking in his words. For the first time he noticed her curious pupils were open and round, instead of her normal predatory slit. It made her face more human, her expression more vulnerable. But then her face closed down again, emotionless.

Her lack of emotion reignited his fury. "Do you even know what you really asked for with this ritual? I cut my heart out walking in here, bedding you unfaithfully," he barked out, sitting up.

"But what of Solona?" he continued. "What did she give Morrigan? Because of the Taint she will most likely never be able to give me a child. You know this. She knows this. Right now she is in our room sobbing into Leliana's shoulder, knowing full well I am here giving you a child. Perhaps my only child. Solona and I break our hearts for love in this ritual, Morrigan. If you had a heart, or loved anyone other than yourself, you would know this already," he said. Then his voice hardened. "I want you to feel it - what it is to be loved. Your pleasure equals my pain. Your joy is my sorrow. I want you to think about that for the next nine months and eighteen years."

Morrigan looked to the ceiling, then curled away from him, giving him her back. "I told Solona she was a fool in loving you. Even Wynne warned her of the sacrifices that might have to be made. And you," she murmured. "I hate you so much!"

He was around her in an instant, holding her, molding himself to her. Quickly he put both her wrists in one hand before grasping her breast firmly and sliding his cock along her wet slit from behind. He tugged on her lobe and nibbled her neck with his teeth. "No you don't. Not really. If there were nothing between us you would simply be indifferent, I'm guessing. But I know how you love power."

He shifted forward so that he was half on top of her, his front to her back, but still had space to move his hand and arm along her sensitive places. He moved with her, into her, once again funneling his heartbreak into her pleasure.

She writhed and mewled under him as he teased her with his body. He felt her pussy grow hotter and pulse for him just before she began to struggle against his grip. Her obvious conflict fed the anguish within him. He loosened his grip on her hands.

"Unhand me, Alistair!" she said, pulling one wrist from his grasp and reaching back to set her nails to the skin of his hip and thigh.

He encircled her wrist with his hand and forced her arm away, pressed her wrist back into his other hand's grasp. Then he palmed her ass and smacked it. "No. You only understand power, and this is the power I have over you so I am going to use it. Tell me you want this."

"Of course I want this, I offered it," she hissed. "Fuck me and get this done!"

He pulled her leg to the side a little and slid into her from behind, pushing her hips into the bed. Her deep throaty moan in that whiskey voice of hers made him throb inside her. "No, Morrigan, tell me you want me, Alistair. Use my name. All this time you knew it would come to this, to this ritual. With me. I know you've been curious. You've asked both Solona and Leliana about me." He slipped slowly out of her, until only the head of him brushed her lips. "Tell. Me."

"No! I will not!" she cried.

He teased her further, almost sliding in, but then stopping his hips and pressing himself along her swollen clit. "Yes, Morrigan, you will, because I may be a Warden now, but I was Templar trained. Despite what you think, I am not stupid. I know a little about this kind of blood magic. I have to want it to work. I also learned my litanies quite well. I've never used them during sex before, but my guess is they'll work to keep my focus just the same. Can't say the same about you though. I may be of limited experience, but have learned so many things from the few women in my bed. I can bring you until you're a quivering wet mess, if I choose. And you will ask me nicely; getting this ritual done, as you say, comes at my great personal cost. I could die tomorrow anyway, ritual or no."

He teased her with his cock over and over. He didn't think she would say no to his terms, but he never knew with Morrigan. Eventually, he felt the tension leave her. She arched her back, pressing herself onto him, whispering, "Take me, Alistair. I - I want you to please me. I want you to have your pleasure with me."

He slipped fully into her. Into her ear he whispered, "I had a heart for you too, if you had been capable of kindness. You are stunning Morrigan. I have always thought so." He growled as he thrust, muttering, "And what a deliciously wily witch, you are."

"Insufferable fool," she whined, even as she smiled at him. She began to thrust back against him, surrendering her body at least. "I must say though, I begin to understand what all the fuss is about, Warrior."

He let up a little, giving her room to move as he hovered over her. Soon they both began to couple with abandon, with no thought for the morrow or the next few days. If the sad truth be told, they coupled with the fierce and pitious joy of knowing it was both at last and for the last time.

He relished feeling Morrigan's ass pound against his hips, hearing her cry out underneath him, smelling her hair, spiced and exotic, and watching her smile curl in lust and wantonness for his touch, though soon Alistair could feel his end building inside of him. It was time to get back to his task. He palmed and smacked her ass again. "Tell me what you want for the child, Morrigan," he demanded, his voice husky.

"Magic! And power! Ancient power!" she cried out and matched his movements, her every sound and gasp betraying her pleasure. "Some things, some things must be saved!"

He spanked her again. "That can't be all!"

"Freedom, oh gods! Freedom, Alistair!" she gasped. "Freedom to choose a different path than a fated one."

This last bit resonated with him, the bastard son of a king, a Grey Warden destined to die young. He almost felt sorry for Urthemiel, the Old God of Beauty, that was now the Archdemon. Alistair rested his weight fully on Morrigan. Their passion was now raw, animalistic, so much so that Alistair licked along her shoulder again, tasting the salt of her sweat and setting set his teeth to the skin of her neck like a rutting wyvern. He snaked an arm under her and used his long fingers to press against her sex.

She came screaming and aggressive against him, drawing blood where her hands clawed at his thigh and shoulder, the pain causing him to nip her neck, his eye tooth drawing blood against her soft skin.

As her orgasm seemed to spiral on and on, his finally exploded. The magic of the wax and the mud paint flowing on his skin grew, he dropped his back to the joint of her neck and shoulder; he kissed away the drops of blood from her neck, reveling in the heady bliss the magic called up over and above his climax.

As he pumped his seed into her, he put his hand over her womb, pulling their bodies together as they caught their breaths. A few minutes later, his heart lurched in his chest. A hope came to him; a happy child, a good child, a mother's love as he had not gotten. A son.

He collapsed utterly and wept. He waited for her unkind words about his emotions, but they did not come. For once, Morrigan held her sharp tongue.

Indeed, she remained passive and unmoving as he shrunk from her body and pulled fully away from her to sit on the edge of the bed. So too did she stay silent and still as he dressed.

"I shall leave you now, Morrigan, with child and alone, as you wanted," he said. He meant to be harsh, but he couldn't help throwing the fur cover over her. She looked cold.

As he opened the door, he heard her stifle a sob. He turned back with his hand on the doorknob. She was sitting up with the fur pulled to her chest, face wet with tears, her hand combing through her mussed hair.

"You and my best friend will have each other the rest of this night and more," Morrigan said, her voice thick. "Tis enough for me. Only time will tell who made the better bargain."

Alistair let his shoulders fall. So this too, was Morrigan, one that might have stirred his heart. "I don't have to go yet," he said quietly.

"Do not be stupid," she said. "Go. Find Solona."

"As you say," he said, both wistful and relieved at once. He walked out and shut the door quietly then leaned back against it. He could hear her begin to cry in earnest.

"I was wrong. Your mother never had your beauty, lady," he whispered and he went to find Solona.