open rp post

[troubleyan]

🏹 texts/epistolary 🏹 prompts 🏹 ota*

* pssst if we've threaded together on bakerstreet, consider this an open invite

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♚ one exile ends and another begins ♚

[firstbornstorm]

Leliana shrugged lightly, folding the small parchment and handing it off to Hunter, who fastened the capsule to the raven's leg before departing with a nod. "I really can't say, Inquisitor," she told Evelyn then, putting down her pen and capping the small inkwell. "I first met him in Antiva several years ago. Before I became the Divine's Left Hand, actually."

The spymaster smiled, rising from her seat to lean against the stone window sill that overlooked Skyhold's interior courtyard. The subject of their discussion was currently guiding Cole through the process of grooming the horses, showing the boy how to brush, curry, and comb with his own large black stallion, the horse calm and quiet under his master's sure hands. The former spirit followed the older assassin like a happy puppy, eagerly drinking up every single word and gesture.

"He and his companions had been hired by a rich landowner to track down a group of thieves and return the stolen items," Leliana told the Herald, gesturing down below. "They did so quite quickly, and were very thorough in their chastisement." Then the redhead chuckled, mirth quirking her lips and the corners of her eyes. "Daemon allowed us to live, though," she added, twinkling at Lady Trevelyan. "So I'm very grateful for his judgment."

[troubleyan]

Evelyn asks most of her companions about themselves without even an inkling of embarrassment - Blackwall has been questioned about his past as a Warden, Cullen has been interrogated about how celibate Templars were meant to be (an important question, really, since her own father had wanted Evelyn to go into the Order after the Conclave), and she has made sure to speak to everyone else equally. Some of them keep their cards close to their chest, but none moreso than Daemon - and since he's been recommended by Leliana, here she is.

Trying to snoop.

Her eyebrows shoot up, and she looks out the window towards the assassin. "You were the thieves? No wonder you're fond of him, Leliana."

A pause. "He's very nice to look at." The admission slips out, her cheeks pinkening immediately. She turns away from the window and walks over to the table. Shuffles some paperwork. "So, uhm - we trust him, yes?"

[firstbornstorm]

"Oh, don't believe that he didn't trounce the lot of us," Leliana replied, shaking her head slightly. "But I saw right away that this wasn't some mindless, dead-eyed killer, little more than a weapon to be used." She shrugged again.

"The contract didn't demand our lives, just the merchandise returned. So, he took back what we'd stolen and let us go." Her mouth tilted again. "Without our weapons, clothes, or any sort of transportation." She laughed. "We had to walk naked to the next village and beg for scraps of both food and clothing."

The spymaster's eyebrow went up at the Herald's next comment. Nor did Leliana miss that soft blush that gilded the woman's pale cheeks. Nor the sheepish shuffle of parchments on the desk. "I do trust him," was her calm response. "Even though he claims to be of Rivani descent, I know he isn't, nor or those who travel with him, but despite all of the mystery surrounding him, I do indeed trust him."

She glanced over at the Inquisitor, a knowing little expression on her face. "Do you?"

[troubleyan]

Evelyn's expression is serious, accepting no contradictions. "More than you would think it prudent, probably. But yes, Leliana, I trust him - with my life and the life of others. It's why he keeps coming on journeys with me, he knows what he's doing."

Definitely isn't because she likes to watch the impossible muscles of his back move as he carves through an enemy, or because he meets her in verbal banter like she's a real person, not a symbol, not a hero. She loves the fact that being with Daemon - twice now - has made her feel free and mischievous and wanted and hot.

Good girl, Evie. A shiver runs through her at the memory and she swallows around a knot in her throat, clears it.

"Which is why he'll be one of the three I've chosen to come with me to Halamshiral. If anyone can sneak into the shadows while I am supposed to play diplomat for the Empress, he can."

She pauses. "Cassandra and Vivienne will be the others."

[firstbornstorm]

Leliana nodded again. "Then that is what matters," she replied succinctly. "You are the Inquisitor, your word has the final authority." Then she smiled warmly. "Though I am glad that you do. We still need good allies, especially those who 'know what they're doing'." The former bard wasn't without her mirth at the double entendre.

She was a bit surprised that the Herald wanted to take Daemon along to the Empress's gala, however. But it did make sense; out of all their companions, the elder assassin was by far the most successful at being stealthy and ferreting out secrets, particularly behind locked or barricaded doors.

"Good choices," she approved, then again gave an impish laugh. "Although I'd love to be there when you tell him."

[troubleyan]

Evelyn is red as a tomato and groaning, muttering "Andraste's tits," at that double entendre from Leliana. It's just wrong when Leliana gets with the double entendre at you. Like discovering your aunt is horny.

She shakes her head and steels herself. "Right, I better go do that, don't I? You'll tell Cass she's coming, right?" She gives Leliana a pointed look. "I'm going to leave now."

She swears she hears a low laugh chase her all the way down from the rookery.

She stalls, truth be told. Speaks to Dorian, speaks to Solas and Varric. It's dire enough that she even goes to speak to Vivienne, which goes down great.

It's full hour later by the time she makes her way down to the stables, armed with a headache, and finds only Blackwall and Cole there. She has stalled too long.

Fuck this - she's not afraid of the man! He's capable of breaking her in more ways than one, but he doesn't scare her! It shouldn't scare her. He doesn't scare her.

(It's the flutter in her stomach when she finds him, caring for his blades in his room, that scares her.)

"Right, well, I come bearing news so put those away before I tell you," she jokes, from the open doorway.

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon and his boys had appropriated the rundown tower next to the stables; it was large enough for the five of them and within easy reach of their horses. He'd earlier sent Qotho and the others out on a hunting trip, remaining behind to give The Black a few days rest. The Inquisitor had been mighty busy the past few weeks and for some reason had been adamant for his company on every one of her jaunts.

Fine with him. Sitting around waiting for the whistle had never been one of his strong points.

After finishing with his horse and sending Cole off to the kitchens to sneak a few sweets, he'd retired to the tower and began working on his weapons. A soothing ritual, that one. Halfway through the arsenal, he glanced up when a shadow fell into the open tower door and a familiar voice reached his ears.

He gave a smirk to see the Inquisitor, holding up one of his throwing daggers to inspect its edge, saying around it, "That's a helluva way to greet someone, Legs."

[troubleyan]

Ugh, that nickname he's given her. What is it about some of her favourite men being the ones who give her ridiculous nicknames? Varric calls her Sparky, Iron Bull calls her Boss (and she can hear the uppercase, thanks), and Daemon - well.

It's not helped by the fact that she knows how much he likes her legs wrapped around his waist. At least, she thinks he likes them there, because he has fucked her against a wall twice so far.

But she's not here to think about that, this is serious.

"I'm sorry, should I buy you a drink first?" She asks after a dramatic roll of her eyes, and leans against the doorway, fanning herself. "Please, mister assassin, I desperately need you to come with me."

Perfectly timed pause.

"To Halamshiral."

[firstbornstorm]

The work on the knife paused, hearing the little addendum. Her flirting he took in stride, but actually going with her to that...place? Daemon went perfectly still for a long minute, then lifted only his eyes and looked at her through his lashes, all latent amusement evaporated.

He'd made a particular point out of avoiding anything and everything even resembling royalty on this continent from the moment he'd stepped on the rocky Rivani shore almost a decade before. And he certainly wasn't aiming to change that, either.

Which was why his tone was considerably less friendly than it customarily was when he inquired, sharply, "--why?"

[troubleyan]

Why? Why? Why does he think? "Because you're so fucking good, Daemon. I'm going to need someone as good as you to watch my back, because I can't take Dorian and Bull with me - those conceited assholes are expecting the Inquisitior to come barging in, all brawn and no brain, and I intend to make the Empress listen to us before it's too late.

"I just - " She grows silent, looking at him, all the flirting being dropped and only her heart on her sleeve now. "Please?"

[firstbornstorm]

Fucking hell. Yeah, he knew why, it was just a instinctive reflex kicking in. And Bull and Dorian would just make things worse, he knew. Cole was impossible, as was Sera. Varric might be plausible, but the dwarf's acerbic nature was hard to hide.

Swallowing a sigh, Daemon grit his teeth and picked up another throwing blade, dipping the cleaning cloth into a bit of oil and began to rub it over the sharp edge. He didn't answer for a minute or so, then finally ground out, "...fine."

Then he sat up straight, pointing at her with the knife in his hand, and added, "But you're gonna owe me. Big."

[troubleyan]

She looks up at the ceiling, gathering her wits for a moment because he's not happy with this, and it's taking a lot of effort to remember that she's the fucking Inquisitior and not a girl with a crush.

"You think I don't know that? What do you want?"

[firstbornstorm]

"I'll let you know," he sniped right back. Then abruptly spun the knife in his hand, thunking its tip into the top of the wooden table. Daemon got to his feet, crossing the room to snatch up his pack, rummaging in it irritably.

"I told you when I got here that I'd help you, Evie. And I meant it. But I have...issues with royalty - we don't really get along that well." And there were bound to be some 'foreign ambassadors' in the palace, especially for such an important occasion.

Fuck.

"So forgive me if I ain't jumping for joy, yeah?"

[troubleyan]

She slips inside the tower, letting the door close shut behind her, stepping up go him.

"I wasn't expecting you to jump for you - and you don't exactly share the why, but I believe you, I do. Hence why I'm the one telling you instead of Leliana conveying the order."

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon abruptly tossed down his pack, giving her a dark look over his shoulder.

"Consider me flattered," he drawled darkly, returning to his weapons. He resumed his maintenance, movements jerky and sharp. Gods knew he didn't envy her this job, but it still rankled him sometimes, having to deal with the absolute horseshit that went along with it.

"Why did you?" he asked after a minute. "Afraid I'd tell Red no?"

[troubleyan]

She crosses her arms, her heckles raised instantly, her own scowl quick to come. "No - I'm no more afraid of you than you are afraid of Leliana. Why wouldn't I come tell you?"

She huffs. "Or maybe you'd prefer it if I just stop talking to you outside of missions? Is that it? Because spell it out for me and I will do exactly that if it bothers you that I am constantly trying to find excuses to spend time with you."

That part slips in the rambling, her eyes widening as soon as it happens. Shit. Shit shit shit.

"Fuck - forget it," she mutters, and turns around fully, heading towards the door to leave.

"I'll ask Cole, at least he can fade into forgetfulness if he's discovered."

[firstbornstorm]

He snorted, because he always knew when she was lying. Although the huffy little snap brought him up short, because what the hell? Daemon glowered at her, throwing down his blades and regaining his feet, hand on a hip.

"What the fuck, Evelyn? You wanna get that kid killed, go right ahead. I told you that I'd go with you, so what's the problem?"

He reached her in two long strides, abruptly taking her elbow to pull her back around. "Woman, you're fucking infuriating. If you wanna spend time with me, or whatever the fuck, all you gotta do is say so."

[troubleyan]

She's usually quick on her feet, but even she doesn't hear him move this time until he's yanking her back around so fast that her chest bumps into him.

She was expecting him to be dissatisfied by default with the whole Halamshiral decision, but foolishly maybe she'd thought that he'd see her rationale as reasonable. She wasn't expecting him to snap and come after her.

(This bullshit is why Leliana would've wanted to be in the room, probably.)

"I do!" she practically blurts out in his face. Two breaths. Calm down, Evie. "But separately from...missions." She's messing up the explanation, but it makes sense in her head. She doesn't want him to think that she only needs him for missions, that that's where her interest in him stops. She doesn't want him to feel used, because she's already felt used by every single person who decided her existence gained value only after she closed the Rift the first time.

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon again blinked at her, more than a little confused by the entire situation. Evelyn wanted him to go with her to Halamshiral, that was clear. And he'd said that he would, but he was hardly thrilled about it. That was also clear. Then she'd spouted some nonsense about looking for excuses about something and spending time with him apart from their work, and he'd gotten lost after that.

So he just frowned at her, dropped his hands only to throw them with a huffed grunt, and shake his head, stepping back a pace, then two.

"I swear to the Fourteen Fires you make absolutely no fucking sense at all, Evelyn Trevelyan. What do you want from me, woman?" They got along well enough, he'd thought. Sure, they'd had some fiery fucking sessions here and there, no strings just like she'd wanted, and he'd been fine with that.

Now here she was, spouting something that made no sense and confusing him even more. "Make some damned sense!"

[troubleyan]

She isn't making sense right now, not when she snaps with: "I fucking like you!" So fast that it leaves her breathless, and yet she keeps going. "You drive me insane with how much I like you - fucking care about you, but I know you just want something casual and I'm fine with that but Maker help me, you're infuriating and hypnotic and I just want more and more and apparently my brain stops working around you!"

[firstbornstorm]

He'd only ever been successful at shutting her up in one way. And that was to just take her by the arms, shove her back against the hard stone, and kiss her breathless, which was exactly what he did. Because she wasn't going to just waltz in here, drop her grenades, and then run out and leave him gaping like a landed fish. No, Daemon wasn't having it.

But kissing her was always a good choice, and a task he enjoyed with unfeigned alacrity. And usually a healthy dose of smarmy charm. So he plundered her mouth with a bold tongue, determined to make her squirm then melt, so that they could finally actually talk without the bullshit getting in the way.

"...Evie, Evie, Evie," Daemon rumbled an eternity later, finally lifting his head just enough to murmur her name against her wet mouth. Calloused fingertips gently coursed over the swell of her cheek. "You don't have to be afraid of me, y'know..." His hand drifted to cradle the back of her head, mouth running along the curve of her jaw.

"...'m not gonna hurt you. Never would."

[troubleyan]

She has time to let out a surprised gasp, and then his lips are on hers and she's melting as he kisses her, dirty and deep and hard, like he always does. She pushes one hand into his hair and grabs onto the leather vest of his armor with the other, pulling him near.

She might be clinging. She's clinging. The truth is that she doesn't want to let him go, overall. That she doesn't want to be a casual tryst that happens when they have an itch to scratch.

But - do Inquisitors get to be in love? Do Evelyn Trevelyans?

She doesn't expect the tenderness from his voice, it renders her breathlessness a little shaky, her exhale shuddering on the way out, whispered against his lips.

"I'm not," she murmurs, closing her eyes for the pleasure of that caress. Trusting him. "I know you wouldn't - I trust you. I've always trusted you."

[firstbornstorm]

It would be so easy, so very easy, to just lose himself back in her mouth, pick her up and take her to bed, shoving everything aside for the pleasure they always found in the other's arms. But that was the coward's way out, and Daemon Storm had never quailed in the face of danger, fear, or even common sense. So he sighed softly and lifted his head, dark blue eyes gazing down at the woman between him and the tower wall, and arched a single eyebrow.

"Then what's the matter?" Far from his usual snarky tone, his voice was quiet, plaintive, and held actual concern this time. Still holding the back of her head, his thumb smoothed across her cheekbone, encouraging her to actually talk to him, for once.

"It's not a sin or a crime to like someone, Evelyn," he told her, a corner of his mouth tilting. "Even if it is me." He knew most of her companions didn't trust him, despite his skills and his help with their great mission, and he didn't doubt more than one had warned her about getting 'too involved' with the assassin and his exotic cohorts. Fuckers, all.

Daemon chuckled under his breath, gently resting his forehead against hers. "I like you, y'know."

[troubleyan]

She nudges his nose with hers, staying close. The rapid beating of her heart is settling now, anchored in his grip. Solid and comforting.

"You do?" The question is hopeful, as softly as she asks it. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him again, quick but chaste, all things considered. "Wait - no, don't do that self-deprecation shit, I'm not ashamed of this. For the record. I just - I didn't think you'd want more."

Leaning her forehead against his again, her eyes closed, she takes a soft breath.

"I have wanted more even before we fucked the first time, but I am so used to not talking about my own desires that I thought that was the most I'd get."

[firstbornstorm]

The self-depreciation was so deeply ingrained it might as well be grafted into his spine. He was hardly the sort to take home to the family, and he knew it. Which is why he again sighed and shook his head, saying, "I'm not...I'm a mongrel, Evelyn. A mixed-blood bastard, hardly something pedigreed that you'd want to take home to your mother."

And he'd made his own personal peace with that ages ago, which is why no one on this entire continent save for his Dothraki knew it. But to the nobility of Thedas, he was just another peasant, one that happened to be skilled with weapons therefore moderately useful.

"And you're The Inquisitor. Every government on this continent is afraid of you and what you can do. The very last thing the Inquisition needs is its figurehead to be attached to some knife-slinging mercenary who's not even from around here."

Besides, and his brows furrowed as he pointed out, "--you were the one who insisted 'no-strings', remember?"