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Her templar is back at the alienage, suffering. The last few nights have been difficult, watching her Carver toss and turn in the narrow pallet bed, brow scrunched with tension and pain. He can barely stand any touch and it crushes him to admit it.
But despite how long she has lived in the alienage, Merrill still knows the many Dalish secrets of plants. She puts this understanding to use under the light of a half-moon, gathering handfuls of tansy-weed, the golden buttons swaying wildly in the wind on the side of a winding Sundermount path.
She scurries back to Kirkwall quickly, feet only slowing down to hide herself from templars and bandits roving the still smoking Lowtown streets. Merrill isn't afraid of these humans, not any longer, but she doesn't risk anyone delaying her return to Carver's side. By now, he will have turned the bed covers into knots.
When the alienage comes into view, she presses forward faster, breaths coming uneven as she pushes into her own dark home. The heavy, thick scent of sweat fills her nose as she enters. Merrill likes it when Carver is sweaty with exertion, either from swinging his sword or from love-making, but this is a sickly sweet smell that turns the stomach. She latches the door behind her, then cracks open the small window above their make-shift kitchen, the tansy-weed collected beneath an arm.
The fire in the pit has gone down to embers, so Merrill sets down her bundle and pushes flames through her fingertips to stoke the fire back to life. A familiar hum rumbles in her chest from the magic as she gathers a pitcher of water and steel pot. The tansy-weed needs prepping for tea, and Merrill pulls the sunny heads from their long stems. How long has it been since she used her magic? She is careful not to do so around Carver when he is awake, worried that it will bother him. He is strong and stubborn, and determined to quit lyrium, but Merrill cannot help being wary any more than she can help being a mage. She would do anything for Carver, even if it means suppressing what comes naturally for a while.
After the water begins to bubble, a portion of the tansy-weed goes into the boiling pot. It needs time for the good parts of the tansy-weed to leach out into the water.
Merrill hums to herself while waiting, removing her clothing and drawing two cups from her small, lean-to cupboard. Carver swears he will fix it for her and she believes him, though now is not the time for housework. Ever since his last draught, her handsome man has grown gaunt and grouchy, and as mean as a wild hog when the headaches come on. Merrill knows he doesn't want to be so changeable, and just offers consoling words and brief touches to a hand or his brow to let him know she cares.
While the tea boils, Merrill studies the shiny, discarded armor that gleams wickedly from the opposite corner of her home. The rest of Hawke's companions were always leery of the broken eluvian, but Merrill shakes her head at their foolishness. By now, all of Kirkwall knows templar plate held together a far worse monster than any Dalish artifact ever did.
Sharp, piercing grief stabs her breast, thinking about her Carver following Meredith, but at least now Hawke saw an end to the knight commander and Carver is free to leave the templars behind.
If only the lyrium was as easy to discard as the armor.
Still, Merrill can see Carver is fortunate. His time as a templar was brief compared to some of the others, men and women who have forgotten their own lives after the crystal blue liquid washed it away.
Merrill shakes off the thought and carefully draws the pot off the fire with a pair of hot mittens. To flavor the tea, she sprinkles a few other choice herbs kept dried in a tin case Leandra gave her. It steeps, then Merrill takes care to strain the tea with a well-tended cheesecloth, blowing on the liquid as it passes through the cloth back into the pitcher. Carver'll not want to drink it either way, but she doesn't want him to burn his tongue. She pours the tea into the two cups and walks them to the bedside, taking care not to spill any liquid with her haste to reach him.
Merrill sets her cup on the side table, next to a stub of a candle and a dirty book lent from Isabela. Earmarked pages make note of ideas for later, when Carver gets his full strength back and can stand her touch again.
She sighs, letting herself be sad for a moment, wishing Aveline had let Carver become a city guard. But that's not what happened, so Merrill shrugs off her melancholy and presses a hand against Carver's shoulder. He is slick with sweat, skin hot to the touch and muscles bunched tight.
"Car-ver," she says to him in the sing-song lilt he likes. "Vehnan, I have some tea that will help you."
Carver grumbles and groans, shifting away from her palm, and even though it hurts her heart, she persists, poking him gently in the armpit.
"Carver, drink this, please, vehnan. It will help your aches."
He turns over to swat at her pricking fingertips, beautiful blue eyes filled with misery. She catches her lip between her teeth and bites down, forcing herself to stay positive. The withdrawal has to end soon. It has to. And the tansy-weed tea will help.
"Ar lath ma," she sighs sweetly, drawing some of his sweaty hair off his brow. "Please Carver, drink. I wouldn't have woken you if I wasn't sure it would work."
Carver's eyes flash with doubt, then guilt, and her lumbering human sits upright to take the cup. She realizes her hand shakes ever so slightly and Carver holds it tight.
"I'm sorry," he says, voice full of misplaced shame. "I knew it would be hard, but I didn't know …"
"It's okay," she rushes to say. She does not want him to regret his decision to quit lyrium. "Drink. Then talk."
Carver nods and presses the cup to his lips, nose scrunched in distaste even though he has yet to try it. Merrill giggles at the sight – Carver can be so silly at times. She tips his elbow up to force him to drink and sits beside him with her cup in the other hand. She watches the line of his throat as he gulps the tea down. As she takes a sip, a flush rises beneath her skin, warm and bright.
Her thoughts turn quickly from simply making sure Carver drinks the tea to lewd fascination with how the bump on his throat bobs with each swallow. She drinks more, eyes tracking down his body, watching the even rise and fall of his chest, the strong muscles there covered in a sheen of sweat. A droplet runs down his chest and along his taut stomach and she wants to follow with her tongue.
Carver slams the cup against the table beside her and she jumps, startled by the sound. He swipes her cup from her hand and before she can protest, Carver rolls her beneath his long, hard body. His even chest now heaves and his erect cock juts against her stomach.
"Car-ver!"
Her heart beats wildly in her chest, the places where their bodies touch molten hot. Merrill's thighs are slick with sudden desire, and Carver's cock leaks onto her belly. The room has become hazy, anything beyond her Carver imperceptible.
And what she can see in perfect focus is a changed man – he seems healthy, vibrant, unbothered by the effects of withdrawal. His hands caress her sides and smooth over her breasts. Merrill moans, low and guttural, primal, like the need between them. Carver smiles before dipping his head, nuzzling against her chest, tongue sliding over one pert nipple while fingers pinch the other. Merrill claws at his back and he ruts against her belly, nipping at her breasts and then soothing the spots with his tongue. She moves her hands to his hair, pushing it away from his face to watch him caress her, and the sight of him gazing back at her with lust eyes and a smirk, her nipple in his mouth, is enough to set her on a path to climax.
She can feel it rising, gathering, his fingers and tongue working in tandem to make her as slick as possible, as needy as possible. Merrill mewls desperately, her hips bucking wildly. She wants to be filled. She needs to be stretched. Carver's cock is so big, and she already knows exactly how good it feels inside her. He just has to give it to her.
Or she could simply take it.
Merrill reaches between their bodies and grabs his length, scooting upward to align themselves just right. She's shocked and gratified by how wet and hot she's become, enjoying the brush of her own fingers against her cunt as she positions him against her entrance.
Carver can't seem to stop smirking, offering a boyish grin as he teases against her, slipping in just enough to make her squeeze in anticipation. Her body needs this connection, needs his length and strength. He kisses her neck, then nibbles her earlobe and along the outside edge of her pointed ear. He continues to sink inside only to pull back, the delightful drag of his cock head against her entrance sending her up, up, up.
"Please, vehnan," she begs, holding on to his hips, trying to drag him fully against her. Her impending orgasm nearly hurts, the pressure too great. She feels like she will burst before he fully sinks into her.
"Please what, Merrill?"
The words send shivers down her neck. She loves when Carver talks dirty. Once he was the only person who shared what the silly innuendos meant, misunderstandings between human and Dalish sayings. When he does it in the bedroom, it's like he sees her for who she is, not a naïve lost child, but his equal, his partner who likes sex and sexy things just as much as any other woman.
"Fu-uck me, Carver. Please!"
He presses his cock deeper and she keens, the weight of him so delicious against her. Merrill likes feeling pinned down on the bed, helpless to the rhythm of his hips.
"You love it when I stretch your tight cunt, don't you, vhenan?"
She whimpers in agreement and he makes a low groan in response, eyes fluttering shut, not as completely in control as he seems.
"I want to see how many times you can come. I want to do so many things to you, Merrill."
"Then do them!" She wiggles against his hips again. "Make me come!"
He laughs, a joyful sound she hasn't heard in days, and her heart clenches at the same time as he sinks in all the way, stretching and filling her up just how she likes. Carver leans back to drive into her, holding one of her legs against his chest. The pace is intense, and he doesn't hold back, strong hips snapping to meet her soft bottom. Their sex is noisy, messy, hard. Sweat drips from her body, pools in her clavicle, dampens the back of her knees.
A healthy flush covers her pale Ferelden lover. Creators, he is so handsome, so beautiful to look at. His broad shoulders are perfectly shaped, his arms so thick from all the swording. His hips are trim and the line of muscle along his lower abdomen forms a downward arrowhead. Merrill has a sudden desire to trace the pathways of his body with her tongue, ending with his magnificent cock, which glides into her body, slick with her arousal.
He reaches between them and touches her most pleasurable spot, and off like a burst of lightning does Merrill fly, her cries as loud as the thunder. He pounds into her body and comes with her, bending the leg against his chest forward, opening her up for him to sink deeper in the last final thrusts. Merrill's orgasm does not stop, but continues to peak, then rise again, as he fills her with his release.
"Fuck," he swears against her lips, kissing her as she continues to come. "You keep clenching on my cock." He groans, his dark head dipping against her shoulder.
Merrill's legs begin to shake, her body still riding the wave. Carver has yet to pull out, and keeps moving against her, cock still hard inside her body as she stutters and shakes in near agony.
"I can't—"
"Don't stop," he says, sliding his tongue deep into her mouth. Carver kisses her like he will never get to again, taking as much as he can as quickly as he can. Merrill feels helplessly controlled by her body, quaking.
"You're incredible. You feel so good, Merrill," he groans, pumping into her with endless enthusiasm.
Merrill cannot catch a full breath. She presses Carver back with the heels of her hands and he pauses in concern, lips parted to ask after her. Merrill shushes and clicks her tongue while maneuvering on top, flipping their positions so she can ride him. She gathers lung-fulls of air, tipping her head back as the ache in her body subsides. Arousal still thrums through her, but her limbs are no longer strained with the intensity of release.
Carver’s hands shift to capture her small breasts entirely in his palms. She covers his hands with her own and rides him silently, the gaze they share intense and filled with unspoken need. Need to come again, need to connect, to feel and taste. The thought of him in her mouth is tantalizing, alluring. She imagines his face as he comes again, fighting to keep his eyes open to watch her take his spend. The image riles her up until she can no longer resist taking action, and Merrill slides off from her perch only to climb down his body.
Carver begins to protest, but the words dry up as her tongue touches the tip of his cock. A low groan rolls out from his chest and he flops his head against the pillow, hand reaching to cup the back of her head. Merrill enjoys the tangy musk of both their juices on her tongue and explores his length fully. She teases as he did to her, pulling back, pumping with her hand on his shaft, bringing him close to release and then not allowing it. His legs are strained and his abdomen tight, and meanwhile he continues to gasp and make such incredible noises her cunt gets slick again.
“Watch,” she says. “Look at me.”
His eyes fly open and he sits halfway on his elbows, pupils blown so wide there’s but a sliver of blue around them. Merrill smirks and sucks hard, hollowing her cheeks and humming in her throat. It doesn’t take long for him to quicken, thrusting in her mouth, fingers in her hair.
Carver growls, a sexy sound that makes her very excited. She squeezes her thighs together. They lock eyes and then with a pop! Carver pulls her off his cock and heaves her into his lap. He thrusts up without warning, driving a gasp past her swollen lips as he enters her. Just as soon as he does, hot release fills her again. Merrill holds onto his shoulders while come slicks down her thighs. And somehow, Carver is still impossibly hard.
Merrill’s eyes widen with wonder as he thrusts up into her. She notices a grimace that begins to twist his lips, frustration entering his eyes. This is not right. He looks as pained as he was before, and as uncomfortable as it was for her at first. By now, Merrill is aroused and possibly ready to come again, but not helplessly and without control. Carver seems locked into lust, unable to gain complete satisfaction.
Merrill kisses his throat, fingers roving over the lines of his shoulders, down his arms. She tries to soothe him, catching the rhythm he sets with his hips and doing her best to slow it. Whispering endearments in elvish, Merrill traces his back muscles all the way down to his hips. Shivers break out over his heated skin and he slows, nuzzling into her shoulder.
The rest of their home comes back into focus, the crackling fire, the breeze streaming through the cracked window. Merrill thinks this must mean the effects of the tea will soon end for Carver too.
"Vehnan," she whispers against his jaw. He replies with a hum of assent.
"I think it's passed. How about you?"
He buries his face further into the crook of her neck as if embarrassed. Merrill drags her nails against his scalp. His hips stutter and arms tighten around her. She forces his chin up as if to say, watch me, let me take care of you, and rocks her hips to help Carver finish for what she hopes is the last time.
He swallows a pained gasp and then squeezes his eyes shut tight as the orgasm passes through him. Carver flops back against the bed and throws an arm over his face, panting as if he'd run a flight of stairs in his templar dress. Thank the creators, his cock softens at last. Merrill stretches out carefully at his side, hand caressing his stomach.
"Some tea," he grumbles.
"Oh, Carver, I must have mistaken my yellow-capped weeds! There's a plant that looks like tansy, but grows in the rocks and I was in such a rush to help you feel better I must not have looked close enough at where these were growing out of and—"
"Merrill," he says, patting her hand. "I'd much rather be exhausted from coming too hard than because my head's about to burst."
"Oh," she replies, then giggles against his arm. Carver twines their fingers together. "So you're not upset with me? For making your cock too hard?"
"If I ever complain about that just put me out of my misery."
"Car-ver!"
They both laugh, long and hard, until their sides ache and tears curl around her cheeks to drip on his skin. A comfortable silence falls over them and Merrill sighs in relief, believing that maybe, the worst of the withdrawal has passed.