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The days since Vilya disbanded the Inquisition were quieter, slower, lazier; full of late mornings and passionate nights. And every one was spent with the man currently watching her with a hunger that had nothing to do with the halla cakes and fruit she was sitting on the table before him.
“My lady–” Blackwall's voice all but growled out her title as he caught her wrist before she could turn for her own chair. His rough thumb stroked along her rapidly quickening pulse, his brown eyes drifting along the curve of her face to the smooth skin of her neck as he murmured, “Perhaps breakfast can wait a little while…”
She was inclined to agree with him as she easily folded into his waiting arms, his broad chest beneath her fingers as she mapped his muscles with the shape of her touch. He always knew just what to say, just how to respond as a deep rumble vibrated from him and into her bones. No man, elf or shem, had ever captivated her so. Or drove her to such heights of pleasure as his knee slid between her thighs and he inched her even closer.
But the heat building between them was cooled as a loud knock echoed in the tense stillness of the room.
“Oh what could it be?” she grumbled with frustration as she reluctantly pulled away from his tempting grasp. And her irritation was only inflamed further as she opened the door to find three of the clan's teenagers sheepishly awaiting an audience.
By the Creators, maybe moving her people onto her land wasn't such a good idea after all.
“Hahren,” the oldest began with a respectful bow of his head. He at least didn't flinch at Vilya's harsh scowl like the other two, though his voice did waver as he asked, “Can we borrow your shem? One of the aravel wheels broke and needs to be repaired. The Keeper says he's good for that.”
"He isn't my pet,” she replied with an annoyed frown. Her tongue pressed behind her teeth, holding back all of the curses she wanted to utter when the young one just shrugged.
“OK... but can we still borrow him?”
She wasn't sure whether to laugh or rage. It was wonderful that Clan Lavellan was coming to accept Blackwall and that he made her so happy, but they decided to do so at the most inconvenient of times.
Vilya was seconds from telling them exactly how little she cared to share her shem, but as always Blackwall interjected in his steady way.
“It's alright,” he assured as he stepped beside her in the doorway. His large hand wrapped her hip, giving it a calming squeeze before he added, “Just give me a moment to gather my tools.”
“'Thank you, ma lath.” Her eyes narrowed at the group before she softened as she turned to her love. Her body brushed his, reminiscent of their earlier heat when she pressed closer to grace his cheek with a gentle kiss. And the young ones had the decency, or perhaps the discomfort, to give them a moment of privacy as they stepped off towards the forest.
“Teenagers,” she sighed with an exasperated shake of her head. “I swear to the Creators–”
“Just wait,” Blackwall chuckled with a crinkle to the corners of his eyes as buried his face in the crook of her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. “We will have a few of our own before long. Perhaps when I return that will be the next project I work on.”
He winked as he released her, a playful grin on his face at the flush of her cheeks. The promise of his words hung in the air as he disappeared towards the shed to grab his tools. And Vilya covered her mouth with her hand to stifle her laugh before she slipped back inside to await his return.