Dragon Age One Shots

Regency Cullen 27

To Whomsoever Seeks His Grace, let it be known that Master Cullen Rutherford Duke of Honnleath and his bride Lady Guenevier Trevelyan are enjoying an extended honeymoon upon the Mediterranean waters. They shall be unreachable for two fortnights. May God take mercy on any daring enough to interrupt them.

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The sloop bounces against the waves, spicy winds from the south billowing open the sails. Cullen clutches the rudder, his nearly bare legs curled under him as he tries to call commands to the woman working the sails. Tries because by the time the words drop from his mind to his tongue she's already at the rope.

Gwen's in little more than her chemise, with naught but gulls and the puffy clouds to spy them as they traverse the blue seas in their small ship. For the past two weeks, they'd traveled the shorelines, stopping into tiny villages for meals, sneaking into small shops, and always returning to their boat to sleep under the stars.

Cullen's heart has never soared so brightly as it does watching Gwen tug the rope through the islet and knot it off. She grips to the gunwale, her eyes closed as the serene waves of the warm sea air wash over her. A thought strikes Cullen and he yanks the rudder hard to the left. The boat twists to the right, causing Gwen to stumble backwards...

Into his arms.

As he catches her safe in his embrace, those brilliant emeralds sparkle in his eyes. Gwen's perfect bottom rests in his lap, his hand smoothing down her back while the other curls around her waist. "You did that on purpose," she guesses quickly.

Guilt tries to claw over Cullen's face but he regrets nothing while holding her so close to his body. Her carefree breathing lifts those breasts he could suffocate in every night closer to view. Cullen's palm brushes over the top, his fingers flitting with the lacy neckline as she nibbles on her lip.

"I was getting jealous," he whispers to her, his other hand smoothing down to curl over her bottom. Her naked legs entwine with his; the polished wood of the boat, the sting of salty air, and her skin wrapped over his are the perfect combination.

"Jealous of the ship?" Gwen guesses. She draws her finger near the green ribbon around her throat, as if she's about to tug it apart, before they draw against his chest. Slowly, they wind lower, nesting in the mess of chest hair Cullen the sailor has revealed to the sky.

"Or," she breathes, pulling my forehead to hers. I drink her words, her lips twisted in a smile, "jealous of my skills."

"There is nothing more enticing to me than watching you work the sails," Cullen admits, still surprised to find it true. He'd embraced the Navy ideal that women didn't belong on ships, but Gwen flowed about the deck as if she was born upon one. As if he was the interloper and she a nymph of the waters.

Her smile deepens, but her eyebrows rise. "So it is my skill you wish you had. I suppose in time, I could teach you..."

Cullen pulls her flush to his lips, silencing her teasing with a kiss. He meant it to be a light affection, but as her fingers wind through his hair, her lips parting to tempt him with her tongue he dives in. To think, he nearly lost her. Not only by the pirate's gun but his own stupidity. Never again.

His wife, his Duchess, his love, breaks the kiss. Her thumb brushes against his salt and sand beard while he stares at her reddening lips. Those perfect emeralds dart to his eyes and a promise to God washes over him.

He will protect her. He will guard her from any who dare come to threaten her. He will love her with every breath in his body. And he will give her everything she ever needs.

"I love you," Gwen says first, once again beating him before the words can reach his tongue.

Cullen butts his nose to her throat opposite the bullet she took for him. Breathing in her jasmine skin, he answers, "I will always love you."

He means it in his heart, in his soul, and as her eyes search his he prays she knows that it is unbreakable.

"You know," her head swivels around the open horizon. Sunlight glints off the waves, turning them clear as diamonds atop the sapphire waters. Her fingers work down his stomach to cup against his inner thigh. "We seem to be alone."

Cullen surges forward, lips aching for hers, hands pleading to undress her. She laughs at the ferocity, giving herself without pause to his hunger. Making love to his sailor wife on the deck of a ship bobbing on the waves. Is there anything better in this world or the next?

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Deep in the dregs of Antiva, a man scrabbles over the drunkards passed out upon floors sticky with stains best not spoken of. He approaches with only slight fear for his personhood a man with a hat sporting a feather of a phoenix. "Excuse me," the man asks, placing a careful hand to the blonde man's shoulder.

The blonde man turns. His skin darkened to that of an oak tree from months on the boards glistens from the sweat of the humid Anitvan night. Breath and courage stick in the man's throat as he notices the tattoos and a sign of who he's talking to.

"Come man, I'll not bite you for speaking," the blonde says before pausing and adding, "Unless that is what you wish of me."

"Are you Zevran? The dread pirate Zevran, Scavenger of Antivan Waters, Captain of the Crow?"

"I don't much approve of the pirate nom de plume, but you have the right of it," he turns from his bottle of brandy to eye up the man brave enough to seek him out. Those deep brown eyes tell of tales that'd turn a grown man's hair white. "What is it?"

"Here," the man thrusts over a scrap of paper. "I was asked to deliver this to you by my Captain."

"Hm, Captain to Captain. I haven't had a chance to enjoy one of those têt a têts in..."

His musings fade as he unrolls the scroll to read the message the man had been carrying for over a month from Captain Pavus.

"Zevran, I've found your sister and you will never believe who she's bound herself to."

A smile of a shark winds about Zevran's lips, the torn parchment tumbling to his lap as he gazes about the room. "Well, well. Get up boys," he tips back his glass, licking off the rim before leaping to his feet. With a glint in his eye, he declares, "We sail for Honnleath."

THE END