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Morning

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Being sore first thing in the morning was something Threnn had gotten used to. It had something to do with age, lifting boxes, flinging swords, and spending her life on the hard ground and in tents like this one.

Today was a different kind of sore. A good one. She smiled down at the blonde head of Wyn Lavellan as she stirred, still wrapped in her arms from the night before, bearskin blanket shielding their nakedness from the Maker’s eyes and the biting wind of the new day.

“Morning,” Wyn murmured groggily, placing a kiss on Threnn’s bare chest and smiled up at her from under an elegant chaos of platinum hair, which concealed most of her vallaslin but not the grin that lighted her face.

“Good morning, M’Lady,” Threnn greeted politely, brushing her hand along Wyn’s forehead, smoothing away her strands of hair.

Threnn still struggled with this idea, being here, having the Herald of Andraste in her arms, as naked as the day she was born. That was the trouble with titles, station, and especially, human religious traditions. What mattered far too much, created so much unnecessary happiness. Could they not be two women in love with each other? Wyn's sleepy lavender eyes told her as such: Not now. Not this morning. Argument isn’t how she wanted to look on Threnn, today.

“Quartermaster,” Wyn retorted, unable to contain her sarcasm. She turned her head, affording Threnn the chance to admire the elegance of her neck and jaw, and she kissed Threnn’s hand before placing another one on her pale, freckled chest. Threnn smelled so wonderful, felt even better. Wyn couldn’t resist another kiss farther down, toward Threnn's stomach, covered in freckles that begged to be cherished with more kisses.

Threnn sucked in air and let out a chuckle. “Love...” she said in a low voice and twisted her hips as the touch of her lover burned her thighs. It wasn’t a protest, but she was still nervous.

She bit her lip as Wyn moved lower and then motioned for Wyn to stop as she heard voices outside her tent.

“Has anyone seen her?” It was Hess and one of Harritt’s men. “She’s usually the first one here; you’d think she lived here.”

“Well, she does, sorta.” Hess replied, likely pointing at the tent. “If I were to hazard a guess, probably still asleep.”

“Figures. The one time I have something she might not yell at me for, she’s too lazy to actually show up.”

“You can tell me.”

“Can you wake her?” Harritt’s man asked, sending a chill of ice down Threnn’s naked body.

“Just let her sleep.”

Harritt’s man grumbled something and moved off allowing Threnn the opportunity to breathe a sigh of relief. Her heart pounded hard enough Wyn likely heard it. The idea had been that, despite whatever fun was had, the two of them would be dressed and up before anyone was able to notice they were gone, or exiting Threnn’s tent together. So much for that.

More voices were starting to gather. How late was it?

“Oops,” Wyn whispered with a chagrined look, sliding back up to Threnn’s face and kissing her lips.

Threnn couldn’t help a chuckle. “The one time...” her low voice trailed off as Wyn ran her fingers through her short, red waves and pressed her lips to her forehead, strands of platinum blond tickling Threnn’s nose and jaw, filling the air with warmth and the aroma that the quartermaster associated with love; with Wyn Lavellan.

“I think I can forgive you,” Wyn whispered through an enchanting grin.

Threnn's thighs warmed at the realization that Wyn was still resting on top of her, exquisite and naked, flames lapping around lavender irises that only stoked embers left from the night before. This couldn’t happen now. Hess was good about respecting her privacy, but what about someone else? Like Cassandra or one of Harritt’s men. Wyn also hated the cold, hated being looked at to begin with let alone with snickered glances talking about the idea of her being taken in the middle of the Chantry courtyard by the quartermaster. What a thought that would be, she thought, her thighs burning at the idea.

Here, in front of everyone? Wyn's naughty grin told Threnn everything she needed to know. As if there would be a protest. Especially with Wyn swinging her legs over her torso and straddling her.

“Shh...” Wyn shushed, placing a finger on Threnn's lips, her heart beating loudly through her chest and wetting her center as she kissed where her fingers had been, tasting Threnn's hot sigh.

Even in the dull light of the tent, Wyn's lover was rosy, flushed, tortured. Threnn was the most beautiful warrior in all of Thedas, and here she was, all hers, under her hands, her lips and tongue twined around her, lapping lecherous spells cast in humid tomes that left Wyn wanting only more.

Wyn arched into Threnn’s hands and bit her lip to stifle a moan as they slipped down her waist to her ass and kneaded her flesh possessively. She could have it all, body and soul alike, they were all hers for the taking. Except, she wanted her quartermaster first.

Letting out whispered giggle, Wyn touched her lips and tongue to the soft freckled flesh of Threnn’s collarbone, chest, before disappearing under the blanket and taking an erect strawberry nipple in her mouth. Her breasts were perfect like the rest of her, deserving of all of the love that Wyn had to give.

“Maker...” Threnn mouthed, and let out staggered breaths she hoped were quiet enough, but was fast losing control enough to care.

Wyn moved lower tasting the quartermaster every way she went, marveling at the soft plush of her abdomen, the way she shuddered under her hands and parted her legs without encouragement as Wyn pushed her nose into the thicket of red curls, soaked in heady sex and drank in long strokes of her tongue.

Threnn shuddered and writhed as she fought the war to make noise, spilling tortured pleasure into the Herald’s mouth, who only seemed to want more. Why her? Why all of this? Oh this wasn’t a complaint. She bucked her hips into Wyn, grabbing a nearby tunic and balling it up against her mouth, she let out a cry against it, exploding in wild ecstasy that come from somewhere beyond this world.

Pulling away, Wyn pulled the blanket to around her shoulders and smiled drunkenly, her hair pasted against her brow. No noise...no noise...she thought as she kissed her way back up Threnn’s torso and to her mouth. “You are everything...’ she whispered against Threnn’s mouth, only to have her love grip her by the hips and roll her onto her back.

The blanket was off, exposing her naked skin to the chill of the morning, and even better, afforded her a view of the quartermaster’s thick, handsome body, round muscles of her arms and stomach quivering under light touches as the warrior's head tilted back and she bit back a wet sigh of ecsatacy before she took Wyn's wrists in her hands and pinned her. A delicious ache coursed through Wyn's body, causing an uncontrolled moan she hoped wasn't too loud.

“Come here...” Threnn growled in a low, carnal voice against Wyn's ear.

“Has anyone seen the Herald?” A muffled Seeker voice asked from just outside the tent.

This was getting so much better.

She yearned for Threnn’s hands, the mere idea burning away any of the ice in the wind coming from the gaps in the tent. Biting her lip against another uncontrolled noise, Wyn took one of Threnn’s wrists and brought her hand between her thighs. “Fuck me, my love,” she begged.

Worry knit on the quartermaster’s nutmeg brow, but the idea of stopping was long gone. If Cassandra came in here, she would have to deal with the eye full, as would the rest of Haven. Maybe they would get a lesson or two. Wyn was slick and hot with desire, bit down on Threnn's shoulder as she pushed inside of her. Tilting her hips to allow Threnn as far as she could, go she bucked against her.

Creators, this woman was good at this. Wyn curled around her love and dug her fingertips into her back as the quartermaster whispered into her ear, obeying her unspoken pleas of harder, faster...more...more until the world faded away, erupting into vibrant colors and sounds, emotions. smells, her lover. No...her love. The woman she loved and she smelled so good, felt so good. If love was a person, she was it.

“I wouldn’t...” Cassandra’s muffled voice was the first one that Wyn Lavellan heard as she came to. She was turning someone away from the tent.

She knew.

Threnn lay on her back, bare to the world, her chest heaving. “I’m afraid to go out there.” She echoed Wyn’s fears and covered her face with her hands. It was about the same color as her hair and earned her a kiss...though, rolling over was a harder task for Wyn than she had anticipated.

“At least you can disappear into the Fade and walk out somewhere in the safety of the Chantry. I have to look people in the eye,” Threnn continued.

“So do I,” Wyn reminded her and then snorted. “At least we did it in front of the Chantry and not in it.”

“You wouldn’t have been the first,” Cassandra replied on the other side of the tent.

At that Wyn turned bright red.

“Maker...” Threnn breathed.

At least it was Cassandra and not someone else, but it wouldn’t stop the rest of the camp from talking. And in front of the Chantry of all things. Regardless, Wyn felt no regrets. And judging by the look of happiness behind Threnn’s concern, she felt none either. Hiding wouldn't help all the rumors, the ribbing, the whispered snickers at Flissa's or the embarrassed looks around the War Table, snide humor tossed in her direction by Madame de Fer and Sera. At least for the moment, it was all worth it, and there could only be one proper response to it:

Wyn pulled Threnn into another wet kiss. "Own it," she said.