Archive of Our Own ^beta

“You know,” Lace started, “you’re not half-bad for an Orlesian.”

Vincent looked over at her and laughed. “For an Orlesian?” He leaned toward her and gestured at her with his dagger harmlessly. Well, Lace knew he probably wasn’t planning on harming her. He definitely could if he wanted to, though. She’d only known him for about a week, but she’d seen him in more than enough fights to be certain that he could tear through her like soft Orlesian cheese. “Such a backhanded compliment, Harding-” He pronounced her name funnily. ‘Arding. It was… charming. For an Orlesian. “I ought to invade you over it.”

A bubble of national pride asserted itself in her chest. “I’d like to see you try,” she said back, leaning toward his dagger.

“The first knife-ear in history to lead an incursion on the behalf of Orlais,” he mused. His soft, cute, elven ears flickered, as if to emphasize his point. “Now, that would be quite a sight, no?”

Varric snorted from across the table. “I should’ve left you in the Anderfels,” he said. He smiled. “It’s been a week, Rook-”

Vincent rolled his eyes at the nickname. Rook. Varric had said it was some chess reference, but Vincent seemed to be pretty sure that it was just short for Rookie, as if Vincent hadn’t been a Warden for longer than Lace had been a scout. That fact still didn’t really register in her brain. He didn’t look that old. He could’ve been exaggerating. Probably was.

“And you already start trying to snag my subordinate out from underneath me,” Varric finished.

“Hey!” Lace protested. “Really? Subordinate?”

“What?” Vincent closed the distance between himself and Lace. “Come, Varric, mon ami, I am not so opposed to sharing.”

Lace pushed Vincent’s arm off of her, and, as her hands made contact with the limb still encased in his padded, Warden-blue armor, she realized that the fabric was absolutely hiding some serious muscle. “Oh, shut up,” she said, trying to ignore the way he felt. It had been… way too long. She was getting desperate, but she wasn’t that desperate. Totally not. “Seriously? Share me?”

Varric laughed, nearly spilling his ale. “I’ve been running around Thedas with that one for nearly a decade, Rook. If you want to risk getting castrated, that’s on you.”

“We Gardes des Ombres run about, risk life et leg every day,” Vincent replied. He waited until Varric was taking another sip before he spoke. “First, second, or third.”

Varric choked.

“By the Maker,” Lace said, burying her face in her hands as she tried to stifle her laughter. “That was-!” She snorted, and Vincent erupted into laughter. “That was awful!” She peered through her fingers. A few of the other patrons of the tavern were giving their table some exasperated side-eyes, clearly annoyed by how little Vincent cared about drawing attention to himself.

“But is it untrue, Harding?” His breath smelled a bit like cognac, but it wasn’t awful. It was almost… vanilla-y. Vanilla and cloves and alcohol. Licorice, too. Maybe.

She turned to actually look at him. His hair was still in those two low twintails, but he somehow managed to still be ruggedly handsome. His warm brown skin made his freckles look so different from her own, even if he had just as many as she did. His eyes were dark brown, but they sparkled when he talked, which was almost always an effort that involved as much hand movement as it did mouth movement. He reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. He raised one of his thick, black eyebrows, clearly waiting for an answer. Oh, crap. I was staring, wasn’t I? The look in his eye—that stupid, Orlesian-y, knowing look—told her, without a doubt, that she was. She tried to remember what he was talking about. Wardens? Life and- She felt her face get warm. Oh. Right. “That you’re only one fight away from losing a hand?” She asked, trying to play off her fluster. Crap. I cannot be this desperate. No way. This is stupid, Lace. By Andraste, he’s Orlesian!

Vincent held up a hand and glanced over at it, swirling his wrist. His palms were callused. Despite his accent, he couldn’t have been further from a stupid, stuffy noble. “If I do,” he said, still looking at his hand. “Lose this, that is.” He looked over at her and smiled. His hand formed a loose fist. “Would you mind if I borrow yours?” He made a… crude gesture.

Her eyes went wide, but she barked out a laugh. Her face got pinker. By the Maker, why did that work? Lace! Get it together! “At least buy me dinner, first!”

Vincent grinned. “Is that all?” He raised his hand and snapped, gesturing for a tavern girl. She was a pretty, elven girl, blonde hair and light brown eyes and tits half bursting out of her stays. Lace’s eyes may have wandered once or twice. Vincent’s certainly had. The girl walked over. Her tits bounced a little. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” Vincent said, laying on the charm. “Another cognac for myself, and…” He nodded toward Lace.

She quickly glanced at the menu. Quick, what’s the most expensive thing on there? She smiled. “One Anders-style pork roast.” She looked at the menu again. “And a… blank… mange?”

The girl gave her a strange look. “Blank… mange?” She had a thick, Nevarran accent. She turned around to look at the menu scrawled on the board, squinting to try and see whatever Lace was talking about.

“Harding, you poor Ferelden,” Vincent said, amused. “Blancmange?”

“Uh, yeah. That.” She smiled. “Blank mange.”

Vincent clutched at his chest. “Your pronunciation,” he moaned, as if physically pained. “This is like the fall of the Dales. Worse!”

The tavern girl slapped a hand over her mouth, her shock quickly turning into laughter. Her face got pink. “I-” She pulled her hand away and fanned her face. “I’ll get those right to you.” She scurried off, and, as soon as she disappeared behind the swinging doors to the kitchen, she burst into still-audible laughter.

“Alright.” Varric put his hands up. To be honest, Lace had… kind of forgotten that he was still there. “I’m going to my room before you two kids make me lose my ale,” he laughed.

“Varric, I have nearly thirty-one years,” Vincent said, rolling his eyes.

“Of what?” Varric teased.

“Age, connard.” Vincent rolled his eyes again. He gestured for Varric to shoo.

Varric took the last sip of his ale, exchanged goodnights, and headed upstairs to his rented room. This was their first night in a proper inn. After being run out of the small Nevarran town they’d found Vincent in—on top of a bar owner, beating the daylights out of her after having kicked the ass of at least half a dozen Venatori—Vincent, Lace, and Varric had been roughing it. Apparently, he’d pissed off some higher ranking Wardens, a fact that he loved to bitch about, and he’d decided to let them deal with their own problems for a bit while he, apparently, went out to make new and more exciting problems. As he told it, it had taken him about three days before some elf approached him about some agent of Fen’Harel business, and Vincent had been on a spite-fueled bender ever since. All the better for her and Varric, at least. Lace couldn’t really understand why he, an elf, was so bitterly against the elven gods, but she figured that it was best not to poke about it. Not yet, at least. 

It didn’t take long for Lace’s food to come out. Sure, this was pretty much a second dinner after a light evening meal, but she wasn’t going to complain. She was starving, and it was clear that Vincent was, too. He tried to act like he wasn’t, but as soon as she even breathed the suggestion that they share, Vincent eagerly started to tear into it.

She watched as he put a slice of pork half the size of his palm into his mouth in one go. If she was being honest, it was kind of impressive. “Hungry, huh?”

He looked up at her and smiled. “Ah, chut!” He had to speak around a little bit of food still in his mouth. “Je suis un Garde,” he said. He made a small, rolling gesture with the knife in his hand as he swallowed. “Warden. I can, ah-” He speared a piece of pork with his fork and put it in his mouth. He quickly chewed and swallowed. “I cannot begin to tell you how fast this, ah…” He gestured to the rapidly disappearing food between them. It was like a game of who could eat the fastest. So far, Lace was only managing to keep up because Vincent kept talking. “This is going to burn.” He looked up at her and raised his brows. “Especially if you keep up your end of the bargain, no?”

Right. This is him buying me dinner. “Still on that, huh?” So far, he didn’t seem put off by her shoveling food into her face like a nug. Either he liked a woman who could eat, or he was just… a man. An Orlesian, sure, and very handsome, but a man. 

He laughed, somehow managing to not choke. “Should I not be?” He temporarily put down his fork to take a swig of his cognac. “Please, Harding, my mind is not so easily changed.”

She swallowed another bite. “You, like, barely know me.”

“Do I have to know you to know you?”

“Well…”

Vincent shrugged. “It is not such a serious matter,” he said. “You Fereldens…”

“Trust me,” she said, chuckling a little. “I’m not some stuck-up prude, if that’s what you’re thinking.” She’d spent more than her fair share of time as a teenager getting hay in places it really shouldn’t have been.

“Good to know,” he said, winking.

Lace laughed. “Ugh, did you just wink at me?” She held a hand up in front of her face, blocking Vincent out. “You’re gonna spoil my appetite!”

“Ha! Should I do it again? I am craving that blancmange…”

“Oh, that is so not happening!”

It was then, with the pork pretty much completely vanished, that the tavern girl brought out the blancmange. She smiled at them when she set it down. Vincent said something flirty in Orlesian that made the girl’s elven ears go pink. She giggled and gestured to Lace, as if she was trying to direct his attention back to her. He paid for the food and his second glass while Lace was distracted by the new dessert. There were two white jelly-things with what smelled like cherry sauce poured over the top. A few cherries decorated the plate between them. It looked… really, really good. As a Ferelden, she should have been disgusted by what was so obviously an Orlesian dessert. But, as a woman who had spent way too long with nothing but field rations and Varric’s stories, she didn’t hesitate to dig in.

She put the first forkful into her mouth. It was creamy and gelatin-y and cherry-y and so good. She… may have moaned a little.

Vincent’s ears twitched at the noise, flickering like an uncropped mabari. “Is that a peek at what’s to come?” He teased.

“Dunno,” Lace said. She didn’t care that she was talking through a mouthful of food. It was too good to care about manners. “Could be. If you’re actually good.” Screw it, she thought. It’s been a while. Hunting down Solas was dirty, grueling, painful work, and it wasn’t like she was about to relieve tension with Varric. She’d much rather her tits be the subject of Vincent’s Warden tavern gossip than one of Varric’s serials.

Vincent laid claim to the other blancmange on the plate, and she only had to swat away his wandering fork twice.

Once they finished, they walked upstairs to their rented rooms. Vincent’s ear twitched as they passed by the room that he’d originally rented for both himself and Varric. He leaned down a little and whispered in Lace’s ear. “Ah, Harding,” he said. “My ears tell me that our poor friend is asleep.” His intent was obvious. “And I would hate to wake him.”

“Alright, you dog,” Lace said, scooting behind him and pressing her hands to the small of his back. “Get a move on, won’t’cha?”

He laughed and quickly unlocked the door to what had originally been Lace’s room. It was small and pretty narrow, equipped with a single, bare-bones bed. He tossed down his satchel and the sack of various bits and pieces of metal and leather armor he’d shed as soon as he sat down in the tavern.

He didn’t hesitate to start taking off his boots and his padded armor.

“Woah, woah!” Lace quickly turned to fasten the bolt on the door. “At least let me lock it, first!” Once it was closed—actually closed—she started to take off her boots.

Vincent just smiled at her. “What, and deny the maidservants a chance to stumble into this sight?” He carefully set the two waterskins he kept on his belt on the nightstand before he threw his cloth tunic to the ground, leaving him in his tight trousers and a well-worn linen undershirt that probably was, at one point, white. “You are a terribly selfish little woman, Harding.”

She smiled at him. “There’s still a window,” she said, shedding her coat and throwing it over a chair in the corner. “In case anyone is… really determined.”

Vincent turned, observing the small window. There was a tree just beyond it, its bright green leaves lit up by moonlight. “D’accord,” he said, pulling off his shirt, “let us not waste too much time.” Her dwarven eyesight let her see, clearly, the beautiful figure of his back. Its tan skin was painted in freckles, and his muscles were very, very well defined. His long, ink-black hair framed it like two velvet curtains that swayed in the breeze. He looked over his muscular shoulder to lock eyes with her. “Do not tell me you are one of those girls who prefers to keep her clothes on,” he chuckled. “That would be… such a waste.”

“You want ‘em off?” Lace asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Go ahead.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m waiting.”

Like a horse at the crack of a whip, he was on top of her, whisking her off her feet and shoving her into the bed as he stationed himself between her legs. She yelped, but the noise quickly turned into a high laugh when his hands started to undo her leather breastplate. It tickled like crazy, and she squirmed to get away, but he held fast.

Oh, crap, he’s strong. It was hot. She couldn’t deny it. He made quick—almost too quick—work of her outer layers, tossing them to the floor with thunk after thunk after thunk. A necklace dangled in front of her face, and its silver chain glittered in the moonlight. The pendant looked like a vial, and it held what she could only hope was dark, Orlesian wine. He put his hands at the base of her shirt, and she raised her arms to let him pull the linen off of her. It was pretty drenched in sweat, and she was sure that it stank like, well, a dwarf after a week without a bath, but he didn’t seem to care. Her tits came loose, and they did as all cumbersome, big tits did and sagged to either side of her chest, freckled and fat.

Vincent reached down and grabbed one without hesitating. His hand was rough, but it was still elven, and it was certainly not big enough to get everything in one go. But, like a man with way too much experience, he grabbed from the side, cupping it and squeezing upward, kneading her like dough. She moaned at the feeling. His other hand caressed the side of her hip, giving her a few passes up and down before his fingers latched onto the hem of her trousers.

“Just a- just a quick one, huh?” Lace asked. She didn’t really care either way. Honestly, a quick shag didn’t sound half-bad. Or even… slightly bad.

Vincent looked at her, amused, and took his hand off of her breast. She groaned at the loss of feeling. “You’ve fallen into bed with un Garde des Ombres, Harding,” he chuckled. “It is not standard procedure to be quick.”

She’d heard rumors of the Grey Wardens having some sort of stamina, but she’d always just dismissed it as yet another example of a dirty legend to giggle about. She’d never exactly thought that she’d get a chance to test it. “Alright. Do your worst, Vincent.”

Vincent cringed, his ears going stiff. “Maker’s breath, non.” He laughed. “If you must, use Vinny.”

“Alright, Vinny,” she said. “What, is Vincent your Da’s name or something?”

“Non,” Vincent laughed, pulling off her trousers and underthings and making her short legs reach toward the ceiling. “C’est Orlesian!” He threw her last remaining clothes to the ground. “I will not ask your precious Ferelden tongue to attempt and butcher it!”

She reached up and playfully shoved his chest. “Oh, for Andraste’s sake!”

“I would much rather your tongue find another way to prove itself,” he grinned.

“And I’m sleeping with you, why?”

“Because I am so terribly handsome you could not bear to lose the chance?” He pulled back slightly and yanked off his tight trousers. He wasn’t wearing smalls because… of course he wasn’t. All that was left on him was that silver necklace.

“Or because I don’t have any other options,” she joked. She couldn’t help but look at his cock. It wasn’t massive, but he was an elf. It fit him. It was flushed dark and standing at attention, ready and eager to bury itself in her.

“A beautiful woman like you?” Vincent let out a snort of laughter. “I find that hard to believe.”

She felt her cheeks flush. “Oh, shut up.”

He didn’t instantly sink himself into her. Instead, he let down his hair. It fell in long, dark waves for a moment before he scooped it up and tied it back into a large, messy bun. “Come, Harding,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “It does a woman no good to feign modesty once she has her clothes off.”

She bit down on her lip. Maker’s breath. I really am… naked. Super naked. “Alright,” she said. “You’re right. I’m…” She looked down at herself. She was pale and freckled all over, and a thick trail of dark red hair started well above her bellybutton and led down to a certified thicket of pubes that eventually dispersed, somewhat, into a grassy plane of leg hair. “Yeah. I’m beautiful.” She felt her heart race. “I’m hot.”

Vincent slapped the side of her hip like a prized druffalo. “Aha! Parfait!” He reached down and grabbed the back of her knees, pulling her legs apart as if they needed to be pulled apart.

“Need some help navigating the forest?” She laughed. She reached down between her legs and slid her fingers between the thick covering of hair, opening herself up. It was almost embarrassing how wet she already was. “I am a scout, after all.”

“Merci,” Vincent said, leaning forward. The stretch made her legs burn. “Merci beaucoup.”

“Is all of your bedroom talk gonna be in Orlesian?”

“Parles-tu en Commerce?”

She didn’t need to speak Orlesian to recognize the sarcastic question. “Alright, fair,” she relented, smiling and rolling her eyes. Her fingers swirled around her clit. “C’mon, Warden, get to it!”

He said something else in Orlesian, something low and sexy that managed to chip away at her good Ferelden soul and ring right against her clit.

With a tightening of his grip against her knees, he pushed into her, sheathing himself in one smooth motion. She cried out, and he moaned. They were definitely going to wake Varric up. In truth, the thought was a little exciting. He let her adjust to the feeling for a few seconds before he pulled his hips back. He got maybe halfway out before his hips snapped back against hers, thrusting in with serious force. 

Alright, she thought, giving in. It’s gonna be like this, huh? She bit down on her lip and moaned. She reached back and grabbed the creaky, slatted headboard. Might as well brace myself. She wasn’t going to complain. Vincent pulled back again for a second before he thrust in again. Even if he wasn’t the biggest man she’d tumbled with, he still managed to bury himself deep enough to force her back to arch upward in pleasure. Yep! Not complaining! She gripped the headboard like a lifeline as he thrust in and out of her at a bruising pace. With every motion, her tits bounced and the bed creaked, the low posts banging against the wall. 

His narrow, smooth, elven hips slammed against her cunt, and she was sure that she’d be sore for days. At least, she figured, if Varric had to sleep with a pillow over his head, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was limping a little tomorrow. Vincent pushed her legs further. Her thighs burned as her hips were forced further upward. His cock banged against her inner walls, the slight curve to it hitting her in just the right places. 

“Shit!” She cried out. “Maker’s breath, Vinny!” Her clit ached, but she didn’t want to be the first one to burst. C’mon, Lace! Be a patriot! She gritted her teeth. A drop of Vincent’s sweat fell onto her tits. She panted and swore with each exhale. 

“Close, no?” Vincent’s voice was rough, but he didn’t sound as close as she was to finishing.

“You- you wish, Orlesian,” she hissed through a smile. “I-” She moaned when he changed his angle slightly. Her clit ached to be touched. “That’s- Oh, that’s cheating!”

Vincent gasped. “Cheating?” He laughed. “Such an- such an accusation!” He lowered himself slightly, his chest, shimmering with sweat, growing closer to hers. That necklace of his brushed against her nose. Her thick, dwarven legs were hardly an obstacle as he fucked her. That wasn’t usually the case. “You curse me for my skill?”

“Yeah,” she panted. “Fuck you.”

“Au contraire,” he purred. “I am the one fucking you.”

“Blah-” She gasped. “Blah, blah.” She groaned. “I-” She gave in. One hand left the headboard and flew down to her clit. She rubbed it furiously as she cursed. In a matter of moments, she polished herself off. She moaned loudly as she came, her orgasm rolling through her body and spilling out onto the bed. She breathed roughly, her body buzzing as Vincent continued to thrust again and again into her. “Are you not- not done?”

“Of- of course not,” he laughed. He did, however, sound a good deal closer than he had been a minute ago.

“Andraste’s ass,” she moaned. “You’re gonna-” Despite the way that her cunt throbbed, she couldn’t deny that it still felt good. “Oh, crap, Vinny, you’re gonna hollow me out!”

“I was hoping to fill you,” he said, smiling down at her.

She recalled, vaguely, some rumor about most Wardens never having kids. Eh, whatever. She’d managed to get lucky so far. “Screw it,” she said. “Do your worst, Vinny.”

He moaned lowly, and, in a few more thrusts, his hips stilled, and he buried himself inside her as he came. His cock throbbed as he filled her, sending shockwaves up her spine. Her body burned, inside and out, but the cool summer breeze coming through the open window made her shiver.

For a moment, they were both quiet. Lace waited for his cock to grow soft inside her, but it… didn’t.

She looked up at him. His eyes were closed as he took slow, deep breaths. His tan face was flushed, and his ears were dark and droopy. “Are you, uh…?” She wasn’t sure how to ask. Done? Gonna finish soon? Pull out? Stuck like that?

“Les Garde des Ombres,” he whispered. “We are not quick.” He opened his eyes. They were large and dark, framed by long, soft, black lashes. He smiled down at her. “I imagine this is quite the ache, no?” He said, his hands slowly loosening their grip. 

“I mean-” She groaned when he pulled out. “Alright, that’s-” She felt, frankly, too much liquid pour out of her cunt and pool in her hair and on the bed. “Yep. That’s a lot.”

He laughed. “Here,” he said, letting go of her legs entirely. He urged her to turn herself over, and she obliged. “And, ah…” He grabbed her hips once she was on her front, pulling them upward. She arched her back like a short, fat little barncat who didn’t know a good idea from a bad one. Vincent whistled lowly as he grabbed a handful of her ass and squeezed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lace said, unable to ignore the way her ears flushed a dark red. It was one thing to tumble with a friend from down the road in their barn. Vincent… Vincent seemed to actually find her attractive. It was weird. Weird, but really, really welcome. “Go ahead.” She arched her back further. Her spine thanked her for the stretch.

He grabbed either side of her ass, his fingertips digging into her flesh. With a small whisper of something Orlesian, he teased at her cunt with the tip of his cock for a moment before sinking in. She moaned as he slid back inside. Her body didn’t bother to offer any resistance. She was practically falling apart at the seams, but, thankfully, Vincent didn’t seem to be the type to want a girl who was tighter than a Reverend Mother’s virgin ass.

He quickly picked up a bruising pace, the new position hitting her in brand new spots. She shivered as she felt his cock slamming against the back of her cunt, sending jolts of pleasure up her spine by way of her ass. This time, without her legs to occupy his hands, he only spent a minute gripping her with both rough palms before one of them reached around. She giggled as his fingers brushed against her stomach, the ticklish nerves lighting up as they were touched. He lingered on her stomach for a moment before his fingers navigated through her bush to find her already swollen, aching clit. She gasped and groaned as he rubbed circles against it, her hands fisting the sheets. She dripped onto the already soaked bed, her rapid breaths matching the banging of the headboard.

It only took another few minutes for a second orgasm to start bubbling up in her stomach again, and even less for it to spill out of her with a cry. Just like the last time, Vincent took a little while longer, his strong hands keeping her hips up even if she wanted nothing more than to sink into the crappy, hard mattress of the inn’s bed. He came with a low groan, once again filling her with his release.

“I swear-” She groaned as his cock throbbed. “If you’re still…”

“Still what?” Vincent laughed, even if he sounded pretty out of breath.

“Vinny…”

“Just…” He leaned down, his flat, muscular stomach pressing against the soft hills of her ass. “Perhaps… once more…?”

“Maker’s breath, you’re crazy.”

“Est-ce que…” He groaned. “Ouais? Ou non?”

She was sore. She doubted that she’d be able to walk straight in the morning. Her clit felt half ready to fall off, and her cunt was full to capacity. At her hesitance to answer, Vincent, clearly reluctantly, pulled out with a groan. Instantly, she felt empty as sex, uncorked, spilled out of her. She looked over her shoulder. “Hey, I didn’t- I didn’t say you could go,” she laughed, even if it was obvious she was exhausted. “Finish what you started, Vinny.”

He let out a sigh of relief and, without hesitation, buried himself in her once more. This time, his thrusts were clearly less precise, but she didn’t care. Sex leaked out of her like a leaky roof in a rainstorm, and sweat coated every inch of her body. She was sure that the mattress was going to have a dwarf-shaped indent on it for a long while.

In another few minutes, Vincent came with a loud, low moan, finishing inside her for the third time. This time, she felt his cock start to go soft after it began to stop pumping out its contents. How it still had any was anyone’s guess.

He pulled out and fell back onto his ass, panting. Lace flopped down onto her stomach, unable to worry at all about looking very attractive. After a minute, and with some effort, she rolled over onto her back. Her tits had started to ache from being pressed against the bed.

“Am I,” Vincent started, “to be chased back next door with a broom, or are you feeling… charitable?” He was still breathing heavily, but he seemed to be recovering steadily.

“You get chased out with brooms often?”

He smiled at her. “Of course,” he said, laughing softly. “What sort of lapin would I be if I did not?”

“For Andraste’s sake,” she chuckled. “Alright. I’m getting under the covers, though. Join me if you want.”

He left the bed and gladly climbed in after her once she had made herself comfortable. He curled up on his side without an ounce of awkwardness.

She swallowed. It wasn’t like her to share a bed after a quick tumble, but… she didn’t want to kick him out. Besides… She cozied closer to him, and he wrapped an arm around her. Despite the hardness of his lean muscles, he wasn’t a half-bad snuggler. Best get used to it now, she figured. Maybe this would be a regular thing. That… didn’t sound half-bad.

“Harding,” he whispered, pulling her from her thoughts.

“Yeah?”

“If I…” He yawned. “If I start thrashing…” He chuckled sleepily. “Just toss me to the floor, ouis?”

She furrowed her brow. “You, uh, you thrash a lot?”

“Mhmm.” He held her tighter. “Nightmares of the Wardens.”

“Ah.” She’d half-forgotten about dreams. Spending so much time with another dwarf would do that. Sure, she’d woken up a few times in the last week to some noise or another, but it hadn’t occurred to her that it might’ve been Vincent thrashing around or crying out in his sleep. “Yeah, that’s fine,” she said. “I’ll kick ya.”

He closed his eyes entirely, and a soft, easy smile fell into place on his features. “Merci,” he said. “Bonne nuit.”

She closed her eyes, too. “Night, Vinny.”

Within only a few short minutes, his breathing grew deep and slow as he fell asleep beside her. She opened her eyes, blinking away the midnight darkness, and kept watch for a little while longer. His face was soft, but she could see small lines around his eyes she hadn’t noticed before. She stroked his hair. It was thick, but it had the softness of silk. Eventually, her blinks grew longer. No sign of nightmares. The coast was clear. She ended her little scout’s watch and fell asleep beside him.