Archive of Our Own ^beta

Neutral ground had been promised, a place where both monarchs can meet and hopefully move away from their differences. Both had reluctantly agreed to make the journey to Skyhold to discuss, with several advisors, how to best move forward for both Ferelden and Orlais.

King Alistair was eager to arrive, he had hoped that with a friend in Leliana he may win more for Ferelden than Gaspard could win for Orlais. His wife too was eager to have him go. He may be a King in title but he was not a King in any other form. He was greeted by Trevelyan, bowing to kiss his knuckles, which was a bit awkward from a man some forty years his senior. But it was forgotten in favour of dinner and written apologies on Gaspard’s behalf for his tardiness. His Radiance was still suffocating for all the paperwork that still required his attention.

Gaspard had arrived a week later, an apology on his lips, and Trevelyan’s own on his knuckles. He and Alistair had awkwardly regarded each other with a nod and a murmur of recognition for their retrospective titles.

The next three weeks had been long and arduous. What the Emperor demanded was denied by the King’s advisors, and what the King requested, was thrown back by the Emperor’s advisors. It was a tally stroke match which had been even throughout, and there had been no progress. Bar the promise of several crates of nugshit.

Trevelyan had sat throughout all that he could, Josephine had done her best to mediate it. To her credit she had kept it all extremely civil, and only one man had been injured. Apparently interrupting Gaspard irritated the man regardless of who’s side you were supporting.

It had been Leliana’s suggestion, a simple voiced 'Perhaps they should settle things in a more physical way?' Spoken so loosely that Trevelyan had thought the idea perfect. He had quickly promoted the idea within the talks, saying that while it would solve nothing, it would bring them some camaraderie. Some form of shared interest, or perhaps even a healthy competition which didn’t involve entire armies.

So both men were armed and armoured, and surrounded by a rather large crowd. People jolted and pushed to get to the side of the wooden ring, some sat on the tavern’s roof, across the stairs, peering out of arrow slit windows, and the ramparts were filled with spectators with opera glasses. Vivienne had refused entry onto her balcony, only the best of the Inquisition sat beside her.

The fight started off simply, a few soft hits, deflected and parried easily. While it was advised that they fight with wooden swords, both men had baulked at the idea. But they had so been warned that a death, no matter how accidental, would cause massive warfare between the two nations.

It was Alistair who made the first heavy hit, a simple spin aimed to hit Gaspard’s shield. The clang of metal on metal had the crowd roar with excitement, and Alistair fell into another spin, and a third, testing Gaspard’s shield arm more with every hit.

“Careful, Your Majesty, try not to get too dizzy.” Gaspard taunted.

“I suppose that’s something you’re immune to, all that dancing you do.” Alistair remarked. Gaspard frowned beneath his mask and mimicked Alistair’s spins, throttling his sword against his shield. Alistair clenched his jaw as he stepped in on Gaspard’s last pirouette, his sword thrust forward. Gaspard brought his shield down heavy, using his sword to follow through to parry and forcing his shield forward. Met in kind with Alistair’s own.

Gaspard stepped back until they were in the centre of the ring once more, Alistair having been forced backwards with his opponent’s offence. The fight continued, the crowd falling silent as they circled one another. Gaspard lunged forward, knocked aside by Alistair’s blade and both men swapped positions. These simple and safer movements continued until the crowd began to heckle, the fight was boring and seemed like it was choreographed. Alistair huffed and rushed Gaspard, the man working perfectly to counter all of his moves. Alistair held fast and dug in his heels as Gaspard turned the tide, playing the offence once more.

The crowd screamed and stomped at the newfound pace. Clapping rhythmically between shouts of Alistair! and Gaspard! Skyhold seemed to come alive with the blur of the two men, both grunting as they began to sweat even in the cool mountain air. It was Alistair who drew the first blood, a scratch which cut through the gaps in Gaspard’s armour around his elbow. The people roared in excitement as the sword came back bloodied, Gaspard lunged through the pinch of pain and snagged Alistair’s cheekbone.

Alistair reeled back scowling at Gaspard. The man had the unfair advantage of facial protection, no matter how minor. It wouldn’t do if the King came back noseless, Alistair thought he’d never live that down.

“Chevalier honour.” Alistair mocked loudly, “I thought this meant fighting on equal terms, Your Radiance.”

“I’m surprised a Dog Lord has such knowledge.” A man shouted from the crowd. There was a ruffle of laughter which ripped through the Orlesians and scattered boos from the others.

“What I meant to say is that you bear a helmet Gaspard.”

“It is a mask, one would think a King would know the difference.” He snorted.

“It’s armour, on your face.” He gestured with a pointed finger to his bloodied wound. Gaspard breathed heavily through his nose before he pulled at the ties of his mask. He slipped it off quickly and passed it to one of his squires who rushed away with it carefully in hand.

“Chevalier honour means we are equal matched. You bear a breastplate, gauntlets even.” He motioned with a nod. Alistair grumbled as held his sword under his arm as he tossed his gauntlets to his squire while one tugged at the leather straps which held his breast plate. It was awkward to remove it from under his spaulders, but it was done and the fight continued.

Alistair, now a few pounds lighter, moved quicker and easier in half leather armour. He took a few scratches which split the hide, but managed to cut open six inches of Gaspard’s breeches. Alistair had laughed at the sight of a haired pale thigh, too low to reveal anything immodest, but it made the billowing fabric sag horrifically. Gaspard’s boot caught him in the chest, heavy obsidian against his ribs which forced him back against the wooden fence of the training circle.

The crowd cheered and pushed Alistair back in, allowing him to tackle Gaspard and throw him to the ground. Gaspard shoved at Alistair’s sword arm with his shield arm, his other arm pinned under Alistair’s weight. Gaspard managed to throw him off with his hips, rolling over quickly and grabbing for Alistair’s ankles.

He tugged the man quickly, pulling at his greaves and reeling back to avoid the shield to his face. Alistair followed with his other foot, crashing it into Gaspard’s head and breaking his nose.

Gaspard clambered past Alistair’s kicking boot and straddled the man, using his weight to pin him. He brought his sword down quickly, Alistair only barely managing to bring his own up in defence. The crowd was wild at the sight. Something had flickered between the men, and this was no longer a friendly fight.

Gaspard spat the blood that had run from his nose into his mouth across the dirt. He tipped his weight further forward, and Alistair used his momentum to throw the man forward and over him. Both men quickly scrambled to their feet, with dirtied armour, bleeding faces, and torn clothes they looked more like beggars and brawlers than a King and an Emperor.

Alistair fell quickly into offence, pushing Gaspard backward until he crashed into the fence. Alistair leaned on him momentarily, panting heavily into his ear, before he was pushed back. Gaspard followed through and cut down the length of Alistair’s leather sleeve, forcing the man to either suffer a heavy bleed or to throw his sword and leap backwards.

At the clatter of metal hitting the crowd, Gaspard threw his own sword down, and motioned for a squire to remove them. Alistair, not one for fighting with just a shield, loosened the straps and removed that too. Gaspard grunted as he yanked his own off. Leaving the men significantly under armed.

Gaspard’s punches came quickly, precise dodging from years of fencing and fast jabs matched by Alistair’s less practiced and more brutal fists.

Alistair aimed for Gaspard’s nose, bent and bloodied, now swelling a dangerous black against the stark pale of his face. Gaspard went for Alistair’s kidneys and stomach, more focused on disabling the man than superficial damage. Gaspard had a clear disadvantage, the wound he had first taken had split open and began to bleed more profusely and his hand was sticky wet with blood.

Both men took a brutal beating as the expanding crowd hollered and screamed for more blood.

Gaspard managed to force Alistair to the ground by hooking his ankle, he fell heavily with a grunt of pain as Gaspard collapsed on him again. His fist collided with Alistair’s face repeatedly until he managed to flip them, Gaspard’s legs awkwardly tangled about his hips and waist, with his elbow pressed heavily against the Emperor’s throat.

Gaspard was red faced and flushed at the position and the lack of air. He smacked and punched at Alistair’s arms, kicking uselessly at the ground to try and propel himself away from the man above him. He grunted with something other than pain and Alistair realised that it was not the belt buckle, or the fancy Orlesian fashion that was digging into the torn leather over his belly, but Gaspard’s cock.

Alistair awkwardly climbed off of the Emperor, falling sideways and sitting beside him drawing in large raggedy breaths.

“Truce?” He panted loud enough for the crowd to hear.

“Trêve.” He nodded, his voice was garbled with the pressure of his shattered nose, and his aching jaw dominating his tone.

Alistair fell back with a thud and pained grunt and lay on the ground for a while. Gaspard stood and let his injured arm fall limp in front of him, hiding the erection which stood rather obtusely in his light breeches. The crowd applauded when Alistair got up, murmuring about he how he was being the best man. They shook hands and both men bowed before being escorted to the healers.

Alistair’s injuries were cleaned and bandaged, and he was given a strong elfroot potion to take for the mass swell of bruising on his back and face. He’d also been advised to lie on his stomach, and use hot stones to alleviate any pain. Gaspard’s healing had been more awkward, he’d had a man trying to reshape his nose for a quarter of an hour until a different healer stepped in. She had drained the trapped blood from his nose, stitched and bandaged the wound on his elbow, and given him a wooden rod to bite down on as she twisted his nose until it reset with a loud crack. He’d had a poultice applied to his nose to soothe it and his mask was set over it carefully. Regardless of how much the woman complained.

The men met at dinner, Trevelyan between them commented on the fight. He congratulated both men on their techniques, and how they had not only displayed a finesse for heavy plate, but had switched to leathers mid battle. Both men thanked him for the compliments and the meal, and left for their own rooms when it was over.

At Alistair’s return to his quarters he quickly penned a letter to his wife. Awkwardly mentioning that the talks were going horribly, and about Gaspard’s slight mishap in the courtyard. He slept awkwardly, trying to figure out how he was supposed to put the hot stones on his own back or should he call for assistance.

Her reply came within the week, whence the talks were no better, with a simple message; Seduce him.

He had spent the next fortnight pondering over the letter. At first he had thought it a joke, and he had laughed at himself for seeking Anora’s advice. Though as he slept the thought ran through his mind, he would drop into the moment of battle once more. Straddled atop of the man, and Gaspard would grab his hips and thrust his clothed erection against him. Alistair fell back the first few times, ignoring the obvious message, but he rolled his own hips back once.

He’d leant down to kiss Gaspard, who’s nose wasn’t a blackened mess, and had thrust his own hips against Gaspard’s wildly. He could hear the roar of the crowd around them as if they were still fighting, and Gaspard flipped them. He was in his breeches not leathers, and Gaspard quickly pulled him out of those and let them tangle at his ankles, he grabbed his cock and tugged it roughly.

Alistair awoke in a sweaty mess, his own hand on his cock and an insistent knocking on the door. He was late for breakfast.

All four meals that day were taken awkwardly, he even sulked and blushed in the peace talks so much that his advisors thought he was ill.

Gaspard had arrived at his quarters that night, knocking on the door before stepping into the room uninvited.

“I thought vampires couldn’t come in unless they were invited.” Alistair jested sourly.

“I want these peace talks over with, you have been acting like a child. Moping for the last weeks after our fight. Did the truce not settle you? I’d be happy to take a rematch, a victory for-”

“No! No,” Alistair coughed and righted his voice, “The match was fine. Now if you’ll excuse me I need my beauty sleep.” He rushed. Gaspard stayed still regardless of Alistair holding the door open behind him.

“So it was the other thing.” Gaspard said.

“What? No, there was no other thing, nothing of the other, things or otherwise.”

“I apologise.” He said through clenched teeth, and Alistair laughed as he shut the door.

“I’m sorry what was that?”

“I’m not repeating myself Fereldan.”

“Did you just.. Apologise? Could I have that in writing, a souvenir from Skyhold.” He laughed, he shuffled some books around pretending to look for vellum, hoping the man would leave. He thanked the Maker when he heard footsteps retreating, though he paused when he heard Gaspard laugh under his breath. He whipped around quickly, his blood pounding in his ears as Gaspard stood with a small scrap of paper in hand. The letter from Anora.

“Seduce me?” He said. “Seduce me and take what? I hardly doubt your cock is worth handing over an Empire.”

“Peacekeeper is just fine thank you.” He scoffed.

“Peacekeeper?” Gaspard said, pausing when Alistair’s only response was to redden in his face. “Your cock is called Peacekeeper?”

“He keeps the peace.” He said with as much dignity as he could muster.

“And here we are, engaging in peace talks and you haven’t even played your best card.” Gaspard whispered low as he approached the flustered man. “Your Majesty, perhaps you should listen to your wife, seduce me, keep the peace.” He said lowering his voice as he leaned to whisper in Alistair’s ear.

“This isn’t real right? This is some trick of the fade again and you’ll be two feet taller with spiralling horns.” He laughed awkwardly. “Usually this is the part where everything falls away and I’ve revealed your secret agenda. Right?” Gaspard remained silent, but his lips tugged into a grin as he slipped his mask off. “I.. See. Anora usually does have good advice.” He stuttered.

Alistair felt awkward with Gaspard’s hand reaching up to cup his cheek, even moreso with the soft kiss framed by bristled hairs. He pressed into the kiss, opening his mouth slightly and coaxing Gaspard to do the same. Alistair felt the awkwardness slip away as his hands closed on Gaspard’s hips, twisting until their bodies were flush. Gaspard’s hand ran up between them, smoothing over the gilded buttons on Alistair’s doublet before plucking them open on the way down.

Gaspard pushed the man back and up against the wall, cupping his face in both his palms and pressing their hips together. Alistair’s hands slipped down to cup his arse, squeezing gently and massaging them slowly.

“I am no woman, Alistair.” He grumbled as he pulled away, kissing down his jawline and biting his earlobe roughly. Alistair voice his yes with a grunt and tipped his head away from the man’s teeth. “You know what I like.”

“Do I?” He said. Several thoughts ran through his mind trying to figure out when Gaspard had told him what he liked. It clicked eventually, fighting, erections, getting erections whilst fighting, “I do.” He murmured. Alistair pushed Gaspard backwards, walking them until they fell on the bed. Gaspard landing with a grunt on the plush mattress, his hands pushing away Alistair’s loosened clothing, and tugging off his under tunic.

He kissed down the man’s chest, using his teeth and tongue to pull at his nipple, and his manicured nails to rake down his back. Alistair arched into his touch, breathing heavily as he rolled his hips roughly. Smiling at Gaspard’s grunt and how he bit harder.

Alistair yelped as he was turned and tossed onto the bed. He held up his hands to stop Gaspard from sitting astride him.

“What.” Gaspard demanded.

“My back still hurts.” He winced. “Maybe we could…” Alistair made little turning circles with his finger, and thanked Gaspard we he climbed off. He stood at the side of the bed and unlaced his clothing, stepping from his boots and socks and indicating that Alistair did the same.

Gaspard shuffled to the centre of the bed, and sat upright with his legs spread and a very obvious erection at the juncture. Alistair climbed in between and placed his hands on Gaspard’s knees. He leaned in slowly, kissing the man and setting the passion back a few paces.

“This isn’t working.” Gaspard grunted as he pushed Alistair away. “You’re acting like you’ve never done anything before.”

“Yes well. You know how the chantry is.” Alistair said. Gaspard paused halfway to pushing Alistair off and stared at him, a look of ill belief on his face.

“You’ve been married for a decade.” He blanked.

“I slept with her. Once. It was awkward, and surprisingly none of your business.”

“Oh no, it is. A virgin King? Ferelden could be mine in an hour.”

“I thought cock’s couldn’t win countries.” He snapped.

“Cunts win countries.” He said, his hand palming at Alistair’s cock. “It is only your cock which cannot, it seems rather small and unimpressive to have such a title of-” Alistair yanked his fist back and smashed it into Gaspard’s nose. The man’s head snapping back and cracking against the wall. “Putain.” He yelled, his nose tender, sore and swelling.

Gaspard yanked Alistair closer to him, one hand on the back of his neck and the other grabbing at his arse, and kissed him with tongue and teeth. Alistair repaid in kind as soon as he caught up with himself. Gaspard’s tongue no longer tasted like brandy and ash but was wet with the taste of copper. He crashed their hips together, messily aligning the clothed cocks and thrusting roughly.

Alistair grunted as he was yanked around, but moaned when he felt friction on his cock once more. He pressured Gaspard’s thighs open further, and opened both of their breeches and grabbed his own cock spreading the wetness from his head and dragging it down his length.

Gaspard hooked his calves behind Alistair’s knees and forced him to spread his weight further, squashing their cocks between their bellies and gasping at the added heat. Alistair grabbed for the headboard for some sense of balance, and Gaspard used this advantage to bite and suck at Alistair’s neck. Groaning as Alistair’s hips stuttered quicker at the aggression in his teeth.

Gaspard forced Alistair’s breeches down over the swell of his arse, grabbing his cheeks and spreading them. Alistair moaned at the burn of his skin being pulled open.

“Turn over.” Gaspard mouthed against his ear. Alistair pulled back, his face red and sweating, he followed Gaspard’s movements, after throwing off both of their breeches, which left him straddling the man’s chest and facing down at his cock. He felt Gaspard spread his arse cheeks once more and yelped at the feeling of something wet swipe over his arse.

“I thought you were-” Alistair started, interrupted by his own yelp as Gaspard’s hands yanked his arse flush with his face and probed his tongue in deep. “Oh Maker.” He mumbled, arching his back and resting his head against’s Gaspard’s thigh. “Maker don’t stop.”

Alistair rutted his hips against Gaspard’s face, small little twinges as he dug his nails into his thighs. He felt Gaspard pull away from him, forcing himself down the bed and sucking behind Alistair’s balls before taking one into his mouth. He wetted them both before pressing Alistair’s cock down the length of his face.

“No wonder it was awkward.” Gaspard panted. “You seem rather lacking.” He laughed and swiped his tongue across the head of Alistair’s cock. Alistair smacked Gaspard’s thigh as he moved until he was straddling the man. “Were you the wet fish in the bedroom? Was Anora desperate for a thick cock inside of her cunt. Did she whisper and moan pretty for you?” He panted.

Alistair clambered off the man and dug through his personal chest beside his bed.

“Could you even get it up Your Majesty?” He bit. “Cloistered in the chantry with all those boys, fumbling with cocks, did you touch yourself imagining me last night?”

Alistair forced open Gaspard’s thighs and pushed him down onto the bed. He wetted his fingers with sword oil and pressed them roughly inside of Gaspard. He grunted with the pressure.

“Did you get her off on your fingers?” He breathed, moaning as he twisted and pushed and curled his fingers inside of him. “Did she get herself off?” Alistair pulled his fingers from Gaspard with an aggressive determination. “Baise-moi Alistair.” He snapped.

Alistair wetted his cock and aligned himself, he roughly snapped his hips as he pressed inside of Gaspard. The man was tight, and the arch of his back seemed to only make him tighter. Gaspard wrapped an arm around Alistair’s shoulders and kissed him roughly as he rolled his hips.

Alistair moaned at the friction, happier now that Gaspard had stopped talking about his wife, and began to hammer inside of him. Their hips slapping roughly and the sound echoing over their pants and gasps for breath.

Gaspard pushed at Alistair’s chest until he stopped with confusion on his flushed face. He pushed the man back and turned over until he was on his knees, hands spread wide on the stone wall above the headboard. Alistair knelt behind Gaspard and forced his cock back inside of the man. Gaspard grunted as Alistair started thrusting inside of him once more, following Gaspard’s instructions of harder and faster causing a brutal pace to start between the pair.

Alistair plastered himself over Gaspard’s back, one arm wrapping around the man’s waist leaving room for his cock head to thrust into a tight gap, the other arm stretched further and overlapped Gaspard’s own until their hands were pressed together, fingers locking as they fell out of rhythm.

Alistair bit into Gaspard’s shoulder to smother his cries and yelps, and Gaspard let his own grunts and moans go unhindered.

“Maker I’m.. I’m going to..” Alistair stuttered, Gaspard rolled his hips faster and grabbed for his own cock. Moaning loudly as Alistair bit harder as he came inside of Gaspard, heat spilling into him and throwing Gaspard over the edge and spilling his own mess over Alistair’s sheets and pillows.

Both men collapsed awkwardly either side of the wet streaks and gasped heavily to fight the exertion.

“Peacekeeper.” Gaspard huffed with laughter. Alistair snorted beside him. They lay for a few minutes as their bodies cooled in the night time air.

Gaspard was the first to move, picking up his discarded clothing and dressing as best he could with shaking limbs. He wiped the blood from his face and moustache in Alistair’s washbowl cursing at the way his nose throbbed. Alistair stayed in the bed, throwing the dirtied sheets and pillows off. Gaspard bit back his smile at Alistair lying there, he had blood smeared across his lips and belly, and it made Gaspard’s gut turn with want.

“It’s been a pleasure Your Majesty.” Gaspard bowed.

“And to you, Your Radiance.”

“Let’s settle these talks quickly. I grow tired of Skyhold.” He exited the room quickly leaving Alistair naked and still trying to wrap his head around why Anora had such an uncanny ability to be correct.

The peace talks were settled within a week. There were few major decisions made, Gaspard would lower the tolls on the Kings Highway and pull his troops back, and Alistair would remove his trebuchets from the border and promised that Orlais was forgiven officially for it’s recent occupation of Ferelden.

It was a few months before Alistair received a package from Gaspard, something in good faith of their continued allegiance. A sword entitled ‘Peacekeeper’ with a note regarding the length and thickness of it’s hilt.