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[Sylrien]

Author's note: Hey guys, yeah, dragon age fanfiction. It's....well, it is what it is. Feel free to post thoughts and whatnot, as I love criticisms and thoughts and feedback and all that jazz. Also! As a challenge, I dare people to guess at the decisions/classes/relationships/endings that took place, as it is modeled loosely on my own playthrough. This will be romance/adventure, because I'm lame like that. A few liberties are taken with the way the game plays out, and well, I just hope you like it.

Short Summary: This takes place after the end of Origins. The Warden is dead, but when one journey ends, another begins.

(Oh god oh god, I can't believe I"m posting this to the forums)

Prologue

In Denerim there was a park next to the palace of the king. In the center of this park there lay a sarcophagus of gray marble, with a live oak shaped around it, the trunk molding to cover about half of the surface. Leaning against the tree was a marble statue of a seated Elven woman. She had been made to look weary if relieved, her thin blades laying next to her, one hand just brushing a lock of hair behind slender pointed ears. It was if someone had just spoken to her, for she looked askance at something to her left. In front of this tomb there was a rose bush that bloomed constantly throughout the year, no matter what season it was. A small courtyard was formed around the sarcophagus by a series of arches, a wall that separated the sleeper there from the rest of the world, yet opened her to all that would pay respect. At dusk every night there would be an elven voice that sung a lament for the woman that lay there, wishing her well and bidding her to rest at the end of her long, arduous journey. At the feet of the stone woman there was an inscription:

"Sylrien Tabris: Grey Warden of Ferelden.
You are the drop of water in the still pool that saved our bodies, and our spirit.
Your time has come, now rest your weary eyes, beloved.
Our hearts are grey, we are filled with sorrow but forever will we sing of you. "

 The King of Ferelden, known to Tabris when she was alive, granted the Denerim Elves unprecedented freedoms and gave the Dalish their own lands. Alienages across the known world demanded the same rights and favors that those of Denerim had, and for a people that had been bound by poverty, they once more knew light. The city elves met and traded with their 'wild' brethren freely, and from that union traditions were reborn and ties strengthened. Ten years after her death, after her sacrifices, Tabris was a name spoken like Shartan; elves began venerating the old gods, much to the Chantry's chagrin and their keepers spoke of seeing Tabris fighting Fen'harel in the Fade, working to free their gods from heaven and serve as jailer to the lords of the abyss. She became to the elves as Andraste was to the humans, and statues of her mimicked the tomb at Denerim, the weary elf sitting at the base of the vhenadahl. Upon the eleventh anniversary of her death, it seemed she granted her people another boon: Their aging had begun to slow, and no longer did they fall prey to sickness and disease. Keepers and Hahren alike claimed that Tabris had emerged victorious in her battle against the Lord of Tricksters. This was not quite true, for in light of this new golden age the seed of hope and joy had been planted in the hearts of the Elvhanan so did their people flourish. Halamshiral was reborn.

So when the first pilgrims came to her tomb on the twelfth anniversary of the end of the Blight and found the tree fallen, the roses on the bush wilted, and the tomb cracked open to reveal nothing...There was a wail that echoed through Denerim unlike anything the city had ever heard before...

~

I see it. There is no Golden City when I enter the Fade - there is no landscape of twisted and torn bits of land. There is Arlathan, and I see before me all my ancestors - I see my mother smiling, proud and regal...Was she always so? She was not broken, beaten, her blood no longer stains the stones of the Alienage. All at once I know the lost ways of our people, the shining shields of the Emerald Knights, the magics and lore and traditions that had always existed in my mind as half whispers or shadows. There was pain and sorrow before; my heart ached as surely as my body as the blade hit the heart of the Archdemon. There was so much darkness followed by such light - this light. The Elvhanan are not gone. They are here, and I see them in the heavens dancing and singing with our gods.

Mythal and Elgar'nan greet me. They let me sit by them and sing to me welcomes and praise. They whisper the secrets of the world to me, telling me my pointed ears are made so that I might hear the gods better in my life before this. Tears are wept in sorrow and joy for those that are not with us, and time passes as it did in the ancient days - all at once, yet forever long. I leave the trappings of the cities - those poor, unloved places - to run free, free and wild among the hawk and hare. I am no longer Tabris, yet I am Tabris. More and yet, nothing at all. I am elf.

This is bliss. When Arlathan was swallowed by the earth, the gods saved it and raised it to the heavens. I live here now (You are not finished) and all that has passed before is a dream. I am free of the Taint. There are names I remember, people I see here...There is the room of a thousand pools...I look into them and see dreams of former companions. I hear my name (Sylrien) whispered on the winds whenever it is spoken by  friendly lips. I will live forever, hunting, singing, dancing and weaving and all the things that make the life of the Elvhanen what it is.

Sometimes I see comrades that are not of the Elves. They journey here from their Maker's side to celebrate and spin tales fine and wondrous. The King Cailan is there, and all of the Wardens. Some of which I knew - Duncan is here, and he  pats my back. His brothers and sisters-in-arms raise a cup to me. Garahel is here, the slayer of the Archdemon before I. We embrace and share in the misery and release of that grave duty. (You may be done with this world, but I am not done with you.) We dance beneath the moonlight and I love and am loved in return. And this bliss will last forever, and one day the gates of the heavens will be opened and all the rest of the world will join us in purity and light.

(Not yet, Warden. Not yet.)

Modifié par Sylrien, 11 juin 2010 - 08:04 .

[Sylrien]

P.S. Also, if there is anyone interrested in proofreading chapters for continuity and character issues, basic editting, please, please let me know. ><

[MarcusDeVarro]

cool story

can't wait so read more

oh and don't be worried about posting stuff lol

[tallon1982]

Sounds good so far. I'm willing to be a soundboard for you Syl and anyone else just wanting to bounce stuff off me. I used to edit stuff for my friends.

[Sylrien]

Chapter One

Suddenly she knew pain. There is a bright, blinding pain enveloping her entire being. In this pain, all of the joy Tabris knew, all of the memories of what lies Beyond, are wiped out and forgotten. She came back to this world with a scream as her body lurched forward, writhing in agony as her eyes rolled back into her head.

 "Stop!" She cried, "STOP!"

She remembered her last moments - the sound of her swords sinking into the flesh of the dragon thing, felt the demon's soul entwine itself with hers and leave her body. There was a man, with eyes of amber, holding her and telling her to stay, telling her not to leave him. But she was gone, she could feel the cold overcome her body even as his lips, his warm lips pressed against her own, trying to pass some of his life, some of his warmth to her. Sylrien pushed him away. This was the choice she made for her people, for all of Ferelden. He had to be strong for her; he was her heart, and she would always be with him as long as life flowed in his veins.
 "But you promised..." The warrior moaned, clutching her frail form against his own. "You promised you would stay, that you would help me lead. You must keep your promise..."
 There were some promises she had to break, some promises she had lied about in order to keep going through the hordes of things that she had to do battle with. He would understand in time.
"Alistair..." Sylrien murmured, after the pain had subsided. "Alistair..."

'Yes, yes, you broke your promise to the young King. You did what you had to do. If it were not for your empty promises, I would not be here to repay my debt to you. But my my, you are a troublesome Warden." A female voice called out to her amidst the blinding the pain, rich and sultry, with a clipped accent. "If you had taken lovely Morrigan's offer, you would still be there with him, but that would have been too easy for you...This makes the second time I have brought you back."

Grey eyes snapped open as she tried to sit up but her arms did not seem to work. She fell back, and was aware for the first time of sheets, silken sheets. That rich laugh echoed in her ears as she looked up, looked around. There was a figure there, draped in a dark blue silk. That figure looked down at her with yellow eyes, and raven hair framing a pale, unblemished face.

"But ...But Morrigan..." Tabris murmured, still hazy and numb from the pain. "Your mother, why did she...save us from the tower? I have had such terrible....awful dreams..." Again that laughter rang out as her gaze became clearer. It was the face of the Wilds Witch that looked down at her, but not the surroundings...this was no hut in the wilds, but a grand room. Looking down, Sylrien spied a scar along her thigh - she received that when...when she was ambushed in the Temple of Andraste by cultists...

Why could she not move her arms? Again she tugged, tried to move. A manicured hand, riddled with ancient looking rings pushed her chest down. Sylrien was once more flat on her back, but as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, she was able to make something out about her surroundings. They were in a room bedecked with rich furnishings: gilded mirrors, tapestries and the like. Light flickered from flames encased in glass lamps, and the air tasted thick - thick and coppery? 'Blood she thought, immediately trying to work against her bonds. The longer she stayed awake, the faster she regained some measure of herself. She should have been dead - she had killed the Archdemon, she had felt it grab at her soul and felt the life ebb from her.
"Morrigan!" She shouted, "What have you done to me?"

Again that musical, dangerous laugh. "Morrigan? Ah, yes, that was my lovely daughter. She thought herself free of me, but you made sure 'twas not so." Suddenly she became aware of a needle-like scraping against her skin, looked up and saw the witch carving straight into her skin. She must have made some noise, some gasp or another, for the woman looked up and down at her captive. "See, if you would have convinced your young King to lay with my daughter, then she would have born the tainted child and you would have known freedom...and life. But things rarely go as we plan, hmm? When you spared my life, I was certain that you would have done more to spare his, or your own."

"What, what madness are you speaking of? Morrigan - you called me sister once, you-"

"Silence!" The beauty snapped back, something flickering in her yellow eyes before she purred softly, meticulous in whatever macabre needlework she was engaged in on the pale flesh of the elf. "Morrigan is no more, child. She is now as you were, and 'tis of no use to speak of it." Another throaty purr as the blade cut deep. Whatever had numbed the pain before had begun to wear off, and Sylrien gritted her teeth, whimpering slightly. "Hush now, this is delicate work. One wrong flourish and we shall both be joining the Fade. Would you have the veil torn open on the vain hope of escape? Leave the world to ruin because you could not lie still?"

Begrudgingly she submitted to the woman, closing her eyes. There was no escape from this, yet.

Hours passed like eternity before the witch stood, satisfied with her work. "Child, you do make a fine canvas. A shame such things are forbidden. yes? Ah, 'tis no great matter. You have what belongs to me, and I will not have an elf upsetting my plans. The question is, what shall I do with you once I have claimed it?" Was a second death to be her fate? Tabris began to struggle in earnest, attempting to hold back her sobs. Her senses were on fire, her skin , her entire body aching and bleeding. "Please...please, no more. I..."

A fourth time that sweet, hateful laughter rang in her ears. "Oh, do not worry. I would still owe you a boon for sparing me the hardship of leaving my old form, and allowing me to settle into such a well prepared vessel! Do not worry, I know what I shall do with you, and you will not find it unpleasant. Now sleep, sleep child. You are bound once more to the Fade for a little longer yet..."

The elf tried to protest, tried to shrink away from the fingers that touched her forehead, tried to block out the soft whispering of words, and tried to fight off the drowsiness that began to overtake her. But it was all in vain, and as her eyes fluttered shut, the laughter once more filled her ears. It was all she could do utter a single word.

"Flemeth."

[MarcusDeVarro]

good work

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: Sorry about the delay, folks. Been agonizing over getting the chapters right. Hope you like Zevran!


Chapter Two

In another part of the world, weeks later, Zevran Aranai would prop his hands behind his head, inhaling the sharp sweet air of Antiva City.  It was the late afternoon, and he had just spent most of his late night and early morning with a bewitching creature-a woman by the name of Sheyanna. She had eyes like coal and wicked red lips. She had been a dancer in the tavern he had business in, and he could not resist the allure of her swaying hips underneath layers of gauze. After his dealings had been finished, he figured that he deserved a little something, a someone who he could unwind with. It was only after she had been straddling him upon a divan that she had put the knife to his throat, demanding him empty his pockets or else she would empty his veins was he truly sold on her. He had reminded her that the wine he had so freely plied her with had been poisoned, and in the end they came up with a rather pleasant arrangement. He'd give her the antidote and she would drop the blade. Of course after all that cloak and dagger, he had realized they both needed a rather thorough bath...

But that begged the question, in the thin layers of skirt and top he had enjoyed feeling before the intrigue, where had she hidden such a large knife? Ah, probably not best to think about it. They had quite an evening, really and she must have been pleased, because there had been a bit of bloodletting after all....Heh. She had definitely been an interesting night's amusement. Maybe he could stretch out that fun for a few more evenings. He smirked softly to himself  as he walked out the balcony, observing the busy marketplace in the afternoon sun, looking out over the towers and estate-like fortresses that dotted the city's skyline. There was a job tonight, from someone that had requested his services by name. Zevran idly wondered who was trying to trap him or kill him this time. It surely was not anyone behind the Emperor, for he had led the assault against his enemies himself at the behest of the man's mother. He loved concubines-they were more devious than he was, and always mixed their business with pleasure. That was what made them so deadly. And fun.

But before setting out, he took out a silver bar, thin and pure, from the pouch at his side. It had been a gift from her so many years ago. When boots had and gloves had long worn out, it was these few permanent, shiny things that were left of her. He had once commented on her eyes, he thought. 'Lovely Warden..." he murmured to her one passing evening. 'If I could somehow mine silver in your eyes, ' What had he done? Oh, he had sneaked a kiss on the nape of her neck, purring into her other ear. 'Such a pure silver could be fashioned into a necklace that would make all the stars in the sky weep with shame...' She had bolted from him before he could steal another kiss, laughing and threatening him with a smile on her face. But he had felt her tremble slightly when their skin touched, he knew what images she had conjured in her mind. A week later he had found the bar in his tent, though she never said a word about it. Now it was his luck charm, and like he had done for twelve years, he pressed it to his lips for a moment..

Later on as he rappelled down the spire of one particularly tall tower, he mused on the circumstances of this job. It was an Orlesian woman, some adviser to their gaudy Empress. Apparently she had the ear of the Empress but little else at the court in Orlais And since dealing with royalty and their advisers had become a specialty of his, all the way back with the Teryn Loghain....If silence had not been of the utmost import he would have laughed. The turn of events at *that* instance had been entirely accidental, but rumors swirled about how he had played the various figures at the Ferelden court at the behest of the bastard prince Theirin. It was not an easy feat to murder one of Ferelden's most admired heroes and make it look legitimate without protests and riots. Few knew that his paranoia almost damned the entire country, and fewer still that Loghain had been guilty of regicide himself. Shame about that Queen, though. There was a rose condemned to wither in her tower. A tower much like the one he was about to storm. Half-hoping that he would indeed find a damsel in distress with whom he could share an evening's entertainment with, he fastened a claw into the base of the spiraled top of the building, and in three...two...one...jumped and swung into one of thin windows on the tower's surface-

With his feet flying into the face of a guard that had been patrolling the stairs. Just as he calculated, the man was slammed against the wall, cushioning the impact the lithe elf made. There had been guards at the base of the tower, and a guard at the balcony at the top. He had seen the regular shadow pass up and down, so his timing was essential. Neither groups at either end would hear him in the middle, and they would think the lone guard talking to either groups. Cutting himself free of the rope, he began to bound up the stairs, soft leather boots barely making a sound, he was so quick. Zevran figured he had maybe half an hour to do the deed and get out. Soon the door came into view, but he could sense something...heavy in the air. His speed brought him right up to the closed door, steeping down to take a look at it. There was no lock, and there was no keyhole. These doors were not made to be barred, but....

He lifted up his mask and leaned in so that his nose was less than an inch away from the wooden surface of the door. Slowly he inhaled, then breathed softly. A light violet shield shimmered in front of the door, crackling with energy. Magic. Nice.

But he was prepared for this. While he only ever used two daggers when engaged in combat, he kept a third, twisted blade on his belt. This weapon never saw actual combat. "Candor Illumina Libere" he whispered, drawing a circle with the tip on the door. The shield fizzled again before dissipating, leaving the door open to him.  The room was luxuriously appointed if not very well lit. In the middle there was a canopied bed with a formless lump of a body buried beneath sheets and blankets, an oil lamp flickering and casting long shadows over everything. "Far be it for me..." Zev whispered,  "To disturb the lady's rest." With his eyes to the figured of the guard looking out over the balcony, he made his way to the center of the room. Drawing a long, curved blade, he began to part to the veils of the canopy, better to look at his target and make sure his blade struck true. The woman stirred in her sleep, turning and rolling to face Zevran. Always the gentleman, he bowed his head to her, before drawing back the blanket and beginning the downward arc that would bury the dagger in her heart-strange instructions, he thought in that second...

Only to have the dagger clatter to the floor as he saw her face. What trick, what devilry was this? He caught the motion of the guard turning toward them, the door to the balcony opening when the light from the lamp sputtered out. In that second everything vanished, everything changed. The guard flickered out of existence, the luxurious interiors vanished, the bed-the bed changed from a elaborate canopy to a thin wooden frame, but she, she remained. She was supposed to be dead. In twelve years she had not aged a day, the same pale skin, the raven hair, and the lines formed at the corners of her mouth. He had teased her about those lines, that a beautiful woman as she should only be laughing and smiling, that such frowns would leave marks more permanent and uglier than any scar. Several minutes passed before he could find his voice.  "Sylrien," he whispered hoarsely, afraid to blink, afraid look away lest she disappeared. "Sylrien, is that you?" The Warden he had tried to banish from his mind for years, the woman that none could ever compare to...She was laying right here in front of him, and most importantly, she was alive.

Modifié par Sylrien, 15 janvier 2010 - 09:32 .

[frostajulie]

WOW! Good work.

[tallon1982]

Kudos on the work

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: Thank you for the feedback, everyone. I can't tell you how much it's appreciated. I hope you like my little story >< Anyways, it wouldn't be Dragon Age without sex, so keep an eye out for that in next few chapters! 

Chapter 3.


I have an oak staff, and a cedar branch. I shall use these to find my way in this place, I shall scatter the ravens of fear and deceit. Time has no meaning in this place, and it feels like I have been here for aeons. My thoughts turn to memories of an encounter I am not sure was real. I remember a voice and a face I once knew, but the eyes-gods in the heavens, those eyes were not of the woman I knew. I had seen those eyes many times before, but never have I realized what lay behind them. An abomination, an evil so great it fooled me. I thought them witches, I thought she an old crone, with no less of right to die than that of her daughter. Apostates, maleficar...Is that what he called them? How long has it been since  I heard his voice? How long was I...? Dead. I was dead and the witch brought me back. Just as she had before at Ostagar. But what purpose do I serve for her now? No, I did not have a purpose. I was always a means to an end. Morrigan-back when she was Morrigan and I considered her friend, had said as much. In order to live through slaying the archdemon, I had to let her conceive a child with my love. Alistair, I would not let you do such a thing. I wanted to be selfless-for you to have a bastard? One imbued with the essence of an Old God? No good would come of it. But I didn't want to share you either; I didn't want to know you had a child with *her* when my womb would be forever barren to you. I was afraid there would  be a chance you would have fallen in love with her, a beautiful human you could be with freely.

I am afraid. No. I will not be afraid, I will drive the ravens of Fear and Deceit away from me. I would give everything to know your arms again. We have bond stronger than anything in this world, forged in the fires of Ostagar. I will find you. I will find you. But first I must make my way through the Fade. Faith, my love, I will have faith in our love. I feel eyes on me. No doubt the demons and spirits that haunt this place. I have defeated them before- let them cower! I would travel this place for eternity to see your face again. I shall not fade!

(Well then, I told you that I would rise from the dead if it meant  putting you on the right path, Warden. Shall I commence with the finger-wagging?)


~


All that thought they knew Zevran in Antiva City were in for a shock at his transformation over the course of the week after the job at the tower. He became reclusive, no longer seeking companionship at the end of a night's business. While his schedule remained largely unchanged, he began pass off contracts to other Crows, hastened to his apartments instead of spending midnight hours in taverns drinking and reveling. Those that seemed to know him best whispered that a woman had cast her spell over him, that he was under the deadliest of enchantments - love. There were rumors of how he returned one night carrying someone in his arms, wrapped in a cloak that obscured his guest from the view of his guards. Others added-didn't he send servants out on strange tasks, retrieving parcels from various shopkeepers: a dressmakers, a jewelers?

So he was doting on a woman, others countered. What is so strange about that? Why, no-one had seen her, no-one knew who it was, and while Zevran did not lack for subtlety in his work, he was an extrovert who made known his love of wine, women and song. Still, what of those others he had summoned to his quarters? The mages, the scholars? Bent and hooded figures who were not the type to be found in the elf's regular company? Why, another exclaimed, he had even seen a priest of a chantry leave his home, and one of those elves who were painted and inked and wore leaves and bark! Sounds like the start of a joke, another said. Laughter would follow their theories untill their blond master arrived, quiet and brooding.

The truth was not completely far removed from what his employees rumored and guessed at. There was a woman at the heart of the matter, Zevran would muse, but the situation was stranger than any fiction they concocted. On his bed lay Sylrien Tabris in a fitful, unending slumber. Even when she was not awake she still ruled over him. He had long since discovered that the while the coin was good, his contacts for this assignment had ceased to exist, and he did not doubt that he was meant to find her and care for her. Being someone's patsy was infuriating, but she would murmur something in her sleep, purse her lips and gasp and all that anger melted from him. It was almost like a fairytale, with the sleeping princess....he had dared hope that the resolution was similar, but when he found his lips close to hers, felt her warm breath on his skin...he lost all nerve, meekly taking her hand and kissing the top instead. So he had dedicated himself to summoning every source he could think of, pulled as many strings and called in as many favors as he felt owed to him get every leading scholar or magical mind in to see her, see what would end this deep, unnatural sleep. Sylrien being alive was another matter entirely, but one he did not wish to contemplate.

For now he concerned himself with every other comfort he could provide her. He wanted to give her what she deserved, even if she could not thank him for it. A servant was well payed to tend her when he was out, and keep silent about it. She was perfumed and bathed in milk, leaving her skin soft to the touch, dressed in the flimsy, gauzy fashions favored by women of the Emperor's court. As the Chantry called to prayer at the sunset, as their chant enveloped the city, so he would sit next to her bedside, telling her stories, reading her poetry, asking and begging for her to wake up. Eventually he would give up and kiss her forehead when she did not respond, falling asleep in the chair by her bed. Their bed. Morning would come, he would kiss her forehead and bid her a good day before leaving to tend to his business. After a month had passed this way, he was sorely tempted to send word to Ferelden.The mages might know something, there might be a bit of knowledge somewhere among Theirin's court-but he stayed his hand and sent no message. She was their Hero, and they would surely take her away. He could not bear losing her again, had given her up once, lost her at Denerim...never again.


~


"Zevran?"
"You know, lovely Sylrien, if I had thought you would be joining me on this watch, I would have prepared wine and flowers and perhaps serenade you. It is rare that I receive such a honor like this, you being away from the side of your young knight, yes?"
He heard her approaching well before she had even spoken. Though she had a light step, trained from years of thinking on her feet in one of those hovels they called Alienages, he had been trained longer and it was near impossible for anyone to truly get the drop on this Crow.

"I...I had wanted to talk to you of something you said before...What you said about your mother?" She sounded so earnest, with her light touch on his shoulder, the gentle prodding. He flinched at the subject and she drew away, mistaking her touch for the cause. He swun around on the ball of his foot, sweeping an arm around her waist. "Talk, talk! Always we talk, we are adventurers, no? We should be involved in action! And..." He winked at her. "I know of a great many actions two elves such as ourselves can take under the stars in a moonlit forest-" Sylrien laughed, pulling away from him, feigning mock hurt. Her laugh always amazed him, after seeing her covered in blood and gore, seeing her pale and tremble at the horrors they faced on a  near daily basis...Hers was a good laugh. "Oh no, Aranai. I have made that mistake with you once before, and I shall not mistep again!"
"You wound me so! You cut me with your sharp tongue! You danced so well, what can I do but hope for an encore?"


Sylrien gave another soft chuckle, but she shook her head. She wet her lips, those lips he had seen parted in such moans, ached to see again in such a way. "I wanted...just wanted to tell you that my mother, she was the same-Dalish, I mean. She had run away much...much like your mother to marry my father. I just wanted to tell you that..." Syl bit her lower lip, glancing up at him. "She died, too. I mean, I remember it so clearly...I watched as she...It was..." She stood straight.
"I just wanted to thank you for sharing that with me, for telling me. I know, I know that it is not something you would speak of lightly, and you honor me with your trust. I hoped I could show you mine by telling you of Adaia."


He ran a  hand through his hair, untangling it and brushing it from his shoulders. "Then my thanks, Syl. But if you really wished to thank me..." The corners of his lips turned up into a smirk and he caught her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist. She widened her eyes and tried to pull free, but his grip was iron. Then she did not resist, and he continued to pull her closer to him. His other hand slid from her cheek to the back of her head, fingers winding around dark strands of hair, tugging on them slightly so she would gasp and tilt back.
"Then I think you know of much better ways of thanking of me." He half whispered, half growled. His lips brushed against hers as he spoke, his tongue darting out to lick at her lips lightly.

"Zevran..." Sylrien whispered softly..."Zevran...." It sent a chill up his spine, hearing her say his name like that. He felt her nails digging into his arms as his hand slid down her back...

"Zevran.." She murmured softly, pulling away even as her hands kept a tight grip on his shoulders.

"Zevran..."

Modifié par Sylrien, 16 janvier 2010 - 08:02 .

[TanithAeyrs]

Unique plot and good writing. Another story I will be keeping up with. Thanks for sharing- it is very good.

[Drax_Lyonsbane]

Ahh what is this, a glittering jewel amongst the rubble? It's beauty more apparent as each layer of dust is brushed away. So many facets, love, lust, devotion...What more does the good Lady have in store for us?

Well done Sylrien, well done indeed.

[Hecthorn]

I can only agree on this.

The idea of bringing the Warden back through Flemeth again is quite good, we'll see how this will develop...

Modifié par Hecthorn, 17 janvier 2010 - 10:39 .

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: Hallo everyone! Thank you so much for the kind reviews and various messages. I'm half tempted to leave a plate of cookies. Then I realize only the Qunari likes cookies and well, I've got something else planned for you. It's still a few chapters off, but please. Keep the criticisms and the reviews coming. Oh, Bioware? You like the writing yes? I am one of the great many unemployed US Citizens, and if Gaider and his delightful minions need a whipping girl.....I also draw! Quite well. Alright. Enough shilling. One more chapter till the smut! Don't look at me like that! It's rated T! For Teen! Oh. I also bake, Mr. Gaider. Cookies and cupcakes and cake! Please! I hear Canada's quite pleasant this time of year....



 [b]Chapter 4

The warm rays of the Antivan sun woke him. Like every other night he had fallen asleep in the chair next to her bedside. It had been a pleasant dream, a memory of a stolen kiss in the Brecilian Forests. She had to have realized how right it felt, how her body fit against his like a puzzle piece, how they tasted, how they kissed...But like always, she would break the kiss before it threatened to go any further, and retreat to the tent she shared with the human knight. Maker's balls, they shared much more than being Wardens did! They were elves, their histories, their parents...Damnit, he had her first, back when he first joined their camp, back when he first saw her for the young frightened thing she was, needy and fragile. She had shown him mercy and he had intended to do the same, coaxing the story of her failed wedding to another elf, how a different sort of blood had been shed that night and she had emerged a changed woman. He remembered her bitter laugh at the irony of the situation. How in both cases a human had taken her from her home, changed her. When Sylrien spoke of it, there had been a gleam in those grey eyes of her. It had reminded him of cold steel, of justice.

Zevran had wooed her with with words he had spoken to many a woman before, inviting her to his tent and teaching her what being a woman really meant. Afterwards, when the panting had subsided and as she lay quivering and gasping, her head swimming in the first experience of unadulterated bliss, when the pain had lessened and turned into unbelievable pleasure, she asked him about love. 

Something had passed between them, some spark, and her question woke him to the fact she felt it too. That was dangerous, so he told her exactly what he thought about love in his coldest voice. He saw her flinch, felt her tense up in their embrace, but still he kept talking. When he had finished, when he finally loosened his grip around her, he watched with an empty sense of satisfaction as she dressed quickly and left. She did not come back to his tent the next night, and she took the late watch for the rest of the week. They had arrived at Redcliffe soon after, and that boy, that human had been at her side constantly, showing her the village and the castle. Zevran noticed how each time he tried to talk to her, there was always someone else, someone who would ask something of her before they could actually speak. He wasn't sure what he would say to her, but he had to say something to smooth  over the rift that he had created between them. She did not deserve such treatment, he had been too cruel.
 
Wynne, Leliana, and Alistair were the worst of them as her self appointed guardians from the 'wicked Crow'. Morrigan and Sten had no patience and paid no mind to their little intrigues. He was certain that when she first began to share a tent with the knight, their vigil had ended. When he was finally able to talk to her unharassed, she had smiled softly and told him she did not begrudge him anything, thanked him for the experience. Syl had leaned over and pecked his cheek in a chaste manner, apologizing to *him* for her actions. While he laughed and called her a seductive minx, as they had carried on as if they were the closest of friends, ("No, we are friends," Sylrien had told him, before showing him a pair of leather boots, Antivan boots, purchased from who knows where. "You are far from home, as I am. Neither of us can return. Let us share in our misery together?" He had smirked, told her about other things they could share to dispell such sour moods. He immediately saw that he had cut her with such a remark, the wound was still fresh. He hastily apologized and gave her much praise for the thoughtful gift.) he could still not forget that electrictiy, that chemistry that surged through them both at every intimate touch.
 
Still he knew she had not been with Alistair yet. One could tell when a boy (how could he have ever been called a man caused Zevran great wonder) like Alistair had his first woman, and it was some time later that he saw that bounce in his step or that look in his eye. That was when he had suggested various roots and herbs to enhance the boy's performance. Perhaps Alistair had picked up on his true intent- they would have not had their intended effect, Zevran would have made sure of that - because he seemed so intent on not hearing Zevran. Sylrien had the luck to be passing by them as they trudged down the road, and quipped that "Not all men are loud lovers, Zev..." Before continuing to speak to Sten at the head of their 'train'. Alistair had blushed and Zevran could only laugh. He wondered if she even realized how her smart mouth only kindled the flames of jealousy he felt for the human.

But there was no use in dwelling on the past. She was with him now, and he would find a way to wake her, and then he would make her happy and put all thought of human kings far from her mind. As he went about preparing for a long day of reviewing contracts and accepting the bids on new marks, he marveled at how management suited his new-found role and caretaker. It allowed his people the chance to compete against each-other and aspire to...some greater heights than they might if he were still interested in getting his hands dirty. Another smirk spread across his lips as he bound his hair in a neat braid, drawing aside the curtain to their bedroom, looking out over his ward.
"My dear, I go to bring home the bacon, or whatever type of dead animal you would prefer-"

She was not there. The sheets lay twisted in heap at the foot of the bed and a pair of his boots were missing. His eyes widened and he started for the door nearly shouting as he opened it. "Did you see her leave? Did you see a woman walk past here?!" He grabbed at the guards collar as others peeked their heads out of windows and doors. "Where did she go? I swear that I will...." The hiss of a dagger escaping its sheathe cut the sounds of the busy street, soon held to a hapless man's throat. "I...I....I...." The thug stuttered, pointing past Zevran's shoulder. "We didn't know we had to stop her, boss..." Another stammered. 'We've seen lots of women leave your place..." The scene drew more spectators, more of his people left their apartments to see what had riled their leader so. Suddenly a voice cut through the crowd, crystal clear. "Zevran?"

There she was, in broad daylight, standing in front of him and looking at him with those grey eyes. "You were...you were asleep. And I was so hungry, I had left to get some food-" There she stood, in oversized boots and a costume fit for a noblewoman. What she was saying did not matter. She was speaking and looking at him and reaching out to him with one arm as she held a basket in another. He took her hand with his own, grabbed her wrist with the other and pulled her, no, he yanked her to him. Sylrien yelped out in surprise and in pain, but he didn't care. He held her tightly, buried his face in her hair and did not speak for a long while. Finally his grip loosened and she drew back. Looking up at him with a detached sense of wonder, she began tracing his features with her fingers. "I....I know this face. But it has changed somewhat. Zevran, what has happened? Where am I?" Her whispers were laced with uncertainty and concern, concern for him. The corners of his lips twitched upwards into a smirk.

"You've forgotten so soon, lovely Sylrien? We were madly in love and ran away to the farthest corners of the earth-well, we were going to, and then my boots wore out and you complained about the heat so we changed plans and decided to have a go at domesticity among the cabals of assassins and thieves and the like in fair Antiva. Woman, I swear you will be the end of me!"

Modifié par Sylrien, 18 janvier 2010 - 03:53 .

[Sylrien]

Just wanted to update to say look! THere she is! Yay!



Chapter 5 coming soon!

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: Please, this chapter is rated T, for suggestive sexual scenes. If the powers that be think it qualifies for an M rating, please let me know. That being said, finally, Zevran does what he really does best. Thank you friends and beta-readers for your opinions, comments and suggestions, for making sure that this all flows right. It's a shorter chapter, but sometimes the most important things are actions, rather than words.


Chapter 5

Twelve years, she thought. She had been dead for twelve years. Looking at her hands, she could only marvel at the fact that once, these hands had wasted away to bone. How much of the world had changed in so long a time? Zevran had filled in some of the blanks, informed her of many things: Alistair as king in Ferelden, the passing of Wynne, the whispers of an invasion from Sten's people...She had seen the changes etched on his face. His sharp features had been dulled slightly by time, giving him an almost noble coutenance...A smile grew across her lips. She had teased him about it, being an older man. He had laughed and swung his arm around her, scooped her into a tight embrace. But strangely enough, he made no further move, no whispers of things he could do to her, no stolen kisses or suggestive glances.  Instead he never left her side for those first few days. When he grew tired he would lead her wordlessly to his bed, sink onto the mattress with his arms wrapped around her tightly. "I don't want to wake up..." He would say, "And find you gone. And find this all a dream. Please, just stay with me." She couldn't refuse him, so the long evening hours passed with her idly stroking his hair, his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder. Only on the fourth night did her eyes finally grow heavy, and she gave in to sleeps embrace only after he assured her that there would be a morning after, that she would wake up. He wouldn't let anything prevent her from doing otherwise. It had been...pleasant.

But the warm days in Antiva had to end. The more time she spent in the waking world, the more she realized exactly what had happened and what she must do. On the fifth day, as her eyes opened to see him looking down at her, his fingers idly tracing embroidery on her sleeve, she could only shake her head. "You know this cannot last. I must go home." He flinched at her words, gripping her arm and squeezing it slightly. "Is it so unpleasant here? Anything your heart desires, I can give you. I am a man of some considerable means now." He smiled, though he knew it to be a futile effort as she replied. "No, there is business left unfinished...you know I should not be here. We both know this. My soul was destroyed, Zevran- bound to the Archdemon's. If I am whole and living...Each passing moment I realize that I was a side effect of the witch's plans. She..." Shaking her head, Sylrien rolled on her back, looking up at the ceiling. "There is much I must explain. The only thing I am sure of is that I am here because Flemeth wanted the essence of an Old God. To bring it back, she had to bring me back..." Looking down at her arms, she marveled at the smooth skin. Sylrien knew that a short time ago, they had been riddled with strange carvings and symbols. Where did they go?  What purpose had they served?
 
~
 
Zevran watched her quietly. He knew it couldn't last forever but he had hoped it might. He did not fear the journey back nor did he mind that this was another grand quest of hers. The only thing that gave him pause was the idea of her being in his presence again. These past few days he had felt something grow between them, something sure and real and wonderful.  She was cruel, with all her soft smiles and embraces, cruel to give him such attentions so freely, yet deny him the taste of her lips. While it had been beyond wonderful, it had been also been torture to have the flames of passion fed by every touch of hers, yet go unquenched. But he knew for sure that no matter what transpired between them, he would go with her. That had never been in doubt.
"Then one more day, Syl. Let us have one more day in this fleeting dreamworld, and then we will have the grand adventures to save the world and stop your witch. Just one more night..."

Sylrien looked at him for a few moments before nodding, leaning over to press her lips against his. The forward gesture drove him to press onward as his hands tightened around her arms, pulled her closer as their tongues met. "Then wake me up." She murmured, ordered him as they shifted about on the bed. This was meant to be, this was supposed to happen, he was sure of it. "Wake me up..." Again she spoke, needy and demanding. He flashed back to their first encounter, years ago when they had first shared a bed. His hands delighted in the expanses of skin exposed by the cut of her dress - how could she have ever worn leathers when silks suited her so much more? As her nails dug into his shoulders, he was reminded of where he was and who he was with. He felt her hands travel down his body, tug at straps and lacings as he tore away the silk that acted as a barrier between them. He explored her body with his hands first, then with his mouth, delighting in the sounds she made, urging him to drive her to gasp and moan his name. Her lips, he decided, as he nibbled and licked at her ear, were made for saying his name. If they were to leave Antiva, he would brand this night into her memory, just as he would commit her body to his. Zevran was a man dying of thirst, and she was the only thing that could save him. All other thoughts were driven from his mind as they finally joined and lost themselves in eachother. The day passed into night and still they could not part. Few words were spoken besides cries of names and single words to spur the other on, but so much seemed to be said. When she finally collapsed against his chest, covered in sweat and worn out from their daylong exertions, as he felt her heart beating and fluttering against his own....He'd follow her to hell and back. Even hells that smelled of wet dogs and rotting garbage, no matter how many witches or boy-kings stood in his way.

Modifié par Sylrien, 18 janvier 2010 - 07:41 .

[Sialater]

LOL, love Zevran's line at the end!

[Sialater]

I'm enjoying your story. I've never thought mingling an archdemon's soul with a mortal's was a good end to come to, and you added Flemeth to the mix! LOL

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: Thank you everyone for the comments and the views. I hoped you ilke the sex scene. It just isn't Dragon Age without a bit of sex. Anyways, as always, please let me know how you like it via message or review. Your opinion matters, alot.


Chapter 6

As warm as Antiva City had been, Denerim was cold and wet. This was not unusual for Ferelden's capital city. It was not unusual for two figures that stood on the deck of a boat at the docks. No, these figures were unusual to the city. One was an elf dressed in elaborate Dalish leathers: long trousers and a corset like torso guard buckled into place, leaving his shoulders and his arms bare. He had a shock of whiteblond hair, burshed past his face. At his side there was a much more subdued, diminutive, feminine form. Her face was obscured by a veil, revealing only her gray eyes, the tips of her pointed ears, and offered a peak of raven hair. She wore a robe of black linen, closed tightly over her body like a shield from the cold air. With her hand in his, they walked down the streets; the crowds parted for them, sensing somehow that these two strange creatures were important. Was this some sort of Dalish royalty, as evidenced by the man's strange attire? Were they from another kingdom of elves, some undiscovered country?

They were of course, none of the above. These streets were as familiar to Sylrien as the veins on the back of her hand. She had grown up here, survived in the ghettoes and back alleys. Though she no longer had to scrounge about for survival, beg for bits of coin or serve drink for a copper bit or two in the decaying establishments that permitted elven labor, Syl often found her eyes wandering over famliar haunts. To act so proud and bold in a place that forced one into a life little better than slavery, it was unnerving.
 
She was certain that that Zevran could feel her anxiety growing with every step towards the palace. That must be why his grip around her waist grew tighter as they walked. If he had not been there, surely she would have crumpled into a heap by now, sobbing and running back to the boat or to the hovel that she had grown up in in the alienage. Would Alistair...would he love another by now? He had to marry, they had discussed this, had to father a legitimate son. The Hero of Ferelden would have been content to be little better than his ****. But as degrading as that might have been, she would have done it to wake to those amber eyes every morning, to feel the stubble of his cheek scrape against her face. Just imagining having those rough hands hold her tight to him, threaten to break her in half with the intensity of...of...Sylrien stopped suddenly, her hand clutching her chest, over her heart. Zevran, the man who had guarded her, who had shared her bed and reminded her of the fleeting pleasures of the world - he stopped and drew an arm around her shoulders. He tilted her face towards him, nuzzling her cheek softly. "Woman, has it been so long since you last walked? I know that our past nights exertions might have rendered any other creature limping, but I thought a Grey Warden was made of stronger stuff, no?" A nervous chuckle left his lips as she leaned against him for a moment longer before finally standing upright and speaking, "No, no, I am fine...Just...overwhelmed. " She had heard the hitch of fear in his voice, and in that moment knew he feared losing her to the king. It was in vain; though, her heart had been Alistair's long ago, and death could not break that bond. No, only golden, hazel eyes regarding her as a stranger could do such a thing. She had seen horrors in the Dead Trenches, massacres and abominations and grave betrayals, but this was the only time she could remember being so afraid. Squeezing Zevran's hand, she mustered the will to continue on.

~

To Queen Valethe, it seemed that all the sorrows and misfortunes of the world rested on the shoulders of her husband. As courtiers and citizens of the realm came to petition him for aid, she could see his shoulders droop, watched as his brows furrowed and saw wrinkles form. Since the Tomb of the Warden had been vandalized, he had changed. His hair seemed to have grayed overnight, and the jovial, laughing thing he had been vanished. It hurt her to see him this way, but there was nothing she could do. Whispers reached her that instead of making merry in taverns with his Dwarven General at his side, he drowned himself in tankards of ale and unseemly women, singing halting phrases of some elven song. Her husbands generosity towards the elves was unprecedented, and when the bannorn of the alienage - no, it was no longer called an alienage. It was now the "Elven Quarter."

The bannorn or hahren or whatever it was that led them had stormed into the court once news had spread, demanding answers for why their hero, the sainted daughter of their people, had gone missing and her resting place desecrated. The redheaded elf had hurled rude words at the king, accusing him of the old attitudes and prejudices before just stopping short of promises of revolt. When the guards had tried to remove her on the Queen's demand, the Dalish ambassadors had begun to draw blades and Valethe was certain that blood would be shed and she had cried out for help and - and the king barked an order for the guards to stand down. He stood and walked to the Elf, whispered something into her ear as he took her hands into his. He then led her to a council room with the Dwarven General following the pair. The uneasy silence that had settled over the court was broken about fifteen minutes later, and when Alistair came back into court she could swear that her strong husband had been weeping.

She had seen him speaking to his spymaster later on, and noticed the absence of certain servants and courtiers afterward. Valethe surmised these had been the shadowy spies and assassins that every royal court had, and they had been sent to discover what had become of the remains of the Warden or at least who had taken them...She paid it all no mind, her only concern was that Alistair's infrequent visits to her bedchambers became even rarer. With a healthy prince and a second child on the way, his obligations to her were over. Still she was a woman, and valued the companionship of her husband. Prince Duncan (I shall name him after my father, he said. Shouldn't that be Maric, then? Oh, you're right Valethe, nevermind. I just like the name...) was nearing his tenth year, and he was really the only interest his two parents shared. He had a shock of red hair and the amber eyes of his father. It was hard to believe he was her son, there seemed to be so little of her in him.

~

It seemed that the thoughts of both monarchs had drifted elsewhere. After petitions came introductions, and the list seemed unending. Valethe would nod and smile while Alistair seemed off in thought, occasionally speaking to the smelly dwarf that was the general of his armies. But then after what seemed an endless list, there was a name that caught the attention of both monarchs.
"...presenting the leader of the Antivan Crows to their majesties..."
Alistair and Valethe sat up immediately at the announcement of their latest guest, if for very different reasons. To Valethe, the Crows were an organization of assassins, and who ever heard of assassins being so obvious? The sound of blades unsheathed were heard amid the sharp laughter of a strangely dressed elf.
"Arls, sweet Arlessas, lords and fair ladies! I did not expect such a hostile welcome in the court of my old traveling companion! Though, I must admit I do not think I was your favorite, Alistair."

For the first time in what seemed ages, Alistair sat up, alert and tense. Color seemed to grow in his cheeks, and Valethe saw something of the man he used to be. The elf - a blond creature - continued.
"I have heard that Ferelden has been known to honor past treaties and agreements- that their king is very wise and fair...that if his attentions should falter, that his lovely bride also had a deft touch with such things." Another chuckle. The elf seemed so sure of himself, in control of the entire room.
Alistair smirked softly. "Perhaps, Zevran. But why are you here?"
"No pleasantries made? Barbarians! I am crushed, my king. No warm greetings?"

Zevran smirked, drawing out and savoring the anticipation that caused the human's form to grow tense. "See, I come not for my own desires, but for this bewitching creature, this rose of a woman. See, she had been very persuasive and I cannot resist her charms, nor her pleas. 'Take me to the King of Ferelden!' she says, and I am but a lowly servant, dedicated to fulfilling the whims of my goddess." he winked and gestured to the veiled figure at his side, who seemed to flinch. It was the first time Alistair had noticed her, and he could not help but grin widely.
"Aha. So someone's finally been able to make you feel something, rather than serving to be felt up? I thought you were the kind of man that couldn't be tamed, Zevran. Bring her forward then, she must be some sort of witch or something to accomplish such a feat. Though if you wanted me, Lady, I'm afraid that I'd lack the refined technique of your elf, and am quite happy with my wife."

The woman whispered something to Zevran that caused his expression to turn dark and even cruel before she approached the king. She brushed past the elf, taking sure steps towards the throne while her eyes remained downcast. Kneeling at the lowest step that led to the dais where the king sat, she began to remove the veil, began to push back the hood. Alistair leaned forward to get a better look at her, to listen to what she had to say. He felt Valethe's hand wrap around his own. The first thing he saw was raven hair that seemed fall to her shoulders like a dark cloud. The second thing he saw were her lips, lips that began to move. "Please..." (Please don't leave me, those lips had once said. She had sunk to the floor, clinging to his leg, pressing her face against his armor. "Please don't leave me. I want to stay with you... let me be your mistress, your...your...just Alistair, don't leave me. Don't toss aside our love) "Please my king, I have come as a Grey Warden to seek your aid against a great evil."

He stood slowly at the bent figure that knelt before him. He must be dreaming. But he sure as hell never dreamed of Zevran before. Must have been that red tomato stuff that had been liberally applied to the chicken. It had been sweet, at first bite, but then a few moments later the spiciness overwhelmed him. Eh, he didn't like the cook much anyways. And he was king so he could very well have him executed for his deceptively spicy salsa. Sometimes it was good to be the king. He just...had to see. His hand found her hair, felt her shrink back slightly from his touch. "Look at me..." Alistair whispered. "Are you some demon sent to torment me?" She looked up at him, and when he saw those gray eyes, he knew this was real. In twelve years he was never able to get those eyes quite right in his dreams. Sylrien was here, in front of him. Living and breathing.

Modifié par Sylrien, 20 janvier 2010 - 04:32 .

[TanithAeyrs]

Very good. Poor Zev, always second to Alistair. Can't wait to read your next chapter.

[Sylrien]

Chapter 7


She had thought Zevran's face had looked different after her long sleep. But he could not prepare her for the shock of seeing Alistair on the throne, aged beyond his years with a striking woman big with child at his side. She had been staring at him as Zevran carried on with his introductions. Only when he mentioned the word 'rose' did she wake from the reverie. 'That was cruel,' she thought. She knew he had said such things so that Alistair might realize what he had said of her, not knowing who it was. The elf's jealousy stung sharply, but she had to forgive him. If he loved her, then simply being here in the same room as man Zevran knew she loved was also cruel to him. Still, nothing could prepare her for actually being so close to Alistair, yet so far away. When his hand touched the top of her head as he spoke, she wanted to reach up to take that hand and press it against the side of her face. Sylrien remembered every callused fingertip, the lines and ridges of his palms. She wanted to kiss his fingers, throw herself into his arms...but the silence was broken but the clearing of Zevran's throat. The reunited wardens snapped their heads in his direction, and he made a bowing gesture. Alistair was the first to speak, regaining some sense of decorum. "Warden, Zevran, my council room. Follow. My queen, tend to the rest of the introductions?" He turned on his heel without looking at her, his cape trailing behind him. Zevran was the first to follow, and it took Sylrien several moments to regain her wits, hurrying after the two men.
 
 She felt eyes on her. Though Alistair had recognized her, few others in the main hall did. But news would spread fast, and if what she had seen in Denerim was any indication of what people thought of her...she would soon be mobbed. But right now that didn't matter. All that mattered was the back of the tall human that walked in front of them. 'Say something,' she pleaded silently. Be angry, be happy, please, say something...But still silence reigned over the trio. As they entered the smaller room, notable only for a large table with many chairs, she saw his jaw clench, his eyes eyes narrow. He was turning something over in his head, thinking- then with the speed and fluid grace of a cat, Alistair had Zevran by the neck, lifting him off the floor. "You did this!" He shouted, gauntlet-clad hand closing over Aranai's throat, pinning him to the wall, several inches off the floor. "I should have known you did this! How did you take her from the tomb! How could you? I swear I will have the life stripped from you..." He growled, towering over the elf, nearly spitting in his face. "You stole her away, nearly caused a revolt you little grave-robber! What have you done? What have you-!" As Zevran's eyes fluttered close, as he tore at the hand that was slowly crushing his windpipe, Alistiar suddenly relented, dropping the elf to the floor and turning away from him.
 
~
 
Alistair's anger soon melted away, and he could only slump back into one of the chairs, drained and ashen. Then he felt her soft hands cup his face, tilt his head up hers. She stood between his legs, murmuring soft sounds of comfort as the other elf gasped and swallowed lungfuls of air. "My love, my darling-I will tell you everything that I know, but he is not at fault...." Sylrien lowered her voice, cradling his head as he wrapped his arms around her. The last time he had seen her she was cold and lifeless. Now she was here, warm and soft - he could hear her heart beating. The sound thundered in his ears, a reaffirmation of the impossible. She was alive, Thank the Maker, somehow she was alive. It was like everyone in the world had disappeared, except for them . He paid no mind to the hall full of courtiers and nobility that surely wondered what was going on, he did not pay attention to the blond elf sulking in the corner. Sylrien was here, siting in his lap, talking to him. It was a monumental effort not to scoop her up in his arms and whisk her away, a monumental effort to actual listen to her, rather silence the words she was saying by kissing her - by making up for twelve years worth of kisses. And touching, Maker, the touching! Gifts, flowers, strawberries-he had seen her eat strawberries once, at Redcliffe. It was the most magnificent sight he had ever seen, how she delighted in their sweetness, how the juice dripped onto her lips and stained them red, how she had sucked-wait. What was she saying? Crazy witches destroying the world in possession of souls of Archdemons. Not strawberries. He should not. think. of. strawberries.
 
He watched her choose her words carefully, look away and wince at painful memories. Slowly she started speaking, "After...After Denerim...The last thing I remember is being put underneath a deep sleep. It surely was a spell, and she would have had me trapped in the Fade forever, living yet not so. I do not know how I escaped, how I woke up..." Her voice trailed off into silence as she frowned, still turning over the possibilities in her mind. "I woke up in Antiva, with Zevran sleeping-" He raised an eyebrow in alarm before hugging her tighter to him. "-Sleeping at my bedside. He had taken care of me, watched over me. He told me it had been a month?" She looked to the elf, who Alistair finally remembered being in the same room with them. Zevran nodded though he kept his eyes away from the pair. "Yes, a month. And I spent a few days, a week or so-the time is all blurred...but I know what Flemeth did, so we came here. I knew you- I knew that we could find aid here, that if we had stopped an archdemon before, that it was with you and the others that we could stop her again. I don't know where she is...I just..." Syl took a deep breath. "This is all my fault. If I had not spared her life, if I had not tricked Morrigan, then this all wouldn't have happened. Our souls-mine and the archdemon's...we were intertwined, destroyed together. To capture the essence of the old god, she had to bring both of us back to life and then separate us. I...I..." Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him. "I am sorry. I am so sorry."
 
 ~
 
To Zevran, things had gone about as well as he thought they could be. The woman he loved was currently locked in an embrace with another man who had just nearly choked the life out of him. And now she was crying and he could do nothing. Alistair had taken upon himself that duty. As she began to sob, he had begun to wipe her tears with his hands, shushing her and kissing her cheeks. Zevran couldn't look at it. If anything brought him pleasure out of this touching scene, it was that she had glossed over her stay with him in Antiva. She did not mention the long nights of passion, nights that turned into days. She failed to mention how they rarely left their bed on the long voyage to Denerim. She made him no promises, but it was not Alistair's name she had been crying out in passion. He had expected this to a degree, but it amazed him how much it hurt. Still, the sound of her sobbing bothered him like no other. Zevran stood up slowly, still rubbing his neck as she managed to quiet herself, resting her head against Alistair's chest as she continued to speak. "You don't understand...I know what she wants. There is only one thing...one reason why she would do such a thing. She doesn't want to posess it for some ritual component. She wants to be it. She wants to take the powers of the old god- settle into whatever body it is that now carries the soul. This is always what she wanted - why she saved us at Ishal. Why Morrigan, why Morrigan came with us..." Zevran raised an eyebrow at this recent piece of news, and Alistair gave her a somewhat incredulous look. Reluctantly she left the human's lap, leaning against the table as she stared at some point on the wall.
 
"The night...the night before...Denerim, you saw Morrigan in my room. She wanted me to convince you to lay with her and conceive a child." Sylrien's voice went dangerously flat, her hand knotting into a fist. Alistair jumped up at this, shaking his head to try to dispel the thought, "What?!" Thoughts flashed in Zevran's mind of his brief encounter with Morrigan's mother as he took careful, measured steps towards the shaken woman. She continued to speak evenly despite her shoulders trembling. "You would have a fathered a child that would have had the Taint. The Archdemon's soul would have jumped to it, like a beacon, she said. No-one had to die as long as she had what she wanted, Morrigan would leave and you would have never seen it." Alistair seemed to recoil from her presence at the very thought as Zevran approached her, slowly. Still she kept speaking, now to herself more than either of the men in the room. "...And I knew, I knew she spoke the truth. And I knew what would eventually happen. I had to die-I had to keep it from her...I couldn't let you have a bastard that - I couldn't share you again after knowing I would never...never be able to give you that, never be able to be with you knowing - I...I couldn't live with myself knowing that I had doomed the world to with my own....my own selfish desires - I...I..." Zevran had almost reached her, was reaching out a gloved hand to take her own.
 
Sylrien looked up at them both. Though her cheeks still glistened with tears, she was calm. "Flemeth would become Morrigan, as she has done so. And that soul is now bound to something - someone. And in time, Flemeth will settle into that body. If Flemeth had died, Morrigan would have done the same, I think.They-she would become a god. And now she has the means to do so." And she had carried that burden alone, Zevran thought, so she could save Alistair as well as the rest of us. He turned Sylrien to face him, holding her tightly as Alistair sat there, still processing all this information. "And so..." Alistair spoke, breaking the silence that had settled over the room. "And so you sent me to the gates so I couldn't...Maker, you never intended to come back. You were going to..."
 
He couldn't speak anymore. Zevran watched him stand and move to the door. He looked sidelong at them both, speaking with a rather surprising and imperious tone of voice that Zevran would have never associated with Alistair. "There will be a banquet tonight in your honor. You have other duties you must see to before we go on this quest to stop Flemeth. Quarters will be provided for both of you, and whatever needs you have will be met. I must now tend to my duties as king before I set out with you." With that, he left the room. Zevran was impressed. He had grown into a man, and into his kingship. If he wasn't the one thing that opposed happiness with Sylrien, he could almost respect the human.

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: Well, she's back and there's mischief afoot. Almost all the pieces are on the board, and before our adventurers go off on their grand quest, might they have an evening of peace? As always, hope you enjoy it, please read and review. Your input makes me a better writer. We will see some old faces tonight, and not always in the way we thought we would...


Chapter 8
 
There were whispers about the strange woman that had made herself known in the royal court - that she claimed to be the Elven Warden, the Tabris. Bannorn Shianni of the Elven Quarter of Denerim wasn't exactly sure what to think about all this. There had been no doubt her cousin was dead - before she was buried she had been laid out in the home she grew up in so people could come and pay respect to the dead woman. It had been twelve years since then. If she was alive, she wouldn't be suitable for viewing. The tomb had been repaired secretly, and lies spun about how her body had been returned in order to placate the elven population. Now it was as if Andraste herself had stepped down from the side of the Maker. It was strange reconciling the dirt-stained youth she had grown up with with the marble hero that lay in the Royal Park...but there it was. Now she walked through the streets of the Palace District with old Cyrion leaning on her arm. Since the death of his wife and his only daughter, he wasn't the same man. Then Soris had left to be with some human woman and that...No, she couldn't get angry at him. Sure, leave your sister and your uncle and your people to run off to Highever and...and...
 
Ugh! It didn't matter. That was the past and she couldn't begrudge him some happiness after Valora had been taken. She had never been found when the elves had confronted the Imperium about their illegal slave trade. With an army of Dalish behind them, and with the support of the allies of the Grey Warden, they had successfully negotiated a great deal of their brothers and sisters out. They even found Valendrian at the head of some underground resistance movement. He spent most of his time with Cyrion now while Shianni worked. Of course they weren't allowed to have any non-Denerim elves freed, and their negotiations had ensured that they would not seek the freedom of any other elves...But some few would slip away to the Dales, and despite the hands-off cooperation of the Elvhanen, the Imperium could never quite find their runaway slaves....
 
They soon arrived in the main hall of the palace. While the streets of the city were busy and full of life, this place was strangely quiet. King Alistair gave her a slight nod, gesturing towards a room off to the side. She spied a strangely dressed elf; she had seen him once before, with Syl. Wasn't his name....Zevran? He bowed to them both, holding open the door. Cyrion's grip was making her arm numb right now, but even she held her breath just a little.
 
And there she was, speaking to the resident Dalish ambassadors. As the door opened all three of them stood, bowing - the two elves walked past them, heads still reverently cowed. Sylrien definitely looked good for a dead person. She was dressed in a silk gown the color of the ocean on a foggy day, her hair arranged plainly around her shoulders. She didn't wear any rings or any jewelry...she was just there, looking at the surface of a table as her mind wandered. As they walked towards her she finally looked up and her face seemed to light up. It was the happiest Shianni had seen her since her wedding day, before everything that had...
 
Sylrien didn't speak, didn't bow or curtsy. She practically ran up to them, throwing her arms around them both, and kissing their cheeks and hugging them. "My daughter...My lovely daughter..." Cyrion muttered, holding the woman tightly.
Shianni had to laugh a bit, this was all just so surreal. "Well Cousin, you sure keep things interesting." "I know! Gods above, I feel like my heart is about to burst out my chest...Shianni, I am so glad - Father..." Sylrien swallowed hard, finally managing to break away from them.
 
"Where's....where's Soris? Is he...No, he can't be..." Cyrion spoke before Shianni could reply, anticipating the scalding comment from the young Bannorn. "He's happy, in Highever with wife and many children. You'll see him soon enough. But Maker, look at you! Skin and bones. So pale! Come, we must go eat and put some meat on you!" Shianni had to smile as Sylrien beamed up at the old man, holding his hand. For a moment she wasn't the Hero, and Shianni wasn't a Bann. They were just themselves for a few brief seconds, where the world hadn't rained down grief and turmoil on them. Though most other elves had turned to the old gods and the old ways, Shianni whispered a small prayer of thanks to the Maker for this reprieve.
 
~
 
Alistair remembered a night at camp when he couldn't sleep. Sylrien had been on watch then and he found that he had grown accustomed to her body tucked in against his own. It was hard to sleep when she was not nestled against him, a warm body underneath a few layers of blankets. After tossing and turning for a couple hours he decided to see what she was up to. He tried to move quietly; he didn't want to wake anyone. As he neared the fire he heard a sound - someone was humming. Sylrien was humming. He smiled to himself, rubbing his arms to generate some warmth. A few steps further and his grin grew wider. Sylrien was humming to herself and dancing along with whatever music played in her head. Alistair didn't wish to stop her - she had a dreamy smile on her lips, and despite her eyes being closed, she did not make a miss-step. But he must have made some noise, maybe stepped on a  twig, because she stopped suddenly, opening her eyes and looking in his direction. As he blushed, she blushed, kicking at the dirt. "I make for a poor guard, I think. I was just-" "Oh no!" He started, stepping out into the firelight. "Let me...let's see..." He awkwardly put a hand around her waist, one hand taking her own. "La de de da......" Alistair was no dancer, but he tried to sing along to a tune, stepping in-time to the music as best he could. She laughed softly and tried to move with him, but Templars made poor dancers, and Grey Wardens even more so. He had ended tripping up on his own feet, sending the both of them stumbling to the ground. But he couldn't complain about her landing on top of him. They lingered there for a moment and he watched a smile grow slowly across her lips. On instinct, he placed his hands on both sides of her face, bringing her down to him for a deep kiss. After they finally broke the kiss, she whispered softly, "We should dance more often."
 
She was dancing now, too. They hadn't spoken, and this was far from a campfire in the middle of the woods. Now she was dressed like a lady, practically floating on the floor of the main hall. Now musicians played for her, and her partner was her father. For this moment she didn't have to pretend, she didn't seem to have the burden of greatness she had carried since she first became a Warden. Alistair was happy he could give her that. He took his wife's hand, kissing the top respectfully before leading her out to the dance floor. He smiled slightly when he looked in Sylrien's direction; he saw her clink her glass with her cousin, taking another deep draught of wine before rejoining the other dancers. Though Alistair had never managed to master dancing after all these years, he wanted be the man on her arm. He shook his head as he looked back to his current reality. He spied Zevran out of the corner of his eye, lurking behind the table where Sylrien and the other elves sat, watching her dance as well. Alistair frowned at the elf, before giving his wife a reassuring smile. He needed to get Sylrien out of his mind at least for a brief moment but there was nowhere to look. Nothing new, nothing of interest....She seemed to wake him up from a long sleep.
 
Then all of a sudden the doors opened, and a loud voice boomed throughout the hall, causing the musicians to stop and everyone to look towards the newcomer.
 
And then down at the newcomer. The dwarf blundered in, swearing and yelling, "Where is it? Where's the elf-girl?" Alistair grinned as he stood, gesturing the dwarf forward as the regulars at court bowed to the general. "Grey Warden! Let me introduce you to the general of Ferelden's armies: Shayle of House Cadash."

[TanithAeyrs]

I am so glad that you (and most of the other writers I follow) write much faster than I do. I can't wait for the next chapter.

[Sialater]

Yay! Shale's mortal! (I almost wrote "human," but that would just ****** her off.)

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: Again, Dragon Age. Sex. It goes together. But you know the deal, ramifications, pent up emotions. Etc. Hope you enjoy! And since I think the **** would be disrupting, replace the word your secret! for whatever particular term you desire.


Chapter 9
 
Sylrien was still reeling from all the excitement that had happened in the hall as she stumbled her way into the bedroom set aside for her. A smile seemed painted on her lips, her cheeks still flushed from so much wine. Shale - No, it was now Shayle - was a 'fleshy creature' now, having gone on some grand quest with Wynne after...after the Archdemon had been defeated. And what a figure she cut! With her hair a slate grey, bound in a tight bun at the back of her head, dressed in dark armor with bright blue eyes. She had been quite bothered when Sylrien hugged her, still uncomfortable at being so...being so...real? "It...you look unchanged." The dwarf said. "You look like you've been frozen as a statue since last time we parted. Hmmpf. Don't suppose you've come to realize the wickedness of birds - pigeons, doves, crows...?" Sylrien had to bite back a laugh, looking toward one 'Crow' she did have an affinity for. In the end Shayle had broken down and told her how glad she was to see the Warden still alive....She had been there when Sylrien had taken the final step to end the-
 
It was of no consequence. They had spent the rest of evening talking and drinking and it was all wonderful[/i]. Since arriving back in Denerim, she had wondered at the fate of her companions. Wynne had died a few years ago, Leliana's whereabouts were unknown, Sten was with his people, Morrigan - She winced. She knew what happened to Morrigan. Sylrien opened a window, inhaling the cool night air. It was good to feel the moonlight on her face, to hear the sounds of the city below. While she stood there, something moved in the corner of her eye. Immediately she jumped back, looking around for a blade. Someone had been waiting for her, a tall figure that had escaped her notice when she entered, cloaked in the shadows of the unlit room. He stepped into the light cast by the moon; It was Alistair, dressed in simple breeches and tunic.
"You look very beautiful, but you know that." At his words she relaxed, stepping forward and leaning against the windowsill.
"And you are still very handsome, but you knew that already."
The following silence hung thick in the few feet of space between them. Alistair was the first to speak, breaking the silence. "Are you and Zevran-...?"
 
"Please, after all this, is that is all you can ask me?" She snorted, beginning to move away.
A hand reached out and gripped her arm tightly. She tried pulling away, with little success. "Don't. Since I saw you, there are so many things I wanted to tell you. I want to do with you. Maker, woman...Do you know how hard it has been for me since you arrived? How hard it has been without you? I have had to suffer for twelve years, and you walk in on his arm, knowing that he was the one that was taking care of you while the very little of you I had left was gone?"
He looked at her, eyes hardened. Sylrien lifted her free hand to stroke his cheek, but he grabbed her wrist before her fingers could brush against his skin. She could practically taste the drink on his breath, and she couldn't help swooning a bit. His grip held firm. "Answer me."
 
"My thoughts have been of you since the first moment I woke, Alistair. Even before then, when I was lost in the Dreaming. I care for Zevran, more deeply than I should. But what he and I have - it is nothing, nothing compared to fire that has always burned in my heart for you." He did not let her know if he was satisfied with her answer. His grip on her arm and wrist stayed firm.
"Then why? Why did you choose to die? I would have slept....I would have had ten demon babies with Morrigan if it meant you being alive. Why did you promise me you were coming back?"
 
She managed to free herself from his grasp and snapped at him, "Do you think I wanted to die? Do you think I wanted to leave you? We both hoped that Riordan would have...Gods above, Alistair. You had everything to lose, and I had nothing."
He tried to interject, "But you had me-"
She quickly cut him off. All traces of the evening's mirth had gone. Her cheeks were flushed with anger rather than wine. "Don't tell me what I did or did not have! I would have given everything up; I would have abandoned Ferelden to the Blight if it meant being with you! When all I could be was your...secret! that still would have been enough for me! I could not let you die, not when you could give the world so much! Look at the elves, see what they have become - all because I died and you became king. Look at what you have done for Ferelden, you have your heir and a woman you would not be shamed to be with..."
She sighed, smoothing her hair back as she paced around the room. All he could do was lean back against the windowsill, watching her. She was like a caged animal.
 
"When I saw Riordan fall, I knew it had to be that way. I couldn't let you have a child with Morrigan because it would...I know it would have had repercussions for you later. With this Taint, with this death sentence..." Sylrien spat the word out, hand clutching the fabric over her abdomen. "I was already a dead woman when they came for me in the Alienage. I just didn't realize it until I saw Riordan die. I promised you I was coming back because I knew you would follow otherwise. I knew you wouldn't let me die. Hate me for what I did, Alistair. I am no better than Loghain, but I would die a thousand deaths if it meant you would live for one more day."
 
Finally she stopped talking, sitting on the bed and looking at her hands despondently. "You remember the last days. The things we had to do. Things I did...I-I have many regrets, things I should have done - things I should not have done. My blood was a poison, and I could feel it burn in my veins, but I did whatever I could do if it meant victory...I-I..." Alistair quietly sat next to her, arms wrapping around her shoulders. She whined softly, pulling away. "Let me go..." He did not. Again she tried to slip away, put space between them. His fingers pressed so tightly into her wrist it began to truly hurt. "Please, just let me go...Let me go-"
 
He put a finger to her lips, leaning in to whisper in her ear. "I let you go, once. I will not do so again." Sylrien tried to fight him, tried to push him off of her, but he did not yield. There was only that persistent iron grip pushing her down, pinning her to the bed. He tried to silence her protests with his lips, hushing her with kisses. Her hands went underneath his tunic, pushing against the hard muscle underneath the fabric.  She dug her nails into his skin, raking them down his chest; he hissed, but still he did not relent. His rough hands were everywhere now, and the rush of the familiar sensations caught her in a moan...
 
~
 
The first time they had lain together had been in a tent on the cold ground, so many miles from the palace. She only had a little more experience than he did, so they were both fumbling through the entire ordeal. Clothes were hastily pulled off and things practically torn open. While they had slept together before, it was in a chaste way - two bodies huddling close for warmth, protection from a world that seemed to be set against them. It was after the Deep Roads. He had stayed behind in case she should fall , so there would be at least one Grey Warden left to do what was needed. He remembered she had looked pale, shaken after her group had emerged from the tunnels. He did not ask her what she had seen in the Dead Trenches because he could tell by the look on her face those of her companions. (Well, except Shale. You really couldn't read a golem.) He had spent the days of her absence nervous and pacing, always jumping whenever someone had passed by, wondering if this would be a messenger to tell him she had been lost. Alistair cursed himself for being so stupid, giving her just a rose and a vague declaration of his feelings. He could have done so much more, said something, anything else! Tell her that a part of him went with her into that damned place, make her take him with her...But she eventually came back, stone-faced when presenting the Crown of the Paragon to the Assembly. He had grinned when she chose the future king: Bhelen. When they had been in Dust Town, she told him it reminded her of the Alienage with the poverty and the crime. Anyone who even hinted at stopping it, and giving these caste-less an alternative...She had hoped that one day Ferelden's king would do the same.  He had remembered that when he first sat in Ferelden's throne. He had remembered being appalled when he had visited Denerim's Alienage with her; somehow, amidst all that excrement and filth, she had grown up her.
 
So the night she came back from the Deep Roads, he had initiated their first coupling, stuttering and mumbling how he wanted to be with her. They set to it, and even though their first time had been miserably short-lived, both of them acted like sniveling children afterwards, swearing oaths of undying love and loyalty. After fifteen minutes they tried again, and that time - that time it was glorious. Tonight they were renewing those same vows with their actions, if not their words. This was no tender lovemaking; it was harsh and violent. It was all bruising kisses and bite marks, hoarse cries of passion and orders, yet it felt like that first time. He had thought her dead, and now she was alive and breathing and so warm. They were not young - they were both older, hardened by the world's cruelties - but tonight none of that mattered because they were together. Over, and over, and over again.
 
When dawn's light filtered over the entangled couple, he was the first to wake. Maker's balls he was sore. He was sure that his back was a tangled mass of red welts, he was sure his shoulder was still bleeding from where she had bit him. There also seemed to be a smithy hammering his brains into fine mush, and he knew he pulled a muscle in his thigh...But she was still there, nestled against his chest. There was a macabre pattern of bruises around her upper arms and her wrists. There was a little smile that played at her lips as she slept; he leaned his head down to place featherlight kisses at the corners of her mouth before settling back into bed. He wanted just a few more hours of this perfect moment, and he would get it. It was his right as a man, as her lover, as a king. Everything else could wait.

Modifié par Sylrien, 24 janvier 2010 - 06:18 .