43 réponses à ce sujet

[MarcusDeVarro]

bow chicka bow wow lol

Makers balls ha best line ever

[tallon1982]

hehe good one

[AdorableAnarchist]

Nice... I like the change from innocent lovers to adults hardened from the world. Well-written!

[Sylrien]

Chapter 10
 
The morning was too bright, Shayle had an issue with her mount, and breakfast had been cold. None of it mattered to Sylrien right now. She couldn't help but smile to herself, like that cat that ate the canary. She had woken up to find that the night before was not a dream, and for the first time in a long time, she woke up to Alistair's hazel eyes. He was watching her, lazily tracing circles along her stomach with his fingers. She stretched and kissed him, before muttering something about more sleep. She had tried to roll over and gain a few more minutes of shut eye, but he had other plans. There was a bath to take...She could not remember the last time a bath had been that...that...
 
Sylrien blushed to herself, lost in her own thoughts while the others prepared. They weren't taking much at all; Travelling light and incognito was key here. They were to be simple travelers, rather than the Leader of the Antivan Crows, the King of Ferelden, the General of His Majesties' Armies, and the formerly dead Grey Warden Hero. It would be just like old times. Even though those old times had been in the face of a darkspawn Blight, it just felt...normal. She was lost in her thoughts till a gloved hand squeezed her shoulder. It was Zevran. The blush flared up in her cheeks as she looked away, causing him to raise an eyebrow. He was not naive; he would have known who had shared her bed the previous night. He didn't say anything about it though, just nudged her slightly. "There are people waiting for you, Warden. Best you not disappoint them?"
 
She offered him a weak smile before nodding, looking in the direction he gestured in. Shianni. Father. For a moment she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. She had not been able to...to...Taking a deep breath and tugging on her gloves, she made her way over to her family. 
 
~
 
There Sylrien was, dressed like some Dalish princess. The two Dalish she had been speaking to before they had seen her must have arranged for her to receive the armor. It had been made by the most skilled of the Elvhanen, meant to be the testament to their recovered craft. When their hero had mysteriously returned, it was only natural it was given to her. Plates of ironbark seemed fused to a flexible leather undercoat, looking more like woven leaves rather than cloth or leather. Shianni shook her head. She was going to leave again, and maybe she would die again. She certainly looked guilty enough. Despite the trappings of a noble warrior, she looked ashamed, meek as she walked to them. 
"So, you're leaving again?" Shianni flatly stated. Cyrion did not say a word. 
 
"Yes. There is...there is something I've left unfinished. Something I must see to before I even dream of really living." Sylrien spoke softly, looking down at her feet. This made Shianni even angrier. "You know, you've done this before. You've done this two times already! You can't just leave us to go on some quest to save a princess or something! You nearly killed your own father twelve years ago! You are always thinking of your-" 
"Enough!" Cyrion spoke, his voice firm and strong. Both women looked to him. He stepped forward, placing his hands on either sides of his daughter's face. "She goes where she has to. I'll miss you Sylrien. Do what you have to do. Seeing you again was more than these old bones could've ever hoped for.  You're a good girl, and you've made us all proud. I'm just glad I was able to tell you that. Don't forget that I love you, we both love you.  In this life or by the Maker's side, we will see eachother again. Now hug an old man before I change my mind and decide not to let you go out ever again?"
 
Sylrien nodded numbly, kissing both of her father's cheeks before resting her forehead against his. He looked down at her and nodded, hugging her a final time. She stepped toward Shianni, expecting a rejection, looking away. "Oh you...." The red-head exclaimed, giving an exasperated sigh as she hugged her cousin. Sylrien was taken by surprise, and slowly returned the gesture. "We'll...you'll owe me another bottle of wine after this. Since this whole Bann business, I've got expensive tastes too."
Sylrien grinned up at her, smirked softly. "Of course."
 
 ~
 
So out of the gates of Denerim, along the Great East Road, came four travelers, all with a heavy cloak around them, obscuring their identities. After Denerim's skyline disappeared on the horizon, did someone actually speak. Sylrien pulled her hood back, glancing down the road they had traveled so far. 
"So...where exactly are we going?"
 
Shayle hmmpfed loudly, pulling on the reins of her pony. "The Wilds. Figured that your witch might have left some trace of herself there. Then to Orlais - we've been hearing rumors about a mage in Val Royeaux. Matches the description of the Swamp Witch. She must know you're looking for her. That banquet was a bad idea. Your little public meeting was a poor idea. Fleshy creatures and their sentiments..." 
 
"You seemed rather enamored with that wine, though. Haven't we been over this before, Shayle? It's alright to admit to liking things. Really, it is. No-one's going to think any less of you." Alistair spurred his horse on so he was even with the pony that Shayle rode. "You should have seen her when we introduced the concept of mattresses. Wouldn't lay down. Still needs only about an hour of sleep."
"Did I mention something about thinking about its - your tender melon of a head being fragile enough to pop like an inflated pig's bladder...Your Majesty."
"Right. So I guess we don't mention the time we introduced you to cheese. And chocolate. Especially the chocolate."
"Indeed. Perhaps it is suited to this whole king business afterall."
 "Why thank you, Shayle."
 
Sylrien smiled to herself. 'Like old times indeed,' she thought. It lifted her spirits after talk of Morrigan. No, she was Flemeth now. Morrigan was gone. "Eitherway," she added, her horse still traiilng behind Shayle's. "I am could ask for no better travelling companions. I-"
Alistair's horse stopped on the command of its master. He held up a hand for silence. There were no birds song anymore, the land around them was too quiet. Even the wind seemed to have died down. He curled a few fingers toward Sylrien, who nodded and brought her horse next to his. "Can....can you feel it?"
 
She furrowed her brows together. "Feel what?" He turned to look at her, something inscrutable in his expression. "Then...then it must be nothing." His horse paused as she moved forward, shrugging slightly. It must be bandits. They were a far ways away from sight of any settlement, and she could not feel the familiar alarm in the back of her mind that triggered whenever Darkspawn were close. One hand gripped the reins of her horse, the other rested firmly on the hilt of a slender blade at her side. The only other sound than that of her horse was the unsheathing of other blades as the others followed suit. The air was thick with unseen danger, their pace slow and cautious. Then suddenly Alistair dashed forward, catching the reins of her horse with one hand, jerking her forward as an arrow whizzed by her head. A cry of disappointment filled the air as she kicked hard at the sides of the horse beneath her to wrestle back control.
 
That was a sound she had nearly forgotten. A cry she knew as well as the sound of her own voice. There was a rustling of leaves, the heavy footfalls of many creatures. And the stench...Gods above, that stench. "Make ready!" She yelled as her companions begaim to dismount.
 
Darkspawn.

[Sialater]

Uh, oh, I was wondering if she was still Tainted...

[Sylrien]

Chapter 11
 
It was like fighting blindfolded. She could still do it well enough, but everytime she reached out, every time she tried to sense what was happening, she hit a wall. Sylrien kept her eyes opened and remembered that there was more to combat than semi-mystical forces. There was also the hard truth of a sharp blade in soft flesh. Also: Ranged need to go down first.
So she made a running sprint in the direction of the first arrow, her two curved blades trailing behind her. It was all a blur, ducking as a sword passed overhead, bringing her left sword in an arch that met with the creature's kneecap. The sword hit bone, causing her to pause just a minute before swinging it out and around, the sword finding a welcome sheathe in the base of a spine in front of her. She stepped on the back of the fallen thing, yanking her sword free as she brought the right blade up to meet a swing from another one of the creatures. There were about seven? No, eight of them.
 
Well, there were at least five or six left now.
And still the archer with the arrows!
The Hurlock that towered over her, one heavy sword to her two frail blades, grinned as he swung down again. And again. She mnaged to yank her second sword free, meeting his blade with her own crossed in an X. But with each heavy strike her arms were bent lower...lower...lower till the thing made a gurgling sound as tanned hand cupped its chin, a dagger flashing across its throat. Zevran. The elf grinned down at her, extending a hand to help her up. She took it, using the forward motion to propel herself into another sprint. He acted as a buffer, tackling another monster and unleashing his fury upon it as she sidestepped another. That makes four, three... Alistair roared in the distance, she could hear the sound of something metal and heavy hitting something wet. Two. Then there was an unfamiliar, but distinctly female growl. The sensation of something being smashed reverberated in the ground beneath her. One.
 
One that was still a few feet away, tossing his bow aside to engage her with blades. She paused for a brief moment before pouncing on him, knocking down the archer with her own weight. The odor filled her nostrils, her sight was temporarily stained red. Her sword preceded her, pinning his stomach to the ground as she stabbed the thing with the remaining blade in her hand. Both hands wrapped around the pommel, pushing down and slashing at it, long since its blood began to cool on her skin.
 
Then it was still. She stood, wiping the blood off of both swords. Turning she waved a blood-spattered hand to her three companions. Zevran smiled at her...then his smile began to fade. She heard something, began to turn on her heel - Shayle began to bolt toward her, there was something hard and dark flying through the air...
 
Until the head of a black hammer collided with the skull of the Darkspawn creature that been moving to flank her. Sylrien heard the crunch, bits of bone and brain matter splattered onto her face.
Now they were all dead.
 
~
 
The next few days passed without incident. They established a watch at night, two shifts, with the sleepers foraging and managing their supplies in the morning. Unfortunately for Zevran and Alistair, the two ladies of their merry company did not exactly require that much sleep, so they tended to stay up together. Even more unfortunate for Zevran, Alistair and Sylrien had been spending most of their travelling time together, horses side by side as they discussed what had happened in low voices about their encounter with the rogue band of Darkspawn. Alistair kept giving her odd looks, and there seemed to be a permanent expression of unease whenever he caught Sylrien's attention. The foul mood of the elf permeated the rest of the party, so their trip was also silent.  Zevran hated silence, too.
 
They were soon to be arriving at a small village though, and with that promises of sleeping in real beds and eating real food began to manifest themselves. Real baths, and maybe real women to take baths with. Oh, it wasn't so much that he was  abandoning his feelings for Sylrien. Moreso that he was tired, and he knew his chances there were slim. Hmm. Maybe he was holding onto some sort of hope that after this quest business, he could convince her to go back to Antiva with him or that maybe he could follow her where-ever she went. Agh, again with the thick cloaks. They weren't made for these warm springs, but they really couldn't have the King of Ferelden and Grey Warden Hero walking around wearing signs...Or maybe they could...
His chuckle caught Sylrien's attention. She smiled back at him as she drew the cloth around her head, obscuring most of her face with the exception of her eyes. The laugh died in his throat.
 
So they rode on quietly to Lothering. He saw Alistair and Sylrien exchange glances before continuing through the gates. It was a small, picturesque village. Obviously it had seen some sort of battle in the past, among the freshly raised houses there were still burned husks of buildings. It was nothing special to a man like Zevran; it was an ordinary village out of thousands of ordinary villages.  He saw Sylrien break away from their group, heading toward the Chantry building's courtyard. He cocked an eyebrow in her direction, and followed her...
 
As she dismounted her horse, so did he. She handed it off to a boy, pressing a coin in his hand. He followed her actions, gesturing to the boy that the soveriegn covered his horse at well. He still had some residual belief in the Maker, but he knew that she had abandoned that system of beliefs long ago. He couldn't blame her, but it made her foray into the Chantry all that more odd, all that more curious. She must have known that he was following her, but she made no mention of it. Sylrien kept looking straight ahead. Some words were spoken with one of the Chantry's Templars, she showed him something she was holding. A bag of coin, perhaps? This was even more unusual. Why the large donation? Why here, instead of all the other perfectly fine little villages they had passed?
 
The Templar led her to one of the side rooms...Zevran stayed behind, loitering around the doorway so he could better keep an eye on her. Whenever someone passed he would bow his head and start up one of the verses from the Chant... "All men are the Work of our Maker's Hands..."
They would smile and nod at him, and then continue on their way.  He kept his eye to the hooded figure entering the office. Sylrien stopped, dropped the bag as he heard her gasp. Something was wrong. Zevran looked up, shifting his weight on his back leg, a hand going to the dagger at his left side - the side away from Templars. She uttered a word - his ears twitched. He coudn't quite make out the sound. She held out her hand, drawing back her hood with  the other. Then a softer, feminine gasp of someone he couldn't see - someone just out of his line of sight, then...
 
POW!
 
The Grey Warden was flying, falling back in a swirling mass of heavy cloth. The Templars and the Assassin dropped everything to see what was going on. However Zevran was faster in his investigation; not wearing a full suit of platemail had its benefits.  He wove his way through the growing crowd, crouching over the sitting form of Sylrien. She was holding her hand to her lip; she was bleeding.  He gritted his teeth, hand on her shoulder as he looked around them. Six Templars in plate against two elves in leather. This was not the sort of situation he liked. He nudged Sylrien, looking around as the half circle of Templars unsheathed heavy swords, pointed at the two elves. "Protect the Revered Mother!" One cried, followed by another voice that laughed softly at the situation.
 
"No worries! Lay down your swords! I told her I would be very cross with her if she died! Come, stand up my friend, this is truly a miracle of the Maker if I have ever seen one! Blessed Andraste, look at you! And Zevran, Zevran too?"
 
He knew that voice. Though he did not lower his blade, his head swiveled around to get a better look at the sole form that wasn't encased in metal. It was a soft, feminine form dressed in a pink Chantry robe. An elaborate pink Chantry robe.
 
"Leliana?"
 
~
 
She was not happy. Though the bath water was hot, and the pack of ice on her jaw comfortably cold, Sylrien was still far from pleased. She didn't know Leliana would be there. At that Chantry. In Lothering. Of course she would be at that Chantry! Sylrien groaned again, sinking deeper into the water. At least she was still in fighting form, if she wished to join them. Her right hook was proof enough. But it was good to know she was safe...even if her jaw had to suffer for that bit of knowledge. They were all downstairs now, and occasionally Sylrien could hear bits of Leliana's voice drifting from the main room at Dane's Refuge, along with the cheers from the grateful audience. She would have liked to join them, but there was too much weighing on her mind right now. Sylrien took a deep breath, and dunked her head beneath the surface of the soapy water.
 
A few minutes later she resurfaced, her hands working a lather of soap into her hair. At least tonight offered a few comforts. After she rinsed her hair, she began to twist her arm behind her, trying to wash her back. A hand took the rag away from her and began moving up and down her back. Sylrien jumped away, grabbing at some towel and snatching it to her chest, moving to the other side of the tub so she could face her guest.
"What? What? I thought I just might be of some help, hmm?" Zevran grinned widely at her, holding up his hands. She rolled her eyes, settling back to where she had been sitting, leaning forward so he might continue. "You shouldn't be in here. You know this." He chuckled, "I do many things that I really shouldn't, especially when it comes to Grey Wardens. But me, I am a glutton for punishment - I find that the pain these Wardens inflict tends to be the kind that leaves me begging for more. But I do have questions, and I have a feeling you, my dear, have answers." His hands were at her shoulders, kneading the flesh slightly before rinsing the washcloth. She let out a soft sigh of pleasure -  a signal for Zevran to continue.
 
"The attack with the Darkspawn a few days ago...Something was wrong, was it not?" Sylrien's eyes opened and she glanced back to him. Her lips pursed into a tight line. "...Yes. Something was wrong. I was wrong. Something in me was wrong."
"What was it?" His hand found her hair as the other continued to wash her back. She squirmed slightly, trying to put off the answer.
"...I couldn't feel them. I...I should have been able to sense them, anticipate them - not just their presence, but even some of their attacks...I just wonder..."
The hands on her back stopped, and she looked over her shoulder. Zevran's eyes were closed and by the way his brows were furrowed together, he was in deep thought. Then all of a sudden his hands wrapped around her, lifting her out of the tub and into his lap despite the fact she was wet and now his entire front was soaked. He...hugged her.  Then he brought his lips to her ear, whispering softly.
"This means you wonder if you are not a Grey Warden anymore? That you are not bound by their...traditions?" The Calling. He did not say, though they both thought of it. Maybe because she had died already, that maybe because (he did not know this) she had been bled dry in some ritual of Flemeth's...that maybe her blood was no longer polluted by the Taint...
 
"I don't know." She whispered back, hands resting over his own. "I am not sure. It...it might be. It might just be that the Taint has lessened, that I might...(live longer than thirty years) not hear it as clearly as others." 'That my womb might not be so polluted and corrupted that no life might grow there. That I might, be truly, really alive,' she thought. She and Alistair had come to the same conclusion, and she had looked away when his face lit up at the suggestion.   'Could we really be together, then?' he had asked, his eyes so wide and brown and innocent. 'I don't think it would be as simple as that,' was her gruff reply. They said no more of it.
"Then, then why are you so sad? Would this news not make you happy?" Again Zevran with his questions.
Sylrien didn't have an answer for him.

[Sylrien]

 Author's Note: Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the comments. I love, I adore getting feedback and it makes me warm and fuzzy on the inside. Hope you enjoy the next chapter! And a cookie for whoever recognizes Fenarel and posts it first.



Chapter 12
 
It had been more than twelve years since she stepped foot on this land, yet nothing seemed to have changed. Leliana had mentioned that strange stories had circulated around this spot; she had even been there a few times herself. The Templars had tried to exorcise the place, trying to dispel the uneasy essence that surrounded the abandoned hut. It was frozen in time, a portrait of its former owners. Sylrien was sure that she could still see footprints  from the few times she had made her way here. The entire place unnerved her.  She looked to Alistair, who nodded. No Darkspawn - small favor, that. The group had spread out evenly, trudging through the swamp. Each step was a struggle to pull free of the sucking embrace of the sludge underfoot. There were still dangers here.
 
The building was sturdy. She tried to the doorknob - it was not locked. Zevran stood flat against the wall as Sylrien nudged the door open, Leliana with her bow raised and arrow drawn behind Sylrien should something be there. Shayle and Alistair stood to either side of the pair of women, weapons ready. The door opened slowly, a slight squeal accompanying the rusty hinges. It was the same sound the door made all those years ago...-but the door only opened a few inches. No-one spoke as Sylrien advanced, administering a swift kick to the wooden panel, sending the door flying open and slamming against the opposite wall. The party quickly filtered in, the two heavily armored members advancing deeper into the second room.
 
Then they all sheathed their weapons. Nothing was there.
Sylrien stalked to the perimeter - no books, no bits of paper, no furnishings, no dead ashes in the fireplace, nothing! There was only a fine layer of dust on the floor. She could hear the witch's laughter echo in her ears. She looked up at her companions: Zevran leaning against the door frame, Alistair facing the fireplace, Leliana puzzled and already outside. And then there was Shayle. She looked around with her blue eyes, rubbed her chin and then swung her over-sized hammer over her shoulder. "Hmmpf. Guessed this might have happened. Swamp Witch must be in Orlais then. No use waiting, unless it has a better idea?" The sensible attitude of the Dwarf caused Sylrien to grin, following Shayle out the door. At least she had a plan.
 
But that plan didn't include nearly walking into an arrow. As they made their way out of the door, arrows suddenly planted themselves at their feet. As the familiar hiss of unsheathed swords filled the air, Shayle and Sylrien moved back-to-back as the others still inside the hut stepped forward to see what was going on. Shayle shot a hand out to block the others from leaving. "It's Majesty would do better to stay indoors at the moment. The Warden and I shall handle this...."
 
"Show yourselves!" Sylrien yelled. This was not a Darkspawn attack - Alistair would have alerted them, and rarely did the foul creatures display much in the way of cunning. There was movement in the underbrush, rustling of leaves. Night was falling fast and her eyes flitted about their surroundings, wondering if there was any way to exploit...any way to...
 
There was a statue of a dog, or was it a wolf? Facing away from the hut. Instantly Sylrien dropped her swords, holding her hands up in the air. "Shayle! The rest of you! Disarm. Drop your weapons now!"
She looked back out to the dense foliage that obscured their attackes. Please, please let her be right. Again she shouted out to the forest:
"Abelas!  Sheuhn shah tauthau toetoi thuet. Sheuhn andaran atish’an. Sheuhn durgen'len, shem'len, elvhen. Abelas!"
 
Silence followed, and then a dozen or so figures emerged from the surrounding woods. "Who are you to speak our language? Our scouts saw you crossing the border. We do not permit outsiders into our woods except at the trading posts. What is your business here?"
Sylrien cut a glance at Leliana and Alistair, the former looked as if she had just[/i] remembered some important fact, the latter looked down sheepishly at his boots. She frowned before speaking in the direction of the voice. "I am a Grey Warden. I seek information of the witch who used to live here. I-" The voice cut her off again, one of the figures stepped forward and moved his hood back. It was a Dalish elf, with dark green eyes set in what seemed to be a mask inked over the top half of his face. Sylrien bowed her head in deference as he began to speak.
 
"This place is Setheneran. The Veil is weak here and dark things have been known to prowl these grounds. We will bring you to our settlement, but the durgen'len and the shem'len must go blindfolded. We do not permit their kind to know the trails and roads we use within our lands."
 
Shayle was stepping forward, she could hear the intake of breath about to precede some comment then heard Alistair begin to move forward to protest , but she raised her hand to silence them both. "We will abide by your rules hahren, lead on." 
 
~
 
When they had first encountered the Dalish years ago, she had explained the reason for the group she was taking with her. They were both going, she said, because the Dalish would be kinder to them, when and if they found them. Zevran couldn't shake the feeling there was another reason she had chosen him to come with her. Even he felt it; that boyish fantasy of running off to the Dalish camps was tearing itself from the recesses of his memory to emerge in the forefront of his mind. She was smiling more often than she had been; even in the past few nights her recreational activities with Alistair had been...louder than usual. He didn't have to ask if she had one point entertained the very same idea.
It seemed every city Elf at one point in time thought about running away from the human lands to rejoin their wild brethren. That time had come and gone for him a long while ago - now he was sure he was better off Antivan, rather than elf. Zevran always figured that they would lack the fine brothels or...business opportunities that made up his life. Still, she looked so eager, traipsing around the forests; he remembered that he had a good five years or so on her. She wouldn't be as jaded as he was, no matter how many battles she'd been through. Those were human or dwarven affairs, and elves didn't fight or deceive each-other...It was a fantasy he wished he still had, sometimes. He despised the very concept of alienages, but he could not help but admit to a certain allure at the thought of a close-knit community comprised solely of your family and friends.
 
But he didn't expect the Dalish to welcome them with open arms, either. He was right. When the scouting party had approached them, she had blanched at the open hostility. "But...But I'm one of you!" Sylrien said. "No, you are not." was the harsh reply. She was stunned for a few minutes, before the corners of her lips twitched down and her back straightened, "Then I come as a Grey Warden, seeking the Dalish to honor old alliances..."
What followed was proof that there was no fairytale kingdom of elves hidden in the woods. Though he would catch her occasionally staring wistfully at the groups of people huddled around fires, marveled at their landships...It was probably the closest thing to home she had seen in some time.
 
It was also nice because this was the first time in a long time that she was without her knight. "Shem..." she had said, when they had been discussing who should go, which group of them was needed, "Would alarm them. Wynne is old, and a healer -  they would not fear her as much as a heavily armored warrior - we know not how they feel about the dwarves, and who knows how they'd respond to you, Sten." The giant balked at this, Zevran could tell beacuse he always would lean forward slightly whenever he disagreed with something, he figured it was a subconscious attempt at intimidation. "Do what you feel is appropriate."
"And I suppose that human women would frighten them too? That we might steal their menfolk and bewitch them?" Morrigan interjected, ruing the thought of staying behind with Alistair and Leliana. Or just the thought of staying behind while the Warden was out of sight, free from whatever designs she had on her.
Sylrien looked up, raising an eyebrow at the witch's protest. "No. I just think they would find Soris much more approachable. Less intimidating. If the stories are true - I wish I had talked to Alarith..." Her voice trailed off as her mind wandered, before she snapped back to attention. "Being with an animal is good sign, I think. Shows that us city elves aren't totally lost to the shem's ways. Empathy and the like."

She scritched the Mabari hound behind his ears, causing the animal to bark loudly with happiness.
"Isn't that right, Soris? Who could ever think you and your namesake could ever harm anyone? Eh? That's right, boy." The dog rolled around at her feet, then hopped on his hind legs in a begging position.
"That's right! I knew you reminded me of my cousin. And since he's an elf too, that's got[/i] to be providence. They wouldn't hurt an elven Mabari! No they wouldn't!"
 
So the next morning the four of them set out. It wasn't long before they found the Dalish.  Moreso, the Dalish found them.
 
~
 
Now they were different. There were no awkward childhood fantasies here, just the truth of reality. Sylrien looked over her shoulder: Zevran did not seem to mind that they were outnumbered and unarmed - he could have been strolling down a street for the expression he wore. The others were less content, and justifiably so: trudging blindfolded and knee-deep through the sludge was not a pleasant experience. She wanted to say a reassuring word or make some gesture of comfort, but their hooded escort would most likely brook no delay. A clucking noise caught her attention. The leader of the patrol was looking at her, sizing her up.
"That armor. It is is Dalish. And of such make only our most skilled could have fashioned it. How did you come by it?"
She glanced back at her fellows, frowning before looking back to the leader. "It was a gift."
Sylrien doubted very much that the Dalish before her would believe she was the "Hero of Ferelden", the "Savior of the Elvhanen" or whatever other titles she had accrued since her death. She couldn't quite believe some of them herself.
 
However, it seemed Zevran would have none of this tense back and forth. Before anyone could move, before any of the guards could take action, he had broken the single line they had formed, swinging his arm around Sylrien's shoulders.
"Do you not recognize her, my wild friend? Have you not seen the grand tomb in Denerim, built for this very woman? Why, she is The Tabris! The Hero of Ferelden, the Grey Warden who freed her people and brought back hope to the Elvhanen!"
He squeezed her slightly. She wasn't sure if Zevran was royally brilliant, or stupid. The masked elf took another appraising look at her, before nodding slightly. "She does bear a passing resemblance to the stories. We-" He gestured to another elf, whispering something too soft for Sylrien to hear. The elf, a young woman, nodded and broke into a sprint. It looked like she was gliding over the swamp mud. The leader looked at her again. "The Keeper will know if you speak truly. We have one among our number who knew the Tabris when she was..." Again the elf looked at her. "Alive."
 
"Wonderful, wonderful. You are a smart man then, and you shall not regret this, I don't think. Just imagine: the very elf who brought Tabris back to her people! You will be known forever in song! Yes, they will sing of...What is your name? I did not catch it."
The elf puffed up a bit with pride, standing a bit straighter in the face of all this praise. "Fenarel. My name is Fenarel."

Modifié par Sylrien, 28 janvier 2010 - 02:23 .

[Sialater]

LMAO, I can just see Zevran taking on a carnival barker's personae for that speech!

Modifié par Sialater, 28 janvier 2010 - 04:11 .

[AdorableAnarchist]

LOL Sia! That's an awesome image!



Sylrien, this is a ton of fun to read!

[Sylrien]

I am happy to oblige my readers!

[tallon1982]

*cheers!*

[Sylrien]

Chapter 13
 
Thanks to the Antivan elf's skilled tongue, he had been able to
pull out bits and pieces of history about Fenarel's clan. They had
volunteered to 'stake their claim' in this region, claiming familiarity
and duty when the elves had been given this land. While Zevran
flattered and charmed the information out of him, he would wink at
Sylrien, knowing she was putting all this together in her head. They
had been here twelve years ago before travelling north, before joining
the rest of the Dalish army that had marched to Denerim. Since then
they had been drawn back to this place. There were strange ruins
around, and it seemed some sort of tragedy had befallen their
clan...But any more prodding and the elf clammed up. "The Keeper will
answer any further questions you have."
Zevran was about to speak before he felt Sylrien's hand on his shoulder. It was enough.  
 
Another hour or two passed before they finally saw the fires of
the village between the thick, ugly trees. Two figures greeted them,
silhouetted by the flames.  Suddenly Sylrien stumbled, knocking into
Fenarel. "Oh!....Oh, so sorry, my boot! I must...must have stepped on
something sharp. Abelas, hahren." Her people paused for a second and
Zevran couldn't keep from grinning. It was a stupid, silly signal, but
one nonetheless. It meant get ready. Fenarel nodded to Sylrien, unaware
that things were about to possibly go south very, very soon.
They trudged on, and stopped a few feet short of the two Dalish. 
"Keeper Merrill? This is the one that-" "Pol!" 
Sylrien started forward, stopping only when her escort began to
pull out their weapons. She shook her head and pointed at the second
elf. "I know him! You're one of Taeodor's brothers! He said you left to
find the Dalish - I'm Sylrien, Soris' cousin! You left a few days
before my wedding..Oh, I'm so glad you found the Dalish!"
 
The elf she addressed stepped forward, looking curiously at the
excited Warden. "That's...right. You....you are she. Do you...do you
remember what game we played in our youth, in the alleyways?"
The Dalish elves looked back at her, then at their brother. She
paused, looking down and furrowing her brows together in thought.
"You....You were Blargha. The great Elven warrior who killed
seventeen evil lords. Soris...Soris was the King Korin. I was Andraste,
who helped save you from Flemeth. Shianni was Flemeth, right? And your
brothers...they were - I can't remember - they were archers?"
The elf, Pol, stood back and nodded to Merrill. Then all the elves
dropped to a knee, bowing their heads down to Sylrien. The gasp of
surprise that left her lips caused her blindfolded friends to take off
the strip of cloth that covered their sight. The Keeper spoke first,
"Warden of the Elvhenan, we are honored and overjoyed you have returned to your people. How may we serve you?"
 
Sylrien was taken aback. She looked around at the reverent elves,
then back to her group. Alistair shrugged his shoulders, Shayle
'hmmpfed', Zevran chuckled and Leliana smiled.
"Well, this is new."
 
~
 
Leliana always loved stories. They were everywhere, woven into
daily life. You just had to know where to find them, where to look.
These elves had a story. They had gone from nomads in a strange land to
villagers with a home of their own. Now that the blindfold was lifted,
she was curious as to how they lived. Great canvas sails were now
permanently planted around several buildings. Most of these buildings
had a landship, an aravel, as their heart. They had turned them into
proper homes, but not of stone and cut wood like those of the humans.
It was as if they had been planted into the earth and sprouted new
rooms and sections of their own accord.
 
She looked to her companions, each of them with their own story:
Alistair had risen from a forgotten bastard to a great and noble king,
Shayle was a golem who had been made flesh, Zevran was still an
assassin, but his loyalty and friendship to Sylrien was worthy of a
song, and Sylrien...She had sung Sylrien's tale once, and vowed never
to do it again, but the promise of chapters yet to unfold sorely
tempted her. Her fingers twitched, plucking the strings to some
imaginary lap-harp as she composed the verses in her head.
 
The elves had treated them well enough when they discovered that
Sylrien was The Tabris. They always lowered their voices around her,
averting their eyes and giving her plenty of space. They couldn't seem
to believe she was real. Leliana knew the same feeling, she was still
coming to terms with it herself. She had wept greatly at her friend's
funeral, still not believing that she was dead and not merely sleeping.
It had been painful to know that her story, their story was over.
 
A few days ago, the book had been reopened. She had not changed a
day since Leliana saw her last. She might have been something of a
shock to the Warden, though. Her hair was longer now, the vibrant
scarlet hue somewhat dulled by so many days out in the sun. Muscles
that were once used to wield blade and string bow had gone soft, and it
was embarrassing to note that her old armor, carefully packed away in a
wooden trunk at the foot of her bed, did not quite fit as it once had. 
It was no great worry, sh was sure that an adventure combined with
Ferelden camp food would get her right back to where she needed to be
in order to help her friends.
 
After all their needs had been met, after they had refreshed - the
elves even had luxuries like hot baths! (Though the method of heating
reminded Leliana of a story about a poor man being cooked in a soup).
They were around one of the greater campfires that were lit in the
evenings. It seemed the whole village had turned out to see The Tabris,
much to the poor girl's discomfort. Every time she made a move there was
a collective gasp, every time she was about to speak the crowd grew
eerily quiet. But the more interesting story, in Leliana's eyes, was
the one going on with the two men in their party. Alistair sat next to
Sylrien, but there was no touching, no overlapping. There had been a
time when those two had always been touching, somehow. It would be at a
campfire, eating whatever they called food that night, and her legs
would be swung haphazardly over his lap as she leaned against the Mabari
warhound. They would pat each other's hands, giving a light touch
whenever the situation had been too tense for words. There had been a
time once, when she found the elven Warden curled up against the human
in front of the fire, dozing lightly as Alistair wrapped an arm around
her shoulders, just content to lay there with her. He had raised a
finger to Leliana, asking for silence. She had tilted her head and
'aww'ed at the scene, before nodding and taking the watch the elven
warden was supposed to be keeping.
 
Now there was a wide gulf between the two former lovers. Even
though they sat side by side, there was no longer any easy affection,
no camaraderie. They seemed to be afraid of touching each-other. It was a
a sad, epic love story that nearly moved Leliana to tears. There could
be no reconciliation, no happy ending, just a series of painful glances
and whispered words. They were separated by time, by fate...just like
all the other great love stories.
 
Zevran; however, represented a curious new page. Now he had always
joked, flirted liberally with anything female, and he still did. Except
now he would give Sylrien all the reassuring touches Alistair couldn't
muster the courage to give her. Always his arm would be around her,
holding her close. While such embraces were short and apparently
one-sided, now Sylrien never drew away instantly. He was a bold new
suitor indeed. Granted, he occasionally would still hint and go on
about the things he could do to Leliana with his pinky finger, but she
had a feeling he would never see his offer through.
 
But now was a time for a different story, for a man in green sat
at what looked like the head of the campfire. His face was marked with
long graceful lines that curved over his cheekbones and chin. All heads
turned toward this newcomer - the storyteller of the Mahariel clan.
 
~
 
"So the Keeper says you seek the Witch of the Wilds? We might have
a way to help you. It has been our secret shame, our secret duty for
many long years, but we are the Elvhanen. We do what is needed. I will
share with you our story, and you may judge if you think it useful to
your cause."
 
"Years ago when there was no place we could call home, there was a
tragic loss among our clan. Two of our hunters vanished from the land.
Our former keeper sent us to look after these two hunters, and we were
led to a cave just off the swamps. We had known every inch of this
land, but the earth seemed to no longer tolerate the evil that dwelt
there or perhaps it was a lure set by Fen'Harel for our unwary
hunters..."
 
"We found their arrows in all manner of foul creatures One we
recognized, a Bereskarn - a creature of your Blight. We are proud to
say we had trouble figuring out what it was, thanks to the many cuts by
Dalish blades, and the many arrows that punctured its corrupted hide.
But it lay before a great mirror-"
 
The storyteller was interrupted by the Keeper, who had taken her place beside him.
"From the Tevinter Imperium. Though the place was littered with
elvish artifacts, it was of human make. There is great evil there. We
did not tarry long, nor did we gather anything from the cave. All that
journeyed there to investigate grew ill, but we were able to heal them.
The great difficulty of such magics hastened the death of the Keeper
before me. I saw a the mirror myself. The blade of the hunter Tamlen,may we never forget his name,
lay before it. It drew you to it, the mirror. But there were dark
things, a great expanse of a black city - swirling, dark shapes that
seemed to watch you. What I saw there is burned into my heart."
The woman nodded to the storyteller, Paivel, who continued.
 
"If we were sick, then the two hunters must have been doubly so.
We found Tamlen's blade, but nothing else. There were no bodies, no
blood. This mirror seemed to be a portal to another world. Some say it
is the Beyond. When we traded information and lore with the other
clans, we learned bits and pieces about the Maker of the humans, and
their Black City. We think that is what we saw in the mirror. We watch
the cave now, to ensure none enter...and no thing leaves. When
the Darkspawn overwhelmed the land we sought refuge in the north with
the other clans. After you defeated the Archdemon, Tabris, we returned
to resume our vigil here in the name of our fallen hunters."
 
~
 
There was no applause at the end of this story, just a heavy
silence over the crowd. Her hand had found Alistair's during the
telling, and his grip was painfully tight. It was the first time they
had...No, one could not think of that now. The Dalish villagers slowly
left the fire to return to their homes, the storyteller and the Keeper
bowing to Tabris before they left. Now it was just the ragtag band of
adventurers. Leliana spoke first. "Maker, did they say - I mean, did
they -....The Black City? Did they really find a portal...is this one of the points that the Tevinter Mages entered the...? Those poor elves..."
Most of them were at a loss for words. Zevran spoke,
"But what does this have to do with us? We seek a witch, and we
know her to be in Orlais. We leave here, go there. It is not so
difficult a thing-"
 
Alistair snapped, "We don't know where she is in Orlais. We have
clues; how do we find someone who has made it her business for hundreds
of years not to be found? Do you think we will simply walk up to her
door, knock and say 'Hello Flemeth. We're here to end your witchy life.
Thanks for putting your name on the door frame, it made it ever so easy
for us to come and disrupt the plans you've been making probably before
even our parents were born!"
 
"It's Majesty has such a way of words. I wonder if it will
talk to the Swamp Witch to death, then certainly all our fears are
misplaced-" "Watch it, Golem. I don't have to worry about you
accidentally stepping on me anymore. Be careful or I just might break
out the bird calls..."
 
"Really Alistair, there is no place for threats. I'm sure Shayle
has a-" "But the Dwarf is right. This is dangerous business, and
Flemeth is skilled. Even if we found her, she might yet-"
 
 "Oh look, the assassin has an opinion! Let me guess, you want to
sneak up on her and backstab her? How about you sleep with her to lower
her defenses? Surely she wouldn't be expecting that! I am sure that
even she isn't immune to your silly accent-!" "Now, all of you, there
is no reason to bicker like this!" "The Sister may have a point, but
still we are not making the effort to go to Orlais-"
 
While the other three argued and bickered, Sylrien had stood up to
pace around the campfire, deep in thought.  Just when the arguing had
reached a crescendo of noise, just as threats had been laid down and
fights were about to break out, she looked up at the group and spoke
quietly. "We find her through the Fade, through her dreams."
 
Her soft voice instantly quieted the group, they all turned to
face her. Leliana was the first to speak, "You mean, go through this
mirror? But what about the sickness that the storyteller spoke of?"
Sylrien brushed a strand of her behind her ear, still pacing,
retracing her steps carefully. "We...we find her dreams. If she is an
abomination, then she will be tied to the Fade. That thing still has a
home there and she is still part human, she will dream. If we can find
where she goes when she dreams, we might find her exact location and
she won't suspect us. Or at least, we'll have a head-start on finding
her. She might just brush us off as figments of her imagination - this
is old magic, older than she, perhaps and elven. This
sickness...Alistair and I may be immune to it. We are already..." She
looked up at Alistair, who had lapsed into silence, looking at her
through hooded eyes. "We bear the Taint already. If it truly is a
portal to the Dark City, if that is where the Taint originates...we are
protected."
 
Zevran stood and walked over to her. He did not touch her, merely
brought his lips to her ear. "I told you I would storm the Dark City at
your side. You are not leaving me behind."
"Right, you aren't leaving any of us behind. We'll find a way, but
that is a place that no two people, no matter them being Grey Wardens,
could hope to take on." Leliana stood and nodded to Shayle who grunted
in agreement. Sylrien looked first at Zevran, eyes wide and lips
parted. The idea took a moment to register, then she physically pushed
Zevran away, sending him tumbling back a few steps.
 
"You will not! I don't care who you people are now, but going
there puts too great a risk on your lives! This is not a battle to be
fought, this...this is a disease. You cannot fight such corruption - it
will not die under blade or bravado!"
The Antivan huffed, putting himself to right. "Then we all become Grey Wardens, no? Seems the only way to do this."
Sylrien shook her head adamantly, "No. I will not put you through
that. You have a choice, and I will not risk that, risk you - any of
you! It is a death sentence, for desperate men and women who have no
way ou-" Her words fell silent as she looked at Alistair. She took a
deep breath and walked over to the human, who had since looked down at
his feet, shoulders shaking slightly. She put her hand on his shoulder.
He flinched visibly, but did not move away from her as she sighed, "If
Alistair and I fail, then it will be left to you three to take care of
the witch. Leliana, you know Orlais, you might be able to find her with
your old connections. You are the alternative."
 
The heavy silence was broken by thin, frail laughter. It seemed
that they were not the last left around the fire. There was an old elf,
broken by time and wrinkled with age. The man - or was it a woman?
continued to laugh, prompting a very angry glare from several members
of the small party.
"There is a way for the elf to join you, at least. The Keeper, she
knows how. Your tainted blood, Warden, is the key. He sleeps and
journeys to the Beyond, guided by Falon'Dim...he will not enter the
gate physically, oh yes. He will be with you in spirit. He may see
things your physical selves couldn't...heehee...a fine speech you give
your comrades, oh yes. But do not underestimate the magics of the
Dalish, yes..."
Sylrien frowned. "How do you know this? Who are you?"
 
The crone, whatever it was, laughed again, before hobbling to her
(his? its?) feet with the aid of a cane. "Just an old elf with large
ears. Thanks to you, Tabris, we have learned much. Yes, we've learned
so much."
Sylrien was about to speak, about to protest and demand some sort
of confrontation, but Zevran darted forward, grabbing her wrist and
giving her a cold look before glancing over to the withered elf.

 "Our thanks, old mother. We'll talk to the Keeper tomorrow. But I do
not doubt we all need our rest, no? It has been an....exciting night,
to say the least."

Modifié par Sylrien, 31 janvier 2010 - 06:25 .

[Sylrien]

Author's Note: Sorry this took so long, lovely readers! With
mine and my darling beta-reader's schedule, it's been a little hectic.
But hopefully this'll be the start of a new, consistent run of the
chapters from now on. As always, thank you Princess_Fawna
and co. for your help, and thank you readers for taking the time to
look at my little story! As always, please Read & Review, and I
hope you enjoy the ride.

Chapter 14 

By your side I would willingly storm the gates of the Dark City itself. Do not doubt it!
Now he had a chance to prove it. They were in some sort of lodge: he, Leliana and Shayle.
He was shirtless and laying flat on his back as the Keeper loomed over him. She was dipping her finger into a bowl that was filled with a thick, red substance inside. It was blood: Sylrien'sblood, and Alistair's. When he would join them in the Fade, these markings would make sure that he found them -- his spirit or his mind would flock to their location like a beacon. The air was hazy with a film of acrid white smoke, some flowers were burning in a pit next to him. There was chanting, several elven voices merged as one. Leliana was holding his hand, it was a small comfort. The two Wardens were already making their way to this mirror.  

~ 

He remembered the look on Sylrien's face when he volunteered to go. She was in shock, caught off guard at the possibility of his death. The thought made him smile. Later that night she had made her way into his room, climbing into the hammock he was sleeping in.
"Please, please don't go. It is too dangerous."
She whispered, her slender form pressed invitingly against his. He could feel she was wearing something thin, something practically non-existent. He did hunger for her, but he knew her intentions.
"A tempting offer you make, sweet Syl, but you think me so easily seduced? I must admit, I am quite fond of
you, but your words alone will not move me to break the oath I made to you."
He felt her hands slide against his skin in the darkness, her lips brush teasingly against his ear. He groaned softly; she knew his body well.
"It...it is not your fight, Zev." (Zev? Ah, she was concerned. She never used the friends-version of his name lightly) "We don't know if it would work, what sort of magic this is...Please, please, just stay. Your skills are better served in the waking world, please." A soft gasp as her fingers touched something hard and warm.
"Please, stay here." 

Zevran had enough. He grabbed her wrists, pinning them over her head.
"Not my fight? My dear, I believe I was the one that specifically mentioned storming the Dark City with you. If anything, your human ser should stay behind, being king and all."
She squirmed against him, and it was a delicious feeling.
"Now, you will either stay and sate this fire you've been provoking in me or you go and rest for your journey tomorrow. I am not worried about myself...I am sure I will be having plenty of sleep tomorrow. But you? We could not have our Warden overexerted when she needs to be alert the most?"
Zevran grabbed her sides, pulled her tight against him as his lips touched hers in a searing kiss. Then he pushed her away, pushed her out of the hammock.  Sylrien landed on her feet, straightening the thin nightgown and making for the door.  She hesitated at the frame, looking back at him- 

"Tease," he grinned in the darkness. That sent her away sure enough. 

~ 

The morning was a somber one. Leliana was crying; she hugged both Wardens tightly, making threats of even more violence should they be harmed. Shayle did not meet the eyes of either of them, gruffly nodding as she wiped at her eyes. Zevran and Alistair shared a handshake and a nod. That wasn't the most exactly heartfelt of partings, but that was to be expected. Then it came time for Sylrien to say goodbye.

When she stood before him, they said nothing. Then she grabbed the back of his neck, pressing her forehead against his, her other hand resting on his chest. Zevran placed his hand over her own, and on her shoulder. A moment passed, two, before they parted. She nodded slightly to him as she turned to catch up with the other Warden, who was already making his way down the path to the entrance of the cave. When she caught up with him, she turned back to look at the group before moving on. Zevran saw her hand reach out to Alistair's, and she grasped it tightly. Then the pair turned a corner and were gone.  

Which meant it was time for him to undergo his ritual in order to join them.

The smoke was already getting too thick for him to breathe, though the others in the lodge-like building did not seem to mind. Still the Keeper was chanting something, muttering words softly enough that he had to strain his ears to listen. She kept getting softer and softer.His vision began to blur. Suddenly, Leliana released her grip on his hand. He was falling, falling...

By your side I would willingly storm the gates of the Dark City itself. Do not doubt it! 

~ 

They didn't speak to each other. They just held hands while they trudged down the path to the cave. Stealth was not an option, not while theplate-mail Alistair wore clanged and clanked as he walked. With the exception of their twined fingers, they were apart. Only when they finallyarrived at the cave (it was a giant hole in the earth, not a cave) did Alistair speak. He stopped and looked up, before looking over at her.
"I'm scared."

She squeezed his hand, nodded.
"So am I, but we will survive this. I promise."

He squeezed her hand, but did not return her reassuring smile. They stepped inside. The place was old, and the place had seen a great deal of battle. She recognized the slightly sticky pile of bones: Skeletons possessed by Fade spirits. Sylrien could smell the magic in the air, she could spy the traps that had been disabled. There had been much battle here in the far and recent pasts.Then they came to the mirror.  

Two giant statues of robed humans stood guard on either side of the sheet of glass. They looked down sternly at the two people that had dared to enter their private sanctuary. The mirror itself was a curious thing.

From the base of the steps one could see nothing in its reflection, but as one moved closer...Ah, there it was. Sylrien actually had to look down into the mirror to see anything. It was definitely the Fade. The sky was a mottled brown color, always twisting and swirling. There was a dark mass of spires on the horizon. She could just reach her hand out.... 

Alistair grabbed her hand, snatching it away from the surface of the mirror. Her mind snapped back to reality with him. It was very powerful, this mirror. It beckoned to her, and she had almost fallen under its sway.

Alistair looked at her, his hand still around her wrist, his other hand still in hers.
"Are you sure you want to do this? I...They would understand if we came back. This is dangerous, this is powerful magic. I can feel it."
His brows were furrowed together, he looked truly disturbed by the Tevinter artifact. Sylrien smiled up at him, reaching up on her toes to kiss his forehead. She then pressed her forehead against his, her hands on both his cheeks.
"It will be alright. We will be alright. Just don't let go, promise?"

 Alistair smiled slightly and nodded. With a deep breath he turned to face the mirror, his hand squeezing hers tightly. "If we don't make it through this, you know that-"
"I do, Alistair. And you know that I shall, always."

They moved towards the mirror. Alistair was the first to step forward, his hand going beyond the surface, into the mirror and the dreamscape that lay beyond. Sylrien followed.

Modifié par Sylrien, 18 février 2010 - 11:23 .

[flyingjudes]

This is very interesting.

You drew me in with the opening, the idea of Tabris wandering about with elven gods and also other humans that have passed. And what has happened to the elves as well.

Then Flemeth! I'm curious to read more so I will come back to it.

[TanithAeyrs]

Enjoyed the new chapter, please keep going.

[Sylrien]

Chapter 15 

 No traveler to the Fade can fail to spot the Black City. It is one of the few constants of that ever-changing place. No matter where one might be, the city is visible. (Always far off, for it seems that the only rule of geography in the Fade is that all points are equidistant from the Black City.)
- From Beyond the Veil: Spirits and Demons  

It was like walking through water.  Everything looked slightly blurred, yet it looked crystal clear. It was like she had been awake for a few days straight. She became ultra aware of everything, yet nothing seemed like it quite connected. If it weren't the hand she held, she might have gone mad. It wasn't like this before, but before she had been sleeping rather than physically stepping into the realm of dreams.  The land was different too. It wasn't a mass of broken islands of twisted land. There was only a long road that extended into the distance, straight to the heart of the black mass of spires.

Alistair whistled, taking a few steps back and glancing over at their tiny doorway from the waking world.
"Long walk. Nice view. This is just what I wanted when out adventuring, you know, the bleak landscapes of inevitable doom. My dear, you know me too well." 

Sylrien grinned.
"You know it. I'd hate for you to find it dull, Alistair. I know how much you dislike quiet nights by the campfire with a good meal in your stomach. I'd never subject you to that."
He smirked at her, shaking his head as she cracked her neck.
"Well my king, shall we?"

"So soon to abandon me? Were you not the one that extolled the virtues of loyalty to me so long ago?"
Another voice chimed in, followed by sure, even steps. She felt a hand on her shoulder and she sighed in relief. "Zevran....You came. I mean, I knew you would but there was still-"

"Danger? Woman, there is always danger with you around. One of the many reasons I enjoy your company."
The elf stepped from behind her, smiling slightly. Sylrien blinked several times, rubbing her head. This hyper-awareness was starting to cause her nerves to fray and somewhere in the back of her head to throb. Zevran's smile faded as he saw her grimace.
"What, what is it?" 
Both men looked at her with concern.

"I...I do not know. Do you feel it too, Alistair?"
He shook his head, "It feels like I'm one drink away from tipsy...but other wise I'm fine."
She grimaced. Because you are still fully Tainted, and Zevran is here in a dream. I should have known.
Alistair had begun to move towards her, "If we need to go back-"

"No. We need to move on. The sooner we get this done, the sooner it won't be a problem. We can't waste time. Just....just take the front. Lead. I'll be fine."
Needles were beginning to ****** at the sides of her skull. Sylrien took a deep breath and stepped forward. Focus. Focus.  

~ 

They walked. And walked. And walked. But no matter how long they walked, it seemed that the Black City never got any closer though the window to the waking world had long since disappeared behind them. Zevran and Alistair both tried to tell stories and banter, but Sylrien would hush them, and beg for them to keep their voices down. The
needles in her mind had since turned into hammers wielded by angry Dwarven eunuchs. She wasn't quite sure if Dwarves even had eunuchs, but...Aggh!
They were very angry.
Her pride kept her upright though, and she walked behind the two men. It seemed like hours...There were no signs of spirits, demonic or otherwise. There was no motion except for the shifting planes of 'sky' above them.  

Then there was a dark blur. Two dark blurs. The trio instantly stopped as the flashes of color began to encircle them. Alistair and Zevran already had blades unsheathed, back to back. Sylrien was slower. With the pounding in her skull, her reflexes were dulled, her feet did not move as quickly as she wanted them to. She just had to
take one...more...step...Alistair reached to his hand to grab hers, to yank her into the protection of the triangle... 

Then something pulled her back, something gripped her by the shoulder and she felt...steel? Steel at her neck? Demons did not...and Darkspawn would not hesitate. Both Zevran and Alistair darted towards her, only to be halted by a voice behind them.

"Whoever you are, whatever kind of spirits you may be, stop before we end your friend." 

There was a man - there was an elf - wielding a bow, the arrow pulled taut and tight, aimed at the human. His eyes were a bright, clear grey and his hair was a sun-stained, flaxen blond. His companion was a woman; her face was obscured by a heavy curtain of hair the color of rich earth. Anything else the elf said was lost to Sylrien's ears. The hammering, the pounding was deafening. She couldn't take much more of it, it was all just... 

Dark.

 ~ 

Sadbh felt the girl she held against her turn into dead weight. "Tamlen!" She shouted as the figure crumpled and fell to the 'floor'.
The strange elf and human began to move toward her and the female elf, but Tamlen kept his arrow trained on them, circling them till he was by Sadbh's side.
"What is it, lethallin?"
"She's sick. Sick like we are. I don't know how she thought she could step through the mirror unaided..."

"We're Grey Wardens, she and I. The same Taint this place has runs through our veins" The human cut through her words, tense and ready to spring forward. Tamlen did not ease up on the grip of the bow.
"Quiet, shem'len. You want her to live, you do as we say." 

Meanwhile, Sadbh had taken out a dagger, cutting into her arm. The blood ran like a thin stream down her forearm. She dribbled it over the woman's lips. She was an elf, and she wore the finest Dalish armor Sadbh had ever seen. Her face though, bore no mark of the Dalish. There was no vallaslin dedicating her to any particular god. The other elf had markings on his face, but she did not recognize them. There was something smeared on
his chest, something faintly familiar.  

Then as the first drops of blood splattered onto the lips of the unconscious woman, the blond elf darted forward. Tamlen fired the arrow, missing the elf only by a sliver of an inch. The darker elf threw his weight against Tamlen. Sadbh cried out as the two crashed to the ground, the woman in her lap stirring slightly. With Tamlen distracted, the human moved toward Sadbh, but she was a bit quicker on her feet than most.

"Stop!"
She cried out, the dagger that had cut her arm now pressed against the woman's throat.
"Or I will end your woman. Stop it now."

The girl soon woke, fluttering her eyes open as the blond elf froze, allowing Tamlen to quickly regain the upper hand.
"Abelas!" The woman cried, relaxing against Sadbh. "Abelas, hahren! We mean no harm! We....we are here with the blessing of the Mahariel clan!" 

Now it was time for Sadbh and Tamlen to be surprised. The dagger dropped from her hand as the woman
scrambled over to her companions, leaning on the heavily armored human. Though shocked, Sadbh and Tamlen quickly restrung arrows to their bows, pointing them in the direction of the party.
"You lie!" Sadbh spat, stepping slightly forward. "You are not Dalish, flat-ear! Do not try to deceive us! We are hunters of the Mahariel clan, and we do not know your face."

 ~ 

It took a while to calm everyone down...but eventually the truth came out. Tamlen and Sadbh were the missing elves that had discovered the mirror. Sadbh had apparently regained consciousness after blacking out, finding herself and her comrade burning with a strange sickness. She wouldn't dare infect the rest of her clan, so as she felt the life leak from her body, she took her companion through the mirror where they had eventually recovered. It was almost like they were Grey Wardens themselves. They had the same Taint, if in a different form. Anyways,
for the two hunters, it was as if a week had passed, not years. There was...much to tell them, but this was not the place nor the time.

The hunters had not explored the Fade,  preferring to linger near the mirror to make sure nothing else tried to get out; they were protecting their clan. They had discovered a few things; however, things that could aid the trio of foreigners. Though they still cast a suspicious eye on Sylrien, Alistair and Zevran,  they offered their aid.

Something nagged at Sylrien whenever she looked as Sadbh. There was something familiar about her though she could not place it. The Dalish woman felt it too, maybe that was why she volunteered to help with their strange mission so quickly.  They continued to walk down the endless road.

"See, when we entered the mirror...we were lost, there was nothing. We kept thinking about the mirror and home,  focusing on that and then there it was. It was like we willed it to appear. Perhaps if you do the same, it will get you to where you need to be?"

Sylrien caught Sadbh glancing at her every now and then; The elf Tamlen was quiet and he never left the Dalish woman's side. Alistar and Zevran trailed behind them. She nodded to Sadbh, rubbing her neck.  

Then a strange thing started to happen as they walked. Before, the Black City appeared on the horizon, always looming overhead but never did the distance really change. As they walked, as they really concentrated on their destination, it changed. It was not a gradual process. One step forward  and the the city suddenly jumped closer.  A hour would pass and it looked like they made no progress, only for to the party to stop and find themselves close enough to make out the tattered banners flying from the walls. It was like an onion, whole layers of distance peeling away at sporadic intervals. The only thing the party could do was keep moving forward.  

Then, before they realized it, they were at the gates. Sylrien and Sadbh nearly ran right into the giant doors. It was just that random and sudden. Well, Sadbh had the wherewithal and state of mind that she managed to stop herself. Sylrien was unfortunate enough to not be as fast. She fell on her rear, grumbling and rubbing her forehead.

Real, good natured laughter broke out through the party. The tension finally eased somewhat. After she was done grumbling, the group warily stepped back (What if stepping back sent them at the beginning? No, we must concentrate on the gates, their guides told them. Focus!) 

Two giant doors loomed before them. They were so tall that they seemed to go on forever, disappearing into the sky. They were black, as were the walls, but they seemed to move. As if there were things inside, pressing against them and leaving impressions in the soft material. There was a low sort of wailing that seemed to emanate from behind the wall, a piteous cry that never ceased.

Sylrien touched the doors, her fingers leaving slight indentations. No matter how much she pushed, how much they all pushed...the doors never opened.

 "This is great. I really don't know what we were expecting. Think the Maker would great us with flying banners and
trumpets? We should go back if we even can go back! This was too dangerous and a bad idea."
The lack of action, the roadblock annoyed Alistair to no end, so he did what he always did when he was annoyed: He talked.  Sylrien stood back, rubbing her temples as he went on...This was frustrating. She couldn't stop him from feeling it, but hearing about it was an entirely another matter. He was going on, and on, and on. It was as if something had been unplugged and the words all came rushing on.  

"...You're dead. They're dead. Well, you're really more alive, you were dead. You shouldn't be put in a position to be in danger anyways. We should have used Leliana's old contacts. It's not like we could simply knock on the door to the Black City and expect a merry welcome."
To emphasize his point he rapped his knuckles against the 'wooden' frame.  Then something began to creak, it sounded like gears were grinding. A layer of dust seemed to shake off the doors. And they began to move.
Sylrien looked over to Alistair to mouth, 'you brilliant bastard!' He blushed at her, shrugging slightly.

The doors finally began to open.  A trickle of golden sand began to leak from the crack the doors made as they moved slowly. Sylrien bent down to touch it, eyebrows furrowing. The substance dissipated on touch. Then...more sand rushed out, covering her boots mid calf. She looked up at the opening crack. As far as she can see, there was a wall of that sand behind the doors. The low wail stopped, and in the infinite space of the Fade a breeze whooshed past her. The wind did not end, it only grew. She began to edge away from the door as the others
pulled out weapons. Then the doors suddenly swung open, and there was a wall of sand rushing down towards them. 

"Run!"
Sylrien was the first to turn, the first to bolt in the opposite direction. The wind picked up the sand, and it turned into a wave. There was no escaping it; the very line of thinking that got them to the gates also tied them down to it. They couldn't think of anything else but the wave nipping at their heels. The two Dalish elves were already far ahead of the three. Zevran was in front of her, Alistair... Alistair! 

She turned to see the plate-clad knight struggling to keep up the pace. The wave was gaining on him. Stylrien stopped, reaching out a hand to him, to pull him along, anything!
 "Go!" He shouted, "Run! Leave me!"
Sylrien shook her head, "Never!"
Her fingers slipped around his own, trying to tug him along.
The sand had caught up to him, began to swallow him. She tried to pull him out, no matter the golden flecks that were beginning to pool around her boots, her knees. 

"Alistair!" She shouted again, catching only a flash of hazel eyes before the wave swallowed him whole.
Sylrien still had his hand, his fingers were tightly laced with hers; she began tugging, pulling frantically behind her as she looked ahead at the elves ahead of her. Zevran had paused when he realized she had lagged behind. She reached out her free hand to him....he stopped cold in his tracks. She could see it in his eyes, the sand mounting up behind her. It was about hip deep now, waist deep. It was all too fast. Still, she wouldn't let go of Alistair's hand.  The other elves were trying to pull Zevran away.

"Go!" She pleaded, screamed at him.
Something in the blond elf snapped, he was pushing against the arms of the Dalish to reach her, shouting her name. They were dragging him off, one of his hands reached out for hers...She began to scream - the sand had reached her shoulders, she tried to let go, but now Alistair's fingers were like a vice around her wrist - and her mouth filled with sand. All she could see was golden sand. 

It consumed them all.

Modifié par Sylrien, 28 février 2010 - 10:47 .

[TanithAeyrs]

Another cliffhanger. I can't wait to find out what happens next.

[Sylrien]

Authors Note: So sorry about the delay in chapters...Real life unfortunately takes precedence, but I have not forgotten, and this story is far! from over. As always, thanks to Princess_Fawna for beta reading this, as well as all those whose opinions I have sought. As always, please read and review, and I hope you enjoy the brief trip to the Fade!



Chapter 16

 "Zevran?"

Again, more forcefully, "Zevran?"

His eyes fluttered open to find Sylrien looking over him, concern plain in her eyes. She gave him a sweet smile and leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead. "You're awake, finally. You looked so peaceful sleeping...I almost didn't want to wake you."

She moved to lay down next to him, curling her body against his. She wasn't dressed in armor, but a plain white nightgown.
"We've got a long day ahead of us, Zev. You were supposed to be up hours ago...Today's the day you go out with your father to the woods." Sylrien nuzzled his neck slightly, taking his arm and draping it around her shoulders. Zevran frowned as she shook his head. All his thoughts seemed in to be shrouded in a fog.
"Wha...? What do you mean?"

She\\  laughed and placed featherlight kisses on his eyelids, then his cheeks, before lingering at his lips and placing a deep kiss there.
"What do I mean? You're a woodcutter, like your father. You go out to the forests with him in the morning to work."
That didn't sound right. He sat up and looked down at her. "I have never been such a thing. I am a Crow...and you are a Warden."
She laughed as she got out of bed, tugging on his hand to follow her. "I have never been any such thing! But if you want to pretend you are a Crow...I have something you could assassinate."
Her eyes twinkled with mischief, darting forward to steal another kiss from his lips before
running out of the bedroom.
Their bedroom, it seemed.

Zevran tried to concentrate, tried to think, but it was like there was a wall in his mind. He vaguely remembered hearing her scream, but there were other memories, happier memories. There was a man that resembled
Zevran, with dark eyes and blond hair bleached by the sun. There was a woman with pale eyes and complicated tattoos inked over her forehead and chin. He...knew them. They were his parents. There was more: a family. There was Sylrien, standing in an alienage, looking shyly at him and blushing whenever he spoke to her. He was...some sort of merchant. They had met in Denerim, he had been hired by a troubled
looking human to do...something, and he had met her there.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that something here was wrong. This wasn't...it was wonderful, but it wasn't right. Zevran stood, pacing around the room. All these items seemed familiar to him: A lone earring on the bedside table, boots in the corner of a room, a single rose in a vase by the window...They just didn't fit in a complete picture.

"Zevran? What's the matter?"
Her voice shook him out of his contemplative mood, and he turned to face her. Sylrien was the
same. She was the only thing he knew for sure. He knew the curve of her neck, the way she bit her lip whenever she was unsure about something.
He saw her lean on one foot, scratching an itch on the back of her calf with the other toe. Sylrien was real, and that was enough for him.

Zevran smiled and embraced her; he pressed his lips to hers in a deep kiss. "It is nothing. Let us go eat before I go out?"
She smiled again and nodded, pecking his cheek before heading to the far side of the room. He smiled after her, following dutifully. As he passed a mirror, something in his reflection caught his eye.

Two black marks that stood out like ugly scars across this perfect world. His fingers traced the outlines of the tattoos. The human had laughed as he winced, the blade at his throat. "You are a Crow now, boy. We will mark you as ours, so you never forget who you belong to."
The place had smelled of ****** and fish and cigar smoke. He had to wear a bandage for weeks before the markings healed and settled.

The door suddenly swung open, slamming against the wall. Tamlen stepped through the doorway, sniffing and snarling, "This place smells like Shem'len."
Zevran could have kissed him.

After taking a good look at the interior of the house, Tamlen looked over at Zevran. "I don't think this is real," He frowned.
Zevran laughed, making his way to the elf's side. "Your talent for observation never fails to impress, my friend. I think we should be going, no?"
There was a sound coming from the kitchen. Both men snapped their heads in the direction of the sound.

The thing that looked like Sylrien was leaning against the table as she looked at the pair. She frowned deeply as she took a step towards them.

"Zevran, do you have to leave? We...we could be so happy here. This...this could be everything you've wanted, everything you dreamed of. Don't you want to stay here with me?"
Zevran felt his heart tug at her words. It would be so easy. Then again, this really wasn't Sylrien. He would always know it wasn't her. (It was a false love, a ghost of the real thing. She would never love him like this.
This was too normal, too perfect. He didn't deserve the happiness this apparition promised him.)

"Zev?"
She was so hopeful. Tears were beginning to well in her clear gray eyes.
It was too much, he couldn't bear this a moment longer. Stepping towards this Not!Sylrien, Zevran took her hand and kissed the top gently. "Dear Lady, we both know that this is just a fantasy, a beautiful dream. Do not cry for me, I will manage well enough. I thank you for this small taste of what the heavens surely promise. Farewell."
He could never let Sylrien cry over him, even if she was just an illusion. She flashed him a shy smile as he stepped away, following Tamlen out the door. 


~ 


There had been darkness. There had been sand everywhere and then light! Then warmth. Alistair opened his eyes slowly. He was probably dreaming.  Then again, maybe he had been dreaming before, and this was real. It was certainly better than the nightmare he had been having, and the Fade was where dreamers went...It made sense enough that Alistair buried his face into his pillow, blocking out any sounds.


Then he felt a pair of soft hands stroking his arms.
"Wake up, my king. Morning has come and you must tend to your duties."
 Nope, wasn't dreaming. He knew that voice. Alistair looked up at the woman sitting on the side of his bed. Her red hair was plaited into a braid.
"...Valethe? What are you doing here?"
Yep, not dreaming at all.
The woman smiled at him. "Waking my dear king-brother. He's overslept again. Am I such a displeasing sight?"

"Not you, certainly. But I think he would find my presence rather surprising. Though I doubt he would find my company so unpleasant under these circumstances."

...This wasn't a dream. This was a nightmare, otherwise he knew no reason why that voice would on the other side of his bed. Slowly he turned his head, afraid of what he might see. She was there, with her eerie yellow eyes
and her black hair falling in waves down her face. Alistair practically jumped out of his skin, starting back so violently that he knocked Valethe of the edge of the bed. Morrigan only laughed her bitter, sultry laugh.

"Hush, Morrigan. I will not let you have him. His heart, all he is...is mine. As my heart is his. As everything I am
belongs to him."
There another voice interjected, a voice Alistair found much more soothing.
Sylrien climbed up his body, the sheets pooling at her waist. She was laying on-top of him, and she wasn't wearing a single thing. He didn't mind that so much. She lowered her lips to kiss him, and those lips were so soft. It was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. Morrigan 'hmmpf'ed softly, finally getting out of the bed as Alistair wrapped his arms around the waist of the lithe elf atop him.

"What is this?" Alistair asked, looking up at Sylrien.
"Maker, this must be a dream. A rather crazy dream. A hot dream. Crazy hot. I mean, it isn't a bad dream, but this is certainly a-"
She pressed a finger to his lips. "Ssshh. This is a good dream. Enjoy it, my love."

Sylrien successfuly quieted him. All Alistair knew after that were kisses, and the sensations of her warm, pliant body against his. Time seemed to stand still, and he wasn't sure if several hours or several minutes
passed. Still, there were questions. This couldn't be real.

"What about Morrigan? Why is she here? Why is Valethe...I mean, this is all very pleasant. This is more than pleasant, but-"
She chuckled, kissing his lips to stop his babbling again. "Don't you remember the ritual? You had to sleep with Morrigan so I would live. You've done that now, and the Archdemon was defeated. You had to marry Valethe, but she's more like your sister than anything else. We're together, just like I promised we would be. Nothing could separate us."

She leaned down to kiss him again. Maker, his head was dizzy from so much kissing. The taste of her lips was making his head swim and made it hard to think.
"But....what about heirs? I...Valethe..."

Valethe chimed in, her voice soft and almost purring. "Dearest Alistair, you have your children with Sylrien. Why would I want to come between you and the woman you love? You are both like family to me, my brother and
my sister."
She smiled softly at Sylrien and leaned over to stroke her hair. Sylrien smiled dreamily up at the human woman. "We're like a family. One big, happy family."

(But Grey Wardens can't have children. We have to end this. It-it would be easier to end this now,
rather than later, I'm sorry.)

"What was that, my love?" Sylrien looked down at Alistair. "Did you say something?"

("But...Is...Are you trying to punish me for making you king? I...Don't you love me?"
He turned away from her. He couldn't look at her; he had to have the strength to do this, and to see her fall apart would make him lose all resolve.
"I do love you. But I have to be responsible. My death is assured, and I must have an heir.")

She looked down at him strangely, tilting her head to the side, "Alistair?"

("This isn't because of that, is it? It's because I'm an elf, isn't it? The King of Ferelden can't be beholden to an elf ****. Has to marry a pretty Shem noble, with round ears who...who..." Her voice was breaking. It was like a knife in his heart. He immediately turned toward her, catching her just before she crumpled to the floor. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks covered in glistening tears. Maker, he wanted to wipe her eyes, reassure her. He couldn't.

"You know that isn't true. I loved-I love you! This goes beyond us. This is not about what I want or what we want. This is about what Ferelden needs!"

"Then damn Ferelden! Damn it all! I can't lose you. I can't live without you, I won't lose you."

"I'm sorry. It has to be this way...I hope you can forgive me, one day."
He had helped her to a chair. When she sat down, he turned away from her. She was sobbing freely, and he was shaking. He was shaking from rage, from his own grief, from hating himself for doing this to her.
Eventually her sobs faded, and he heard her step across the stone floor. He felt her lips press against his cheeks, felt her hands wrap around his shoulders.

"It doesn't...We don't have to lose each other. There is a way."
Was there? He opened his eyes to look into her own. "What do you mean?"
Sylrien slid down to her knees, lips pressed against his armor, her hands wrapped around his leg.

"I want to stay with you... let me be your mistress then, Alistair. Just please don't leave me. Don't toss aside our love." She begged, pleaded.

His hand found her hair, she turned her face in the direction of his palm, nuzzling it. He sighed. He wanted her, he loved her more than anything else in the world. It...it wasn't right, but she was begging him. He wanted her to be happy, he wanted to be happy with her.

But then she died, and he only felt emptiness, felt the whisper of the taste of her lips on his skin, the softness of her skin at his fingertips...)

This wasn't real.
Alistair gripped the thing on top of him and threw her off of him with a roar. He quickly got out of the bed at the far side, putting as much distance between him and these...creatures. The two women sat on the edge of the bed, their arms wrapped around eachother as they whimpered and cooed in his direction.
"Come to bed, Alistair. Be happy. Don't you want to be happy?" "Alistair?"

Before he could answer, the door opened and in stepped Sadbh. Her bow was drawn, and she looked between the two women on the bed and the naked man in the corner. Her eyebrow arched inquisitively at the scene.
Alistair just shook his head, barreling past her.
"Don't ask. You don't want to know."
The Dalish elf shrugged, and followed him out.


~


They were in the east balcony of the court at the Royal Palace. Or at least, something that looked like it. Except that there were no courtiers or nobles in the eaves, but figures alternately cloaked in shadow or light. It was like a supernatural Landsmeet. The same banners hung upon the walls as they did twelve years ago; they swayed slightly in some non-existent breeze. There was a steady hum of whispered conversation, though he could never exactly make out what the 'people' were saying.
There was one major difference from the room he remembered; though, where the Throne had once stood,  there was now a large statue of Falon'Dim. Zevran recognized the image of the god from the short time he and Sylrien had spent with the Dalish.

Why here of all places? This place was not important to Zevran, he never dreamed about this.  Then he spied Alistair and the female Dalish making their way through the strange crowd and towards them.

 "Lethallin!" Tamlen cried, rushing to the side of the woman. They embraced, kissed before exchanging words in their strange tongue. Alistair nodded to Zevran, he returned the gesture. It was a relief to see him...That was a rare
sentiment.

But they were still missing a member of their party. Alistair spoke first, "Have you seen her? Did you...?"

Zevran shook his head. "Not our real Sylrien, I fear. But-" The words died in his throat as he looked over Alistair's shoulder. There was a woman in the corner of the balcony, leaning over the railing. She was an elf, from what he could tell. She had dark hair plaited in a long braid running down her back, and he recognized something about that profile...The two Dalish elves looked up at Zevran, and the small group followed him towards the familiar woman.

Well, not completely familiar, but Zevran recognized those features, even if he had never met her while she was living.

"Adaia?"

The woman looked up and nodded. She bore a striking resemblance to her daughter, except she had a series of marks that looked like lace over one side of her face. "I know you?" She tilted her head to the side, an
eyebrow raised at the intruding elf. Zevran stepped back into a formal bow.
"Let me say that I have heard much about you from your daughter."

Alistair was taken aback at this, quickly looking Adaia over. "You're....you're her mother...?"

The elf laughed softly, givng the pair of men a smile that was achingly similar to one they had seen
on another woman. "I am. Are you here to watch as well?"
Zevran qiurked a brow, "Watch?"

Adaia gestured to the crowd that had begun to settle at the edges of the raised platform, looking down at something on the floor with great interest. "Yes, watch. See, we're all people from her past...memories
of people. There's Nelaros, sweet Nelaros. It's hard for him to see her like this. Then there's the Teryn over there; he's a strange fellow...very quiet. She grieves for him, for what he's become. And there's the Grey Warden, Duncan. And look! The witch Morrigan. And so many others. Faceless mobs of those she killed, the several thousands she could not save. We're all here."

Zevran only glanced in the direction she gestured. He didn't care about ghosts from Sylrien's past. He needed to find her. "What are you watching? Where is she?"

The woman shrugged. "See for yourself. We're here because she can't forgetus. She's here because she can't forget her duty. Why are you here?"
Zevran was about to answer before Alistair interrupted him.

"We're here to rescue her."
He couldn't have said it better himself.

Modifié par Sylrien, 20 mars 2010 - 04:29 .

[Sylrien]

Author's Note: So sorry for the long absence! Look to new content on a regular basis! Viewer discretion is advised, this is not a happy chapter.


Chapter 17

"Give in..." he whispered into her ear, his breath warm on her skin, his hands rough and callused on the back of
her neck.

"Don't you deserve this? Don't you need this?"
Another voice hissed into her other ear; there was a hint of desperation. He wanted this, needed this as badly as she did.

So she accepted it. She leaned back against him as the other man began to  pull at the gloves on her hands. He was so beautiful, with his tawny  eyes and sly smile. The man behind her chuckled as the other blushed; she loved it when he blushed like that. Her gloves came off, and she  felt both pairs of hands work the intricate leather armor she wore.
"No...we shouldn't. This can't be real. This is too...too wonderful. Too
perfect."

When the heavy leather came off, it was like an  intense burden was lifted from her shoulders. Again that smooth purr at  her ear, followed by a kiss, by a bite. "So what? We both love you. You  love us both. Why be torn about it?" The other one was kissing at her  feet, his lips climbing up her leg. She felt her head tilted back, felt
lips that tasted of spice and danger close over her own in a kiss. She  moaned at their touch.
"You don't hate me? Neither of you?"

"Do we look as if we hate you, lovely Syl? Do you think the King of  Ferelden there kneels and worships before just anyone? Let us worship at the feet of our deadly sex goddess, hm? In return, you can have us both. Be with us both, forever."

Zevran's lips moved from her ear to her neck, lavishing attention on the smooth expanse of flesh.
Alistair grinned up at her, his fingers tangled with her own. He lowered his head...
"Yes!" Sylrien sighed in pleasure, relaxing. All that  tension, all that worry was melting, draining away. "Yes...." She
hissed, closing her eyes and letting the sensations both men provoked in her wash over her...

~

It was a tangled mass of flesh. A lean, caramel body was pressed against a pale and lithe feminine form that was all tangled in a muscular, tanned form. There was moaning, and she lost track of where one person ended and the other began. There was more to this than the various joinings of their bodies. This was love, without restrictions, without limitations.
There were no kings or wardens here...There was no past, no future. It was all about the now. It was all about their heartbeats, quick and thundering in her ears. It was all about how Alistair gasped underneath her. It was about Zevran holding her tight as he shuddered in pleasure.
Though every nerve in her body screamed that this was wrong, that this wasn't natural...that it couldn't beright...Gods above, she wanted it to be. She willed it to be.

It seemed like hours had passed, eons maybe. Now they were all lying exhausted on silk sheets. Alistair was thefirst to speak, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Sylrien smiled up at him, turning around to cuddle against Zevran as he left the perimeter of the bed. "Wine?" The man asked, looking over to the two elves.
She stretched and smiled at him. "Sure. Sounds lovely."
"Then how about poetry?" Zevran looked at her, propping himself up with his elbows. She nodded, reaching a hand to twirl a strand of his golden hairaround her fingers.
"Of course."

They sat up, she
leaning against him as he began to whisper various rhymes and limericks
in her ear. Sylrien would laugh at him, with him...occasionally lean
back and kiss him. Wine and poetry were simple pleasures she was happy
to indulge in with the both of them.

Then things changed.

Alistaircame back, and he was holding a large white chalice. She had seen that before, twelve years ago. That was...It was the Joining Chalice. Suddenly Zevran's hands closed over both her wrists, pinning her arms
behind her back. He gave a low chuckle in her ear as Alistair neared the bed. "What? What are you doing? What is this? Alistair- Zevran, let go of me!"
Alistiar looked at her with dark eyes. "This your duty. Your fate."

"No, I won't. I won't do it again. I'd rather die...you know that I'm not...I can't. I won't.  Please, Alistair..."
Thewords died in her throat as Zevran hissed into her ear...
"Seventh day, she grew as in her mouth they spew. "

She screamed, begged Alistair not to do this. He only looked at her stoically, bringing the chalice to her lips and tilting it forwards. She sputtered; It was thick and coppery and vile. The blood overflowed from the rim of the cup, dripping down her chin, her neck, her chest.

"Join us, Sister..." Alistair began, solemn and serious as he held the cup to herlips.

The blood was endless. It never ceased, still pouring thickly. It burned as it coursed down her throat. She was crying now, tears freely mingled with the blood. "You can't....please, please..."
Still Zevran was at her ear, his voice filled with malice. "Eighth day, we hated as she is violated."

Alistair droned on, oblivious to her pleas. "...Join us in the shadows where we stand
vigilant..."

It burned. She wanted to wretch. The silk sheets were now stained red. They darkened, began to move of their own accord.
They began to pulse, change. They seemed to stretch to the very ends of the room. The air was sweet before, all roses and sex...now it reeked of death and decay. The air grew fetid, rotten. She struggled against the Antivan elf, but he was like stone, unmovable, still whispering his blasphemous poetry into one ear as Alistair repeated the Joining Oath.

"Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be foresworn..."
"Ninth day, she grins and devours her kin."

Thepain, there was so much pain. She couldn't see anymore through the tears, through the blood. Why would they do this to her? Why wouldn't they have mercy on her? Then there was movement in the corner of her eye...Tentacles, snaking their way toward her. Like a wall. She had seenthis before, this was familiar. No, it couldn't be. She couldn't be. Itwasn't...No...There was a crunching noise, something inside her was changing. Then blood began to seep from between her legs. There was acry off in the distance. They were dying. She was dying.

"No..." She sobbed between the mouthfuls of the blood that would not stop pouring from that damned chalice. "You can't...you can't take them from me..."
It was the screaming of children, her children. The ones she could neverhave, not with this death sentence, this curse.

"...And should you perish, know that your sacrifice will not be forgotten."

Suddenly their grip on her arms lessened; suddenly those things vanished. Now she was back in the Dead Trenches in the lair of the Broodmother.
Except...except now instead of a silken bed, she lay at the center of all the corruption, all the...all the...Sylrien rocked herself back and forth, letting loose a howl.  Except it wasn't her voice; she didn't recognize it. She was a monster now, a Grey Warden. They were the one and the same...Now...Now...
"Now she does feast, as she's become the beast."

"And that one day, we shall join you."

Sylrien closed her eyes and sobbed, alone and broken.

Modifié par Sylrien, 11 juin 2010 - 08:03 .