ReubenLiew wrote...
\\\\o/
*hates on Sia for more cliffhangers* ><
I have to keep you coming back somehow...
This isn't, after all, Moira Does Thedas....
The Rescue -- Completed 8/1/11
Débuté par
Sialater
, janv. 17 2010 07:16
#251
Posté 10 février 2010 - 09:49
Sialater
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I have to keep you coming back somehow...
This isn't, after all, Moira Does Thedas....
Retour en haut
#252
Posté 11 février 2010 - 02:01
Sialater
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Part 24
Moira lay flat in the tall grass watching the buildings of the farm the Crows used for messengers to change horses. But, she supposed, the Crows hiding in plain sight was the best place to be. If, in fact, the Crows were hiding their activities here. They did rule Antiva in all but name, after all. She saw Zevran creep stealthily along the side of the barn, moving quietly so as not to panic the horses. She didn’t look forward to the trial by fire of learning to ride. She didn’t think Cullen had more experience than she, however, so that should prove entertaining.
At the thought of the Grey Warden recruit, she glanced over to where he lay in the grass near her, the Mabari between them. His brown eyes were fixed on her, not Zevran, with an expression in them that made her groan inwardly. Perrin would not be leaving her side until they got Alistair that was certain. She looked back, her eyes finding Zevran quickly. She had no doubt she could deal with Cullen, should he pose a threat to her, but the idea was to prevent him from threatening her in the first place. She would kill him if she had to. She saw Zevran motion and she crawled forward, trying to keep her armor silent. She was relieved when the Antivan gestured for them to stand up.
When she reached the elf, he put his finger to his lips and motioned for her and Cullen to follow him. “Tell Perrin to stay here, my dear Moira,” Zevran requested in a nearly inaudible whisper. “His scent will scare the horses.” She motioned for Perrin to stay and the Mabari dropped to his belly with a distinctly unhappy look on his canine face.
It took a moment for her eyes to get used to the dimness of the barn. The stench of manure, hay, old and new, and well-oiled leather suffused the wide space making her nose wrinkle at the unpleasant combination. Horses stamped their feet and whickered greetings to the scent of human and elf. Zev leaned close to Moira’s ear and whispered, “I will liberate four horses and their saddles. You and Cullen release the rest and then use your prodigious pyrotechnic talents, my Warden.” He winked at her.
Moira looked at him, wide eyed. “You want me to blow up the barn?” She whispered back.
“Si, mi cara.” There was definitely a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
“Then help me out of this armor if I’m going to try to sneak away after launching a fireball as a distraction,” she told him. “I won’t have the energy to use magic and wear this armor.”
The armor came off quickly and she stepped into one of the empty stalls to throw on her mage’s robes. When she came out, her armor was already strapped to the saddle of one of the four horses Zevran led by its reigns. She handed him her pack and her swords, but took her staff. He quickly tied up her belongings with her armor and led the horses out.
Cullen had already begun opening the stalls. Some of the horses bolted right away, others they had to lead out and slap on the hind quarters to get them moving. Moira checked the barn one last time to make sure there were no more living things in it. She even climbed up into the hayloft to check. All she found were some kittens and a nursing brown tabby mother cat who hissed at her. “Great, how am I supposed to rescue you?”
She cast around for something to carry the feline family in and ignored Cullen’s hissed, “Moira! Let’s get out of here!”
She ignored Cullen, though she knew she was going to have to talk to him about using her name, and finally found a sack. She grabbed the mother cat by the nape of her neck too quickly for the cat to react, thankful for those Grey Warden reflexes, and grabbed each kitten and shoved all six in with their mother. Moira slid down the ladder; glad she’d also put on her boots and gloves. “What in the Maker’s name were you doing up there?” Cullen demanded, grabbing her arm.
Moira froze in her tracks and just looked at him, “Remove your hand before I take it off at your neck.” Cullen released her, quickly, his face turning pale. “Go find Zevran.” He looked like he was going to protest, “That’s an order!” The ex-Templar took off at a run. She whistled loudly, calling Perrin.
Moira looked at the bag of cats, wondering what she was going to do with them. She shrugged and called up her energy and will and from the Fade came a giant fireball hurtling toward the barn. The few horses still milling about the place, squealed and took off at a run. Shouts came from the other buildings and a few men and women sprinted from them heading for the barn. Moira gathered up her bag of cats cradling it in her arms and set off at a run for where she last saw Zevran, her staff bouncing against her backside. Perrin met up with her after running full out away from the burning barn.
She reached the spot to where Zevran had disappeared. He and the ex-Templar were nowhere to be seen. She crept further into the treeline of the small wooded area that were becoming more and more common as they approached the Hundred Pillars. She neither saw nor heard anything, not even the metallic clink of Cullen’s armor. A hand went around her mouth and an arm around her waist and she felt herself pulled against someone. She nearly screamed until she realized who the familiar body belonged to. She relaxed against Zevran and turned toward him, which was a mistake. They both froze, his trademark half smile appearing as she tensed again, her face heating, her body trembling. He didn’t release her, just looked at her, the hand he’d had on her mouth still curving around her jaw, the leather of his gloves soft on her face.
Cullen came crashing through the underbrush leading the horses. The two elves sprang apart, neither looking at the other. Moira saw Zevran give the ex-Templar a dirty look. “What?” Cullen demanded.
Instead of answering, Zevran asked, “Do either of you know how to ride?”
Cullen answered in the affirmative, much to Moira’s surprise, “They recently started teaching us at the Tower, in case we had to run messages to Denerim and it’s faster to hunt mages. “
They both looked at Moira. “What? I haven’t a clue. Alistair meant to teach me, but he never got around to it.”
Zevran grinned, leering slightly at her, “As we haven’t time to teach you now, either. You’re in front of me.”
Moira raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Zevran winked, “But of course, my dear Warden.” He frowned at the sack she was carrying. “What is that?”
Moira turned red again, “I rescued some cats from the barn before I blew it up.”
As he mounted his horse, Cullen said scathingly, “The ruthless Grey Warden mage had to rescue a barn cat?” he threw the reigns of one to Zevran.
She glared at him, “Shut up.”
Zevran made a sound that resembled a laugh strangled in its infancy. He put up his hands in surrender when her glared turned to him, “Don’t glare at me so, mi cara. I think it is adorable.” He took the sack from Moira and handed it to Cullen, “Hold this.” He came back and helped her climb up on the horse. Was it her imagination or did his hand linger a little too long on her rear end? Gracelessly she adjusted herself, pulling at her hemline to keep from flashing the two men. Zevran handed her the sack of cats back, then effortlessly swung up in the saddle behind her. She was suddenly very much aware of how close she had to be to him to ride with him. His arm snaked around her and pulled her closer. He nudged his horse forward and let it pick its way through the underbrush. Cullen turned his horse and their two spares and followed the elves.
“I suggest that from here on out, Cullen is our master and I his bodyguard,” Zevran said, speaking close enough to her ear to give her shivers down her spine, his voice pitched for her only. She resisted the urge to writhe.
“Wait, wouldn’t that make me his servant?” She demanded as soon as her nervous system stopped turning her to jelly.
“Unfortunately, yes. But I am certain you can convince him to not abuse his imaginary position.” His voice was still so very close to her ear. She suppressed the urge to writhe again.
“Then won’t I have to ride with him?” she turned her head slightly to get her ear away from Zevran’s mouth.
“You’re a very rebellious servant, my dear. You’re being punished,” she scowled at him and he grinned impishly.
They made camp that night near another farmhold. Moira snuck the cats into the barn and the rather indignant mother cat hissed at Moira and began hauling her kittens somewhere safe, their tiny forms hanging limply from her jaws. She rejoined the men only to have them both choke on their laughter. She had to admit, however, even Alistair would have laughed at her for that.
Moira lay flat in the tall grass watching the buildings of the farm the Crows used for messengers to change horses. But, she supposed, the Crows hiding in plain sight was the best place to be. If, in fact, the Crows were hiding their activities here. They did rule Antiva in all but name, after all. She saw Zevran creep stealthily along the side of the barn, moving quietly so as not to panic the horses. She didn’t look forward to the trial by fire of learning to ride. She didn’t think Cullen had more experience than she, however, so that should prove entertaining.
At the thought of the Grey Warden recruit, she glanced over to where he lay in the grass near her, the Mabari between them. His brown eyes were fixed on her, not Zevran, with an expression in them that made her groan inwardly. Perrin would not be leaving her side until they got Alistair that was certain. She looked back, her eyes finding Zevran quickly. She had no doubt she could deal with Cullen, should he pose a threat to her, but the idea was to prevent him from threatening her in the first place. She would kill him if she had to. She saw Zevran motion and she crawled forward, trying to keep her armor silent. She was relieved when the Antivan gestured for them to stand up.
When she reached the elf, he put his finger to his lips and motioned for her and Cullen to follow him. “Tell Perrin to stay here, my dear Moira,” Zevran requested in a nearly inaudible whisper. “His scent will scare the horses.” She motioned for Perrin to stay and the Mabari dropped to his belly with a distinctly unhappy look on his canine face.
It took a moment for her eyes to get used to the dimness of the barn. The stench of manure, hay, old and new, and well-oiled leather suffused the wide space making her nose wrinkle at the unpleasant combination. Horses stamped their feet and whickered greetings to the scent of human and elf. Zev leaned close to Moira’s ear and whispered, “I will liberate four horses and their saddles. You and Cullen release the rest and then use your prodigious pyrotechnic talents, my Warden.” He winked at her.
Moira looked at him, wide eyed. “You want me to blow up the barn?” She whispered back.
“Si, mi cara.” There was definitely a twinkle of amusement in his eye.
“Then help me out of this armor if I’m going to try to sneak away after launching a fireball as a distraction,” she told him. “I won’t have the energy to use magic and wear this armor.”
The armor came off quickly and she stepped into one of the empty stalls to throw on her mage’s robes. When she came out, her armor was already strapped to the saddle of one of the four horses Zevran led by its reigns. She handed him her pack and her swords, but took her staff. He quickly tied up her belongings with her armor and led the horses out.
Cullen had already begun opening the stalls. Some of the horses bolted right away, others they had to lead out and slap on the hind quarters to get them moving. Moira checked the barn one last time to make sure there were no more living things in it. She even climbed up into the hayloft to check. All she found were some kittens and a nursing brown tabby mother cat who hissed at her. “Great, how am I supposed to rescue you?”
She cast around for something to carry the feline family in and ignored Cullen’s hissed, “Moira! Let’s get out of here!”
She ignored Cullen, though she knew she was going to have to talk to him about using her name, and finally found a sack. She grabbed the mother cat by the nape of her neck too quickly for the cat to react, thankful for those Grey Warden reflexes, and grabbed each kitten and shoved all six in with their mother. Moira slid down the ladder; glad she’d also put on her boots and gloves. “What in the Maker’s name were you doing up there?” Cullen demanded, grabbing her arm.
Moira froze in her tracks and just looked at him, “Remove your hand before I take it off at your neck.” Cullen released her, quickly, his face turning pale. “Go find Zevran.” He looked like he was going to protest, “That’s an order!” The ex-Templar took off at a run. She whistled loudly, calling Perrin.
Moira looked at the bag of cats, wondering what she was going to do with them. She shrugged and called up her energy and will and from the Fade came a giant fireball hurtling toward the barn. The few horses still milling about the place, squealed and took off at a run. Shouts came from the other buildings and a few men and women sprinted from them heading for the barn. Moira gathered up her bag of cats cradling it in her arms and set off at a run for where she last saw Zevran, her staff bouncing against her backside. Perrin met up with her after running full out away from the burning barn.
She reached the spot to where Zevran had disappeared. He and the ex-Templar were nowhere to be seen. She crept further into the treeline of the small wooded area that were becoming more and more common as they approached the Hundred Pillars. She neither saw nor heard anything, not even the metallic clink of Cullen’s armor. A hand went around her mouth and an arm around her waist and she felt herself pulled against someone. She nearly screamed until she realized who the familiar body belonged to. She relaxed against Zevran and turned toward him, which was a mistake. They both froze, his trademark half smile appearing as she tensed again, her face heating, her body trembling. He didn’t release her, just looked at her, the hand he’d had on her mouth still curving around her jaw, the leather of his gloves soft on her face.
Cullen came crashing through the underbrush leading the horses. The two elves sprang apart, neither looking at the other. Moira saw Zevran give the ex-Templar a dirty look. “What?” Cullen demanded.
Instead of answering, Zevran asked, “Do either of you know how to ride?”
Cullen answered in the affirmative, much to Moira’s surprise, “They recently started teaching us at the Tower, in case we had to run messages to Denerim and it’s faster to hunt mages. “
They both looked at Moira. “What? I haven’t a clue. Alistair meant to teach me, but he never got around to it.”
Zevran grinned, leering slightly at her, “As we haven’t time to teach you now, either. You’re in front of me.”
Moira raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
Zevran winked, “But of course, my dear Warden.” He frowned at the sack she was carrying. “What is that?”
Moira turned red again, “I rescued some cats from the barn before I blew it up.”
As he mounted his horse, Cullen said scathingly, “The ruthless Grey Warden mage had to rescue a barn cat?” he threw the reigns of one to Zevran.
She glared at him, “Shut up.”
Zevran made a sound that resembled a laugh strangled in its infancy. He put up his hands in surrender when her glared turned to him, “Don’t glare at me so, mi cara. I think it is adorable.” He took the sack from Moira and handed it to Cullen, “Hold this.” He came back and helped her climb up on the horse. Was it her imagination or did his hand linger a little too long on her rear end? Gracelessly she adjusted herself, pulling at her hemline to keep from flashing the two men. Zevran handed her the sack of cats back, then effortlessly swung up in the saddle behind her. She was suddenly very much aware of how close she had to be to him to ride with him. His arm snaked around her and pulled her closer. He nudged his horse forward and let it pick its way through the underbrush. Cullen turned his horse and their two spares and followed the elves.
“I suggest that from here on out, Cullen is our master and I his bodyguard,” Zevran said, speaking close enough to her ear to give her shivers down her spine, his voice pitched for her only. She resisted the urge to writhe.
“Wait, wouldn’t that make me his servant?” She demanded as soon as her nervous system stopped turning her to jelly.
“Unfortunately, yes. But I am certain you can convince him to not abuse his imaginary position.” His voice was still so very close to her ear. She suppressed the urge to writhe again.
“Then won’t I have to ride with him?” she turned her head slightly to get her ear away from Zevran’s mouth.
“You’re a very rebellious servant, my dear. You’re being punished,” she scowled at him and he grinned impishly.
They made camp that night near another farmhold. Moira snuck the cats into the barn and the rather indignant mother cat hissed at Moira and began hauling her kittens somewhere safe, their tiny forms hanging limply from her jaws. She rejoined the men only to have them both choke on their laughter. She had to admit, however, even Alistair would have laughed at her for that.
#254
Posté 11 février 2010 - 02:20
amethyst_rose2009
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LOL, I would have had to rescue the cats too. 
Oh my, how close Zev and Moira are riding is causing no end to the sexual tension between those two.
Oh my, how close Zev and Moira are riding is causing no end to the sexual tension between those two.
#255
Posté 11 février 2010 - 02:23
Herr Uhl
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Morrigan disapproves -25
And isn't it cara mia, not mi cara?
And isn't it cara mia, not mi cara?
#256
Posté 11 février 2010 - 02:29
Sialater
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Herr Uhl wrote...
Morrigan disapproves -25
And isn't it cara mia, not mi cara?
I guess. I'll correct it when he says it again.
I think Mi Corazon sounds better anyway.
#257
Posté 11 février 2010 - 02:29
Freckles04
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Hehe, a fearsome Grey Warden with a soft spot for kitties. Of course! 
#260
Posté 11 février 2010 - 10:02
Sialater
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I'm taking a long weekend, so you'll get everything I have written today and tomorrow. Hopefully, I'll have time to write some more over this long weekend.
Part 25
The mountains were beginning to loom in the distance as they traveled. Moira was not looking forward to traversing them, even if Zevran claimed there was a pass near the southern reach of the range. It would take them nearly a week to cross them as it was.
At the foot of the pass when they finally reached it, they found a small village nestled in the valley before the ascent. The small village lay in a bowl-shaped dale with one main road creeping through it running parallel to a sleepy stream fed from a waterfall on the far side. They could see the white dots of sheep roaming the hillsides from where they stood. The villagers were going about their daily lives. A watermill perched on the stream turning lazily. Small farms turned most of the valley into a patchwork quilt of agriculture.
“Now doesn’t this look familiar,” Moira told Zevran as they paused on the hill overlooking the picturesque valley. Cullen held his horse next to theirs, the reigns of the animal they were using as a pack horse in one hand. The Mabari sat on his haunches, panting. The weather had definitely been getting warmer as spring matured into summer. Moira was wishing she could wear her mage robes on horseback since they were cooler than her grey woolen trousers and black tunic.
“I shall keep an eye out for sacrificial altars and male priests, cara mia,” Zevran told her, his voice amused.
“What are you talking about?” Cullen asked, as his horse sidled nervously. The roan gelding seemed to be eager to keep moving.
“A small town we visited during the Blight. Beautiful mountain village, complete with inbred locals and a dragon cult,” Moira replied, watching the tiny specks of the villagers.
“It was a lovely little town, perfect place to retire.” Zevran’s voice was laced with irony.
“And we have to go through this place?” Cullen asked, looking down at the village.
“It is the quickest way to the pass,” Zevran replied and Moira felt him shrug. “Besides, we need supplies and I could use a decent night’s sleep in an inn with a real bed; at least as much of a real bed as we will get in this village.”
“Do you think we’ll need to use the cover story we discussed, Zev?” Moira asked, turning her head toward the elf. She’d gotten used to riding with him. It was beginning to feel normal to be pressed up against the assassin. She really didn’t want to use that cover story. Being a even a pretend servant to Cullen would just make her relationship that much worse with the ex-Templar.
He frowned at her question, “I think we would have more trouble with the Crows in a city, but it is probably best we cloud the trail a little. However, a human, two elves and a Mabari are an odd enough combination that we will attract attention no matter what.”
Moira faced forward again, “But if we go in and announce ourselves as a Grey Warden and her associates, we’ll probably be asked to solve everyone’s problem from a dishonest merchant to sheep stealing.”
“Would that be so bad?” Cullen asked.
Moira rolled her eyes, “I like helping people, Cullen, but sometimes you get asked to do the stupidest things that people could take care of by themselves if they just thought about it a bit.”
“Grey Wardens become a crutch for people trying to solve problems, my dear Templar,” Zevran said, agreeing with her. “During the Blight, we helped who we could because it was the more expedient fashion in which to strengthen Ferelden to withstand the Darkspawn.”
“But there are no Darkspawn and no Blight,” Cullen said, nodding in understanding. “We might weaken them by solving their minor problems. I see. And if there are major problems?”
“We’ll see,” Moira told him. “Keep in mind, the longer we delay, the longer Alistair is a prisoner.” Cullen snorted and muttered something. Taking a deep breath, Moira decided to ignore her recruit’s muttering. She could feel Zevran tense in anger, though. She reached behind her and patted his leg. He remained tense but kept silent and started down the hill toward the village.
They had apparently been spotted on their way in as villagers seemed to drop whatever they were doing to stare at the travelers. Unlike Haven, however, the children rushed out to see them and chase each other in their wake. The playing children made Moira’s eyes well up and she quickly rubbed them to dash away any sign of tears. She’d never really thought about having children growing up. It wasn’t something a mage was encouraged to do. When she was in her teens one of her classmates had gotten pregnant by an older mage. He’d been devastated, she remembered. The girl had been ecstatic, giggling and laughing and planning with her friends, including picking out names. When she came to term, Moira found out why her classmate’s lover had been so upset. Not two minutes after giving birth, the baby was whisked away from its mother. Moira’s classmate never even got to hold it or find out the gender and sank into a deep depression where she was eventually made Tranquil. When Wynne had related similar story to Alistair, Moira hadn’t been surprised at the outcome, just that her friend hadn’t taken the appropriate precautions. Mages were not allowed to parent.
But when Moira was freed from the Tower by becoming a Grey Warden and then fell in love, she’d allowed herself to hope, only to have it dashed by an actual physical barrier to having a child with the man she loved. And now, children and babies just hurt in unguarded moments. Moira knew she distanced herself from children because she knew she could never have one. She turned her attention back to the road ahead, wrestling her sorrow back under control.
Part 25
The mountains were beginning to loom in the distance as they traveled. Moira was not looking forward to traversing them, even if Zevran claimed there was a pass near the southern reach of the range. It would take them nearly a week to cross them as it was.
At the foot of the pass when they finally reached it, they found a small village nestled in the valley before the ascent. The small village lay in a bowl-shaped dale with one main road creeping through it running parallel to a sleepy stream fed from a waterfall on the far side. They could see the white dots of sheep roaming the hillsides from where they stood. The villagers were going about their daily lives. A watermill perched on the stream turning lazily. Small farms turned most of the valley into a patchwork quilt of agriculture.
“Now doesn’t this look familiar,” Moira told Zevran as they paused on the hill overlooking the picturesque valley. Cullen held his horse next to theirs, the reigns of the animal they were using as a pack horse in one hand. The Mabari sat on his haunches, panting. The weather had definitely been getting warmer as spring matured into summer. Moira was wishing she could wear her mage robes on horseback since they were cooler than her grey woolen trousers and black tunic.
“I shall keep an eye out for sacrificial altars and male priests, cara mia,” Zevran told her, his voice amused.
“What are you talking about?” Cullen asked, as his horse sidled nervously. The roan gelding seemed to be eager to keep moving.
“A small town we visited during the Blight. Beautiful mountain village, complete with inbred locals and a dragon cult,” Moira replied, watching the tiny specks of the villagers.
“It was a lovely little town, perfect place to retire.” Zevran’s voice was laced with irony.
“And we have to go through this place?” Cullen asked, looking down at the village.
“It is the quickest way to the pass,” Zevran replied and Moira felt him shrug. “Besides, we need supplies and I could use a decent night’s sleep in an inn with a real bed; at least as much of a real bed as we will get in this village.”
“Do you think we’ll need to use the cover story we discussed, Zev?” Moira asked, turning her head toward the elf. She’d gotten used to riding with him. It was beginning to feel normal to be pressed up against the assassin. She really didn’t want to use that cover story. Being a even a pretend servant to Cullen would just make her relationship that much worse with the ex-Templar.
He frowned at her question, “I think we would have more trouble with the Crows in a city, but it is probably best we cloud the trail a little. However, a human, two elves and a Mabari are an odd enough combination that we will attract attention no matter what.”
Moira faced forward again, “But if we go in and announce ourselves as a Grey Warden and her associates, we’ll probably be asked to solve everyone’s problem from a dishonest merchant to sheep stealing.”
“Would that be so bad?” Cullen asked.
Moira rolled her eyes, “I like helping people, Cullen, but sometimes you get asked to do the stupidest things that people could take care of by themselves if they just thought about it a bit.”
“Grey Wardens become a crutch for people trying to solve problems, my dear Templar,” Zevran said, agreeing with her. “During the Blight, we helped who we could because it was the more expedient fashion in which to strengthen Ferelden to withstand the Darkspawn.”
“But there are no Darkspawn and no Blight,” Cullen said, nodding in understanding. “We might weaken them by solving their minor problems. I see. And if there are major problems?”
“We’ll see,” Moira told him. “Keep in mind, the longer we delay, the longer Alistair is a prisoner.” Cullen snorted and muttered something. Taking a deep breath, Moira decided to ignore her recruit’s muttering. She could feel Zevran tense in anger, though. She reached behind her and patted his leg. He remained tense but kept silent and started down the hill toward the village.
They had apparently been spotted on their way in as villagers seemed to drop whatever they were doing to stare at the travelers. Unlike Haven, however, the children rushed out to see them and chase each other in their wake. The playing children made Moira’s eyes well up and she quickly rubbed them to dash away any sign of tears. She’d never really thought about having children growing up. It wasn’t something a mage was encouraged to do. When she was in her teens one of her classmates had gotten pregnant by an older mage. He’d been devastated, she remembered. The girl had been ecstatic, giggling and laughing and planning with her friends, including picking out names. When she came to term, Moira found out why her classmate’s lover had been so upset. Not two minutes after giving birth, the baby was whisked away from its mother. Moira’s classmate never even got to hold it or find out the gender and sank into a deep depression where she was eventually made Tranquil. When Wynne had related similar story to Alistair, Moira hadn’t been surprised at the outcome, just that her friend hadn’t taken the appropriate precautions. Mages were not allowed to parent.
But when Moira was freed from the Tower by becoming a Grey Warden and then fell in love, she’d allowed herself to hope, only to have it dashed by an actual physical barrier to having a child with the man she loved. And now, children and babies just hurt in unguarded moments. Moira knew she distanced herself from children because she knew she could never have one. She turned her attention back to the road ahead, wrestling her sorrow back under control.
#261
Posté 11 février 2010 - 11:29
frostajulie
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Wow, I am reading so many of these I quite forgot about this one until I saw it on the top of the page. This is a really awesome story, and I love your portrayal of Morrigan. Keep it coming.
#262
Posté 12 février 2010 - 02:54
Sialater
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Part 26
Zevran knew Moira was watching the children and his heart ached for her. He knew how much she wanted a child. But the children didn’t distract him from the glares of the adults. They had dropped everything to watch the travelers approach, but made no other welcoming gesture. It was a good sign, though, that they didn’t order their children away from them. He caught Cullen’s eye and the recruit nodded, he’d caught the semi-unfriendly stares, also. Silently the two men walked the horses to what looked like the town’s only inn, The Shepherd. Zevran dismounted then helped Moira down, too. He knew he would eventually have to teach her to ride, but he was enjoying having her sit in front of him and hold on to her all day. She stood looking up at the inn’s sign, her small hands on her hips. “What are the chances of us getting a bath, here, I wonder?” She looked at the two of them pointedly, “You could both use a bath.” The Mabari barked in laughter and she looked down at him, “You, too.” He ducked his stub of a tail and whined.
Zevran weighed several lewd responses, but contented himself with merely shaking his head at her, well aware of the larger man beside him. The assassin was getting tired of guarding his tongue, but he had to admit if the ex-Templar hadn’t been there, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have betrayed Alistair with Moira already. His imagination very helpfully supplied him with a near-physical memory of their one night together again. He busied himself untying their packs and armor from the horses as Moira went in to inquire about rooms.
By the time she came back out, he and Cullen had everything ready to bring inside. “They have two rooms. I’ve asked for baths, they’ll be ready in an hour. The town’s name is Ember.” Her tone was clipped and angry.
“What’s wrong, my dear Moira?” Zevran aked.
She glared, “I had to say my master needed the rooms for the night for himself, his servant, his bodyguard and his dog, and room in the stable for his four horses.” She said the word master as if it were the foulest thing she’d ever spoken. Moira may never have been a slave, but mages knew no more freedom than a slave did. And to have to pretend to be Cullen’s possession, an ex-Templar at that and one who used to be her watcher, was galling. But it was the only thing that others would believe. It probably didn’t help that the wool tunic and trousers she wore dwarfed her and made her look like a little girl, either. The tailor in Antiva City apparently made sure the pants would stay on and the hem of the trousers not drag on the ground, but either he didn’t have time, or Moira hadn’t made time, to make the rest of the clothes fit better. The ill-fitting clothes didn’t detract from her beauty, in Zevran’s opinion, they added to her air of fragility.
“Then we’re going to have to discuss the sleeping arrangements,” Zevran said, picking up his pack. “Let us go to our rooms, where it’s private.” Reluctantly, Moira nodded and picked up her own belongings and Cullen’s pack, too. Both elves stood looking at the Templar until he got the hint and preceded them into the inn with Perrin at his heels as Moira silently directed the dog.
The innkeeper was an emaciated and wizened man. Cullen adopted an air of arrogance and looked down his nose at the old man, nodding at the innkeeper’s reassurances that everything would be to the obviously important and wealthy man’s liking. Zevran took note of how many tables in the common room (five) and how many barmaids there were cleaning them (two) and how many exits he could see (three not counting the stairs). The old man led them upstairs and unlocked both rooms for them, handing the key to Cullen. His arrogant act still in place, he just walked into the room, ignoring the subtly outstretched hand of the innkeeper. Zevran, bringing up the rear, dropped five coppers in it and closed the door on the innkeeper. He listened for the old man to go back downstairs, holding his hand up to his friends for silence. When he heard no more noises to indicate the old man was listening in, he peeked out to be certain then closed the door. He turned to find Moira and Cullen glaring at each other.
“You son of a ****, you’re enjoying this!” She accused, her voice low.
“Now, wait a minute! I’ve said no such thing!” He hissed back.
Zevran leaned against the door, his arms crossed. It was probably best to let the two of them settle this right now, rather than later.
She stepped closer to Cullen, jabbing her finger at his armored chest, “You take ONE inch of advantage, Cullen and you’ll find out how I killed the archdemon first hand.”
Cullen grabbed her hand, “Whatever you think of me, Moira, know this. You as my servant is not something I have ever wanted.” Strangely, he sounded sincere. Zevran looked at the younger man closely. He was upset, but why?
She yanked her hand out of his grasp, “Oh, really?”
Cullen tugged on the neckline of his armor; they both seemed to have forgotten Zevran was there. “I admit I blamed you for everything I was feeling. And I still do, a little. You are still a walking temptation for me.” Zevran had to admit the truth to those words, she was every bit one. But the difference between the assassin and the Templar was that the assassin had never seen it as her fault. She opened her mouth to say something, but Cullen held up his hand for her to let him speak. “I know it’s not your fault that the Maker made me weak enough to fall in love with someone I was supposed to protect and someone I wasn’t supposed to consider a person. But you are and I have. Isabella pointed this out to me quite often in the time I was with her.” He stepped closer to her until she was forced to look up at him. Silently, Zevran set down his pack, ready to attack the man. “I have never wanted to own you. Keep you safe locked up in the Tower, yes, so I could watch you. But the Cleansing pointed out to me that not even the Tower is safe.”
She took a step back and glanced at Zevran. The assassin saw the calculation in her eyes, the threat assessment she always made and was relieved she hadn’t reverted to that ingrained submissive mage behavior when confronted by an angry Templar.
She held up one slender finger, “First: Back up.” He complied as a second finger stood alongside its fellow, “Second: You can’t possibly love me, you don’t know me.” A third finger, “Third: I’m glad you had that time with Isabella, and I’m glad that against your training, you consider me a person.” Her tone was wry and she held up her fourth finger, “Fourth: I will never be anyone’s prisoner again.” Her thumb stood out, “Fifth: Love is never a weakness.” She spun on her heel and barged past Zevran to leave the room, the Mabari following her at the snap of her fingers. Zevran heard her voice asking where she could bathe the dog on her “master’s” orders. He glanced back at Cullen and found himself disturbed by the look on the man’s face.
He glared at Cullen, “Just stay away from her.” He turned to follow after Moira, leaving Cullen to sit on the single bed in the room with his head on his hands.
It didn’t take long to find Moira, the innkeeper directed him to the rear of the building where permanent baths had been built. Zevran was moderately impressed, unless, of course they were for the use of the whole town, in which case he hoped they were cleaned often. He paused in the doorway and watched his friend. Because, no matter how else he felt about her, her friendship was far more precious.
She had put the dog in the bathtub and was lathering the soap into its fur. She had been careful to arrange herself so she could see the door, but was concentrating on the dog at the moment. He cleared his throat, “I do not think I have ever been so jealous of that dog in my life.”
Moira looked up and laughed, “You’re jealous you’re not going to smell like all of Ferelden the rest of the day?”
He put his hand to his heart, “You wound me, cara mia.”
Zevran knew Moira was watching the children and his heart ached for her. He knew how much she wanted a child. But the children didn’t distract him from the glares of the adults. They had dropped everything to watch the travelers approach, but made no other welcoming gesture. It was a good sign, though, that they didn’t order their children away from them. He caught Cullen’s eye and the recruit nodded, he’d caught the semi-unfriendly stares, also. Silently the two men walked the horses to what looked like the town’s only inn, The Shepherd. Zevran dismounted then helped Moira down, too. He knew he would eventually have to teach her to ride, but he was enjoying having her sit in front of him and hold on to her all day. She stood looking up at the inn’s sign, her small hands on her hips. “What are the chances of us getting a bath, here, I wonder?” She looked at the two of them pointedly, “You could both use a bath.” The Mabari barked in laughter and she looked down at him, “You, too.” He ducked his stub of a tail and whined.
Zevran weighed several lewd responses, but contented himself with merely shaking his head at her, well aware of the larger man beside him. The assassin was getting tired of guarding his tongue, but he had to admit if the ex-Templar hadn’t been there, he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t have betrayed Alistair with Moira already. His imagination very helpfully supplied him with a near-physical memory of their one night together again. He busied himself untying their packs and armor from the horses as Moira went in to inquire about rooms.
By the time she came back out, he and Cullen had everything ready to bring inside. “They have two rooms. I’ve asked for baths, they’ll be ready in an hour. The town’s name is Ember.” Her tone was clipped and angry.
“What’s wrong, my dear Moira?” Zevran aked.
She glared, “I had to say my master needed the rooms for the night for himself, his servant, his bodyguard and his dog, and room in the stable for his four horses.” She said the word master as if it were the foulest thing she’d ever spoken. Moira may never have been a slave, but mages knew no more freedom than a slave did. And to have to pretend to be Cullen’s possession, an ex-Templar at that and one who used to be her watcher, was galling. But it was the only thing that others would believe. It probably didn’t help that the wool tunic and trousers she wore dwarfed her and made her look like a little girl, either. The tailor in Antiva City apparently made sure the pants would stay on and the hem of the trousers not drag on the ground, but either he didn’t have time, or Moira hadn’t made time, to make the rest of the clothes fit better. The ill-fitting clothes didn’t detract from her beauty, in Zevran’s opinion, they added to her air of fragility.
“Then we’re going to have to discuss the sleeping arrangements,” Zevran said, picking up his pack. “Let us go to our rooms, where it’s private.” Reluctantly, Moira nodded and picked up her own belongings and Cullen’s pack, too. Both elves stood looking at the Templar until he got the hint and preceded them into the inn with Perrin at his heels as Moira silently directed the dog.
The innkeeper was an emaciated and wizened man. Cullen adopted an air of arrogance and looked down his nose at the old man, nodding at the innkeeper’s reassurances that everything would be to the obviously important and wealthy man’s liking. Zevran took note of how many tables in the common room (five) and how many barmaids there were cleaning them (two) and how many exits he could see (three not counting the stairs). The old man led them upstairs and unlocked both rooms for them, handing the key to Cullen. His arrogant act still in place, he just walked into the room, ignoring the subtly outstretched hand of the innkeeper. Zevran, bringing up the rear, dropped five coppers in it and closed the door on the innkeeper. He listened for the old man to go back downstairs, holding his hand up to his friends for silence. When he heard no more noises to indicate the old man was listening in, he peeked out to be certain then closed the door. He turned to find Moira and Cullen glaring at each other.
“You son of a ****, you’re enjoying this!” She accused, her voice low.
“Now, wait a minute! I’ve said no such thing!” He hissed back.
Zevran leaned against the door, his arms crossed. It was probably best to let the two of them settle this right now, rather than later.
She stepped closer to Cullen, jabbing her finger at his armored chest, “You take ONE inch of advantage, Cullen and you’ll find out how I killed the archdemon first hand.”
Cullen grabbed her hand, “Whatever you think of me, Moira, know this. You as my servant is not something I have ever wanted.” Strangely, he sounded sincere. Zevran looked at the younger man closely. He was upset, but why?
She yanked her hand out of his grasp, “Oh, really?”
Cullen tugged on the neckline of his armor; they both seemed to have forgotten Zevran was there. “I admit I blamed you for everything I was feeling. And I still do, a little. You are still a walking temptation for me.” Zevran had to admit the truth to those words, she was every bit one. But the difference between the assassin and the Templar was that the assassin had never seen it as her fault. She opened her mouth to say something, but Cullen held up his hand for her to let him speak. “I know it’s not your fault that the Maker made me weak enough to fall in love with someone I was supposed to protect and someone I wasn’t supposed to consider a person. But you are and I have. Isabella pointed this out to me quite often in the time I was with her.” He stepped closer to her until she was forced to look up at him. Silently, Zevran set down his pack, ready to attack the man. “I have never wanted to own you. Keep you safe locked up in the Tower, yes, so I could watch you. But the Cleansing pointed out to me that not even the Tower is safe.”
She took a step back and glanced at Zevran. The assassin saw the calculation in her eyes, the threat assessment she always made and was relieved she hadn’t reverted to that ingrained submissive mage behavior when confronted by an angry Templar.
She held up one slender finger, “First: Back up.” He complied as a second finger stood alongside its fellow, “Second: You can’t possibly love me, you don’t know me.” A third finger, “Third: I’m glad you had that time with Isabella, and I’m glad that against your training, you consider me a person.” Her tone was wry and she held up her fourth finger, “Fourth: I will never be anyone’s prisoner again.” Her thumb stood out, “Fifth: Love is never a weakness.” She spun on her heel and barged past Zevran to leave the room, the Mabari following her at the snap of her fingers. Zevran heard her voice asking where she could bathe the dog on her “master’s” orders. He glanced back at Cullen and found himself disturbed by the look on the man’s face.
He glared at Cullen, “Just stay away from her.” He turned to follow after Moira, leaving Cullen to sit on the single bed in the room with his head on his hands.
It didn’t take long to find Moira, the innkeeper directed him to the rear of the building where permanent baths had been built. Zevran was moderately impressed, unless, of course they were for the use of the whole town, in which case he hoped they were cleaned often. He paused in the doorway and watched his friend. Because, no matter how else he felt about her, her friendship was far more precious.
She had put the dog in the bathtub and was lathering the soap into its fur. She had been careful to arrange herself so she could see the door, but was concentrating on the dog at the moment. He cleared his throat, “I do not think I have ever been so jealous of that dog in my life.”
Moira looked up and laughed, “You’re jealous you’re not going to smell like all of Ferelden the rest of the day?”
He put his hand to his heart, “You wound me, cara mia.”
#263
Posté 12 février 2010 - 03:07
Freckles04
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I was glad to get a snippet of Cullen's mindset here. It's been too long...
Nice chapter. Keep them coming!
Nice chapter. Keep them coming!
#264
Posté 12 février 2010 - 03:12
amethyst_rose2009
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Ha, I love the part where Zev says he's jealous of the dog. So funny! You added that since I read it, Sia. I like the addition. 
#265
Posté 12 février 2010 - 03:12
Sialater
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Hope I adequately pointed out he's not quite sane, still.
#266
Posté 12 février 2010 - 03:18
Freckles04
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Sialater wrote...
Hope I adequately pointed out he's not quite sane, still.
Yes, but he sounds like he's coming around. Just a little.
#267
Posté 12 février 2010 - 03:21
amethyst_rose2009
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Yeah, when I had only read the first part of that chapter, I actually thought Isabella had taught Cullen some manners as well as........other things, LOL, but then I read the rest of it and I realize, no Cullen's still not quite aware of reality yet. I agree with Freckles, I think he's slowly coming around though. We can only hope.
#268
Posté 12 février 2010 - 03:28
Herr Uhl
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Well, the number of tables and exits I see as professional, but noticing the number of barmaids was clearly recreational.
Long weekend, I guess I'll have to finish my second playthrough of ME then.
Long weekend, I guess I'll have to finish my second playthrough of ME then.
#269
Posté 12 février 2010 - 03:47
Sialater
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Well, Zevran's always got an angle. 
#270
Posté 12 février 2010 - 06:01
ReubenLiew
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Why does HE have to back up when SHE stepped forward?
... ;D
Drama Llama's ahoy!
Stupid weekends >.>
... ;D
Drama Llama's ahoy!
Stupid weekends >.>
#271
Posté 12 février 2010 - 06:07
Sialater
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Hey Reuben:
He stepped closer to her until she was forced to look up at him. Silently, Zevran set down his pack, ready to attack the man.
#272
Posté 12 février 2010 - 06:56
ReubenLiew
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But, but, she did it first... >.>
#273
Posté 12 février 2010 - 07:01
amethyst_rose2009
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Hmm, why do I get the feeling that Reuben is rooting for the unstable templar here? LOL.
#274
Posté 12 février 2010 - 07:33
Sialater
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Reuben probably just sympathizes with him what with wanting to go all stalkery on Moira and stuff.
#275
Posté 12 février 2010 - 07:37
ReubenLiew
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What's not to like about that socially awkward stalker kid? ;D
