I like the new shale.
The Rescue -- Completed 8/1/11
Débuté par
Sialater
, janv. 17 2010 07:16
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#352
Posté 03 mars 2010 - 12:41
moemie
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This is the first story I have read with Shale as a human. I like her already 
Modifié par moemie, 06 mars 2010 - 12:16 .
#353
Posté 03 mars 2010 - 02:25
Treason1
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moemie wrote...
This is the first story I have read with Shale as ahumandwarf. I like here already
Fixed that for you.
#354
Posté 03 mars 2010 - 02:05
Sialater
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I just call her mortal and save the distinctions for others.
#355
Posté 03 mars 2010 - 02:23
Herr Uhl
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She at least isn't an elf.
And probably not a qunari, much to her dismay. I still want to know how female qunari look :sadface:
Edit: Btw, Shale using dwarven expressions, ie. by the stone, seemed kind of weird, but that prolly was only me.
And probably not a qunari, much to her dismay. I still want to know how female qunari look :sadface:
Edit: Btw, Shale using dwarven expressions, ie. by the stone, seemed kind of weird, but that prolly was only me.
Modifié par Herr Uhl, 03 mars 2010 - 05:16 .
#356
Posté 03 mars 2010 - 03:35
bloodtallow
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Thoroughly enjoying catching up with this story. Sia, the scene you've written where Alistair mimics Zev's oath of loyalty is so good, it should be canon in all Alistair romances. Absolutely awesome!
#357
Posté 03 mars 2010 - 04:45
Sialater
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bloodtallow wrote...
Thoroughly enjoying catching up with this story. Sia, the scene you've written where Alistair mimics Zev's oath of loyalty is so good, it should be canon in all Alistair romances. Absolutely awesome!
Thank you! I worked really hard on that!
#358
Posté 08 mars 2010 - 02:56
Sialater
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Part 32
“More like what trouble I’ve let them get into,” he told the white haired woman. Briefly, he summarized the events that led to them arriving at this inn.
“Let me guess,” the mage’s rich voice said, “You feel responsible.” She cupped the side of his face.
“I – yes, I do,” he hung his head.
“Well, I could sit here and tell you it’s all going to be all right, and it wasn’t your fault,” she put her hands on her hips, looking at him steadily. “But you and I both know that will go in one ear and out the other with you.” She clapped her hands, smiling as he jumped slightly. “You are going to take Shale and that boy and rescue her.”
Zevran’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline, “I am surprised you are not offering to come, my dear Wynne.”
“I’m too old for such things, Zevran,” she told him. “I love her like a daughter, but I’m afraid I’d be in the way right now. Making Shale mortal took a lot out of me and my spirit.” She swayed on her feet, and alarmed, Zevran helped her to sit back down. “Bring them in here. You need to plan.”
The former Golem and the ex-Templar and the Mabari entered at her words. Shale stood in front of Zevran, her arms crossed, glaring at him. “Does the painted elf have a plan?”
Zevran purposely mimicked her pose, cocking his head at her, “Does the pretty one mind pretending to be the human’s ‘escort’ for the night?”
The reaction both gave was worth the dwarf continuously calling him a painted elf. Shale sputtered in indignation, Cullen turned a violent red and began muttering words he’d no doubt picked up from Isabella’s crew. “Good, then we have a plan. The Nine Horse Hitch is an establishment of ill-repute. However, it does rent rooms to those who, shall we say, have unconventional tastes? I cannot approach since I risk being recognized by any Crows that might be in residence. I will have to get in another way.” He looked at Perrin. “You’re going to need to stay and protect Wynne, old friend. You cannot go where we will be going.” The large dog whined and lay down next to Wynne with his massive head on his paws.
Moira lay curled up on the floor. They’d come to untie her only to put a glyph under her for paralysis. At least she could feel her fingers and toes now, she just couldn’t move them. What she wouldn’t give for her Templar right now. She wanted to laugh at the thought, but the only thing she could seem to move was her heart, her lungs, and her eyes and eyelids. Everything else seemed frozen. Hell, she’d even welcome Cullen if he got her free.
Her mind wandered to the first time she’d met the tall, blonde former Templar. Duncan had told her where to find him but her sense of direction had been terrible after a life time living in that Tower. She couldn’t tell East from West, North from South. So, of course, she’d gotten lost.
She’d run into the other two Grey Warden recruits, flirted with Daveth, got annoyed at Jory, then fed a deserter before finally finding Alistair. She’d stopped at the top of the ramp, listening to him smart off to a fellow mage, a man she recognized from the Tower and who was just plain obnoxious on a good day. Alistair’s taunting didn’t improve the Rivaini’s temperament any. When the young Grey Warden finally noticed her as the mage stormed away, she’d felt her knees turn to mush. He was gorgeous, like something out of one of those fairy tales she was always sneaking between the covers of her history books: the kind where the knights rescued the pretty princess from her tower. And then he opened his mouth, “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”
She’d laughed and stammered, “I know exactly what you mean!” He’d grinned and introduced himself. He seemed so sure of himself, so confident. And funny, too. When he’d mentioned being a former Templar, however, she didn’t know whether to be suspicious of him, or glad of the near familiarity. She’d tried to ignore the tiny surge of lust that flared to life, though. He’d led her back to Duncan and she found her eyes continuously glued to his rear end, watching the way he moved under his armor. When he’d turned back to see if she was still behind him, she’d wrenched her eyes away and felt her face heat. “Get control of yourself, Moira! He’s a Templar and a human! This will only end in disaster!” It was excellent advice. She never took it.
He’d led the small group of Grey Warden recruits into the wilds. She remembered being disappointed in his taciturnity, wishing to hear him recount tales of being a Grey Warden, or just talking to her. He had a wonderful voice, after all.
A rough kick to her stomach interrupted her reverie. She couldn’t even twitch to grunt or moan in protest, nor cough to regain her air. A pair of boots stood in front of her, she couldn’t move her eyes to see more. They were brown and badly scuffed and seemed to belong to large human male feet. She watched, mentally bracing herself for the impact as one of the feet drew back to kick her in the head. A rough, Antivan accented female voice called out, “You do that, and I’ll break every bone in your foot.” She recognized the voice of Azaelle, the frightening woman who’d abducted her. The boot went back to the floor and its owner walked away.
Azaelle walked over and crouched down to nearly her eye level. “I find myself in a bit of an interesting position. You see, our employer just wanted us to hold on to you. But, apparently, word has gotten out that you’re our …. Guest…. And we’ve gotten offers. A party in Denerim wants you shipped back there. Preferably dead. The Grey Wardens want you in Weisshaupt yesterday, alive. I’ve engaged them in a little bidding war, but I think you should start praying to your precious Maker that Weisshaupt has more gold than Denerim. “
The woman stood up, Moira could see her cocking her head out of the corner of her eye. “And strangely enough, they want that loathsome traitorous elf who follows you about like a kicked dog. Same conditions as you. Very odd. I guess you’re bait, my dear.”
Moira’s eyes widened, she couldn’t move to reply, or even to spit in the woman’s face. Who by Andraste’s Ass wanted her dead in Denerim, and who would even find Zevran a threat? Anora, most certainly, the canny woman probably figured that if she and Alistair were dead, Zevran would hunt her down in revenge. And why would the Grey Wardens want Zevran? Leverage against her or Alistair? But Anora should be locked up in that tower with no contact with the outside world, not to mention no money to pay a Crowe’s ransom. And no one thought Alistair and Zevran were even friends, much less close enough to be used against Alistair. Had the Wardens gotten too much information from the King in the Fade? And who had originally paid for her captivity? Moira closed her eyes to think.
“More like what trouble I’ve let them get into,” he told the white haired woman. Briefly, he summarized the events that led to them arriving at this inn.
“Let me guess,” the mage’s rich voice said, “You feel responsible.” She cupped the side of his face.
“I – yes, I do,” he hung his head.
“Well, I could sit here and tell you it’s all going to be all right, and it wasn’t your fault,” she put her hands on her hips, looking at him steadily. “But you and I both know that will go in one ear and out the other with you.” She clapped her hands, smiling as he jumped slightly. “You are going to take Shale and that boy and rescue her.”
Zevran’s eyebrows climbed into his hairline, “I am surprised you are not offering to come, my dear Wynne.”
“I’m too old for such things, Zevran,” she told him. “I love her like a daughter, but I’m afraid I’d be in the way right now. Making Shale mortal took a lot out of me and my spirit.” She swayed on her feet, and alarmed, Zevran helped her to sit back down. “Bring them in here. You need to plan.”
The former Golem and the ex-Templar and the Mabari entered at her words. Shale stood in front of Zevran, her arms crossed, glaring at him. “Does the painted elf have a plan?”
Zevran purposely mimicked her pose, cocking his head at her, “Does the pretty one mind pretending to be the human’s ‘escort’ for the night?”
The reaction both gave was worth the dwarf continuously calling him a painted elf. Shale sputtered in indignation, Cullen turned a violent red and began muttering words he’d no doubt picked up from Isabella’s crew. “Good, then we have a plan. The Nine Horse Hitch is an establishment of ill-repute. However, it does rent rooms to those who, shall we say, have unconventional tastes? I cannot approach since I risk being recognized by any Crows that might be in residence. I will have to get in another way.” He looked at Perrin. “You’re going to need to stay and protect Wynne, old friend. You cannot go where we will be going.” The large dog whined and lay down next to Wynne with his massive head on his paws.
Moira lay curled up on the floor. They’d come to untie her only to put a glyph under her for paralysis. At least she could feel her fingers and toes now, she just couldn’t move them. What she wouldn’t give for her Templar right now. She wanted to laugh at the thought, but the only thing she could seem to move was her heart, her lungs, and her eyes and eyelids. Everything else seemed frozen. Hell, she’d even welcome Cullen if he got her free.
Her mind wandered to the first time she’d met the tall, blonde former Templar. Duncan had told her where to find him but her sense of direction had been terrible after a life time living in that Tower. She couldn’t tell East from West, North from South. So, of course, she’d gotten lost.
She’d run into the other two Grey Warden recruits, flirted with Daveth, got annoyed at Jory, then fed a deserter before finally finding Alistair. She’d stopped at the top of the ramp, listening to him smart off to a fellow mage, a man she recognized from the Tower and who was just plain obnoxious on a good day. Alistair’s taunting didn’t improve the Rivaini’s temperament any. When the young Grey Warden finally noticed her as the mage stormed away, she’d felt her knees turn to mush. He was gorgeous, like something out of one of those fairy tales she was always sneaking between the covers of her history books: the kind where the knights rescued the pretty princess from her tower. And then he opened his mouth, “You know, one good thing about the Blight is how it brings people together.”
She’d laughed and stammered, “I know exactly what you mean!” He’d grinned and introduced himself. He seemed so sure of himself, so confident. And funny, too. When he’d mentioned being a former Templar, however, she didn’t know whether to be suspicious of him, or glad of the near familiarity. She’d tried to ignore the tiny surge of lust that flared to life, though. He’d led her back to Duncan and she found her eyes continuously glued to his rear end, watching the way he moved under his armor. When he’d turned back to see if she was still behind him, she’d wrenched her eyes away and felt her face heat. “Get control of yourself, Moira! He’s a Templar and a human! This will only end in disaster!” It was excellent advice. She never took it.
He’d led the small group of Grey Warden recruits into the wilds. She remembered being disappointed in his taciturnity, wishing to hear him recount tales of being a Grey Warden, or just talking to her. He had a wonderful voice, after all.
A rough kick to her stomach interrupted her reverie. She couldn’t even twitch to grunt or moan in protest, nor cough to regain her air. A pair of boots stood in front of her, she couldn’t move her eyes to see more. They were brown and badly scuffed and seemed to belong to large human male feet. She watched, mentally bracing herself for the impact as one of the feet drew back to kick her in the head. A rough, Antivan accented female voice called out, “You do that, and I’ll break every bone in your foot.” She recognized the voice of Azaelle, the frightening woman who’d abducted her. The boot went back to the floor and its owner walked away.
Azaelle walked over and crouched down to nearly her eye level. “I find myself in a bit of an interesting position. You see, our employer just wanted us to hold on to you. But, apparently, word has gotten out that you’re our …. Guest…. And we’ve gotten offers. A party in Denerim wants you shipped back there. Preferably dead. The Grey Wardens want you in Weisshaupt yesterday, alive. I’ve engaged them in a little bidding war, but I think you should start praying to your precious Maker that Weisshaupt has more gold than Denerim. “
The woman stood up, Moira could see her cocking her head out of the corner of her eye. “And strangely enough, they want that loathsome traitorous elf who follows you about like a kicked dog. Same conditions as you. Very odd. I guess you’re bait, my dear.”
Moira’s eyes widened, she couldn’t move to reply, or even to spit in the woman’s face. Who by Andraste’s Ass wanted her dead in Denerim, and who would even find Zevran a threat? Anora, most certainly, the canny woman probably figured that if she and Alistair were dead, Zevran would hunt her down in revenge. And why would the Grey Wardens want Zevran? Leverage against her or Alistair? But Anora should be locked up in that tower with no contact with the outside world, not to mention no money to pay a Crowe’s ransom. And no one thought Alistair and Zevran were even friends, much less close enough to be used against Alistair. Had the Wardens gotten too much information from the King in the Fade? And who had originally paid for her captivity? Moira closed her eyes to think.
#359
Posté 08 mars 2010 - 02:47
Treason1
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I still get a laugh out of imagining Shale as a "petite" dwarven woman as you had described in the earlier chapter. It adds a clear mental image and a little bit of extra authentication to "their" plan as seen by outside eyes.
#360
Posté 09 mars 2010 - 04:25
Sialater
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Part 33
Zevran sat in a shadowy corner of the common room of the Nine Horse Hitch. He’d borrowed a dark grey cloak from Wynne and sat with the hood pulled up watching the room. He made sure to keep his distinctive tattoo from showing and the hood pulled over his pale hair and pointed ears. A tankard sat untouched in front of him. He watched for Cullen and Shale’s entrance, amused at the prospect in spite of his worry.
The Grey Warden recruit entered, towering over almost all the patrons in the common room; his diminutive companion completely invisible. Zevran pretended to drink from the tankard to hide his grin. Just as they rehearsed, Cullen imperiously demanded a private room for him and his wife. The expression on the proprietor’s face when he saw Shale was enough to nearly cause Zevran to inhale the liquid he was merely pretending to drink. The odd pair were without weapons and armor, pretending to be simple but wealthy merchants with a penchant for exotic locations for recreational activities. Zevran had hidden them before entering the common room. After a short discussion, Cullen and Shale were led to a back room, arms around each other.
Zevran waited several minutes and than wrapped himself in shadows to follow them. He slipped into the room they were supposed to ask for and was relieved to find that they’d gotten and he hadn’t interrupted someone else’s fun. They were strapping on the last bits of their armor. “Good you’re almost ready. Chances are, she’s in the lowest level.”
Cullen narrowed his eyes at Zevran, “Chances are? You mean you’re not sure?”
Zevran glared at the larger man, “And how would I have verified this?” His amusement was gone, blown away by fury at the younger man questioning him. The worry quickly followed in the anger’s wake, though, blunting the edge of the rage.
Shale stepped forward, “We all want her safe. Keep it in your pants.”
Zevran looked both of them over. “Try to move quietly. We are in the back of the building, but I’d prefer not to have to fight our way through servants and customers.” Strangely, the hallway was deserted as they crept along it. The occasional shout of passion or moan of pleasure reached their ears and Zevran was amused to look back and see both Cullen and Shale turning red. They reached the servant’s staircase in the back of the building. The lack of foot traffic was setting off alarm bells in Zevran’s head. He stopped and pressed himself against the wall, motioning the other two closer.
“We’re walking into a trap,” he told them, whispering.
“No, really? Whatever gave it that idea?” Shale hissed back.
He ignored her and looked at Cullen, “The minute you see Moira, you’ll have to Cleanse the area. She’s likely held immobile by a spell or three.” Cullen nodded. “Shale and I will see to it you get to her. Once she’s free, we’ll be able to fight our way out.”
“That’s the best plan I’ve heard it come up with all night,” Shale said, unlimbering her sword. The two men also drew their blades. Zevran continued to lead the way down the stairs.
From her vantage point in the middle of the room, Moira could see a ring of boots surrounding her. At least, she assumed they were surrounding her. She couldn’t move her head yet to check. The mage holding the spell in place was over in one of the far corners of the large cellar. Azaelle had positioned herself next to Moira, just outside the range of the glyph, blades at the ready. “It looks like your elf has come for you, little one. Denerim will be glad of both your corpses.” So, Anora had won the bidding war. It had to be Anora. And she almost certainly had to be working with Eamon. They were both minor considerations, however, to getting Alistair back from Weisshaupt. Moira told herself she wasn’t really afraid of the braggart Crow who’d imprisoned her. She’d killed three dragons, after all; one Crow was a significantly smaller problem.
A body was thrown down the stairs, Cullen rushing down after it, a battle cry emanating from the ex-Templar. Oathkeeper was yanked from the corpse of the guard as he crumpled at Cullen’s feet. A small blonde dwarf woman followed in his wake, brandishing a sword as tall as she was. Zevran emerged from the stairway behind them, taking in the room at a glance. Moira felt her heart contract, she’d never been so glad to see anyone else in her life. “Azaelle. I believe you have something of mine,” the assassin said, Starfang glinting in the torchlight.
“Get him,” was the only reply Azaelle gave. Moira watched as Cullen began to head toward her, simply shoving opponents out of his way to get to her. Zevran and the blonde dwarf came along behind him, killing everyone in his wake. Zevran and the dwarf seemed to move together like they’d fought beside one another before. Who was this woman?
Cullen finally got close enough to her for him to wipe away the spell holding her in place. But before he could set off his Templar abilities, Moira felt herself burn from the inside out. She couldn’t help herself, she screamed through her closed mouth, unable to even writhe in agony as every nerve ending in her body fired at once. Through her pain and the blood pounding in her ears, she heard Zevran’s voice, “Call off your mage or you die here.” She’d never heard him sound so cold. She could feel tears leaking from her eyes, burning a path down her face. “Do it, Cullen, now!”
Suddenly, the pain ceased, the paralysis stopped. She wanted to weep in relief, but she could feel the Blood Mage in the corner readying another spell. Zevran was standing close enough to her and his boot was within reach. Before anyone else could move, she reached up, yanked out the dagger as carefully as she could from his boot sheathe and threw it with all her magical strength at the mage in the corner. The knife blossomed from the man’s throat and he collapsed in a heap, the spell dying on his lips. Cullen grabbed Azaelle by the throat, holding her still. In one motion, Zevran sheathed his sword and spun to face Moira.
Wordlessly, he pulled her to him, cupping her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. Moira closed her eyes as her rescuer pulled her tighter into his embrace and kissed her. Without her telling them to, her arms wound up around his neck, entwining into his hair. One of his hands traveled down her back, pulling her tight against him, the other wound itself in her hair. Her lips parted and he took the invitation, his tongue finding hers. Her senses were filled with Zevran, the satin of his hair running through her fingers, the scent of leather, steel and that indefinable smell that was only him, the taste of his lips. A fire started somewhere below her stomach and she pulled him tighter to her. He was the one who broke the kiss first, however. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Mi amora, we cannot. Not yet.” She nodded, reality crashing back down around her. Alistair still needed to be found and rescued. Then she supposed she’d have to face the fact that she could not choose between them.
The pair parted to find that Cullen had forced Azaelle onto her knees, his sword at her throat. Zevran seemed to be reluctant to let Moira stray from his side for very long and kept his arm around her as they walked over to the defeated assassin. The blonde dwarf was systematically rifling the pockets of the dead. Moira was all too conscious of Zevran’s body alongside hers, but forced herself to focus on Azaelle. Without preamble she said, “The way I see it you have three choices. One: we kill you, perhaps more mercifully than your fellow Crows will. Two: we let you go and you take your chances against them for failing. Three: you join the Grey Wardens of Ferelden.” Zevran’s fingers tightened on her shoulder almost painfully at the last offer. Cullen glanced at her sharply as well. The dwarf just laughed.
The scarred woman seemed to consider, “And what is entailed in the final offer?”
“You make it to Amaranthine in Ferelden alive,” Moira told her.
“Then that is the offer I shall take,” the Antivan said. Moira nodded and gestured, casting Mind Blast to stun the woman. Turning to the dwarf, Moira asked, “And who might you be?”
The petite woman grinned, hooking her thumbs in her armor. “It shall have three guesses and the first two don’t count.”
Moira’s eyes widened and she rushed over to the other woman and threw her arms around her, “Shale! I’m so glad to see you! How is Wynne?”
“We don’t really have time for reunions, Mi Amora. We should leave before Azaelle wakes up,” Zevran reminded her, grasping her hand and leading her to the rear of the cellar. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to go back through the Nine Horse Hitch. I noticed the rear entrance before, it was just barred from the inside.” The four friends quickly left the house of ill-repute behind. A short discussion and Cullen and Shale were sent to get the horses. Zevran and Moira headed for Wynne.
Zevran sat in a shadowy corner of the common room of the Nine Horse Hitch. He’d borrowed a dark grey cloak from Wynne and sat with the hood pulled up watching the room. He made sure to keep his distinctive tattoo from showing and the hood pulled over his pale hair and pointed ears. A tankard sat untouched in front of him. He watched for Cullen and Shale’s entrance, amused at the prospect in spite of his worry.
The Grey Warden recruit entered, towering over almost all the patrons in the common room; his diminutive companion completely invisible. Zevran pretended to drink from the tankard to hide his grin. Just as they rehearsed, Cullen imperiously demanded a private room for him and his wife. The expression on the proprietor’s face when he saw Shale was enough to nearly cause Zevran to inhale the liquid he was merely pretending to drink. The odd pair were without weapons and armor, pretending to be simple but wealthy merchants with a penchant for exotic locations for recreational activities. Zevran had hidden them before entering the common room. After a short discussion, Cullen and Shale were led to a back room, arms around each other.
Zevran waited several minutes and than wrapped himself in shadows to follow them. He slipped into the room they were supposed to ask for and was relieved to find that they’d gotten and he hadn’t interrupted someone else’s fun. They were strapping on the last bits of their armor. “Good you’re almost ready. Chances are, she’s in the lowest level.”
Cullen narrowed his eyes at Zevran, “Chances are? You mean you’re not sure?”
Zevran glared at the larger man, “And how would I have verified this?” His amusement was gone, blown away by fury at the younger man questioning him. The worry quickly followed in the anger’s wake, though, blunting the edge of the rage.
Shale stepped forward, “We all want her safe. Keep it in your pants.”
Zevran looked both of them over. “Try to move quietly. We are in the back of the building, but I’d prefer not to have to fight our way through servants and customers.” Strangely, the hallway was deserted as they crept along it. The occasional shout of passion or moan of pleasure reached their ears and Zevran was amused to look back and see both Cullen and Shale turning red. They reached the servant’s staircase in the back of the building. The lack of foot traffic was setting off alarm bells in Zevran’s head. He stopped and pressed himself against the wall, motioning the other two closer.
“We’re walking into a trap,” he told them, whispering.
“No, really? Whatever gave it that idea?” Shale hissed back.
He ignored her and looked at Cullen, “The minute you see Moira, you’ll have to Cleanse the area. She’s likely held immobile by a spell or three.” Cullen nodded. “Shale and I will see to it you get to her. Once she’s free, we’ll be able to fight our way out.”
“That’s the best plan I’ve heard it come up with all night,” Shale said, unlimbering her sword. The two men also drew their blades. Zevran continued to lead the way down the stairs.
From her vantage point in the middle of the room, Moira could see a ring of boots surrounding her. At least, she assumed they were surrounding her. She couldn’t move her head yet to check. The mage holding the spell in place was over in one of the far corners of the large cellar. Azaelle had positioned herself next to Moira, just outside the range of the glyph, blades at the ready. “It looks like your elf has come for you, little one. Denerim will be glad of both your corpses.” So, Anora had won the bidding war. It had to be Anora. And she almost certainly had to be working with Eamon. They were both minor considerations, however, to getting Alistair back from Weisshaupt. Moira told herself she wasn’t really afraid of the braggart Crow who’d imprisoned her. She’d killed three dragons, after all; one Crow was a significantly smaller problem.
A body was thrown down the stairs, Cullen rushing down after it, a battle cry emanating from the ex-Templar. Oathkeeper was yanked from the corpse of the guard as he crumpled at Cullen’s feet. A small blonde dwarf woman followed in his wake, brandishing a sword as tall as she was. Zevran emerged from the stairway behind them, taking in the room at a glance. Moira felt her heart contract, she’d never been so glad to see anyone else in her life. “Azaelle. I believe you have something of mine,” the assassin said, Starfang glinting in the torchlight.
“Get him,” was the only reply Azaelle gave. Moira watched as Cullen began to head toward her, simply shoving opponents out of his way to get to her. Zevran and the blonde dwarf came along behind him, killing everyone in his wake. Zevran and the dwarf seemed to move together like they’d fought beside one another before. Who was this woman?
Cullen finally got close enough to her for him to wipe away the spell holding her in place. But before he could set off his Templar abilities, Moira felt herself burn from the inside out. She couldn’t help herself, she screamed through her closed mouth, unable to even writhe in agony as every nerve ending in her body fired at once. Through her pain and the blood pounding in her ears, she heard Zevran’s voice, “Call off your mage or you die here.” She’d never heard him sound so cold. She could feel tears leaking from her eyes, burning a path down her face. “Do it, Cullen, now!”
Suddenly, the pain ceased, the paralysis stopped. She wanted to weep in relief, but she could feel the Blood Mage in the corner readying another spell. Zevran was standing close enough to her and his boot was within reach. Before anyone else could move, she reached up, yanked out the dagger as carefully as she could from his boot sheathe and threw it with all her magical strength at the mage in the corner. The knife blossomed from the man’s throat and he collapsed in a heap, the spell dying on his lips. Cullen grabbed Azaelle by the throat, holding her still. In one motion, Zevran sheathed his sword and spun to face Moira.
Wordlessly, he pulled her to him, cupping her face in his hands, looking into her eyes. Moira closed her eyes as her rescuer pulled her tighter into his embrace and kissed her. Without her telling them to, her arms wound up around his neck, entwining into his hair. One of his hands traveled down her back, pulling her tight against him, the other wound itself in her hair. Her lips parted and he took the invitation, his tongue finding hers. Her senses were filled with Zevran, the satin of his hair running through her fingers, the scent of leather, steel and that indefinable smell that was only him, the taste of his lips. A fire started somewhere below her stomach and she pulled him tighter to her. He was the one who broke the kiss first, however. He leaned his forehead against hers. “Mi amora, we cannot. Not yet.” She nodded, reality crashing back down around her. Alistair still needed to be found and rescued. Then she supposed she’d have to face the fact that she could not choose between them.
The pair parted to find that Cullen had forced Azaelle onto her knees, his sword at her throat. Zevran seemed to be reluctant to let Moira stray from his side for very long and kept his arm around her as they walked over to the defeated assassin. The blonde dwarf was systematically rifling the pockets of the dead. Moira was all too conscious of Zevran’s body alongside hers, but forced herself to focus on Azaelle. Without preamble she said, “The way I see it you have three choices. One: we kill you, perhaps more mercifully than your fellow Crows will. Two: we let you go and you take your chances against them for failing. Three: you join the Grey Wardens of Ferelden.” Zevran’s fingers tightened on her shoulder almost painfully at the last offer. Cullen glanced at her sharply as well. The dwarf just laughed.
The scarred woman seemed to consider, “And what is entailed in the final offer?”
“You make it to Amaranthine in Ferelden alive,” Moira told her.
“Then that is the offer I shall take,” the Antivan said. Moira nodded and gestured, casting Mind Blast to stun the woman. Turning to the dwarf, Moira asked, “And who might you be?”
The petite woman grinned, hooking her thumbs in her armor. “It shall have three guesses and the first two don’t count.”
Moira’s eyes widened and she rushed over to the other woman and threw her arms around her, “Shale! I’m so glad to see you! How is Wynne?”
“We don’t really have time for reunions, Mi Amora. We should leave before Azaelle wakes up,” Zevran reminded her, grasping her hand and leading her to the rear of the cellar. “I don’t think it would be a good idea to go back through the Nine Horse Hitch. I noticed the rear entrance before, it was just barred from the inside.” The four friends quickly left the house of ill-repute behind. A short discussion and Cullen and Shale were sent to get the horses. Zevran and Moira headed for Wynne.
#361
Posté 09 mars 2010 - 04:59
amethyst_rose2009
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Aww, Zev was really worried about Moira. Their embrace was really sweet and shows just how deeply they truly love each other. I can't wait for them to get to Weisshaupt and rescue Ali.
#363
Posté 09 mars 2010 - 07:37
TanithAeyrs
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The eternal love triangle, it is so hard to choose between Alistair and Zev. Your poor warden isn't doing any better at it than mine did. Keep writing, I can't wait to see what new twists you come up with.
#364
Guest_Oomagh_*
Posté 10 mars 2010 - 02:50
Guest_Oomagh_*
Guest_Oomagh_*
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ah Moira ... rescue that Alistair and run away with Zev.... (what I would do 
great story, Sia, thank you
great story, Sia, thank you
#365
Posté 10 mars 2010 - 03:20
Sialater
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TanithAeyrs wrote...
The eternal love triangle, it is so hard to choose between Alistair and Zev. Your poor warden isn't doing any better at it than mine did. Keep writing, I can't wait to see what new twists you come up with.
That bug where you can end up with both of them in love with you does NOT help. Is it, in fact, a bug?
#366
Posté 10 mars 2010 - 03:42
Herr Uhl
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I don't think it's a bug.
And HA! at Reuben.
And HA! at Reuben.
#367
Posté 10 mars 2010 - 05:04
Lord Deshwitat
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Moira havs some hard choices ahead of her. I'm not envy.. *Grumbles* YES I am...
#368
Posté 10 mars 2010 - 05:59
Herr Uhl
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Lord Deshwitat wrote...
Moira havs some hard choices ahead of her. I'm not envy.. *Grumbles* YES I am...
...must...resist..making...obvious...joke...
Ah, I'm fine now.
#369
Posté 10 mars 2010 - 06:02
amethyst_rose2009
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Herr Uhl wrote...
...must...resist..making...obvious...joke...
Ah, I'm fine now.
Hehe, naughty!
#370
Posté 10 mars 2010 - 07:09
Sialater
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Herr Uhl wrote...
Lord Deshwitat wrote...
Moira havs some hard choices ahead of her. I'm not envy.. *Grumbles* YES I am...
...must...resist..making...obvious...joke...
Ah, I'm fine now.
Don't hurt yourself. You could seriously strain something. :innocent:
#371
Posté 17 mars 2010 - 01:59
Sialater
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Part 34
They traveled quickly, the horses making good time. Moira bought two more horses before they left Peravantium. Moira finally got a horse to herself, Zevran riding close to her to help her control it. The dwarf rode by herself as well, taking to handling the animal quite quickly. Wynne claimed she could still ride even if it had been ages since she’d done so. As Cullen was the most heavily armored, his horse was over worked as it was. Moira didn’t feel confident enough in her horsemanship to wear her armor, however, so she wore the leathers and linen that went under her armor while riding.
They rode as quickly as they dared, not wanting to run the horses into the ground and Wynne needed periodic rest breaks. She tired more quickly after helping Shale than she had before the Blight. Moira didn’t need to see the dwarf’s face to know she’d felt awful. One night, when Moira was watching Wynne with concern as the older woman retired early, Shale approached her. “She didn’t tell me the price when she offered to fix me.”
Moira blinked at Shale’s use of the proper pronouns for Wynne, “What was the price?”
Shale glanced grimly over at the tent Wynne had retired to, “I don’t know. But she gets weaker by the day, Warden. I don’t know how to help her.”
Moira looked down at the former golem. “Shale, I want you to know, if I can help her I will. But you might have to accept that there may be nothing I can do, as much as I hate to admit it. You may have to respect her choice and just honor her with the life she gave you.”
Shale glared up at the elven mage, “Don’t you dare tell me that, Warden!” Tears leaked from her eyes and were hastily scrubbed away. “She’s all I have left!”
Moira knelt and pulled the dwarf close to her in a hug. The woman’s small body resisted at first, then slowly hugged Moira back, clinging to the slighter mage and crying into her shoulder. “As long as I’m alive, Shale, you have a place. As long as there are Grey Wardens in Ferelden, you have a place.”
Shale pulled back to look askance at Moira, “You’re not going to recruit me, are you?”
Moira shook her head, “I don’t actually want to recruit my friends, Shale. The Joining – the odds aren’t good.”
Shale shook her head, “I know that, elf. You and that fool weren’t very quiet when you were discussing the perks of your order.”
Moira blushed and looked away, catching Zevran’s eye. The assassin was sitting near the fire, leaning on a log, grinning at them. He noticed her looking and merely looked away, raising his face to the stars. She remembered what he’d asked her when Cullen had been foisted on them.
They were back on the road the next morning, Wynne looking more energetic than she had the night before. Moira hoped they weren’t pushing the old woman too hard. She grinned as the mage nudged her horse up to Cullen to give him a hard time like she used to with Alistair. Moira wondered if it wasn’t perhaps some sort of attempt to get back at the Templars by teasing both men.
The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. The Imperial Highway was well maintained and well-patrolled through the border with the Anderfels and beyond. They ran into little traffic, however, and were rarely stopped by patrols. They reached the town of Val Dorma and resupplied. Moira found a map to Weisshaupt and probably paid far too much for it. But if it would get them closer to the legendary fortress without wandering around the wilderness for weeks on end, it was worth the exorbitant price.
They settled Wynn in an inn in Val Dorma, left Perrin to look after her, and stabled the horses. On foot, the motley group headed into the forest surrounding the mountains near Weisshaupt. Moira had opted to wear her armor and carry her sword and dagger. If they could, they would try not to kill any Grey Wardens. They followed the map and found it to be fairly accurate, especially when they started to find patrols of Grey Wardens. The small group neatly avoided the patrols, even managing to keep Cullen silent in his armor.
Circling the keep, the high walls were broken into three layers of thick, impenetrable stone one on top of the other, climbing the cliff face of the rocky out crop of the mountains between the Anderfells and Tevinter, the foot hills of the Hunterthorn Mountains. From their vantage point, Moira couldn’t really see more than that it was a fortress, built to withstand long sieges with only one massive set of steel framed gates at the midpoint of the lowest, tallest wall. Pennons snapped in the stiff wind from the north, the griffon rampant on them glowing white against the black of the flag. She wished she’d been able to come here for a more peaceful reason. Now, her first encounter with the only other Grey Wardens she’d ever met other than Riordan, Duncan and Alistair, would be at the point of a sword. She motioned to get her friends’ attention.
“Non-lethal only. We can’t afford a Grey Warden civil war, especially while they still hold Alistair. We knock them out and tie them up.” She held their gazes until they all nodded. Zevran nodded last, and only when she glared at him.
They traveled quickly, the horses making good time. Moira bought two more horses before they left Peravantium. Moira finally got a horse to herself, Zevran riding close to her to help her control it. The dwarf rode by herself as well, taking to handling the animal quite quickly. Wynne claimed she could still ride even if it had been ages since she’d done so. As Cullen was the most heavily armored, his horse was over worked as it was. Moira didn’t feel confident enough in her horsemanship to wear her armor, however, so she wore the leathers and linen that went under her armor while riding.
They rode as quickly as they dared, not wanting to run the horses into the ground and Wynne needed periodic rest breaks. She tired more quickly after helping Shale than she had before the Blight. Moira didn’t need to see the dwarf’s face to know she’d felt awful. One night, when Moira was watching Wynne with concern as the older woman retired early, Shale approached her. “She didn’t tell me the price when she offered to fix me.”
Moira blinked at Shale’s use of the proper pronouns for Wynne, “What was the price?”
Shale glanced grimly over at the tent Wynne had retired to, “I don’t know. But she gets weaker by the day, Warden. I don’t know how to help her.”
Moira looked down at the former golem. “Shale, I want you to know, if I can help her I will. But you might have to accept that there may be nothing I can do, as much as I hate to admit it. You may have to respect her choice and just honor her with the life she gave you.”
Shale glared up at the elven mage, “Don’t you dare tell me that, Warden!” Tears leaked from her eyes and were hastily scrubbed away. “She’s all I have left!”
Moira knelt and pulled the dwarf close to her in a hug. The woman’s small body resisted at first, then slowly hugged Moira back, clinging to the slighter mage and crying into her shoulder. “As long as I’m alive, Shale, you have a place. As long as there are Grey Wardens in Ferelden, you have a place.”
Shale pulled back to look askance at Moira, “You’re not going to recruit me, are you?”
Moira shook her head, “I don’t actually want to recruit my friends, Shale. The Joining – the odds aren’t good.”
Shale shook her head, “I know that, elf. You and that fool weren’t very quiet when you were discussing the perks of your order.”
Moira blushed and looked away, catching Zevran’s eye. The assassin was sitting near the fire, leaning on a log, grinning at them. He noticed her looking and merely looked away, raising his face to the stars. She remembered what he’d asked her when Cullen had been foisted on them.
They were back on the road the next morning, Wynne looking more energetic than she had the night before. Moira hoped they weren’t pushing the old woman too hard. She grinned as the mage nudged her horse up to Cullen to give him a hard time like she used to with Alistair. Moira wondered if it wasn’t perhaps some sort of attempt to get back at the Templars by teasing both men.
The rest of the trip passed uneventfully. The Imperial Highway was well maintained and well-patrolled through the border with the Anderfels and beyond. They ran into little traffic, however, and were rarely stopped by patrols. They reached the town of Val Dorma and resupplied. Moira found a map to Weisshaupt and probably paid far too much for it. But if it would get them closer to the legendary fortress without wandering around the wilderness for weeks on end, it was worth the exorbitant price.
They settled Wynn in an inn in Val Dorma, left Perrin to look after her, and stabled the horses. On foot, the motley group headed into the forest surrounding the mountains near Weisshaupt. Moira had opted to wear her armor and carry her sword and dagger. If they could, they would try not to kill any Grey Wardens. They followed the map and found it to be fairly accurate, especially when they started to find patrols of Grey Wardens. The small group neatly avoided the patrols, even managing to keep Cullen silent in his armor.
Circling the keep, the high walls were broken into three layers of thick, impenetrable stone one on top of the other, climbing the cliff face of the rocky out crop of the mountains between the Anderfells and Tevinter, the foot hills of the Hunterthorn Mountains. From their vantage point, Moira couldn’t really see more than that it was a fortress, built to withstand long sieges with only one massive set of steel framed gates at the midpoint of the lowest, tallest wall. Pennons snapped in the stiff wind from the north, the griffon rampant on them glowing white against the black of the flag. She wished she’d been able to come here for a more peaceful reason. Now, her first encounter with the only other Grey Wardens she’d ever met other than Riordan, Duncan and Alistair, would be at the point of a sword. She motioned to get her friends’ attention.
“Non-lethal only. We can’t afford a Grey Warden civil war, especially while they still hold Alistair. We knock them out and tie them up.” She held their gazes until they all nodded. Zevran nodded last, and only when she glared at him.
#372
Posté 17 mars 2010 - 05:11
Kulkodar
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oooh another wonderful chapter. Leaving us on the edge... again! Nicely done, as always Sia
#373
Posté 17 mars 2010 - 01:55
bloodtallow
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Yay! I love the way you write Shale, Sia - you've made her a very fun character.
*more, please!*
*more, please!*
#374
Posté 22 mars 2010 - 12:08
Lord Deshwitat
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*Pushing Sia....* Write faster^^ Loving it
#375
Posté 25 mars 2010 - 02:21
Sialater
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Part 35
After nightfall, they found a stream that led out from under the keep. The four snuck in under the iron bars that were raised to let the water run freely. The water was over Shale’s head, however, so Moira ordered Cullen to carry the dwarf on his back. This did nothing to help Shale’s temper.
Moira led the way, casting Flaming Weapons and using her burning Spellweaver as a torch. The underground stream ran swiftly against them, rushing for the open skies and the moonlight. Moira envied its direction. She hated being underground, unable to see the sun or the moon. It wasn’t lost on her that she was fated to die, now, in the shadows and in the muck and in the dirt and blood and hate of the Deep Roads. It made her resent any time underground that much more. But Alistair pulled her forward. The knowledge he was close spurred her to push against the flow of the stream harder, her boots sliding against the algaed stones lining the waterway.
As silently as they could with the lapping water, they crept along the walls of the aqueduct. Eventually, the tunnel turned and widened, the walkway they were following narrowed against the wall and began to slope up out of the water. While on their left, the stones ended in a drop off and the stream widened into an underground river disappearing under the stone. Unlit torches were hung on the walls as the ground continued to slope upward, turning a rounded corner. As they walked, Moira began to be aware of a rather awful smell. Debris and rotted food littered the sloping ground in the small circle of light their swords made. Rats squeaked and fled the dim light. The slope steepened as it went up, and holding her sword up higher, she could dimly see branches off the main tunnel.
“It appears, mi amora, that we’ve found the garbage chute.” Zevran’s voice was muffled by the hand covering his nose.
“And it’s unguarded,” she pointed out.
“Not a very paranoid lot, then, these legendary warriors,” Shale said disapprovingly.
“It’s a garbage chute and there’s no Blight. What’s there to guard against?” Cullen’s voice was contemptuous.
Moira heard Shale spin to give the recruit another piece of her mind, and interrupted, “Children, we need to keep moving.” She glanced at Zevran. “It can’t be this easy, can it?”
He shrugged, “I’ve only snuck into a palace and the occasional castle. A military keep is a bit beyond my experience, my Warden. But, I agree. This has been too easy.” He grinned at her, his eyebrow arching, “Perhaps, yet again, they are underestimating you?”
She let out a short laugh, “I can only hope.” She stood at the juncture of the tunnels and weighed each side mentally, trying to see if she could sense Alistair. The problem was, there were too many Grey Wardens around and it foxed her usual ability to find the man she loved anywhere using their shared taint. However, while both branches were sloped, one side smelled less foul than the other. She deduced that the cleaner smelling branch would probably lead into the keep proper, but that the one that smelled the worst would head into their dungeons or prisons. Or at least, that’s what she hoped. She headed down the left-hand branch, the others silently following her lead.
The left hand tunnel sloped more gently than the lower part had, and wound back on itself several times. The stones were slippery and slimy and more than once, at least one of them had to grab hold of the wall or a friend to keep from sliding painfully on to their rear ends. Rats continuously skittered out of their way, chittering their displeasure at the light of the glowing swords in the near pitch black tunnels. The sound of water dripping into stagnant puddles counterbalanced their stealthy footsteps. Zevran sheathed his blade as they came to a bend in the tunnel and motioned for them to stop as he crept ahead to scout. Moira leaned up against the wall, switching her glowing blade to her other hand and stretching out the arm that had gotten tired holding up her blade. She’d almost missed the hurry up and waiting of a mission. Cullen leaned against the wall next to her. Shale stood a little farther away, peering into the darkness behind them, her feet planted and her arms crossed.
“Was she really… a… golem?” Cullen whispered to Moira.
“Yes. Since the last Blight, I think. She doesn’t remember,” Moira shrugged, her armored shoulders barely moving.
“That’s…. incredible,” he replied, his voice trailing off. Moira looked at Cullen. For once, he wasn’t glaring at her, or watching her constantly. He wasn’t frowning or pouting. He was just looking at Shale. She shook her head and turned to watch for Zevran.
It didn’t take long for the elf to reappear. He looked disappointed, however, when he saw her watching for him, he had probably been planning on startling her. He gave a brief report when he got closer, “It is the prisons up ahead. They are patrolled, of course. But the guards aren’t paying a lot of attention. I wonder if they’re even Wardens?”
Moira shrugged, “They may not be. I wouldn’t waste a Warden as a prison guard.”
“Then we can sneak by?” Cullen asked.
“The elves can sneak by, you lout,” Shale interjected. “You and I can’t hope to match their stealth in our armor.”
“I’m afraid I’m just as incapable of stealth in armor as both of you,” Moira laughed softly. “Let’s go. Just remember we’re not going to kill anyone.” Zevran in the lead, the four crept along the slippery passageway as quietly as they could.
They reached the hole in the wall at the rear of the prison level. It was a narrow hole, but not too small for her or Zevran or Shale to fit through even with their armor. Cullen, however, was going to have to take his off to fit. The two women climbed out, and Zevran stayed to help Cullen in the narrow space. Moira was glad Zevran behaved himself, but then her friend knew when professionalism was needed.
Cullen got through the hole and they managed to get his armor back in place before the patrol made it around to their hiding spot. Moira turned to Zevran, “Don’t suppose you saw where they were keeping him?”
“Most of the cells looked empty, mi amora. I’d have to guess he’s in one of the ones they seem to keep looking in as they go by.”
She drew her sword and dagger. “Then let’s go find our king, shall we?”
After nightfall, they found a stream that led out from under the keep. The four snuck in under the iron bars that were raised to let the water run freely. The water was over Shale’s head, however, so Moira ordered Cullen to carry the dwarf on his back. This did nothing to help Shale’s temper.
Moira led the way, casting Flaming Weapons and using her burning Spellweaver as a torch. The underground stream ran swiftly against them, rushing for the open skies and the moonlight. Moira envied its direction. She hated being underground, unable to see the sun or the moon. It wasn’t lost on her that she was fated to die, now, in the shadows and in the muck and in the dirt and blood and hate of the Deep Roads. It made her resent any time underground that much more. But Alistair pulled her forward. The knowledge he was close spurred her to push against the flow of the stream harder, her boots sliding against the algaed stones lining the waterway.
As silently as they could with the lapping water, they crept along the walls of the aqueduct. Eventually, the tunnel turned and widened, the walkway they were following narrowed against the wall and began to slope up out of the water. While on their left, the stones ended in a drop off and the stream widened into an underground river disappearing under the stone. Unlit torches were hung on the walls as the ground continued to slope upward, turning a rounded corner. As they walked, Moira began to be aware of a rather awful smell. Debris and rotted food littered the sloping ground in the small circle of light their swords made. Rats squeaked and fled the dim light. The slope steepened as it went up, and holding her sword up higher, she could dimly see branches off the main tunnel.
“It appears, mi amora, that we’ve found the garbage chute.” Zevran’s voice was muffled by the hand covering his nose.
“And it’s unguarded,” she pointed out.
“Not a very paranoid lot, then, these legendary warriors,” Shale said disapprovingly.
“It’s a garbage chute and there’s no Blight. What’s there to guard against?” Cullen’s voice was contemptuous.
Moira heard Shale spin to give the recruit another piece of her mind, and interrupted, “Children, we need to keep moving.” She glanced at Zevran. “It can’t be this easy, can it?”
He shrugged, “I’ve only snuck into a palace and the occasional castle. A military keep is a bit beyond my experience, my Warden. But, I agree. This has been too easy.” He grinned at her, his eyebrow arching, “Perhaps, yet again, they are underestimating you?”
She let out a short laugh, “I can only hope.” She stood at the juncture of the tunnels and weighed each side mentally, trying to see if she could sense Alistair. The problem was, there were too many Grey Wardens around and it foxed her usual ability to find the man she loved anywhere using their shared taint. However, while both branches were sloped, one side smelled less foul than the other. She deduced that the cleaner smelling branch would probably lead into the keep proper, but that the one that smelled the worst would head into their dungeons or prisons. Or at least, that’s what she hoped. She headed down the left-hand branch, the others silently following her lead.
The left hand tunnel sloped more gently than the lower part had, and wound back on itself several times. The stones were slippery and slimy and more than once, at least one of them had to grab hold of the wall or a friend to keep from sliding painfully on to their rear ends. Rats continuously skittered out of their way, chittering their displeasure at the light of the glowing swords in the near pitch black tunnels. The sound of water dripping into stagnant puddles counterbalanced their stealthy footsteps. Zevran sheathed his blade as they came to a bend in the tunnel and motioned for them to stop as he crept ahead to scout. Moira leaned up against the wall, switching her glowing blade to her other hand and stretching out the arm that had gotten tired holding up her blade. She’d almost missed the hurry up and waiting of a mission. Cullen leaned against the wall next to her. Shale stood a little farther away, peering into the darkness behind them, her feet planted and her arms crossed.
“Was she really… a… golem?” Cullen whispered to Moira.
“Yes. Since the last Blight, I think. She doesn’t remember,” Moira shrugged, her armored shoulders barely moving.
“That’s…. incredible,” he replied, his voice trailing off. Moira looked at Cullen. For once, he wasn’t glaring at her, or watching her constantly. He wasn’t frowning or pouting. He was just looking at Shale. She shook her head and turned to watch for Zevran.
It didn’t take long for the elf to reappear. He looked disappointed, however, when he saw her watching for him, he had probably been planning on startling her. He gave a brief report when he got closer, “It is the prisons up ahead. They are patrolled, of course. But the guards aren’t paying a lot of attention. I wonder if they’re even Wardens?”
Moira shrugged, “They may not be. I wouldn’t waste a Warden as a prison guard.”
“Then we can sneak by?” Cullen asked.
“The elves can sneak by, you lout,” Shale interjected. “You and I can’t hope to match their stealth in our armor.”
“I’m afraid I’m just as incapable of stealth in armor as both of you,” Moira laughed softly. “Let’s go. Just remember we’re not going to kill anyone.” Zevran in the lead, the four crept along the slippery passageway as quietly as they could.
They reached the hole in the wall at the rear of the prison level. It was a narrow hole, but not too small for her or Zevran or Shale to fit through even with their armor. Cullen, however, was going to have to take his off to fit. The two women climbed out, and Zevran stayed to help Cullen in the narrow space. Moira was glad Zevran behaved himself, but then her friend knew when professionalism was needed.
Cullen got through the hole and they managed to get his armor back in place before the patrol made it around to their hiding spot. Moira turned to Zevran, “Don’t suppose you saw where they were keeping him?”
“Most of the cells looked empty, mi amora. I’d have to guess he’s in one of the ones they seem to keep looking in as they go by.”
She drew her sword and dagger. “Then let’s go find our king, shall we?”
