577 réponses à ce sujet

[TanithAeyrs]

Sorry Sia, the Obsidian thing was a joke - I have faith in your writing.  I love your story and I am truly looking forward to the next chapter.

[bloodtallow]

Great next installment! *eagerly waits for what's next!*

[Sialater]

TanithAeyrs wrote...

Sorry Sia, the Obsidian thing was a joke - I have faith in your writing.  I love your story and I am truly looking forward to the next chapter.

I figured you were kidding.  My response was supposed to be tongue in cheek.  They just don't equip you with that smiley.

[Kulkodar]

Really enjoying this tale and can hardly wait for the next chapter! You're quite talented

[Lord Deshwitat]

Awww...Poor Zevran

[Shenzi]

Finished up reading the whole story last night, loved it Sia

Can't wait to read the next update.

[Sialater]

Part 37

Alistair didn’t know how long he’d been in the Fade. He wasn’t even sure when he’d begun to recognize it as such. The fact that anything he wasn’t looking at directly was blurry and indistinct was his first clue. The fact that he knew Moira had never died fighting the Archdemon was the second. The last clue was that Zevran would never have betrayed them and killed her either. He knew he was in the Fade. The real question now was why?

The first time he’d been trapped in the Fade, he’d been much younger, mentally and emotionally, at least, if not chronologically. But stopping a civil war, slaying an archdemon, and ruling a kingdom tends to age a man. He was no longer quite the idiot who’d fallen for the Sloth Demon’s fake sister ruse. He did wonder if his body was being maintained in the real world, he hoped he wouldn’t die here. He desperately wanted to see the real Moira and hold her one last time, at the very least, before death came for him. But neither would happen while he was stuck here, in this repetitive nightmare.

He watched the latest of his torments unfold around him. It was the ambush that Zevran had chosen to introduce himself with. Resignedly, he ran up to where fake-Zevran was attacking fake-Moira, and shield bashed the assassin until the elf lost his balance and fell at Moira’s feet. Unlike the real Moira, the dream Moira didn’t regroup and circle around behind Alistair, using his armored bulk to shield herself until she regained her strength. DreamMoira instead stood where she’d been and continued to fire off staff blasts at DreamZevran. Alistair cursed himself for a fool as he fell for DreamZevran’s feint and found his legs kicked out from under him as the assassin went for the mage again. Even knowing she wasn’t real, however, Alistair needed to help her, save her.

Panic filled his chest as she fell back at the onslaught of the Assassin’s daggers, her feet stumbling. Her raven hair had begun to hang from its customary pony tail in disarray. Her sapphire eyes were wide and her pale cheeks flushed with terror. This wasn’t the confident, powerful young mage who’d united a war-torn country by force of will and charm and led it to fight monsters from nightmares. This was the girl fresh out of the Tower who was still bewildered by the great world and who he’d felt the need to protect. She’d still managed to wipe the floor with Zevran in this particular ambush in reality; however the dream version wasn’t going quite as well. This Zevran had no suicide wish. This Zevran hadn’t taken one look at Moira and decided to be hers if she let him live. This Zevran’s eyes weren’t hollow with pain, they were just hollow with death. While it was heart wrenching to see his friend look like that, he was currently trying to kill Moira. Alistair’s heart lurched as he noticed her scant mage robes were torn and bloody where DreamZevran’s blades had found their targets. The Grey Warden finally got back on his feet, he felt like a turtle on its back when he managed to get knocked over in plate mail, rushing to where the assassin had the mage pinned against the rock face.

Before Alistair could reach them, however, DreamZevran shoved one of his daggers through Moira’s chest and up into her heart. Alistair suddenly couldn’t breathe. The logical part of his brain was screaming at him she wasn’t dead, this wasn’t her, calm down and think dammit! But his rage took over. He attacked the assassin, stupidly, forgetting even his training, his experience at fighting next to the rogue, and fighting hundreds of other rogues in the Blight. He wasn’t watching for all those tricks he knew Zevran knew, he just wanted the elf dead. And DreamZevran managed to accomplish his mission in the Fade as he never did in real life. Alistair blocked another feint, but missed the real attack and DreamZevran ‘s blade buried itself in his heart through a tiny gap in his armor. The assassin leapt away as Alistair fell to his knees, the world going black. His last sight was Moira’s dead blue eyes, staring at him. He managed to reach his armored hand out to her limp fingers and grasp them as he felt his heart lurch one last time.

But Alistair wasn’t dead. He almost groaned aloud as he realized where he was, yet again. Moira was bending over him, checking him for wounds at the top of Fort Drakon. She was so close, he could smell her, the scent of lyrium nearly overpowering the sweat and cinnamon and roses and that indefinable smell that was just her. He wanted to grab her and just bury his face in her hair. But he knew she wasn’t the real woman he’d fallen in love with. That whatever he smelled was just a memory, a dream. He stared at her, tired. He was flat on his back again, somehow and by the look of the surrounding stone, they were back on top of Fort Drakon. He was going to have to watch her sacrifice herself for him, again. Tears fell as he dropped his head back to stare up at the storm-roiled sky. “No, Maker. No, not again. Why does it keep coming back to this?”

A resounding slap across his face made him look at the young mage kneeling in front of him again. “On your feet, you son of a ****!” He blinked, Moira? Cursing? At him? “If you don’t snap out of this right this minute I’ll leave your ass here and find Zevran first!” He found himself hauled to his feet by the tiny woman’s fists and pushed backward until he was pinned against a stone parapet. Nervelessly, his fingers dropped his sword and shield and he gasped at her, staring.

She was, indeed, different from the DreamMoiras he’d watched die repeatedly, sometimes gasping out their last in his arms. Her hair was longer, for one. More like he remembered when he’d left. There were subtle lines around her eyes and mouth from the stress of their duties, the decisions she’d made, the hells she’d led them through. For once, she was in armor, too: the silverplated set with the garish splash of red stylized dragon over one shoulder. The mage suddenly crushed her lips to his and he felt himself react. This was Moira. The real one. The woman he’d die for and kill for and live for. He spun them and pressed her against the wall, his mouth pushing against hers, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue past her teeth, needing to taste her. Her fingers went up into his hair, holding him close as if he would break away. There was too much armor in the way. It needed to be gotten rid of, now. His fingers went to the clasp of her breast plate, but her hands left his hair to stop him. She broke the kiss first. She leaned her forehead against his and gasped out, “I don’t think this is the best time for a reunion, my love. Maybe you could dream us somewhere else?”

He sighed, pulling away from her, reluctantly. “I’ve tried. I’ve really tried. I know this isn’t real. But I’ve watched you die, over and over and over until I thought my mind would break. If there’s a way out, I haven’t been able to discover it.” He stared down at her upturned face, the most wonderful sight he’d ever seen, and felt just as beaten as he had before. “What is the purpose of this, Moira? What demon trapped us this time?”

She shook her head. “This is not a demon’s doing. I’ve been able to take control a little too well.” She crossed her plated arms and looked around him. Alistair glanced behind him and saw DreamMoira approaching. RealMoira snorted, “Really? Couldn’t you at least give me clothes to die in?” He glanced back at DreamMoira and realized she was wearing the scant Robes of the Witch again with the neckline that slit down to her navel and somehow managed to involve a great many straps in attractive spots.

Alistair looked back at the woman he loved, the real one, “What? I didn’t give that get up to you, er, her!”

“You certainly did!” Moira shot back. Crossing her arms over her plated chest, her eyes flashed in anger and she leveled a pointed finger at her scantily clad double. Alistair felt his knees grow weak. Maker, she was beautiful when she was angry! “First lesson in getting control, Alistair: put some real clothes on her.”

The DreamMoira simply stood there, staring at him wistfully. As beautiful as this thing was, he preferred the irritated, sweaty woman behind him. None of the DreamMoiras had ever sweated, he realized belatedly, any doubts he’d had, the few he’d had, vaporized with that realization. “How do I put clothes on her?” He stared at the waifish duplicate, aware of all the flaws in the dream woman. As a matter of fact, it seemed like someone else’s idea of Moira entirely, now that he was really looking at her and not struggling to save her from certain death. “You realize that’s not how I see you at all, right? I mean, it must look like it is, because this is my dream, my nightmare and I’m supposed to be in control, but I know you’re not that… perfect.”

He heard Moira snort behind him, “Good. Glad to hear you finally destroyed that pedestal you used to have me on. Concentrate on her and see if you can get her closer to how you DO see me. Don’t worry, if it bothers you, I won’t look.” He could hear the laughter in her voice. Hearing her mock him was a relief, a wonderful sound. “Picture how you want her to look and try to make what’s in front of you fit your mental image.” He stared at the duplicate and thought of how he saw the real woman. It was a lot closer to the petite elf mage behind him that was certain. He pictured the false Moira looking like the one behind him. For a moment, the two images merged, the “real” one covering the dream one.

It took three tries before he finally got the fake woman to look more like the real one. The real Moira walked over and circled her duplicate warily, examining it. Suddenly, a dragon screamed over head and the archdemon landed. Fake Moira ran toward it, her armor glinting in the reddish light. The real Moira grabbed his hand. “Quick, dream us somewhere else! I really don’t want to see you die again!”

Alistair looked at her quizzically, “What are you talking about? You always punch me and take out the archdemon yourself!”

Moira’s eyebrows climbed into her hairline, “That’s interesting.” She shook her head, though, “But that’s something to think about later. Get us out of here!”

Alistair complied, thinking of the most familiar place he could that was safe. He pulled his mage to him and kissed her as he recreated her chambers in Denerim’s palace around them, their armor disappearing in the process.

She stood back from him, breaking his kiss. “I don’t think…” She began, but trailed off, looking around and then at him. They were completely with out armor or weapons or clothing. Alistair stared at her, a lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. Maker’s breath, she was beautiful!

“Do you know how many times I’ve watched you die?” Before she could protest again, he pulled her against him, lifting her in his arms. She flung her arms around his neck reflexively and he captured her mouth with his. He carried her to the bed and without breaking his lips from hers, laid her down on the bed. If he had his way, they would never be parted again.

Modifié par Sialater, 12 avril 2010 - 03:11 .

[amethyst_rose2009]

Aww, finally Moira has Alistair back in her arms......and he's naked.  Hehe, I think I would want to stay in the Fade forever. <3

[TanithAeyrs]

amethyst_rose2009 wrote...

Aww, finally Moira has Alistair back in her arms......and he's naked.  Hehe, I think I would want to stay in the Fade forever. <3

Sia is definitely going to have to give them a compelling reason to leave.  I can't wait to see what happens next.

[Sialater]

Part 38



Zevran sat up, rubbing the back of his head. He had no idea what had hit him, but whatever it was hurt and left his ears ringing. He was suddenly yanked to one side and blinked blearily up at Alistair. Alistair! “Move it, you lazy Crow! This is no time for a nap!” The Grey Warden ordered him, hauling him to his feet. Zevran was suddenly aware of his surroundings. He quickly ducked a Hurlock’s sword aimed for his neck and ran the thing threw before it could swing again. “So glad you could join us!” Alistair grinned at him. The two men maneuvered until they were fighting back to back. Zevran still had no idea where they were fighting and for the life of him, he had no idea how he’d gotten here or why it surprised him to see Alistair, much less be fighting next to the man. But most importantly, where was Moira?



A break in the waves of darkspawn had them both looking around for The Warden. Alistair spotted her first and took off for her. Zevran took the opportunity to look around. Judging from the stone work and the open sky above them and the dragon breathing blue fire that Moira was currently casting a spell at, he judged himself to be on top of Fort Drakon. But how? Moira and Alistair refused to bring me when they fought the Archdemon, the thought skittered across his mind, barely acknowledged as he ran after Alistair.

Moira flung her arms out, casting a lightning storm at the giant dragon. The diminutive elf mage was clad in her blue Robe of the Witch. It seemed odd to him for some reason he couldn’t place. Where was her armor? Her sword? Wait, when did Moira carry a sword or wear armor? Mages didn’t do that!



Did they?



He was right behind Alistair when a particularly vicious swipe of the dragon’s tail hit Moira in the middle of her cast and she was flung, hard, hard enough to crack bone, against the battlements. The dragon forgotten, Alistair forgotten, he changed course and rushed over to her, his stomach turning at the sickening angle at which her head slumped to her shoulders. No! It was supposed to be him! Never her! She was the hero, the hero didn’t die! He was meant to die in her place!



He froze in place. Wait. What was going on? He turned to see Alistair, not even looking at Moira, thrust his sword into the dragon’s neck. “Maker’s Breath, what are you doing, Alistair?”



Alistair turned to look at the elf, “My job.”



“But what about Moira?” Zevran demanded.



Freeing one of his hands, Alistair pointed to a crumpled form in bright red robes on the other side of the dragon, his voice was agonized, “I can’t bring back the dead like they can, Zev. I can only follow her. May the Maker smile on you, my friend.” His heart in his throat, Zevran ran toward the only friend he had left. He wasn’t sure what he would do when he got there, he only knew being alone again was a fate worse than death. The explosion as Alistair struck the death blow on the archdemon and absorbed its soul threw Zevran backward toward the battlements with enough force that he felt something vital in his back crack. His last sight before loosing consciousness was seeing Alistair’s lifeless body crumpled near Moira’s.



He entered an alley, blinking into the sudden sunlight, he stopped, his blood freezing in his veins. No, absolutely not, not this! The thought seemed far away and small. But he smiled at Moira as she turned to him in concern, still wearing those odd robes. He couldn’t complain about how they fit her, but he knew she disliked them immensely. Wait, she did? Then why wear them? Where was her armor? And why did these questions seem so familiar?



The alley was rank and ripe with trash and poverty. Morrigan kept pulling the skirts of her robes out of puddles, and wrinkling her nose. Morrigan? Where was Wynne? Alistair merely ignored the rubbish and refuse, keeping his eyes open and looking around cautiously. The Templar trained Warden only stopped looking around long enough to watch Moira walk in front of him, his expression softening and turning both loving and lecherous. Zevran sympathized, he often caught himself looking at her similarly. The small group reached the stairs, but was stopped by the appearance of someone who made Zevran’s blood run cold. A tall, dark haired man stood at the top of the stairs, “At long last, the Crows send their greetings once again.” Taliesin had been his friend, his occasional lover for more years than Zevran cared to think. But Taliesin was a Crow through and through, even more than Zevran before a pair of beautiful blue eyes made him see there was more than blades and sex and death in this life.



“So, they sent you, Taliesin? Or did you volunteer for the job?” The elven assassin glanced at his friends, only Morrigan stood staring at him with distaste, Alistair and Moira with trust.



“I volunteered, of course. When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself!” Taliesin smirked, crossing his arms.



“Is that so? Well, here I am, in the flesh.” Warning bells were sounding in Zevran’s head. He surreptitiously looked around for the rest of Taliesin’s team, trying to count their opposition. Though they were well hidden, the telltale shift of a plant against the wind, or the subtly hidden glint of metal quickly hidden behind a building or a cart gave up a few positions. Zevran figured for every one he could pick out, there were two he could not.



Taliesin turned on his charm, he had no way of knowing the elf mage standing next to Zevran had more charm in her little finger than his old friend had. Zevran suspected, now, that Taliesin had manipulated him into allowing Rinna’s death. Taliesin was not going to cost him this woman. “You can return with me, Zevran. I know why you did this and I don’t blame you. It’s not too late. Come back and we’ll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake.”



His heart leapt into his throat as Moira cut in, “Of course, I’d have to be dead first.”



“And I’m not about to let that happen,” Zevran told her, relieved to see the resolve in her eyes.



“What? You’ve gone soft!” Taliesin shouted.



Sadly, Zevran responded, “I am sorry, my old friend, but the answer is no. I’m not coming back. And you should have stayed in Antiva.” With Zevran’s reply, the Crows leapt out from cover, Taliesin charged down the stairs. Morrigan went down with an arrow in her throat, but Moira was too pressed by Taliesin to revive her, though she looked to be winning with Taliesin being frozen in place. Alistair was hard put upon by five other Crows. Zevran, confident in Moira’s abilities to deal with his former friend herself, rushed to take some of the heat off Alistair. This isn’t right, Zevran thought. I let him face her. I didn’t do this. But the thoughts went ignored in the back of his mind.



He realized his mistake too late. Somehow, he felt rather than saw her die. Alistair’s reaction was instantaneous; he threw the last man away from him and charged the Crow. Zevran ran the remaining attacker through and leapt after Alistair to help him take down Taliesin. But the world slowed down and Zevran couldn’t seem to move fast enough. The tall Grey Warden, despite his formidable skills on the battlefield and despite Zevran teaching him how to counter every dirty trick he knew, fell at Taliesin’s feet, dead, his throat slit. “NO!” Zevran shouted, throwing himself at his former lover.



Taliesin parried Zevran’s wild strike and was forced to duck another. But Zevran didn’t relent. This man had cost him Rinna and Morrigan, Alistair and especially Moira. He would not leave this alley alive. Taliesin was a dead man, he just didn’t know it yet. Ducking and dodging and parrying and feinting, Zevran threw his heart into defeating the man who’d just cost him everything. A particularly brutal strike across the back of Taliesin’s knee had the man collapsing in the dirt. He looked up at Zevran and the appeal for his life died on his lips. Zevran glared down at him, “It ends here, Taliesin.” And with one thrust of his sword, ran the man through the heart.



Zevran sheathed his weapons and ran to Moira’s body, hoping he’d ended it in time to save her life. He fell to his knees as he realized her sightless blue eyes stared up at the cloudless sky. Tears streaming down his face, he pulled her head into his lap.





Moira led Alistair through the alley, instantly recognizing it. “Oh, no.”



Alistair looked down at her, “What?”



“Don’t you recognize this place? This is where the Crows came for Zevran,” Moira began walking faster, afraid of what she’d find.



“Tally-something-or-other, wasn’t it?” Alistair asked, catching up to her. Moira gasped and broke into a run, her armor making far too much noise, but she didn’t care. Her friend had apparently just watched her die, for Maker knew however many times. Zevran’s hair was blood matted and his armor was stained. He knelt on the ground, his wiry body curved around something in his lap. Moira was willing to bet it was her. She heard Alistair break into a run behind her.



“Zevran, oh, Andraste, Zevran!” She shouted at him. She finally reached him and pulled his face around to look at her. “Zev, it’s me. I’m all right!”



It took a moment for comprehension to dawn, then he leapt to his feet and she suddenly found herself being kissed and kissing back. He tasted of blood and tears and sweat, but he was here and he was whole and he was well. He crushed her against him, ignoring her armor. Alistair cleared his throat behind them, “Uh, I know it’s tough to watch her die and all, but she is my –“ before he could finish his sentence, Zevran had released Moira’s mouth, but still had one hand on her hip. With the other, he pulled Alistair’s mouth down his using the breast plate of his armor like a handle and kissed the former Templar as thoroughly as he’d just kissed Moira.



Zevran’s movement allowed Moira to see that he had, in fact, been crying over both of them.

[amethyst_rose2009]

:wub::wub:

Yum!  What a delicious way to end that chapter!

Amethyst appoves + 1000!!!!!

[TanithAeyrs]

Oh my Sia, what a wonderful twist. I hope Alistair accepts this. I didn't expect it at all but I definitely like it - Zev deserves someone good in his life - and 2 good people are even better.

[Sialater]

Thank you! I was afraid it was a little wooden, but since it was from Moira's POV, the reaction needs to wait.




{/facepalm] Sorry about the pun, but I'm going to leave it there.

Modifié par Sialater, 21 avril 2010 - 07:11 .

[Herr Uhl]

I didn't see that one coming. *ponders how Alastair will react*

[frostajulie]

Too Perfect!!!

[*Kioux*]

Sia... just pure awesomeness!! The end of this chapter was perfect!!

[sapphyreelf]

I'm awaiting the stammering Alistair reaction as he tries to figure out what just happened.

[Lord Deshwitat]

Awww, must be awful to see his friends die all the time.

[Sialater]

Part 39



Moira stared at the two men, astonished that Alistair hadn’t yet broken away. But then, she saw Zevran’s death grip on the other man’s armor and realized Alistair might not be able to break free. She also noticed Alistair’s eyes were closed and raised an eyebrow. She felt Zevran attempt to pull her closer, his hand sliding from her hip to the small of her back. She allowed it, mostly to see what would happen. Amusement was making her shake with the effort of holding in a laugh. She really couldn’t decide if she was turned on by the two men kissing, or if she just wanted to roll on the floor laughing till her sides hurt.



Dropping his grip on Moira’s hand, Alistair finally shoved Zevran away by planting both hands on the elf’s shoulders and pushing. “Andraste’s ass! What was that for?” Moira was still held snuggly against the elf’s side. Zevran was still gripping Alistair’s breastplate. The assassin was apparently not willing to let either of them go, even for a second.



“I was expressing how glad I was to see you alive, my dear Alistair,” Zevran told the bigger man. The elf’s voice was very casual, but his fingers digging into her hip between the plates of her own mail belied his tone.



“With your tongue?!” Alistair’s voice cracked on the last word.



Moira lost it, she turned her head to Zevran’s shoulder, leaning her forehead on his armor and just giggled.



Alistair’s voice was strangled, “I’m glad you find this so funny, my love.” She only laughed harder, but struggled to get her giggles under control. She looked up at Alistair, her blue eyes wide.



Zevran sounded annoyed, but his arm was holding her in place, “I do not know how to take this laughter, mi amora.” He turned his face toward hers, laughter crinkling his eyes, but not touching his voice, “He really is a good kisser, you have taught him well, my Warden.”



With that, Moira’s laughter started up again, she leaned on Zevran helplessly. Glancing over at Alistair’s reddened face only made it worse and she had to wipe tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry my love,” she gasped. Alistair frowned at her and using both hands, he wrapped them around Zevran’s wrist to wrench the elf’s grip from his breastplate. Moira stopped laughing, a sudden thought occurring to her. She flung her hand out to stop Alistair. “Wait! Don’t let go of each other!”



His hands still wrapped around Zevran’s forearm, Alistair glared at her, “What are you talking about, Moira?” She stepped away from Zevran’s side, but twisted to grab his hand and lace her fingers with his. With her free hand, she touched the King’s.



“What if that’s the only reason we haven’t been separated yet? You and I have hardly stopped touching since we found each other.” She could almost hear Zevran’s eyebrow raise next to her. “What if that’s why we’re still together?”



“That is an excellent point, mi amora,” Zevran said. “You were holding hands as you approached, were you not? Alistair only stopped when I touched his delicious lips with my own.”



Alistair rolled his eyes, “Ok, your idea makes sense. Just… no more kissing me, Zevran.”



The elf pouted, “But it was so much fun!”



Moira chuckled, lacing her fingers with Alistair’s as he released Zevran’s wrist. The elf reluctantly let go of the king’s armor, and still keeping hold of Moira’s hand, bent to pick up his weapons, “You gave him Starfang?” Alistair choked out.



“It’s a long story. I had to give Oathkeeper to someone else.”



“Who?” Alistair demanded.



“Remember that Templar in the Circle Tower? The one stuck in the energy field that?” Moira asked.



Alistair blinked. “I remember he had a really unhealthy fascination with you.” He grinned slightly, “You’re a living temptation to me, too. But one I’ve learned to live with. Why? What’s he got to do with anything?”



Moira looked everywhere but at the two men. She saw Zevran glare at her out of the corner of her eye, “She recruited the weasel,” the elf’s voice dripped with disdain. “I’ve had to keep them separated ever since, watching over our Warden like a jealous husband! He is clearly obsessed with her, even still.”



Alistair stepped closer to Moira, his fingers still entwined with hers, “I’m going to ignore the whole, ‘husband,’ thing, Zev.” The tall human stood close to Moira so that she had to tilt her head back all the way to see his face. “Thank you for keeping her safe. You shouldn’t have let her come, though.” The king put his free hand on her cheek, affectionately.



“I did not have a choice,” Zevran grated out between his teeth. She could feel his fingers tighten where they gripped her hand. Moira turned her head and saw pain, quickly masked, behind her friend’s eyes. “And now, she is back with you. All you have to do is get free of this nightmare.” His eyes locked onto Moira’s face as he stepped backward, wrenching his fingers free of hers. The sky twisted above them and the buildings melted around them, the ground was suddenly not solid.



“I cannot watch you with him any longer, mi amora.” Zevran was no longer standing in front of them. The scenery had shifted again to a small valley in the Bannorn. The valley in which Zevran had first introduced himself.



Moira spun to stare up at Alistair, unable to speak. The king looked down at her and smiled reassuringly through the tears brimming in his own eyes, “We will find him, Moira. And he won’t leave you again.”



“Us, Alistair. Us.”

[amethyst_rose2009]

Aww, poor Zev is feeling so unloved.   Well Moira and Alistair will just have to do something about that, now won't they?

[jillyfae]

Silly Zev, not giving Moira and Alistair a chance to convince him to stay... that elf is so much trouble!

Thanks for the update Sia, it's great.

[TanithAeyrs]

Poor Zev, he feels so unworthy of love that he won't even give Moira a chance to sort things out. Zevran needs *HUGS*.



More please Sia, you can't leave Zev like that.

[Sialater]

Of course I won't leave him like that! Hell, I want to hug him and I did this to him!

I really feel bad for what I put the three of them through.

Modifié par Sialater, 29 avril 2010 - 05:20 .

[Herr Uhl]

You did this to him, you monster! *shakes fist*



I do wonder what will happen next and how they are supposed to leave.

[TanithAeyrs]

I'm torturing Zev too so don't feel to bad. My Warden had a fight with him and reminded him of how he killed the only person he ever cared about, then shortly after that she slipped and told him she loved him. Zev is not handling it well at all.



Just wanted to let you know you are not alone in torturing Zev. Sends *HUGS* to Moria, Alistair and Zev.