I've never been the biggest Zev fan, but as I told Sia when I read this that even I wanted to go hug him. I felt so bad for him here.
The Rescue -- Completed 8/1/11
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Sialater
, janv. 17 2010 07:16
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#427
Posté 03 mai 2010 - 01:22
Lord Deshwitat
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Ahhaaa, Zev is alone again*cries*
#428
Posté 06 mai 2010 - 01:12
Sialater
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Just a little NSFW. (It's a Zevran-centric Chapter, what'd you expect?)
Part 40
Zevran watched the real Moira disappear from view, his heart in his throat. The pain in his chest at leaving her was second only to watching the two of them together, having what he could only dream of. He’d rather stay imprisoned in this land of horror, where at least the dream Moira’s didn’t look at him as if some part of his dreams were possible. This DreamMoira was pretty to look at, but didn’t have the spark, the drive, the whatever it was that made him love her. But he could pretend. For awhile, at least.
He spotted one of her simulacra ducking a vicious swing of an axe by a Hurlock Alpha and rushed to defend her. He’d told her once it was his job, as the sidekick, to die for her. She never gave him the opportunity in real life; perhaps in this dream existence he could make it come true. Together, they fought off the Alpha with Moira finishing it off with one last freezing spell. Moira turned to him, grinning triumphantly and Zevran captured the dream girl’s mouth with his. Agony suddenly burned through his middle and he broke the kiss, shoving Moira away. He looked down to see the end of a hurlock’s sword sticking out of his stomach and realized his legs weren’t working any more. The sword was ripped out of his back and the hurlock headed for Moira and she frantically backed up away from it. Zenvran felt his knees give out only by the impact on the rest of his body. As he fell face first into the dusty ground, he saw the hurlock swing at Moira, who was apparently too low on lyrium to blast the thing and too far away from anyone else for her to be rescued. With his last strength, he managed to grab his dagger and throw it through the monster’s throat, felling it. The last thing he saw was Moira running for Alistair’s protection.
He came to in another clearing, blinking his eyes at the bright light of day. How was he still alive? “Get up, you lazy elf!” Alistair ordered him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a sitting position. The assassin looked around, almost afraid to find out where he’d been shuffled off to this time.
“Where in the name of the Maker are we?” he asked.
“Did you hit your head that hard?” Alistair asked, squatting easily next to him. Zevran just looked at the king, remembering in exquisite detail kissing the real man. It was extremely preferable to the memory of being run through by a hurlock, that was certain. Something of his memory must’ve shown on his face because the dreamAlistair began to look uncomfortable. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
Zevran grinned, “No, my dear Warden, your face is as lovely as ever.” To his delight, Alistair flushed bright red, got up and practically sprinted away from the elf. He honestly did think Alistair was attractive, if you liked your men big and overly-protective. And if Moira hadn’t been the one to spare his life, he’d have done his level best to relieve this former Chantry boy of his burden of inexperience. But ever since that clearing on that road in the Bannorn, that delicate elven mage had had the hard-bitten assassin wrapped around her tiniest finger, eclipsing even the handsome ex-Templar and the tempting badge of purity he used to wear as if it were hung round his neck.
For some reason, a new attack hadn’t broken out yet in this particular dream setting. He wasn’t entirely sure where their small group was, but it seemed as if everyone was there, including Oghren. It was then that he realized the event he was about to relive: the sharlocks’ attack on the camp. As soon as everyone fell asleep, they’d be set upon by shrieks. The only think that had saved them in real life had been Moira’s blade and her seeming ability to be everywhere the fighting was hottest. He knew the simulated Moira had no such skills however.
The fight would not go well this time.
He rubbed his forehead. Whoever or whatever had picked these memories out of his mind had gotten everything subtly wrong. It was almost as if they didn’t know Moira, or didn’t understand the concept of her abilities. But if this was run by a demon, and Moira had told him everything she knew of demons, wouldn’t they get this all right so that he’d be better tricked?
While he was thinking, his eyes had been unconsciously following Moira as she talked to everyone around the small campsite. He wanted to figure out the rules of this place. Not necessarily so he could leave, but so that he could turn it to his advantage. Get what he wanted out of the DreamMoiras and Alistairs, hollow though it might be. He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that shouted, “You idiot! How is this better? They’d just be puppets! It won’t be them!” His eyes widened as she grabbed Alistair by the hand and dragged him behind her into her tent. That definitely hadn’t happened that night. Briefly, he debated with himself whether it was a good idea to intrude on them. He looked around the camp and saw Leliana looking at him expectantly.
“You’re not going to join them?” her softly Orlesian accented voice asked him.
Stunned, Zevran stared at her. “Should I?”
She shrugged, “You usually do. Just try to keep the noise down. “ She smiled indulgently. He wondered at that, the real Leliana would be jealous and trying to join them. She and Moira never brought up the time they’d kissed, but both he and Alistair had seen it. Alistair had disappeared into the forest shortly after they’d separated and Zevran had had to admit his own armor had gotten more than uncomfortable in the hip region. Yes, the real Leliana would not have been this gracious if they’d all three tried to fit into that tent without her.
He knew the minute they all fell asleep, they’d be set upon, but it would be nice to get a little fun out of this nightmare he was stuck in. It could, after all, be a while before they slept. He stood up and crossed to stand in front of the tent, staring at the flap. It wasn’t them, and they weren’t real. How was this different than one of his fantasies?
Zevran opened the tent flap and stuck his head in. He froze at the scene in front of him. Moira, all her pale, rosy skin laid bare, Alistair’s ruddy-skinned, heavily muscled torso covering most of her while he buried his face in her neck. Zevran felt his heart beat speed up at what he was seeing. He could clearly see what Alistair was doing; she was visibly trembling from his very touch. One of Moira’s hands was tangled in Alistair’s hair; the other was out of sight beneath the bigger man whose shifting hips let Zevran know where Moira’s other hand was. The assassin quickly crept the rest of the way in the tent and tied the flap shut behind him. When he turned back, both of them were looking at him expectantly. Moira’s hand left Alistair’s hair and she held it out for him. Cautiously, expecting rejection, he crawled to her, a position demanded by the low ceiling of the tent. He began to remove his armor as he bent to kiss her. He found an extra pair of hands assisting him and stopped in his approach toward Moira to find Alistair had stopped caressing Moira to help him out. Looking at the other man, Zevran’s breath caught in his throat. His tight leather trousers were unlaced and Moira’s tiny hand was very busy. He wondered if that’s what the man actually looked like or if this was just one of his fantasies made flesh. Zevran decided he didn’t really care. His second thought was admiration for the ex-Templar’s self control at being able to function at all. Zevran’s own pants were becoming increasingly uncomfortable until suddenly, Moira was up on her knees in front of him, her free hand and Alistair’s deft fingers were unlacing his trousers, searching for him under his small clothes. Moira pulled his mouth to hers and he thought he could die a happy man, shrieks be damned.
This had to be the fifteenth nightmare Alistair and Moira had waded through to find that irritating elf, Alistair thought. He very carefully avoided remembering Zevran’s kiss and concentrated on the petite woman walking next to him. He recognized the camp up ahead as theirs during the Blight. Moira he glanced a Moira who shrugged and squeezed his hand reassuringly. Her words, however, were anything but. “It’s probably going to end up being the night we were attacked by shrieks.”
He grinned at her, “I’d say that one ended pretty well for both of us, don’t you?” Both exhilarated and terrified about the shrieks invading their camp, their home, and the thought of possibly losing each other, the two Grey Wardens had first made love that night. The other members of their group had assumed it had happened long before, but both had repeatedly resisted temptation until then. He knew that Zevran had known, however. How, he wasn’t sure, the elf just seemed to have a sense about these things; or perhaps it was just a sense about Moira?
Alistair knew that he had been attracted to the elf mage from that first moment in Ostagar. Her tiny form uncowed by his being a Templar by training, if not by vows, she’d actually laughed at his jokes. She’d also kept him from losing his nerve and his sanity when, in one treacherous swoop, he’d lost everything and everyone he’d ever held dear -- except for her.
They slowly entered camp and everyone stood to stare at them, not moving. “There are already copies of us here, aren’t there,” Alistair leaned down to whisper to Moira.
She nodded, her fingers tightening around his. She turned her head toward one of the tents, “Do you hear that?”
Alistair felt his face heat at what he heard, “I do NOT want to go into that tent.”
Moira laughed, “From the sounds of things, there are two too many people in there already.”
Alistair’s free hand covered his face, “Maker’s breath, are we going to have to drag that bloody assassin out of … a threesome? With US?”
Moira grinned wider, “What’s the matter my love? Shy at how he imagined you?”
Alistair groaned, it was echoed by his own voice from the tent. If it was possible, he felt his face turn redder, “That is something I so do NOT want to think about.” Utterly uncomfortable, Alistair stood in the middle of their former camp, their old friends staring at them curiously but making no movement toward them. Moira kept glancing toward the tent for some reason Alistair could discern. He supposed it was curiosity. He did feel a little himself, but told himself he had absolutely no desire to see what Zevran was up to.
Moira tugged him over to stand nearer the tent. Reluctantly, he followed, “What, you can’t hear them clearly enough over there?” he pointed.
She shook her head, “We’re safe from changing again until the fight occurs, but I don’t want to lose him. He leaves that tent, grab him.”
Alistair made a face, “But what if he’s ... naked.”
The love of his life glared at him, “Grab him anyway.”
The noises finally died down in the tent, replaced by sleepy murmurs. The tent flap jerked as someone untied it and a blonde head poked its way out followed by a set of muscular shoulders. Alistair stared at his doppelganger for a moment as the man scrambled to his feet. His double was shirtless, and clutching a pair of trousers he hadn’t laced with one hand. He was also, somehow, better looking than Alistair felt he himself actually was. The Moira who followed him out, however, paled next to the real one, she lacked the force of personality the Warden Commander held that enhanced her beauty. DreamMoira, clutching a man’s shirt to her chest, bumped into dreamAlistair, moving him over a little. Zevran finally emerged, wearing nothing but trousers, thankfully laced, and a grin. Before the lithe elf could run away, which is what the expression on his face indicated he was about to do upon seeing them, Moira yanked him toward her away from the fake girl.
With her free hand she pulled Zevran close using his already tousled hair. His face less than an inch from hers, Alistair did his best to swallow his jealousy as Moira growled at Zevran, “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” And she closed the distance between them, kissing Zevran roughly and angrily.
Part 40
Zevran watched the real Moira disappear from view, his heart in his throat. The pain in his chest at leaving her was second only to watching the two of them together, having what he could only dream of. He’d rather stay imprisoned in this land of horror, where at least the dream Moira’s didn’t look at him as if some part of his dreams were possible. This DreamMoira was pretty to look at, but didn’t have the spark, the drive, the whatever it was that made him love her. But he could pretend. For awhile, at least.
He spotted one of her simulacra ducking a vicious swing of an axe by a Hurlock Alpha and rushed to defend her. He’d told her once it was his job, as the sidekick, to die for her. She never gave him the opportunity in real life; perhaps in this dream existence he could make it come true. Together, they fought off the Alpha with Moira finishing it off with one last freezing spell. Moira turned to him, grinning triumphantly and Zevran captured the dream girl’s mouth with his. Agony suddenly burned through his middle and he broke the kiss, shoving Moira away. He looked down to see the end of a hurlock’s sword sticking out of his stomach and realized his legs weren’t working any more. The sword was ripped out of his back and the hurlock headed for Moira and she frantically backed up away from it. Zenvran felt his knees give out only by the impact on the rest of his body. As he fell face first into the dusty ground, he saw the hurlock swing at Moira, who was apparently too low on lyrium to blast the thing and too far away from anyone else for her to be rescued. With his last strength, he managed to grab his dagger and throw it through the monster’s throat, felling it. The last thing he saw was Moira running for Alistair’s protection.
He came to in another clearing, blinking his eyes at the bright light of day. How was he still alive? “Get up, you lazy elf!” Alistair ordered him, grabbing his arm and pulling him into a sitting position. The assassin looked around, almost afraid to find out where he’d been shuffled off to this time.
“Where in the name of the Maker are we?” he asked.
“Did you hit your head that hard?” Alistair asked, squatting easily next to him. Zevran just looked at the king, remembering in exquisite detail kissing the real man. It was extremely preferable to the memory of being run through by a hurlock, that was certain. Something of his memory must’ve shown on his face because the dreamAlistair began to look uncomfortable. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
Zevran grinned, “No, my dear Warden, your face is as lovely as ever.” To his delight, Alistair flushed bright red, got up and practically sprinted away from the elf. He honestly did think Alistair was attractive, if you liked your men big and overly-protective. And if Moira hadn’t been the one to spare his life, he’d have done his level best to relieve this former Chantry boy of his burden of inexperience. But ever since that clearing on that road in the Bannorn, that delicate elven mage had had the hard-bitten assassin wrapped around her tiniest finger, eclipsing even the handsome ex-Templar and the tempting badge of purity he used to wear as if it were hung round his neck.
For some reason, a new attack hadn’t broken out yet in this particular dream setting. He wasn’t entirely sure where their small group was, but it seemed as if everyone was there, including Oghren. It was then that he realized the event he was about to relive: the sharlocks’ attack on the camp. As soon as everyone fell asleep, they’d be set upon by shrieks. The only think that had saved them in real life had been Moira’s blade and her seeming ability to be everywhere the fighting was hottest. He knew the simulated Moira had no such skills however.
The fight would not go well this time.
He rubbed his forehead. Whoever or whatever had picked these memories out of his mind had gotten everything subtly wrong. It was almost as if they didn’t know Moira, or didn’t understand the concept of her abilities. But if this was run by a demon, and Moira had told him everything she knew of demons, wouldn’t they get this all right so that he’d be better tricked?
While he was thinking, his eyes had been unconsciously following Moira as she talked to everyone around the small campsite. He wanted to figure out the rules of this place. Not necessarily so he could leave, but so that he could turn it to his advantage. Get what he wanted out of the DreamMoiras and Alistairs, hollow though it might be. He ignored the small voice in the back of his mind that shouted, “You idiot! How is this better? They’d just be puppets! It won’t be them!” His eyes widened as she grabbed Alistair by the hand and dragged him behind her into her tent. That definitely hadn’t happened that night. Briefly, he debated with himself whether it was a good idea to intrude on them. He looked around the camp and saw Leliana looking at him expectantly.
“You’re not going to join them?” her softly Orlesian accented voice asked him.
Stunned, Zevran stared at her. “Should I?”
She shrugged, “You usually do. Just try to keep the noise down. “ She smiled indulgently. He wondered at that, the real Leliana would be jealous and trying to join them. She and Moira never brought up the time they’d kissed, but both he and Alistair had seen it. Alistair had disappeared into the forest shortly after they’d separated and Zevran had had to admit his own armor had gotten more than uncomfortable in the hip region. Yes, the real Leliana would not have been this gracious if they’d all three tried to fit into that tent without her.
He knew the minute they all fell asleep, they’d be set upon, but it would be nice to get a little fun out of this nightmare he was stuck in. It could, after all, be a while before they slept. He stood up and crossed to stand in front of the tent, staring at the flap. It wasn’t them, and they weren’t real. How was this different than one of his fantasies?
Zevran opened the tent flap and stuck his head in. He froze at the scene in front of him. Moira, all her pale, rosy skin laid bare, Alistair’s ruddy-skinned, heavily muscled torso covering most of her while he buried his face in her neck. Zevran felt his heart beat speed up at what he was seeing. He could clearly see what Alistair was doing; she was visibly trembling from his very touch. One of Moira’s hands was tangled in Alistair’s hair; the other was out of sight beneath the bigger man whose shifting hips let Zevran know where Moira’s other hand was. The assassin quickly crept the rest of the way in the tent and tied the flap shut behind him. When he turned back, both of them were looking at him expectantly. Moira’s hand left Alistair’s hair and she held it out for him. Cautiously, expecting rejection, he crawled to her, a position demanded by the low ceiling of the tent. He began to remove his armor as he bent to kiss her. He found an extra pair of hands assisting him and stopped in his approach toward Moira to find Alistair had stopped caressing Moira to help him out. Looking at the other man, Zevran’s breath caught in his throat. His tight leather trousers were unlaced and Moira’s tiny hand was very busy. He wondered if that’s what the man actually looked like or if this was just one of his fantasies made flesh. Zevran decided he didn’t really care. His second thought was admiration for the ex-Templar’s self control at being able to function at all. Zevran’s own pants were becoming increasingly uncomfortable until suddenly, Moira was up on her knees in front of him, her free hand and Alistair’s deft fingers were unlacing his trousers, searching for him under his small clothes. Moira pulled his mouth to hers and he thought he could die a happy man, shrieks be damned.
This had to be the fifteenth nightmare Alistair and Moira had waded through to find that irritating elf, Alistair thought. He very carefully avoided remembering Zevran’s kiss and concentrated on the petite woman walking next to him. He recognized the camp up ahead as theirs during the Blight. Moira he glanced a Moira who shrugged and squeezed his hand reassuringly. Her words, however, were anything but. “It’s probably going to end up being the night we were attacked by shrieks.”
He grinned at her, “I’d say that one ended pretty well for both of us, don’t you?” Both exhilarated and terrified about the shrieks invading their camp, their home, and the thought of possibly losing each other, the two Grey Wardens had first made love that night. The other members of their group had assumed it had happened long before, but both had repeatedly resisted temptation until then. He knew that Zevran had known, however. How, he wasn’t sure, the elf just seemed to have a sense about these things; or perhaps it was just a sense about Moira?
Alistair knew that he had been attracted to the elf mage from that first moment in Ostagar. Her tiny form uncowed by his being a Templar by training, if not by vows, she’d actually laughed at his jokes. She’d also kept him from losing his nerve and his sanity when, in one treacherous swoop, he’d lost everything and everyone he’d ever held dear -- except for her.
They slowly entered camp and everyone stood to stare at them, not moving. “There are already copies of us here, aren’t there,” Alistair leaned down to whisper to Moira.
She nodded, her fingers tightening around his. She turned her head toward one of the tents, “Do you hear that?”
Alistair felt his face heat at what he heard, “I do NOT want to go into that tent.”
Moira laughed, “From the sounds of things, there are two too many people in there already.”
Alistair’s free hand covered his face, “Maker’s breath, are we going to have to drag that bloody assassin out of … a threesome? With US?”
Moira grinned wider, “What’s the matter my love? Shy at how he imagined you?”
Alistair groaned, it was echoed by his own voice from the tent. If it was possible, he felt his face turn redder, “That is something I so do NOT want to think about.” Utterly uncomfortable, Alistair stood in the middle of their former camp, their old friends staring at them curiously but making no movement toward them. Moira kept glancing toward the tent for some reason Alistair could discern. He supposed it was curiosity. He did feel a little himself, but told himself he had absolutely no desire to see what Zevran was up to.
Moira tugged him over to stand nearer the tent. Reluctantly, he followed, “What, you can’t hear them clearly enough over there?” he pointed.
She shook her head, “We’re safe from changing again until the fight occurs, but I don’t want to lose him. He leaves that tent, grab him.”
Alistair made a face, “But what if he’s ... naked.”
The love of his life glared at him, “Grab him anyway.”
The noises finally died down in the tent, replaced by sleepy murmurs. The tent flap jerked as someone untied it and a blonde head poked its way out followed by a set of muscular shoulders. Alistair stared at his doppelganger for a moment as the man scrambled to his feet. His double was shirtless, and clutching a pair of trousers he hadn’t laced with one hand. He was also, somehow, better looking than Alistair felt he himself actually was. The Moira who followed him out, however, paled next to the real one, she lacked the force of personality the Warden Commander held that enhanced her beauty. DreamMoira, clutching a man’s shirt to her chest, bumped into dreamAlistair, moving him over a little. Zevran finally emerged, wearing nothing but trousers, thankfully laced, and a grin. Before the lithe elf could run away, which is what the expression on his face indicated he was about to do upon seeing them, Moira yanked him toward her away from the fake girl.
With her free hand she pulled Zevran close using his already tousled hair. His face less than an inch from hers, Alistair did his best to swallow his jealousy as Moira growled at Zevran, “Don’t you ever do that to me again!” And she closed the distance between them, kissing Zevran roughly and angrily.
#429
Posté 06 mai 2010 - 01:49
Shenzi
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That was great 
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Alistair's reactions to what's going on in the tent are priceless
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. Alistair's reactions to what's going on in the tent are priceless
.
#430
Posté 06 mai 2010 - 11:43
sapphyreelf
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This is still my favorite line, Sia. It's too classic Alistair to not love:
Alistair made a face, “But what if he’s ... naked.”
Alistair made a face, “But what if he’s ... naked.”
#431
Posté 07 mai 2010 - 03:13
TanithAeyrs
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classic Zev, make the best of the hand he's been dealt. Poor Alistair, I think he's going to have to reevaluate his romantic interests in one way or another. Will be waiting to see if he can come to terms with Moria and Zev.
#432
Posté 11 mai 2010 - 01:06
*Kioux*
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I'm a bit torn apart here. I like Zev but Alistair has been my favorite... and he's just so much more innocent than Zev. I am not sure he can handle it... poor snuggle.
But - well written as always, Sia, and I have to agree with Shenzi and Saph. Thanks for keeping us entertained!
But - well written as always, Sia, and I have to agree with Shenzi and Saph. Thanks for keeping us entertained!
#433
Posté 11 mai 2010 - 06:24
Sialater
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I'm quite early this week. Hope that means the Muse will let me have two chapters.
Part 41
Zevran jerked his head away from her, but kept his hand on her shoulder, apparently not quite ready to have them disappear yet. “No!” he snarled. “You do not get to make everything all better with a kiss! You made your decision, again!”
Moira tightened her fingers around Alistair’s hand, her other hand clenching into a fist before she grabbed hold of his arm. “What decision? Every time I’ve made one, one or the both of you try to talk me out of it!” She jerked her chin to the doubles who were still standing there watching them in brainless fascination. She lowered her voice and leaned into Zevran, “As a matter of fact, I’m one hundred percent certain I’m not the only one for whom you’ve got feelings.”
Zevran’s hazel eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about?”
At the same time, Alistair, shouted, “What the hell are you talking about?”
Moira resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation as that would require letting go of one of them. “You know what? I’m not going to bother. You don’t want to address the griffon in the room, I won’t either. You can’t even make up your mind about me, Zevran. Much less anyone else. You keep pushing me away. What would you do if I actually gave you what you seem to want? Withdrew even my friendship?”
His expression became one of panic with wide eyes and tight lips before he carefully schooled it to blank. But his free hand reached up and grabbed hers where it gripped his arm, his fingers tightening around hers painfully. “You wouldn’t,” his voice was low, quiet. He wouldn’t look at her.
“Why not? You can’t make up your mind, Zevran.” She shrugged, “You kiss me then run from me. And not just physically.”
“Can I just say something here?” Alistair asked, stepping closer to Moira. “I know what we talked about, my love, while we were looking for him, but are you sure that’s what you want, if he keeps running from you?”
“I don’t know, Alistair. It’s up to him. I’m not going to offer him anything if he’ll just throw it back in my face later on.” Moira turned her full gaze to Zevran, “It may hurt you to see me with Alistair, Zevran. But it hurts me that you won’t acknowledge anything between us.”
“Uh, we’re alone here,” Alistair suddenly pointed out, before Zevran could reply.
Moira craned her neck to look around, “When the hell did it get dark?”
Zevran switched to only holding on to Moira with one hand and faced away from them, “It’s the night the shrieks attacked the camp. The only reason we survived that night, mi amora, was your skill with your magical sword.”
The mage sighed, “And this Moira doesn’t have my talents in any of the nightmares we’ve seen.”
“I believe whoever’s running this has no idea what you’re capable of, my dear,” Alistair switched the hand he was holding hers with and drew his sword.
She glanced at her hands enveloped by theirs, “Good thing I don’t actually need my hands to fight.”
Zevran grinned, his humor coming back at the prospect of a fight. He raised the back of Moira’s hand to his lips and kissed it, “We are your hands, mi amora.”
Moira looked around at the night-darkened campsite, “Somehow, I am not comforted.”
Alistair glanced at both of them, before returning his attention to the edge of the campsite, “Stay together, no matter what. These people aren’t real and they’re expendable. We’re real and neither of you are expendable.”
Moira looked up at Alistair and smiled at him before he looked away. She loved the sound of his voice when he was commanding. She also thought the small line he was developing between his eyebrows from stress over his responsibilities was adorable even if she wanted to smooth it away. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, “You’re not expendable either, my heart.” Turning back to Zevran, she caught an envious look flash across his face before he turned to watch for the incoming monsters.
When the shrieks appeared, Moira threw up three spells, Spell Might, Blizzard, and Tempest. It was difficult to do without the gestures that helped her remember the spells, but somehow she got them off before the darkspawn hit the camp. The three of them watched, warily, as the Storm of the Century spell combination kept any of the sharlocks from reaching them. It also completely slaughtered the weak simulacra of their companions. Moira tried very hard not to look at the corpse of the dreamPerrin. Alistair glanced down at her as she looked back up at him, unshed tears in her eyes. He sheathed his sword and used that arm to pull her into a comforting embrace. She felt Zevran do the same on her other side and he whispered, “Just remember, mi amora, the real Perrin is driving Wynne to distraction in an inn in Val Dorma.” She took a deep breath and nodded.
The world suddenly shifted around them, the three of them hanging on to each other tightly, the dream world seeming to want to rip them apart, separate them. Twisted and pulled painfully, they were dropped suddenly in another nightmare, still locked together around Moira. Zevran landed first and somehow managed to keep Moira from getting crushed by Alistair’s heavily armored body. Alistair propped himself up and looked around, making sure to still have hold of his love’s hand.
“I am so bloody tired of this fort. I may have it torn down when I get back to Denerim,” he told them, his voice petulant.
Moira laughed, “But we have such good memories of this place, Alistair! Waking up naked in a jail cell, Zevran and Oghren rescuing us… fighting an archdemon….” Her voice trailed off as something occurred to her. When the men got ready to try to stand up, she pulled them back to her. “That’s it! That’s why we’re here!”
Zevran took advantage of her position reclining against him since she wouldn’t let him up to wrap his arms around her shoulders languidly, still keeping the fingers or one of his hands interlaced with hers, “What are you thinking in that remarkably wonderful twisty mind of yours, mi amora?”
Alistair leaned back on his free hand to stare at her, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Each of our dreams came back here, repeatedly, right?”
Zevran shrugged. “I don’t know why mine did. I was never brought along on this particular suicide mission,” he said, annoyed.
Craning her head around to look at her fellow elf, she said, “But you know everything that happened, including why we’re both still alive. And you also figured out that whoever put us here has no clue what I can do.”
“And you‘ve realized you can change things in here, right?” Alistair added.
Zevran’s eyes widened, “Are you telling me we’re supposed to get fed up watching each other die against that thing and show them all the truth?”
Moira nodded. “I haven’t figured out how they’re watching, though. All I know is, this isn’t the real Fade.”
Part 41
Zevran jerked his head away from her, but kept his hand on her shoulder, apparently not quite ready to have them disappear yet. “No!” he snarled. “You do not get to make everything all better with a kiss! You made your decision, again!”
Moira tightened her fingers around Alistair’s hand, her other hand clenching into a fist before she grabbed hold of his arm. “What decision? Every time I’ve made one, one or the both of you try to talk me out of it!” She jerked her chin to the doubles who were still standing there watching them in brainless fascination. She lowered her voice and leaned into Zevran, “As a matter of fact, I’m one hundred percent certain I’m not the only one for whom you’ve got feelings.”
Zevran’s hazel eyes narrowed, “What are you talking about?”
At the same time, Alistair, shouted, “What the hell are you talking about?”
Moira resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose in exasperation as that would require letting go of one of them. “You know what? I’m not going to bother. You don’t want to address the griffon in the room, I won’t either. You can’t even make up your mind about me, Zevran. Much less anyone else. You keep pushing me away. What would you do if I actually gave you what you seem to want? Withdrew even my friendship?”
His expression became one of panic with wide eyes and tight lips before he carefully schooled it to blank. But his free hand reached up and grabbed hers where it gripped his arm, his fingers tightening around hers painfully. “You wouldn’t,” his voice was low, quiet. He wouldn’t look at her.
“Why not? You can’t make up your mind, Zevran.” She shrugged, “You kiss me then run from me. And not just physically.”
“Can I just say something here?” Alistair asked, stepping closer to Moira. “I know what we talked about, my love, while we were looking for him, but are you sure that’s what you want, if he keeps running from you?”
“I don’t know, Alistair. It’s up to him. I’m not going to offer him anything if he’ll just throw it back in my face later on.” Moira turned her full gaze to Zevran, “It may hurt you to see me with Alistair, Zevran. But it hurts me that you won’t acknowledge anything between us.”
“Uh, we’re alone here,” Alistair suddenly pointed out, before Zevran could reply.
Moira craned her neck to look around, “When the hell did it get dark?”
Zevran switched to only holding on to Moira with one hand and faced away from them, “It’s the night the shrieks attacked the camp. The only reason we survived that night, mi amora, was your skill with your magical sword.”
The mage sighed, “And this Moira doesn’t have my talents in any of the nightmares we’ve seen.”
“I believe whoever’s running this has no idea what you’re capable of, my dear,” Alistair switched the hand he was holding hers with and drew his sword.
She glanced at her hands enveloped by theirs, “Good thing I don’t actually need my hands to fight.”
Zevran grinned, his humor coming back at the prospect of a fight. He raised the back of Moira’s hand to his lips and kissed it, “We are your hands, mi amora.”
Moira looked around at the night-darkened campsite, “Somehow, I am not comforted.”
Alistair glanced at both of them, before returning his attention to the edge of the campsite, “Stay together, no matter what. These people aren’t real and they’re expendable. We’re real and neither of you are expendable.”
Moira looked up at Alistair and smiled at him before he looked away. She loved the sound of his voice when he was commanding. She also thought the small line he was developing between his eyebrows from stress over his responsibilities was adorable even if she wanted to smooth it away. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, “You’re not expendable either, my heart.” Turning back to Zevran, she caught an envious look flash across his face before he turned to watch for the incoming monsters.
When the shrieks appeared, Moira threw up three spells, Spell Might, Blizzard, and Tempest. It was difficult to do without the gestures that helped her remember the spells, but somehow she got them off before the darkspawn hit the camp. The three of them watched, warily, as the Storm of the Century spell combination kept any of the sharlocks from reaching them. It also completely slaughtered the weak simulacra of their companions. Moira tried very hard not to look at the corpse of the dreamPerrin. Alistair glanced down at her as she looked back up at him, unshed tears in her eyes. He sheathed his sword and used that arm to pull her into a comforting embrace. She felt Zevran do the same on her other side and he whispered, “Just remember, mi amora, the real Perrin is driving Wynne to distraction in an inn in Val Dorma.” She took a deep breath and nodded.
The world suddenly shifted around them, the three of them hanging on to each other tightly, the dream world seeming to want to rip them apart, separate them. Twisted and pulled painfully, they were dropped suddenly in another nightmare, still locked together around Moira. Zevran landed first and somehow managed to keep Moira from getting crushed by Alistair’s heavily armored body. Alistair propped himself up and looked around, making sure to still have hold of his love’s hand.
“I am so bloody tired of this fort. I may have it torn down when I get back to Denerim,” he told them, his voice petulant.
Moira laughed, “But we have such good memories of this place, Alistair! Waking up naked in a jail cell, Zevran and Oghren rescuing us… fighting an archdemon….” Her voice trailed off as something occurred to her. When the men got ready to try to stand up, she pulled them back to her. “That’s it! That’s why we’re here!”
Zevran took advantage of her position reclining against him since she wouldn’t let him up to wrap his arms around her shoulders languidly, still keeping the fingers or one of his hands interlaced with hers, “What are you thinking in that remarkably wonderful twisty mind of yours, mi amora?”
Alistair leaned back on his free hand to stare at her, “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Each of our dreams came back here, repeatedly, right?”
Zevran shrugged. “I don’t know why mine did. I was never brought along on this particular suicide mission,” he said, annoyed.
Craning her head around to look at her fellow elf, she said, “But you know everything that happened, including why we’re both still alive. And you also figured out that whoever put us here has no clue what I can do.”
“And you‘ve realized you can change things in here, right?” Alistair added.
Zevran’s eyes widened, “Are you telling me we’re supposed to get fed up watching each other die against that thing and show them all the truth?”
Moira nodded. “I haven’t figured out how they’re watching, though. All I know is, this isn’t the real Fade.”
#434
Posté 11 mai 2010 - 07:37
*Kioux*
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I like!! An interesting twist in the story. I'm looking forward to more. And nice handling of Zev! (I don't have to emphasize my love for Alistair 
)
)
#435
Posté 12 mai 2010 - 04:40
jillyfae
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Yeah for early update! I love the twisty nature of the situation they're stuck in (and their relationship, tbh). Can't wait to watch them try to figure it all out. 
#436
Posté 15 mai 2010 - 12:52
Sialater
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Part 42
“Jowan! Why, by Andraste’s Arse, am I utterly unsurprised to see you here?” Cullen snarled. The nearly two years since Jowan’s escape from the Circle Tower hadn’t been kind to the pathetic mage. His dark hair was stringier than Cullen remembered and his beady eyes were shadowed by dark circles. He appeared to have some sort of rash on his neck. His floor length robes were stained and wrinkled, the nails where he clutched at Cullen’s forearm were bitten to the quick and none too clean.
Jowan turned pale and swallowed around the blade at his throat, “What are you doing here, Cullen?”
“What does it look like we’re doing? You’ve kidnapped the king of Ferelden!” The petite dwarven woman told the captive mage before Cullen could say anything. “And now, you’ve got the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden trapped, too!”
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!” Jowan told them, his voice breaking, his pallor making the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises.
“Guess what? It did, you filthy little maleficar. Let. Them. Out.” Cullen ordered, slowly.
“I—I can’t. I’m not the one controlling the spell,” the skinny mage flapped his hands uselessly.
“You and I both know that doesn’t matter, Jowan!” Cullen told him, his voice as cold and as forceful as he could make it. The ex-Templar wanted nothing more than to gut the escaped blood mage, but held himself in check. As long as there was a chance Jowan could release Moira and the others, he’d live. “Also? I believe you’re lying.”
Jowan swallowed again, “N—no, I’m not.”
Cullen stared into Jowan’s eyes, trying to figure out how Moira ever tolerated this weasel as a friend. She was the only mage Cullen would probably never be able to kill. She was the only mage he hoped he never had to try. And this was the man she once called brother? He grabbed the mage’s greasy hair in his gauntleted fist and keeping his dagger at his throat, dragged the lighter man around in front of him toward where Moira had collapsed on top of Zevran and Alistair. He ignored the surge of jealousy at the sight, and used his grip on the mage’s hair to hold him over the glyph on the floor. He positioned his foot so that he could sweep Jowan’s legs out from under him without being trapped by the glyph himself.
Leaning into the mage’s ear, he snarled, “Get them out of that, or I’ll drop you into it with them. I doubt, with how angry Moira was at the state of her king when we got here, that she’ll be glad to see you,” he didn’t know why, but he erred on the side of caution and didn’t mention their real relationship, what he’d been able to guess, at least. She and the elf had taken care to present Moira’s mission to rescue Alistair as one for the Chancellor looking for her King, not a woman and the man she loved. But she and the assassin were too on edge together to actually be lovers or even just friends themselves and the only reason he could think of for that tension would be that she belonged to someone else. It figures she’d have attracted a king. “She might even kill you on sight!” He dragged Jowan’s face around to snarl in it. “I thought you cared about her! I thought you were her friend! Your actions, from the day you sent her after YOUR phylactery,” he shook the man at the pronoun, ignoring the wince crossing the mage’s jaundiced face, “sent her to hell and back, and those are the only two men who stood by her!” He heard Shale clear her throat behind him, but ignored her; he was making a point, after all. “And you’ve endangered her and them.” He leaned Jowan back over the glyph, “Think carefully, Jowan.”
“All-all right, I’ll let them out. I need…. lyrium… first. This spell – it takes a lot.” He could feel Jowan tremble under his grip. But before he could reply, the sound of Shale’s sword clearing the sheathe on her back alerted him to trouble. He wasn’t distracted enough, however, to take his attention from Jowan.
“Shale, what’s wrong?” He demanded.
“We have company, Templar,” Shale announced and he heard her footsteps backing toward him.
Snarling, he stepped away from the glyph and hauled Jowan around, the knife still at the mage’s throat to see who had arrived. A short female mage, her raven hair cut back off her pointed ears entered the cell. Her grey robes barely rustled as she glided into the narrow, poorly lit chamber. “That really isn’t necessary, Templar. Neither one of us wanted this spell to work correctly in the first place. And it’s not.”
“What are you talking about?” Shale demanded, her sword held out defensively at the newcomer mage.
“We’re the only ones able to maintain this spell, dwarf. The only ones with the knowledge. And neither of us wanted it to succeed in its purpose.” The petite mage’s voice was calm, tender even. But her eyes, her eyes were angry, bitter.
Cullen looked at Jowan, the skinny mage nodded, “I stalled as long as I could. They even made me a Grey Warden to force me to do this. I had no choice.” Cullen shoved the mage away. Jowan stumbled a few steps until he got his feet under him. He turned, straightening his robes. “They took me from the Circle Tower because I’d been working on this spell to question maleficar for the Templars.”
Cullen glanced at the glyph on the floor, “How does it work?”
The elven mage stepped forward, “It’s only supposed to work on mages, but we had to adapt. It puts them in a dream state and leads them to correct events or actions when we present the wrong ones.”
“How do you know when they’ve done it? Fixed something,” Shale asked, lowering her sword.
“The original spell called for us to be in there with them, watching,” Jowan said.
“But that’s your trick, isn’t it? You’re not in there, so how do they know?” Cullen said. “Why would the Grey Wardens do this? And why would they make you one of them, Jowan, to do this?”
“Well, he’s not technically one, yet,” the woman told him. “They poisoned him. He’s dying from darkspawn taint that can only be cured by The Joining.”
Shale sheathed the sword and walked over to Jowan, “Get down here and let me see you,” she demanded. The mage knelt and the small warrior turned his face this way and that and pried open his eyes, then yanked the collar of his robes down to show more of what Cullen had thought a rash. In reality it was a patch of open sores. “I thought its liver was just going bad. That’s taint, all right.” She released Jowan and he stood back up. Shale walked back over to stand by Cullen.
“All right, I get why you’d want to help Moira, Jowan, and why you wouldn’t want to betray your king, but what are you getting out of this, ser mage?”
The elf mage straightened to her full height, “I knew his father.” Her face softened as she looked at Alistair, “You may call me Fiona.”
“Jowan! Why, by Andraste’s Arse, am I utterly unsurprised to see you here?” Cullen snarled. The nearly two years since Jowan’s escape from the Circle Tower hadn’t been kind to the pathetic mage. His dark hair was stringier than Cullen remembered and his beady eyes were shadowed by dark circles. He appeared to have some sort of rash on his neck. His floor length robes were stained and wrinkled, the nails where he clutched at Cullen’s forearm were bitten to the quick and none too clean.
Jowan turned pale and swallowed around the blade at his throat, “What are you doing here, Cullen?”
“What does it look like we’re doing? You’ve kidnapped the king of Ferelden!” The petite dwarven woman told the captive mage before Cullen could say anything. “And now, you’ve got the Commander of the Grey of Ferelden trapped, too!”
“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen!” Jowan told them, his voice breaking, his pallor making the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises.
“Guess what? It did, you filthy little maleficar. Let. Them. Out.” Cullen ordered, slowly.
“I—I can’t. I’m not the one controlling the spell,” the skinny mage flapped his hands uselessly.
“You and I both know that doesn’t matter, Jowan!” Cullen told him, his voice as cold and as forceful as he could make it. The ex-Templar wanted nothing more than to gut the escaped blood mage, but held himself in check. As long as there was a chance Jowan could release Moira and the others, he’d live. “Also? I believe you’re lying.”
Jowan swallowed again, “N—no, I’m not.”
Cullen stared into Jowan’s eyes, trying to figure out how Moira ever tolerated this weasel as a friend. She was the only mage Cullen would probably never be able to kill. She was the only mage he hoped he never had to try. And this was the man she once called brother? He grabbed the mage’s greasy hair in his gauntleted fist and keeping his dagger at his throat, dragged the lighter man around in front of him toward where Moira had collapsed on top of Zevran and Alistair. He ignored the surge of jealousy at the sight, and used his grip on the mage’s hair to hold him over the glyph on the floor. He positioned his foot so that he could sweep Jowan’s legs out from under him without being trapped by the glyph himself.
Leaning into the mage’s ear, he snarled, “Get them out of that, or I’ll drop you into it with them. I doubt, with how angry Moira was at the state of her king when we got here, that she’ll be glad to see you,” he didn’t know why, but he erred on the side of caution and didn’t mention their real relationship, what he’d been able to guess, at least. She and the elf had taken care to present Moira’s mission to rescue Alistair as one for the Chancellor looking for her King, not a woman and the man she loved. But she and the assassin were too on edge together to actually be lovers or even just friends themselves and the only reason he could think of for that tension would be that she belonged to someone else. It figures she’d have attracted a king. “She might even kill you on sight!” He dragged Jowan’s face around to snarl in it. “I thought you cared about her! I thought you were her friend! Your actions, from the day you sent her after YOUR phylactery,” he shook the man at the pronoun, ignoring the wince crossing the mage’s jaundiced face, “sent her to hell and back, and those are the only two men who stood by her!” He heard Shale clear her throat behind him, but ignored her; he was making a point, after all. “And you’ve endangered her and them.” He leaned Jowan back over the glyph, “Think carefully, Jowan.”
“All-all right, I’ll let them out. I need…. lyrium… first. This spell – it takes a lot.” He could feel Jowan tremble under his grip. But before he could reply, the sound of Shale’s sword clearing the sheathe on her back alerted him to trouble. He wasn’t distracted enough, however, to take his attention from Jowan.
“Shale, what’s wrong?” He demanded.
“We have company, Templar,” Shale announced and he heard her footsteps backing toward him.
Snarling, he stepped away from the glyph and hauled Jowan around, the knife still at the mage’s throat to see who had arrived. A short female mage, her raven hair cut back off her pointed ears entered the cell. Her grey robes barely rustled as she glided into the narrow, poorly lit chamber. “That really isn’t necessary, Templar. Neither one of us wanted this spell to work correctly in the first place. And it’s not.”
“What are you talking about?” Shale demanded, her sword held out defensively at the newcomer mage.
“We’re the only ones able to maintain this spell, dwarf. The only ones with the knowledge. And neither of us wanted it to succeed in its purpose.” The petite mage’s voice was calm, tender even. But her eyes, her eyes were angry, bitter.
Cullen looked at Jowan, the skinny mage nodded, “I stalled as long as I could. They even made me a Grey Warden to force me to do this. I had no choice.” Cullen shoved the mage away. Jowan stumbled a few steps until he got his feet under him. He turned, straightening his robes. “They took me from the Circle Tower because I’d been working on this spell to question maleficar for the Templars.”
Cullen glanced at the glyph on the floor, “How does it work?”
The elven mage stepped forward, “It’s only supposed to work on mages, but we had to adapt. It puts them in a dream state and leads them to correct events or actions when we present the wrong ones.”
“How do you know when they’ve done it? Fixed something,” Shale asked, lowering her sword.
“The original spell called for us to be in there with them, watching,” Jowan said.
“But that’s your trick, isn’t it? You’re not in there, so how do they know?” Cullen said. “Why would the Grey Wardens do this? And why would they make you one of them, Jowan, to do this?”
“Well, he’s not technically one, yet,” the woman told him. “They poisoned him. He’s dying from darkspawn taint that can only be cured by The Joining.”
Shale sheathed the sword and walked over to Jowan, “Get down here and let me see you,” she demanded. The mage knelt and the small warrior turned his face this way and that and pried open his eyes, then yanked the collar of his robes down to show more of what Cullen had thought a rash. In reality it was a patch of open sores. “I thought its liver was just going bad. That’s taint, all right.” She released Jowan and he stood back up. Shale walked back over to stand by Cullen.
“All right, I get why you’d want to help Moira, Jowan, and why you wouldn’t want to betray your king, but what are you getting out of this, ser mage?”
The elf mage straightened to her full height, “I knew his father.” Her face softened as she looked at Alistair, “You may call me Fiona.”
#437
Posté 15 mai 2010 - 01:20
TanithAeyrs
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A perfect way to end a Friday- a new chapter from Sia. Can't wait to see what happens with Jowan and Fiona.
#438
Posté 15 mai 2010 - 01:13
amethyst_rose2009
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Wow, I adore the new chapter Sia. For some reason I just loved Jowan getting roughed up by Cullen, LOL. And what a way to end the chapter with the female mage revealing herself as Fiona. Oh wow, I can't wait for the next chapter! 
#439
Posté 15 mai 2010 - 08:32
Shenzi
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What a great update, I love Cullen in this chapter 
#440
Posté 19 mai 2010 - 05:18
Sialater
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Part 43
Alistair opened his eyes, blinking painfully against the torchlight. He could feel two weights on his legs, roughly Moira- and Zevran-sized, but he still couldn’t feel his fingers and he could barely feel his arms where they were stretched out and held rigid by the shackles. He squinted and saw Moira open her eyes, then quickly cover them with her gauntleted hands and groaned. He felt the Zevran weight lift off his lower legs and the assassin stumbled over to squint at the chains still holding Alistair’s arms in the air.
“As . . . interesting. . . as the sight of you tied up is, Alistair,” the elf told him, glancing at him with a slight leer as he worked to pick the lock holding the king’s right arm, “I’m afraid I’d rather you bathed first.” Alistair felt his face heat and then all thoughts of any retort he might have planned died on his lips as Zevran freed his hand. Fire surged from his shoulder to his fingertips and his breath hissed out from between his teeth in pain. Gently, Zevran laid the numb arm in his lap and crossed over to the other shackle. But not before pausing to make sure he brushed his hips against Alistair’s face causing him to jerk his head backward and hit it on the stone wall.
“Zevran, stop playing with Alistair and hurry up. We have a problem,” Moira’s voice was muffled by the fact that the elf was still standing, straddling the Grey Warden’s hips; Alistair hadn’t noticed when her slight weight left his legs, thanks to Zevran’s attempts to irritate him. He wondered what the problem was, but before he could ask, Zevran shifted his weight and brushed against Alistair’s face again. The feeling had begun to return to his free arm so he reached up and roughly placed his hand on the other man’s leather clad stomach and shoved.
He was rewarded with Zevran’s grunt, but the assassin took the hint and climbed off him, still working at the lock. “One moment, mi amora. Our dear Alistair wanted to play back. And this lock is being very stubborn.”
Glaring up at the elf, Alistair retorted, “Haven’t you got that lock done yet? And here I thought you were good with your hands.”
As a reply, Zevran released the cuff and allowed Alistair’s numbed hand to drop to the floor. Stabbing knives joined the fire racing from his fingers to his shoulder. Ignoring the pain, Alistair lunged to his feet. Zevran had pushed him too far this time, friendship or no. As he reached his feet that Maker forsaken elf grinned at him. In answer, Alistair threw himself at the other man, catching the assassin in the stomach with his shoulder, slamming him up against the wall. Sinewy arms wrapped around his shoulders, trying to twist him around, a sly elf voice in his ear, “Why, Alistair, I didn’t know you felt this way! Won’t our Moira be jealous?”
In reply, Alistair merely growled and used his greater strength to break the assassin’s hold. But before he could step back to punch the older man, Zevran suddenly wasn’t there and Alistair found his legs swept out from under him and was flat on his back with the elf’s knees pinning the biceps of both arms. Zevran leaned down, his hazel eyes meeting Alistair’s unblinking. Afraid he was going to be kissed again, Alistair arched his back and threw Zevran off him, the lighter man somersaulting over his head to land flat on his back. Alistair used his momentum to regain his feet but before he could attack the assassin again, he felt a familiar slim cool hand on his arm and looked over to see Moira silently staring up at him, worry in her wide blue eyes. His rage fled immediately and he turned and bent to bury his face against her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, tangling his hands in her raven hair. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll never die on me again. Promise me I’ll never have to see that again.”
Moira’s arms went around Alistair’s shaking shoulders, her ungloved fingers curling in his unkempt hair. She knew it was a false promise, they were doomed to go into the Deep Roads together, after all, but she whispered against his ear, “Of course. I promise, my love.”
“I really wish you weren’t wearing armor, right now,” he said, teasingly, and she knew he was chasing his own fears away with humor again.
“I really wish you could take a bath,” she replied, kissing his ear. Her skin tingled as he chuckled against her neck, his breath against her sensitive skin there giving her goosebumps. Her arms tightened automatically, relieved to finally hold him for real instead of in some dream. He straightened up, taking a deep breath. They both turned to see Zevran still flat on his back on the grimy floor, his eyes closed. Moira crouched down, “Are you done teasing him, Zev?”
He cracked one eye open to look at Moira, “That depends, do I get such an embrace as a reward for releasing your beloved?”
Moira glanced from Alistair, who shrugged and looked away, his face blank, to Zevran and held her hand out to the incorrigible assassin. For a moment, he appeared to be considering pulling her down on top of him, but she quirked an eyebrow at him in warning; she was wearing plate armor, after all, and they weren’t alone. Reluctantly, he allowed her to pull him to his feet, but yanked her into his arms when he stood up. Imitating Alistair’s posture, but on the other side of her neck, he demanded, “I want you to promise me the same thing. I never want to see you die again.”
More goosebumps marched across her skin and she tightened her arms around him, as she had Alistair. Uncomfortable with the embrace in front of him, however, she merely nodded against Zevran’s neck where he’d tucked her head. Then kissed him lightly just under his ear to underscore her silent promise. She was rewarded with Zevran’s convulsive shiver and his fingers tightening in her hair. She raised her head from Zev’s embrace when she felt Alistair’s gentle hand on the back of her head and she looked at him, questioningly, “I believe you should introduce me, my dear.” He glanced at the four people in the door way, his emphasis on his endearment for her quite clear in its warning. He’d gotten over his anger at Zevran and his fear for her, or at least shoved them both in the back of his mind and had put back on the cloak of command of the King of Ferelden and Grey Warden Lieutenant.
Moira stepped away from Zevran, who reluctantly released her and forced herself to do the same thing, mentally pulling the mantle of the Commander of the Grey around herself. “You remember Cullen, Alistair? The Templar who was imprisoned in the Circle Tower by the maleficars?” Cullen knelt in the presence of his king and Alistair’s nodded his acknowledgment as she continued, “And Jowan, the mage who attempted to poison Arl Eamon at Loghain’s behest?” Jowan’s drop into a posture of obeisance was less graceful than Cullen’s but no less heartfelt. But if anything, Alistair’s handsome features hardened at the mention of the attempt on his surrogate father’s life.
Moira grinned in anticipation of his reaction to her next introduction. She looked at the dwarva, “And I know you’d never forget Shale of House Cadesh. “
Alistair’s reaction was priceless. The petite blonde warrior grinned at Alistair’s dropped jaw and widened eyes, “It was expecting someone else, perhaps?”
Before Shale could react, the king had pulled her into a bear hug, exclaiming, “I can’t believe it! You’re… you!”
Moira exchanged an amused glance with Zevran, who drawled, “And he’s usually so eloquent.”
Moira’s eyes were drawn back to the doorway where the other mage stepped forward as Shale squirmed out of Alistair’s hug, looking very irritated. Before Shale could tell Alistair what she thought of such public displays of affection, the older elf mage put her hand on the king’s shoulder, and said, “I believe I could be your mother. My name is Fiona.”
Moira froze in astonishment as did Zevran beside her. Alistair rocked back on his heels where he crouched in front of Shale, staring up at the other raven haired elf mage. Jowan and Cullen both gasped. Alistair regained his voice first, “I – I believe you must be mistaken.” His voice cracked, “I – my mother was a chamber maid in Redcliffe Castle.”
The woman gave him an amused glance, “And how many bastards did Maric have? I’m quite certain I gave him at least one.”
Alistair stood up and retreated to stand next to Moira, “I – have a sister, too.”
Moira glanced up at him and pointed out, as gently as she could, “You have a golddigging harridan who agreed she was your sister when you showed up on her doorstep wealthy from adventuring, my heart.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zevran step up next to Alistair and demand, “And what, pray tell, do you have to gain by claiming to be the mother of a king?” Moira allowed herself a small grin at Zevran’s reminder that the mysterious woman could be just another opportunist like Goldanna.
The woman curtsied, “I wish asylum in Ferelden with its Grey Wardens after I help you all to escape.”
Alistair opened his eyes, blinking painfully against the torchlight. He could feel two weights on his legs, roughly Moira- and Zevran-sized, but he still couldn’t feel his fingers and he could barely feel his arms where they were stretched out and held rigid by the shackles. He squinted and saw Moira open her eyes, then quickly cover them with her gauntleted hands and groaned. He felt the Zevran weight lift off his lower legs and the assassin stumbled over to squint at the chains still holding Alistair’s arms in the air.
“As . . . interesting. . . as the sight of you tied up is, Alistair,” the elf told him, glancing at him with a slight leer as he worked to pick the lock holding the king’s right arm, “I’m afraid I’d rather you bathed first.” Alistair felt his face heat and then all thoughts of any retort he might have planned died on his lips as Zevran freed his hand. Fire surged from his shoulder to his fingertips and his breath hissed out from between his teeth in pain. Gently, Zevran laid the numb arm in his lap and crossed over to the other shackle. But not before pausing to make sure he brushed his hips against Alistair’s face causing him to jerk his head backward and hit it on the stone wall.
“Zevran, stop playing with Alistair and hurry up. We have a problem,” Moira’s voice was muffled by the fact that the elf was still standing, straddling the Grey Warden’s hips; Alistair hadn’t noticed when her slight weight left his legs, thanks to Zevran’s attempts to irritate him. He wondered what the problem was, but before he could ask, Zevran shifted his weight and brushed against Alistair’s face again. The feeling had begun to return to his free arm so he reached up and roughly placed his hand on the other man’s leather clad stomach and shoved.
He was rewarded with Zevran’s grunt, but the assassin took the hint and climbed off him, still working at the lock. “One moment, mi amora. Our dear Alistair wanted to play back. And this lock is being very stubborn.”
Glaring up at the elf, Alistair retorted, “Haven’t you got that lock done yet? And here I thought you were good with your hands.”
As a reply, Zevran released the cuff and allowed Alistair’s numbed hand to drop to the floor. Stabbing knives joined the fire racing from his fingers to his shoulder. Ignoring the pain, Alistair lunged to his feet. Zevran had pushed him too far this time, friendship or no. As he reached his feet that Maker forsaken elf grinned at him. In answer, Alistair threw himself at the other man, catching the assassin in the stomach with his shoulder, slamming him up against the wall. Sinewy arms wrapped around his shoulders, trying to twist him around, a sly elf voice in his ear, “Why, Alistair, I didn’t know you felt this way! Won’t our Moira be jealous?”
In reply, Alistair merely growled and used his greater strength to break the assassin’s hold. But before he could step back to punch the older man, Zevran suddenly wasn’t there and Alistair found his legs swept out from under him and was flat on his back with the elf’s knees pinning the biceps of both arms. Zevran leaned down, his hazel eyes meeting Alistair’s unblinking. Afraid he was going to be kissed again, Alistair arched his back and threw Zevran off him, the lighter man somersaulting over his head to land flat on his back. Alistair used his momentum to regain his feet but before he could attack the assassin again, he felt a familiar slim cool hand on his arm and looked over to see Moira silently staring up at him, worry in her wide blue eyes. His rage fled immediately and he turned and bent to bury his face against her neck. He wrapped his arms around her, tangling his hands in her raven hair. “Promise me. Promise me you’ll never die on me again. Promise me I’ll never have to see that again.”
Moira’s arms went around Alistair’s shaking shoulders, her ungloved fingers curling in his unkempt hair. She knew it was a false promise, they were doomed to go into the Deep Roads together, after all, but she whispered against his ear, “Of course. I promise, my love.”
“I really wish you weren’t wearing armor, right now,” he said, teasingly, and she knew he was chasing his own fears away with humor again.
“I really wish you could take a bath,” she replied, kissing his ear. Her skin tingled as he chuckled against her neck, his breath against her sensitive skin there giving her goosebumps. Her arms tightened automatically, relieved to finally hold him for real instead of in some dream. He straightened up, taking a deep breath. They both turned to see Zevran still flat on his back on the grimy floor, his eyes closed. Moira crouched down, “Are you done teasing him, Zev?”
He cracked one eye open to look at Moira, “That depends, do I get such an embrace as a reward for releasing your beloved?”
Moira glanced from Alistair, who shrugged and looked away, his face blank, to Zevran and held her hand out to the incorrigible assassin. For a moment, he appeared to be considering pulling her down on top of him, but she quirked an eyebrow at him in warning; she was wearing plate armor, after all, and they weren’t alone. Reluctantly, he allowed her to pull him to his feet, but yanked her into his arms when he stood up. Imitating Alistair’s posture, but on the other side of her neck, he demanded, “I want you to promise me the same thing. I never want to see you die again.”
More goosebumps marched across her skin and she tightened her arms around him, as she had Alistair. Uncomfortable with the embrace in front of him, however, she merely nodded against Zevran’s neck where he’d tucked her head. Then kissed him lightly just under his ear to underscore her silent promise. She was rewarded with Zevran’s convulsive shiver and his fingers tightening in her hair. She raised her head from Zev’s embrace when she felt Alistair’s gentle hand on the back of her head and she looked at him, questioningly, “I believe you should introduce me, my dear.” He glanced at the four people in the door way, his emphasis on his endearment for her quite clear in its warning. He’d gotten over his anger at Zevran and his fear for her, or at least shoved them both in the back of his mind and had put back on the cloak of command of the King of Ferelden and Grey Warden Lieutenant.
Moira stepped away from Zevran, who reluctantly released her and forced herself to do the same thing, mentally pulling the mantle of the Commander of the Grey around herself. “You remember Cullen, Alistair? The Templar who was imprisoned in the Circle Tower by the maleficars?” Cullen knelt in the presence of his king and Alistair’s nodded his acknowledgment as she continued, “And Jowan, the mage who attempted to poison Arl Eamon at Loghain’s behest?” Jowan’s drop into a posture of obeisance was less graceful than Cullen’s but no less heartfelt. But if anything, Alistair’s handsome features hardened at the mention of the attempt on his surrogate father’s life.
Moira grinned in anticipation of his reaction to her next introduction. She looked at the dwarva, “And I know you’d never forget Shale of House Cadesh. “
Alistair’s reaction was priceless. The petite blonde warrior grinned at Alistair’s dropped jaw and widened eyes, “It was expecting someone else, perhaps?”
Before Shale could react, the king had pulled her into a bear hug, exclaiming, “I can’t believe it! You’re… you!”
Moira exchanged an amused glance with Zevran, who drawled, “And he’s usually so eloquent.”
Moira’s eyes were drawn back to the doorway where the other mage stepped forward as Shale squirmed out of Alistair’s hug, looking very irritated. Before Shale could tell Alistair what she thought of such public displays of affection, the older elf mage put her hand on the king’s shoulder, and said, “I believe I could be your mother. My name is Fiona.”
Moira froze in astonishment as did Zevran beside her. Alistair rocked back on his heels where he crouched in front of Shale, staring up at the other raven haired elf mage. Jowan and Cullen both gasped. Alistair regained his voice first, “I – I believe you must be mistaken.” His voice cracked, “I – my mother was a chamber maid in Redcliffe Castle.”
The woman gave him an amused glance, “And how many bastards did Maric have? I’m quite certain I gave him at least one.”
Alistair stood up and retreated to stand next to Moira, “I – have a sister, too.”
Moira glanced up at him and pointed out, as gently as she could, “You have a golddigging harridan who agreed she was your sister when you showed up on her doorstep wealthy from adventuring, my heart.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Zevran step up next to Alistair and demand, “And what, pray tell, do you have to gain by claiming to be the mother of a king?” Moira allowed herself a small grin at Zevran’s reminder that the mysterious woman could be just another opportunist like Goldanna.
The woman curtsied, “I wish asylum in Ferelden with its Grey Wardens after I help you all to escape.”
Modifié par Sialater, 19 mai 2010 - 05:19 .
#441
Posté 19 mai 2010 - 05:30
Shenzi
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I'm going to be sad to see this story end even though I'm already hooked on your next series
#442
Posté 19 mai 2010 - 05:47
amethyst_rose2009
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I love it Sia, as always! I can't wait to see Alistair's reaction to Fiona. It might be difficult for him to accept that she's his mother after he had been lied to his whole life.
And Zev is just too adorable.
And Zev is just too adorable.
#443
Posté 19 mai 2010 - 06:01
jillyfae
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aww, Sia, great chapter. Poor confused Alistair... tormented by Zevran, unexpected mother... still needs a bath. He is not having a good day. And hasn't had one for a really long time.
#444
Posté 19 mai 2010 - 06:25
*Kioux*
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Interesting indeed - thanks a lot for the update. Oh and I totally adored Alistair's reaction towards Shale. So sweet *sighs*
#445
Posté 19 mai 2010 - 07:42
Kulkodar
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Nice twists and turns in this tale Sia! I've been keeping up, just not posting. When you eventually write "the end" on this story, I will have to go back to the beginning and read it right through. I love this one. Alas, I've not played Awakenings, so I've not read any new fiction that includes it. I still do love all these characters and may eventually play again.
#446
Posté 19 mai 2010 - 09:42
Sialater
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Kulkodar wrote...
Nice twists and turns in this tale Sia! I've been keeping up, just not posting. When you eventually write "the end" on this story, I will have to go back to the beginning and read it right through. I love this one. Alas, I've not played Awakenings, so I've not read any new fiction that includes it. I still do love all these characters and may eventually play again.
Thank you for hanging in there!
It still doesn't include it. This is all prior to Awakenings.
I'll have to write an Epilogue that shows where everyone is and how they get to Amaranthine.
Modifié par Sialater, 19 mai 2010 - 09:43 .
#447
Posté 21 mai 2010 - 05:40
Kulkodar
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Yah, I know you haven't included Awakenings in this one. I have seen some other titles that indicate it's included, which does limit what I read. But, I've been following this one from the beginning and really enjoyed. Having time in between chapters makes it a little more challenging to follow, and since I have loved it, when it's all done, to reread it through would be wonderful
#448
Posté 23 mai 2010 - 04:01
Lord Deshwitat
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Gaahh, I lost this thread for awile. So glad I found it again.
Sialater can you point me in the direction of your other fanfic please^^
Sialater can you point me in the direction of your other fanfic please^^
#449
Posté 23 mai 2010 - 04:08
TanithAeyrs
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Lord Deshwitat wrote...
Gaahh, I lost this thread for awile. So glad I found it again.
Sialater can you point me in the direction of your other fanfic please^^
She has a link in her sig. It's on FF.net. Well worth reading.
@Sia- Your latest chapter was great as usual. Poor Alistair, he has so many things to deal with all at once. And Zev, always second... it makes me sad.
#450
Posté 23 mai 2010 - 04:05
Lord Deshwitat
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TanithAeyrs wrote...
Lord Deshwitat wrote...
Gaahh, I lost this thread for awile. So glad I found it again.
Sialater can you point me in the direction of your other fanfic please^^
She has a link in her sig. It's on FF.net. Well worth reading.
@Sia- Your latest chapter was great as usual. Poor Alistair, he has so many things to deal with all at once. And Zev, always second... it makes me sad.
Ty Tanith
